I don’t move a muscle; I stand in my spot, soaking wet and wait to see if she’s okay. I wish I could have done more. I make a vow to at least get my CPR certification. What could I have really done if she were awake, or if I had to try and drag her out of the car if there was more imminent danger?
My phone vibrates again, and I continue to ignore it.
My eyes are glued to the scene in front of me. I watch as the door—which will only open a fraction—is cut away from the car. The firemen are working carefully yet diligently. As soon as the door is removed, one of the men picks it up and throws it toward the rear of the car. I’m sure they’re operating on pure adrenaline; it’s their job to get to her as quickly as possible. You see this in the movies, hear about it on the news, but to be here and witness the determination and dedication these men and women have is awe-inspiring.
The paramedics swoop in and check on the driver. I see now that one of them is in the passenger seat. I guess that door opened just fine. Everyone works together assessing the situation. When they yell for the stretcher, my heartbeat accelerates. Is she going to be okay? Can they get her out? Do they have to cut her out? A million questions are running through my head, but I still keep my eyes glued to the car. To her. I need to see that she’s okay.
Minutes, hours—I’ve lost track of time. It’s not until I see them slowly and ever so gently lift her from the car and place her on the stretcher that I feel myself take a deep breath. From the ache in my chest, it’s as if it’s the first in a while.
The paramedics work on strapping her down. A fireman throws a big blanket over her body, followed by what looks like a tarp, an attempt to keep her dry in this torrential downpour. Mother Nature is relentless tonight. Tears from Heaven, as my mother always says.
Four of them flank each corner of the stretcher and begin the slow, slippery trek up hill to the ambulance. In the dark of night, I lose sight of them until they reach the headlight beams.
“Hey, man, are you good? You hurt?” One of the guys lays a hesitant hand on my shoulder.
I shake my head. “No, I just stopped to help,” I try to explain.
He nods, letting me know he heard me. This rain makes it damn difficult to have a normal conversation.
Turning, he heads toward the car. Reaching inside, he pulls out a bag.
Her purse.
What if she wakes up in the hospital all alone? How long will it take her family to get here? She’s going to be scared. It’s that thought that has me climbing the hill. I’ll go to the hospital and just make sure she’s okay, that she’s not alone. I’ll wait until her family arrives. Maybe I can answer any questions she might have. I can at least fill her in from the point that I found her in her car.
At the top of the hill, they already have her loaded in the ambulance. I’m headed that way when the sheriff stops me.
“Excuse me, sir, do you know the victim?” he questions.
“No. I was driving by and saw the headlights over the embankment,” I explain.
He nods. “I’m going to have a few questions.” He looks up at the rain still falling from the sky. “Can you come down to the station?”
“No. I’m following them to the hospital.”
Tilting his head to the side, he studies me. “I thought you didn’t know her?”
“I don’t. However, I do know what happened here tonight—after I found her, at least. I don’t want her to wake up alone. I’ll stay until her family arrives.” I give him the details of what I just decided only minutes before.
Understanding crosses his face. “I’ll meet you there.”
I give him a quick wave and hustle across the road to my truck. Cranking the heater, I pull out my cell phone. Several missed calls and one text from Stephanie.
Stephanie: I can’t believe you stood me up.
Really? Does she not know me any better than that?
Me: Drove up on an accident. Stopped to help. Headed to hospital now.
I’ll make it up to you.
After I hit send, I drop the phone in the cup holder and reach for my seat belt, securely fastening it. I wait for the ambulance to pull out, because I’m going to follow them, not knowing for sure where they’re taking her. I don’t have to wait long before the siren sounds and they’re moving. The sheriff pulls out behind them, sticking his hand out the window for me to follow.
Thankful for the escort, I put the truck in drive and follow close behind. The entire way, I pray she’s okay. I’m not really a praying man; I’ve done it, but don’t make it a habit. But something inside me needs her to be okay.
The drive to the hospital is a blur. My grip on the wheel is so tight my fingers start to ache. Thankfully, the rain has started to ease a little; however, it does nothing to calm my nerves. I follow the sheriff into the emergency room parking lot, and he parks behind the ambulance. I find the first available spot, throwing my truck into park. I tear off the poncho and throw it in the backseat of the truck, then grab my phone and keys and head toward the entrance.
By the time I reach them, they’ve already wheeled her back to an exam room. The sheriff is waiting for me just inside the door.
“Simpson.” He holds his hand out for me.
I take it. “Ridge Beckett,” I introduce myself.
“They have a room we can use. I turned over her belongings, so they’re going to try and contact her family.”
“Do we know who she is?”
He gives me a sad look. “She had her ID in her wallet. Unfortunately, I cannot divulge that information.”