***
By lunchtime, two weeks later, I was fairly caught up on the comings and goings of the department since I’d been gone.
It didn’t help that during that time my sister had had two more episodes, and I’d been needed to watch Emily all night long for two nights straight each time.
Apple had been called in by the National Guard for his mandatory two weeks of training that happened twice a year, and Kitt was left alone with Emily.
Which, in turn, meant that while Kitt slept off her episodes for eighteen hours, I was the only one left to care for Emily.
Luckily, he was now back and feeling terrible for having to leave them, giving me the chance to catch up on what was left of my paperwork.
I glanced at my phone again, brows furrowing when I saw that I still hadn’t gotten any more messages from Freya, but was distracted by the radio squawking at my side.
I gathered my things, about to head to lunch, when what was being said on the radio finally caught my attention.
“Medics needed at the intersection of 805 and 43. Late model grey sedan with serious injuries. Two medics needed.”
I was moving out the door not even a minute later.
Our office was located about five minutes away from the scene of the accident, so it was likely that I would be the first to arrive.
The sheriff had made it mandatory that everyone in the station who would be responding to possible med calls knew at least basic life support procedures.
I knew more than most of them, but I was still wholly inadequate for what I rolled up on four minutes later.
The wreck was terrible.
I knew the car, too.
It was the woman from McDonald’s who’d said that she didn’t need a booster seat, and her kid was just fine in the front seat.
My stomach in a knot, I looked at the car, knowing whomever was in it was dead.
At least the person in the front seat.
There was no way they couldn’t be.
The backseat was where the front seat should be. The car’s front end was smashed all the way under the other car, curving until it looked like someone had just folded it nicely under like you would when you opened a sack of bread.
And the front seat was just…gone.
There was no other word for it.
It was crumpled into what was left of the car’s front end.
The volunteer fire truck was next to arrive on scene right after me, and we all got out at about the same time.
They knew, just as well as I did, that this was a bad one.
I was wary to walk up on the car, scared of what I might see.
“Driver’s dead,” the first volunteer firefighter, a man by the name of Alex, said.
He was at the driver’s side, staring at what used to be a person.
“Passenger’s gone, too,” another firefighter, this one was new, so I didn’t know his name. “Injuries incompatible with life.”
“As in his head’s on the ground,” muttered the third firefighter.
Normally, I’m all for joking around.
Firefighters, police officers and medics were a funny bunch.
They joked at inappropriate times. We had to—it was either we joked or we cried.
However, this time, I wasn’t feeling it. Knowing that there was a head was on the ground wasn’t making me in a very understanding mood.
Regardless, I walked around the man who’d made the inappropriate joke, Ollie, and looked for myself.
Relief poured through me at the realization that it wasn’t the kid who had died.
The mother, though, was a different story.
I knew that long hair.
I wasn’t sure exactly how it had happened, her being beheaded, but I knew it had something to do with the piece of metal laying on the ground.
“It’s like one of those ‘Final Destination’ movies,” Ollie continued to joke. “My God, at least it was quick.”
Yes, indeed it was quick.
They hadn’t felt a thing, it’d happened instantly, thank God.
“There’s a booster seat in the back,” the new firefighter called out.
Instantly, we all fanned out, all of us taking a section of the woods and walking in a circle around the area.
We all moved in a methodical pattern as we began the search.
More crew arrived and more joined the search.
I was only about five minutes into it when I found him.
The boy.
He was lying in a pile of leaves, curled up as if he were taking a nice nap.
And I prayed, oh God, did I pray, that he was okay.
My feet crunched on a stick as it snapped underneath my weight and his head snapped up as if he were a cornered cat.
“Justin,” I said, watching him. “Are you okay?”
He frowned at me.
“I’m lost,” he said. “You ate my pie.”
I wanted to fucking laugh just for the sheer joy that he was able to accuse me of that.
“Yeah,” I said. “I ate your pie. And I’m sorry. Can I go buy you another?”
He stood up, no pain on his face as he did, and crossed his arms over his chest.
“My mommy said you were an asshole,” he accused.
I nodded. “I was that day. I’m very sorry. My mother would be ashamed of me if she knew.”
She would, too.
My mother had been awesome, but when she’d died, all the manners that she’d gone through hell teaching me went with her.
My brother, sister and I were all heathens according to our father.
I blamed them.
“Will you get me two?” he pleaded.
I held out my hand and he took it.
Not satisfied, though, he tugged on my arm.
“Pick me up.”
Needless to say, I picked him up.