All she could see were grey swirls of water and fog. There was no sign of the car or the
driver. Suddenly she felt something grab
ahold of her leg and yank her downward.
She slammed her chin against the metal bars and bit her tongue. Cold, wet rubber skimmed against her cheek
and caught her hair in its friction.
“Don’t worry. I’ve
got you.” It was a man’s voice. He smelled of cigarette smoke and diesel, or
turpentine. Some sort of
accelerant.
“Let go of me!” Joan
screamed, but her words were muffled by the rustling of heavy fabric and then
by sirens. How had she missed the sirens
before?
Like a rag doll, she dangled helplessly while he climbed
down the ladder. The lights flashing
below them became more defined and she could make out the contours of several
police cars and a fire truck. It seems a
little excessive, but then, what else was there for them to do this early in
the morning?
Once they were off the bridge, he picked up his pace until
they were behind an ambulance. He set
her down directly in the path of the exhaust, which was strangely warm and
comforting after being above the water.
He didn’t leave, but he also didn’t say anything. After a few minutes of standing their
awkwardly, she thought perhaps she should utilize her skill set and attempt to
communicate with him.
“Um. Thanks. But, I mean, I could have climbed down on my
own.” He didn’t answer. He looked around nervously and scratched
under his chin. The only thing she could
arguably have called his response was a quick half-smile, but that could have
also been gas.
Their moment was interrupted, mercifully, but a younger
woman in equally unflattering khakis and work shoes who had snuck up on them
while they were immersed in the discomfiture.
“Hi, Ms. Gulioso?”
She pronounced it like “Ghoul-ioso,” which made Joan cringe. It was bad enough that her parents had saw
fit to give her an alliterative name, but the alternative pronunciation just
seemed needlessly difficult. Joan usually
thought it compounded the problem to correct it. She looked up at the woman and raised her
eyebrows.
“My name is Katy Williams.
I’m with Emergency Response. Do
you mind if we talk?” Joan
shrugged. Something about being asked to
talk always made her talk less.
“Great,” Khaki
Williams continued with a practiced smile.
“Why don’t we climb in and head over to the hospital?”
“Oh. No. No, I can’t go to the hospital. I have to be at work. I’m probably already late.” Joan fumbled around for her phone, but she
must have left it in her car.
“We’ve already called them.
Don’t worry about it. They just
want to make sure you are ok.”
“Of course I’m ok. I
really don’t think that is necessary.”
She added, “Also, I don’t want to leave my car here.”
“Well, it is your decision Ms. Ghoul-ioso, but I think it
would be best if you agreed to come with us.”
There was something in her phrasing that was off. Off, but familiar. Joan started walking to her car. Khakis followed her at what had to be a calculated
distance. It made Joan nervous. She reached for the door handle hastily. It bounced back into place with a snap,
taking her middle nail with it.
“Damn that hurt!”
Joan looked up with embarrassment, but Khaki just smiled again on
cue. Joan started patting her pockets
for her keys. Her face burned with embarrassment.
She had locked them in the car. There they were on the seat, right next to
her phone.
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