Who: Hal & Dottie What: Life-saver. Not the candy. When:In the dead of night. ...Before the zombies, to make it easy. Where: A road not too far from Bathos. Rating: Very safe.
The job had started off smoothly, a good sign to counter the terrible winter weather that Hal found so dismal. His hometown in the south was constantly wet and humid, but that didn’t mean Hal liked wet and humid. Rain and wet made his machines act strangely, and the constant pounding was hard on paint jobs and visibility, so he was always in a foul mood when the sun wasn’t out. Hal didn’t like moving drugs, the risk was high and the people were untrustworthy, but the fact was that he and Charlie didn’t have rent money; it was a good thing that neither of them gave anybody Christmas presents, because they couldn’t even afford groceries. Charlie didn’t care for drugs either (Hal never asked why) but money was money, so they took the job.
When it went horribly wrong, Hal was trying to figure out a way to blame Charlie without any success. He did this because it kept him from worrying about his partner after they got disconnected about ten minutes out of the job. They’d gotten to the drop off fine, but the idiot dealer had gotten spooked by a passing patrol cop. (Hal was of the opinion that you should never give a drug dealer a gun, because he shoots at things that scare him, and just about everything scares a drug dealer these days.)
Hal wasn’t even sure who shot him, the dealer or the cop; all he knew for sure was that Charlie hadn’t, because 1) he was pretty sure the bullet in him wasn’t hollow point and 2) Charlie was a crack shot, even in the pouring rain.
Driving hard through the rain and listening vaguely to the Stones’ Paint it Black, which he was probably never going to want to hear again, Hal was worried this dealer (who thought he was big shit, for some reason) was paranoid enough to have extra guys around, and that was why Charlie went radio-silent. He was worried about that right up until his vision went fuzzy and he realized he should be worrying about himself. Squinting through the windshield, Hal went for the outlined plan when one of them got injured, which was an alternate location and a trustworthy medical professional that didn’t ask too many questions. The pain was slowly overcoming the blaming and worrying as he drove, though. Mildly startled and wondering whether or not this was shock, Hal looked down at his side and all he saw was a whole lot of blood. He felt his arm going numb, and when the car veered off the side of the road, he didn’t notice until it was too late.
He hit the brakes, but he didn’t hear the screech and he didn’t feel the impact, either.
Now that exams were over and school was on break, Dottie suddenly felt the distinct lack of something to do with her life. With her roommate gone to visit family for the week, Dottie had found herself with not much of anything to do. She’d watched their entire DVD collection back to back, and surfed the forums for hours without anything to say. Bored out of her mind, she found herself taking walks, all alone, in the dark, in the middle of the night. Tonight, she happened to be on the return branch of one of those walks, with her hands buried deeply in her jacket pocket and her hood pulled over her head as she stared blankly into the rainy night. There wasn’t much of anything to see, but Dot felt that forwards was a good direction to stare anyways. A few seconds later, Dottie felt her attention pulled from the sky and onto the road as a car sped by, driving dangerously close to the side of the road. She shook her head lightly, writing it off as some drunk frat boys playing a stupid game of some kind. Trudging onwards, Dottie cursed mentally for not thinking of bringing an umbrella on her walk tonight, that was definitely not one of her more educated moments.
Before she could continue mentally lecturing herself on the matter, the sound of screeching tires and a much too loud impact broke through Dot’s thoughts and had her looking for the sound. Her mind went straight to the car that had sped by, not moments ago. Frowning deeply, she shielded her eyes from the rain and tried to look for the car. Sure enough, she saw smoke coming from the side of the road, just a block from where she was standing. Instinctively, she groped for her phone, but no dice, she’d left that back at her apartment with the damned umbrella. “Shit,” She cursed out loud, knowing what she had to do next. She broke out into a sprint towards the wreckage, if there were people in that car, she had to get them out. It looked pretty bad, even from here.
Once she was on the scene, she discovered that there was no one else at the scene, just her and the driver. She’d shouted at him to wake up, but the lack of answer told her that he was unconscious. Working quickly, Dottie managed to pull the man from the driver’s seat, dragging him along the wet pavement until he was lying flat on his back. She assessed him quickly, barely existent pulse, shallow laboured breathing, and a gunshot wound with a whole lot of blood. Wait, what the hell was going on here? Her brows furrowed as she considered her options, the gunshot wound didn’t look good, and if there was someone after him, she wouldn’t be able to explain herself. On the other hand, there was no way in hell she was going to let someone die when she was their only lifeline. Letting out a deep sigh, Dottie placed both her hands over the man’s chest and pushed down hard, willing with all her might for his heart to start beating normally again. It took a few seconds, but slowly, Dottie could see the colour return to the man’s fingertips and cheeks. He was still unconscious but she felt his fingers beginning to move. Removing her jacket, Dot used her dry hoodie to press against his bleeding side, applying pressure to try and slow the bleeding. With one hand still on the hoodie, Dottie felt around the man’s pockets for a cellphone. He needed a paramedic, she couldn’t save him all by herself.
Dying was a very unsatisfactory experience for Hal. He’d seen a lot of cartoons, a lot of movies, heard a lot of things, and there was supposed to be a white light, or ghostly figures, or memories of days gone by. After the crash, there wasn’t any of those things for Hal. He didn’t hear the voices of the people he’d lost. There were not soft choirs, nor licking flames. Nobody came calling for him; if anything, he had never been more alone in his life. No, for Hal, there was just a lot of pain, and a fear he hadn’t felt before, a fear he couldn’t name, and then... nothing.
What surprised him was that there was something after the nothing.
Blank dark eyes opened up to stare at a face he didn’t recognize, and he only peripherally noticed that the face was female. Ordinarily, one so young and with strange mussed hair would not inspire confidence, but Hal just came out of a dark he thought was total, and he would take anything--and anyone--he could get. He made a strangled sound when he tried to move reflexively and discovered he could definitely still feel pain, and a hand wet with blood clutched at hers against the cheap jersey of the makeshift bandage. “What?” he said, eyes rolling. “Who?”
Dot had searched almost every pocket she could find, by the time the man had regained some of his consciousness, but she could not locate a phone on him anywhere. She bit her lip nervously, she couldn’t leave him there, but he surely wouldn’t survive without some real medical attention. Mind racing, she kept up the pressure on his side, but didn’t hear the strangled words come from the man’s mouth.
As soon as she felt a hand touch hers, Dot’s attention snapped to the man’s face. Not bothering to explain what had happened, right away, she tried to get right to the point. “Do you have a cellphone?” She was speaking loudly and clearly, making sure that he could understand what she was saying, “You need to go to a hospital.” She may have brought him back from the edge of death, but she couldn’t stop his bullet wound from bleeding.
He stared at her for a few moments, apparently without comprehension, and certainly with no recognition, but then his hand tightened on hers and, halfway through a moan of mingled fear and pain, his eyes slid back to the car. “Glove box.” The car, which was a nondescript black sedan on the outside but a far more impressive vehicle under the hood, was not entirely totaled, and certainly not in flames, but the front-end was crunched into the side of the brick building ahead and liquids were leaking out onto the pavement.
The glove box was barely accessible, and only with some reaching, but after she got it free, several items fell out: a half-empty pack of cigarettes, a ballpoint pen from a local hotel, some business cards sporting only the label TRANSPORT and a phone number, a military issue black matte 9mm handgun, and a cellphone.
Dot flinched as he started to moan, it was kind of frightening to have someone’s life kind of in your hands. Listening carefully for his words, she nodded wordlessly and headed for the car after freeing her hand from his. She hissed at the pile of wreckage that was his car and closed her eyes for a second. This was why she didn’t like being in cars. Fixing them, sure, but even then she wasn’t a big fan. That’s why she quit her job, afterall. Well, that and the fact that she just didn’t need it anymore.
Frowning, she entered the vehicle through the driver’s side and reached for the glove box. It took some jiggling to get it open, but when she finally did, her eyes gravitated to the handgun first. Staring at it for a few seconds, she decided to shove it back into the box and only take the phone. She contemplated calling EMS but decided that a man with a gun and gunshot wound might not want to go to the hospital.
She waited until she was next to the man again to make any phone calls. “Is there someone you call for things like this?” She was making some pretty wild assumptions here, and potentially dangerous ones if it turned out the man wasn’t some kind of regular gun wielding gang member, “Or should I just call for an ambulance?” She felt like she was wasting time, but she didn’t want anyone to get into trouble here. Besides, she could always just jump start his heart again if it was absolutely necessary.
Hal was still conscious when she returned, and he was so relieved to see something besides the dark night sky and the winking streetlight ahead that he met her eyes and smiled at her before wincing again at the pain. First he said, “Charlie,” and then a moment later he said, revising, “Doc. In phone.”
There were several names in the phone, all first names, pseudonyms, or archaic labels, and some only initials. The most recent ten calls were to a “Charlie” and she’d have to find the address book for someone labeled simply “Doc.” Charlie didn’t answer his phone, but “Doc” did, and he sounded serious and business-like, just the kind of person you’d like to talk to while crouched on the side of the road with a dying man.
Dot managed a small smile at the brief smile from the bleeding man. She grimaced with sympathy pain as he winced, but at least he’d been fine enough to manage a smile, however brief. The first name out of his mouth had her frowning. Charlie, was it a brother, a friend, someone who could help them out right now? The next was more reassuring, but she supposed she could give Charlie a try first.
Charlie was easy to find. Judging by the amount of calls made to him, he was probably very close to Charlie, but he didn’t pick up. “Charlie’s not picking up,” She spoke gently, hoping that whoever Charlie was, he didn’t also have a bullet in his side. Next, she looked through the phone for a “Doc”, finally finding it in the address book. He picked up on the second ring, his voice had a strange soothing effect on Dot. “Hi, Doc?” She didn’t have another name for him, “I’m with one of your patients right now, it doesn’t look good. Male, adult, his name is....” She trailed off, realizing that she didn’t know this man’s name.
Judging from Hal’s reaction to the news about Charlie, he was thinking the exact same thing, and he shut his eyes hard to avoid moving any more than he had to. He was starting to feel cold again, and he knew from experience that it was not a good thing.
“This is Hal’s phone,” the man on the other end of the line said. He spoke quickly but with distinction, the kind of person who dealt with emergencies all the time. “Whoever it is, I’m sending paramedics now.” Perhaps not the legal kind, but that wasn’t the kind of person who owed Hal favors. “Stay with him until they get there.” Doc, whoever he was, kept Dot on the phone, asking for details about Hal’s condition and her connection with him, and a little while after she told him the location the paramedics did arrive--though in an unmarked vehicle with no lights or sirens.
By this time Hal was drifting in and out of consciousness, and he said something to Dot in Cajun French that was too badly mangled to understand before the paramedics put him on a wheeled stretcher and into the van. One got in the drivers side and the other one looked back at Dot to see if she was coming.
“Hal,” Dot repeated the name to herself to make sure she remembered, “Okay, I’ll do that.” She replied simply before answering all his questions to the best of her ability. No, she didn’t know who shot him. Yes, she found him after the crash. No, she’d never met him before just a few minutes ago. She wondered why Hal didn’t have her just call EMS, if Doc was just going to send some paramedics anyways. It crossed her mind again, that she might have stumbled across something dark and not too pleasant.
She tried her best to keep a conversation with him, as they waited for the paramedics, but he was fading in and out of consciousness and making very little sense. When the paramedics arrived, he tried to tell her something, but whatever he said was not very coherent and suspected that it probably wasn’t English, either. Dot bit down on her lip as the paramedic looked at her expectantly. The way she saw it, she had two choices: Leave right now and never look back or follow this wounded man to wherever these paramedics were taking him, and make sure he (and Charlie) were okay.
She paused for a second longer and decided that she couldn’t just leave and not find out what would happen to Hal. Already feeling like she might regret ever getting involved in whatever this was, she pushed it all to the back of her mind and hopped onto the back of the van. Taking a seat next to Hal’s stretcher, she watched his face carefully as they drove off, just in case he woke up and needed some kind of explanation.
Before he disconnected, Doc could be heard telling someone to get a tow to the cross-streets Dot mentioned, which meant that besides the blood, the mess, and the bricks, there wouldn’t be any evidence either of them were there. The paramedics moved around in the confines of the van, doing esoteric things to keep Hal alive and not commenting on how he should be dead or could be dead. Hal drifted in and out of consciousness, times when his eyes worked and when he could feel pain or not feel pain. He said something else to Dot, something in the vague tones of a question, but again it was in the thickened French, and barely understandable: “Regrettez-vous que je...”
He was, perhaps fortunately, out again by the time they got to where they were going. When the paramedics opened the back Dot would be disappointed to see a loading dock that looked like it would be better suited to furniture and boxes of office supplies than anyone wounded. You could smell the Seattle coast in the air, indicating it was somewhere near, and the mist made the yellow floodlights vaguely ominous. Within, was not much better, as a tiled waiting room resembled a secretary’s domain without carpet and the paramedics wheeled Hal into a back room, leaving Dot with yesterday’s newspaper, a payphone, Hal’s cell phone in her pocket and no answers.
For most of the ride, Dot watched as Hal’s eyes opened and closed and he faded in and out again. She tensed as he tried to talk to her, but she couldn’t understand what he was trying to say. Sighing deeply, she pulled her knees to her chest and hugged them tightly, chin resting on top of them. She genuinely hoped that they could fix him up, stitch him up and send him out with a smile on his face. If he didn’t survive, she wasn’t sure that she could ever jump start another heart again.
The place that they had been taken shocked her. It didn’t look like a hospital, it looked more like someplace they packaged up dead bodies before shipping them off to nondescript locations or throwing them into the sea. Almost defensively, she followed closely behind the stretcher. She didn’t ask any questions, but she doubted she’d get any straight answers even if she did. Quietly, she just looked at the surrounding, doubting the credibility of the place more and more with each passing second.
It wasn’t until they blocked her from following the stretcher into the back room that she started speaking. “Wait, where are you taking him?” She frowned as one of the paramedics just looked at her and handed her a newspaper. What was she supposed to do, sit here and wait around like some worried family member? Frustrated, she took a seat on one of the chairs before realizing that she still had Hal’s cellphone. She was exhausted, but she wouldn’t fall asleep, in fear of what they might do to her if she was unconscious. Pressing her lips together nervously, she began flicking through his most recent contacts, maybe she should let someone know where he was while she waited for some news in this make-shift hospital in God knows where.