ANGELS AND GHOSTS
CHAPTER THREE

Cops and Cluster-Fucks

Rachael jumped in the car and took off, trying to drive smoothly, her eyes flicking from the road to the rear vision mirror, the woman’s head seriously slumping. With tears forming in her eyes, she instructed herself, “Road, road, keep your focus on the road.”

Rachael gulped, her hands shaking on the steering wheel, because she knew what this was; somebody was just about to die in her car. “Hang on Honey, keep fighting, we’re almost there!” she blubbered.

This was fucked-up, this was Jesus-and-Mary Ultimate fuck-up, this was the Cluster-Fuck from Hell, and as the tears dribbled down her cheeks, she pushed down on the accelerator, and, and …

‘Hello …’

Rachael’s gaze snapped up to the rear vision mirror, then she shook her head, “What?”

The slumped head didn’t seem capable of talking, but did she just say, Hello?

Teary, confused, Rachael ran it through her mind; did she hear that? Panicky and desperate, she thought that maybe it wasn’t an audible noise, it was a word that her mind had somehow captured, or invented.

“What the fuck’s going on?” she moaned.

*

In just over fifty minutes, she guided the car into the Emergency parking bay and scrambled out. A young guy in all-white hospital garb called out to her, “Hey, you can’t park there, that’s for emergency vehicles only!”

“Help me!” she yelled. “There’s a woman in the back who’s dying!”

*

An hour later, the receptionist called her up.

Rachael was mega-pissed. An hour spent in a hospital was just about her least favourite thing in the world, especially on this night, a night where she didn’t need to be seen by anyone.

“What is your name Miss?”

Rachael frowned, Fuck, how about we just forget about me! Trying to compose herself, she asked, “Is she, is she going to be alright?”

“I’m sorry, I don’t have that information. She’s in the operating theatre right now,” the receptionist replied as she looked at her. “What happened to her?”

“Ohhh Jesus, I don’t really know. I was driving along and I saw her lying there, so I put her in my car and brought her here.”

“You didn’t hit her?”

“Me, no!”

“Okay, well I need to inform you that one of our people has already phoned the police and they’re on their way, so you will have to wait here until they arrive.”

Rachael froze, then asked, “Why?”

“From the injuries she sustained, it appears that she may have been the victim of a hit-and-run, so I’m positive that the police will need to speak to you.”

Rachael stared at her blankly, running it through her mind. Assignment number nineteen had gone without a hitch, no evidence left (except for purposely misleading evidence) and an alibi had also been established, but now this. “Arrhh, I can leave my name and phone number and the police can maybe ring me.” Rachael suggested.

The receptionist shook her head, “The police will be here shortly; please take a seat.”

Rachael slothed over and sat on a padded chair directly opposite the reception area, then bowed her head as a million things ran through her mind. Amidst the chaos in her mind, a little voice posed the question; Why don’t you just piss off? Rachael shook her head, knowing that pissing off wasn’t an option. If your average Dumb Fucker found themselves in a similar situation to the one she was in, maybe they would piss off, but not her. Being aware and alert, she suspected that the Emergency entrance would have a CCTV camera, and right at the moment, her car would be smack bang in the middle of the cameras focus, while the CCTV camera centred above the reception desk would have already captured two minutes of footage featuring her. Speaking to the police meant that her alibi had just gone up in smoke, although her main concern was for the woman’s well-being. Rachael had no doubt that she had been hit by a car, and the driver had obviously panicked and shot through. She couldn’t even imagine what kind of ass-hole would do that. The way the woman was dressed meant that maybe she was jogging on the side of the road, and the driver would know that they’d hit someone, because the body had been flung ten feet before landing in the ditch.

Maybe it wasn’t an accident.

Rachael sighed and closed her eyes. The closing of the eyes introduced the freaky shit, because Rachael remembered the flickering, hovering light, remembered that she thought she saw an image standing, or hovering behind the light, and more freaky shit, did she hear someone say, Hello?

Rachael’s attention was captured when she saw the flashing lights out the front of the hospital, then she cringed as two police officers walked quickly up to the reception desk.

Rachael was thirty feet away, and she couldn’t hear much of the earnest conversation, although phrases rang out, ‘Hit-and-run … in surgery at the moment … that girl over there …’

A male officer stayed at the reception desk as the receptionist picked up the phone, while the other officer began walking towards her.

Rachael panicked, because she could imagine the police officer saying, ‘We believe she was hit by a car, so we’ll need you to do an alcohol and drug test.’ Alcohol test? Sure no problem, but listen …

Super pissed off, Rachael assumed that looking at her as she approached would make her look less guilty than hanging her head, so she kept her eyes on her the whole way.

“Hello Miss, my name is Officer Stevens and I’m told that you bought the lady in.”

“Yes ma’am.”

Officer Stevens was maybe mid-twenties, her blond hair scrolled into a bun on top of her head, and while she wasn’t a Super-Model, she was pleasant looking.

“Can you tell me what happened to her?” Officer Stevens asked, Rachael noting her confident and forthright tone. Rachael knew that most experienced cops spoke with confident or authoritative tones, the tones seeming to suggest, ‘Okay, let’s get straight down to business, no fucking around.’ She herself would have made a good cop, because she always spoke in a don’t-fuck-me-around manner, and she also thought that she’d look great in a dark blue uniform, plus, she’d love to strut around with a shiny gun holstered to her hip.

Actually no … no gun.

Rachael shrugged her shoulders and said, “I don’t know what happened, I mean I saw her on the side of the road and I stopped to help her.”

The male officer strode over and looked at Officer Stevens, “All they can tell me is that she’s critical.”

“Okay, well this is the person who brought her in.”

“Hello, I’m Officer Jamieson; what happened?”

“I was just telling Officer Stevens that I don’t know what happened; I saw her on the side of the road, so I stopped to help her.”

“Okay, well let’s go into the waiting room, because we’re going to need a statement from you.”

Forty minutes later, the police had finished with her, although Rachael was a little bemused as she asked, “Ummm, do you want to see my car?”

Officer Jamieson cocked his head in a questioning gesture.

“You know, if she got hit by a car, well the car is presumably going to have a significant ding in it.” Rachael offered.

Officer Jamieson’s eyes brightened at the suggestion, and Rachael immediately thought, Looks good, but he’s as dumb as shit!

Officer Jamieson stood at maybe 6’2” and would hit the scales at a muscular 180-190. His hair was cut short at the back and sides, although it was spiky on top, the hair gelled, which led Rachael to the conclusion that he liked to look smart. He did too, his masculine face sporting a chiselled jaw and striking green eyes. Rachael wanted to ask him, You wanta come over to my place after your shift, and you know, keep the uniform on and do a strip-tease for me? but no, maybe flirting in this situation wasn’t appropriate.

Jamieson turned to Stevens, “Check her car, I’ll report this in.”

Rachael frowned, No, you come with me and check the car … please!

Stevens glided around the car, checking it with her torch, then she stood in front of Rachael.

“Okay, no problems,” Stevens began, “We will be wanting to speak to you down the track.”

“Sure.” Rachael replied as she opened the door and prepared to get in.

“Ohhh, by the way…”

Rachael turned to her.

“What were you doing on Cribb Highway?”

Ohhh for fucks sake …

Rachael’s mind raced, searching for a diversion, then as one presented itself, she stood in front of Stevens and looked in towards the reception area. Officer Jamieson was in their line of vision, so Rachael asked, “Is he married?”

Stevens seemed surprised, “Mark, arrhh no.”

Rachael smiled wickedly as she asked, “Have you and him ever …”

“I beg your pardon?”

“He’s a hunk!” Rachael declared brightly.

Stevens blushed then hurried away, “I better check what’s going on.”

Thirty minutes later, Rachael rapped on Marco’s door, and a voice rang out, “It’s open!”

Rachael strode in and went straight to the study, knowing that he’d be on the computer, because he always was.

Marco looked up and said crisply, “You’re late!”

“Fucked up night,” Rachael whined. “I saw this lady lying on the side of a road, so I took her to the hospital.”

“Yeah, what happened?”

“No, don’t know, but I think it might have been a hit-and-run.”

“Jesus, is she okay?”

Rachael dropped her face and muttered, “It didn’t look good, I mean I think I revived her, but it looks like she’s in trouble.”

Marco spun the wheelchair around and faced her. Marco suffered from a degenerative spinal disorder, and he had been wheelchair bound for the past three years. He could still stand on his legs, and he could shuffle along with the aid of a walking frame, although his physiotherapist had advised him that his shuffling days were coming to an end.

“Anyway, help me onto the couch, I’m raring to go!” Marco said brightly.

“Jesus, not tonight fuckwit!” Rachael roared. “I almost had someone die in my car, and you want me to jack you off?”

Marco could tell that she was unsettled, so he asked timidly, “Tomorrow?”

“Yeah, tomorrow,” she muttered, “Give me my phone.”

Rachael tucked her cell phone into her jacket pocket and walked out of his apartment, walked up the stairs and inserted her key.

Cocaine knocked on her door, and she wanted to let him in, but no. Cocaine was to be consumed only in the good times, only in times of celebration, to celebrate a win or a conquest; snorting when she was feeling like shit was not on. She was semi-addicted, she acknowledged that, but she didn’t want to be a junkie who moaned, Gee, I feel like shit, I better have a snort!

She was a prisoner of cocaine, but she wanted to have a say in the terms of her detention.

Bourbon it was, three bigger than normal shots, because the woman was on her mind. Lectures from the first aid courses leapt into her mind, With cranial and spinal injuries, one must never move …

She was tired, tired and fucked out, and she wanted to pull her bowel out and scream at it, ‘If I sneeze, just stop with the fucking pissing!’ And she wanted to blow up Angels Stadium, ‘I hate you fuckers!’ And as she slammed her glass down, she wanted to replace the owner of the car, the car that no doubt had a big ding in its right side. ‘So yeah, you just drive off, you fucking creep!’

Rachael bedded down, restless, uneasy, knowing that her fragile mind was ripe for the plucking, or the fucking. In this state of mind, He would tip-toe into her dreams, standing there trembling, the gun in his right hand, he probably knowing that in a psychological sense, he was just about to fuck her up totally and irreversibly.

Lying in bed, she wanted to dream about Officer Jamieson stripping for her, but the woman was in her mind; crumpled, not breathing, slumping, her left leg dangling. Depressingly, Rachael assumed that she may have already passed away, or if she did survive, her future would be anything but bright.

“Welcome to my world.” Rachael said wryly.

Staring at the ceiling, her mind drifted. Had she seen a flickering light hovering above the road? And when the woman was securely harnessed in the car, had she heard, of been conscious of someone, or something saying, Hello?

Sleep, going to sleep would be good, that is, if she was allowed to sleep peacefully.

Her days were good, her days were spent doing the things that she enjoyed, but her nights were different, her nights were owned by Him. Doze, sleep, slip into the Land of Dreams, and then yeah, when all your defences were down, He would slither in.

Rachael didn’t deserve what happened to her eight years ago, like shit, nobody deserved to be involved in such a horrific incident; but it did happen, God’s-Greatest-Ever-Fuckwit had blown the normality out of her, and nights were now the tentacles, grasping for her, wrapping her up, squeezing the fuck out of her, never letting her escape, never letting her forget.

Sleep would come, because she was tired, but sleep would allow Him to flutter in; the fuckwit trembling, the gun in his right hand, Him knowing, just knowing of the psychological devastation he would cause.