the incline.
At almost five feet nine inches tall, Angela was not a small woman, but this guy was huge, a good six and a half feet, and packed solid beneath the jacket he wore. She stumbled under his weight, and the two practically fell the last couple of feet to land against the car. Thank you, God, for keeping him conscious.
“Fug,” came a muffled curse from behind the helmet’s visor.
“Sorry.”
The injured man leaned against the car while Angela opened the door, and then began to slide down the side.
“Buddy,” she said as she gave him a gentle shake, “don’t pass out yet. Come on, you need to get into the car.”
With a grunt and a long moan, the man shoved himself away from the vehicle, turned his body, and fell into the passenger seat, ducking his head just in time. The stranger let loose a string of profanities as he tried to fold his legs into the tiny car. By the time she closed the door and climbed in the driver’s side, her passenger was silent. The man’s heavy breathing inside the helmet assured her that he was at least still alive.
Oz slumped against the door. Shitty small car. Probably Japanese.
The bright light of the speeding SUV reflected in his mirror. Red eyes of the demon staring from inside the menacing vehicle.
The smell of perfume. Did she say something?
Airborne. Ground. Pain. A voice. Angel in tight jeans. Long hair. Longer legs.
Finally the car moved.
Darkness.
****
The drive back to the town seemed longer than she remembered. As Angela drove up to the doors marked emergency , a tall, thickset man in crisp, light green hospital attire came jogging from the parking lot. Nurse or janitor, she didn’t care which.
“What happened?” he asked. His name tag announced him as Tracy. Did he have the right tag on?
“There was a motorcycle accident, outside of town.” She got out of the car. “The rider is in the other side. He’s hurt. I think his left arm may be broken. He could walk when I got there, but I’m not sure he’s conscious anymore. He hasn’t said anything else since I got him in the car.”
Tracy scooted around the vehicle and peered in the window. “Be right back,” he said and hurried into the hospital.
He returned a minute later with a gurney and another, female, nurse. Angela met them at the passenger side door.
“Ready?” Angela opened the door on their nod. The male nurse leaned in and caught the unconscious passenger as he fell out.
Together, the female nurse and Angela lifted the rider’s legs and helped transfer the deadweight body onto the gurney. Angela followed them through the hissing doors into the cool, antiseptic air of the hospital. She stopped short as the nurses pushed their patient through a second set of doors, those ones marked authorized personnel only .
Angela vacillated in the waiting area, unsure what to do next, until the female nurse came back.
“Luckily, one of the doctors is here. He just finished stitching up a kid. Sometimes they’re on call at night. Why don’t you park your car and then come back in? We’ve got a fresh pot of coffee.” The nurse, whose name tag read Jackie, glanced toward the coffeemaker. “We’ll need you to fill out some paperwork.”
“Paperwork?” repeated Angela. “I don’t even know his name. He was in a motorcycle accident. My cell phone wasn’t working, so I brought him in.”
“Well, we’ll need you to stick around. We’ll have to call the police when we get a minute. They’ll want to ask you some questions.”
“Yeah. Sure,” said Angela, as the nurse slipped back through the doors.
Angela stepped into the cooling night air. The burden of the gun weighed heavily in her purse and she eyed the trunk. With her luck, the police would arrive while she had the gun in hand. Leaving the weapon in her bag, she moved the car to a proper spot and returned to the hospital.
The waiting area and the nurses’ desks were empty. She spied the coffee pot and several mugs behind
At almost five feet nine inches tall, Angela was not a small woman, but this guy was huge, a good six and a half feet, and packed solid beneath the jacket he wore. She stumbled under his weight, and the two practically fell the last couple of feet to land against the car. Thank you, God, for keeping him conscious.
“Fug,” came a muffled curse from behind the helmet’s visor.
“Sorry.”
The injured man leaned against the car while Angela opened the door, and then began to slide down the side.
“Buddy,” she said as she gave him a gentle shake, “don’t pass out yet. Come on, you need to get into the car.”
With a grunt and a long moan, the man shoved himself away from the vehicle, turned his body, and fell into the passenger seat, ducking his head just in time. The stranger let loose a string of profanities as he tried to fold his legs into the tiny car. By the time she closed the door and climbed in the driver’s side, her passenger was silent. The man’s heavy breathing inside the helmet assured her that he was at least still alive.
Oz slumped against the door. Shitty small car. Probably Japanese.
The bright light of the speeding SUV reflected in his mirror. Red eyes of the demon staring from inside the menacing vehicle.
The smell of perfume. Did she say something?
Airborne. Ground. Pain. A voice. Angel in tight jeans. Long hair. Longer legs.
Finally the car moved.
Darkness.
****
The drive back to the town seemed longer than she remembered. As Angela drove up to the doors marked emergency , a tall, thickset man in crisp, light green hospital attire came jogging from the parking lot. Nurse or janitor, she didn’t care which.
“What happened?” he asked. His name tag announced him as Tracy. Did he have the right tag on?
“There was a motorcycle accident, outside of town.” She got out of the car. “The rider is in the other side. He’s hurt. I think his left arm may be broken. He could walk when I got there, but I’m not sure he’s conscious anymore. He hasn’t said anything else since I got him in the car.”
Tracy scooted around the vehicle and peered in the window. “Be right back,” he said and hurried into the hospital.
He returned a minute later with a gurney and another, female, nurse. Angela met them at the passenger side door.
“Ready?” Angela opened the door on their nod. The male nurse leaned in and caught the unconscious passenger as he fell out.
Together, the female nurse and Angela lifted the rider’s legs and helped transfer the deadweight body onto the gurney. Angela followed them through the hissing doors into the cool, antiseptic air of the hospital. She stopped short as the nurses pushed their patient through a second set of doors, those ones marked authorized personnel only .
Angela vacillated in the waiting area, unsure what to do next, until the female nurse came back.
“Luckily, one of the doctors is here. He just finished stitching up a kid. Sometimes they’re on call at night. Why don’t you park your car and then come back in? We’ve got a fresh pot of coffee.” The nurse, whose name tag read Jackie, glanced toward the coffeemaker. “We’ll need you to fill out some paperwork.”
“Paperwork?” repeated Angela. “I don’t even know his name. He was in a motorcycle accident. My cell phone wasn’t working, so I brought him in.”
“Well, we’ll need you to stick around. We’ll have to call the police when we get a minute. They’ll want to ask you some questions.”
“Yeah. Sure,” said Angela, as the nurse slipped back through the doors.
Angela stepped into the cooling night air. The burden of the gun weighed heavily in her purse and she eyed the trunk. With her luck, the police would arrive while she had the gun in hand. Leaving the weapon in her bag, she moved the car to a proper spot and returned to the hospital.
The waiting area and the nurses’ desks were empty. She spied the coffee pot and several mugs behind
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