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While I couldn’t see anything, Icouldmove my hands and pulled forth the phone I should have used before. I’d been brash and stupid, confronting those intruders. In my defense, this should have been a safe place. Drug crimes usually flourished in the downtown areas, not out in the boonies where I had chosen to do business.
It took some maneuvering before I could dial.
“Nine-one-one, what’s your emergency?”
“I was attacked.”
The tone turned brisk and efficient. “Where are you? Are you injured?”
“Definitely bruised. I don’t know if anything is broken. I can’t really move as I’m stuck under a pile of junk.”
“Er, what?” The surprise in the operator’s voice almost made me smile.
Only there wasn’t anything funny about the situation.
I quickly explained and gave them my location. I would have stayed on the line if my phone hadn’t died. Not really a surprise. Usually, I charged it overnight.
As I lay there, I tried not to panic, especially since a cold breeze tickled my skin. It didn’t help that I had the sense of being watched.Please, don’t let it be rats. I fucking hated those pink-tailed bastards.
It felt like an eternity before I heard the sirens. Never thought I’d be happy to see the cops. Although, the time it took to bust open the lock to the main gates tempered that happiness.
Not knowing if they could see me, I started yelling. “I’m over here.”
“Found her. I see feet,” someone yelled, flashing a light that blinded me through the crevices formed by the metal tenting over me.
“Hold on, ma’am. We’re figuring out how to extract you without destabilizing the pile.”
Being a bit of a smart ass, I quipped, “Anyone bring the jaws of life?”
I was worried when a different voice whispered, “Should we go get them?”
But it turned out they only had one real idiot in the group. The rest of the officers proved efficient, setting up lights and then playing a game of Jenga with my metal tent.
They removed pieces one by one, being careful not to shift the weight of the pile on me. It took forever, and only as they got to the last layer covering me did I see what had kept me from being crushed—an old motorcycle frame. The thick handlebars on the front dug into the ground and angled the body, allowing it to hold everything else off me. As the first responders heaved the last bits from me, I emerged like a broken butterfly from her metal cocoon to rapid-fire questions. The cops’ faces were a blur, as were the EMTs’ surrounding me.
“Are you okay?”
“Can you tell us what happened?”
“Where does it hurt?”
I gave them the condensed version of my attack while an EMT placed a blanket around my shoulders. I’d not realized just how cold I’d gotten lying there. The same EMT tried to get me on a stretcher, but I waved her off.
“I’m fine,” I protested as I tottered for the flashing lights in the main part of my yard. It might have been more convincing if I hadn’t passed out.
I woke in a hospital bed, which, depending on your purview, wasn’t necessarily better than the pile of junk. I’d always hated hospitals. The smell. The noise. I’d spent too much time inside one as my mom battled cancer—two years of watching the woman who loved me waste away. At least my dad had gone quickly. A heart attack that’d dropped him instantly.
A quick assessment showed an IV in my arm, most likely fluids so I didn’t dehydrate. Too many bandages adorned my body, including one around my temple and over one eye. Judging by my pain level, they’d definitely not drugged me heavily enough. The slightest movement brought a gasp to my lips. Still, determined, I heaved myself into a sitting position.
My one good eye closed to fight the spinning in my head, which meant I didn’t realize that I wasn’t alone until a man spoke.
“Mrs. Collins-Harris, are you awake?”
The old name brought a curl to my lips. “Actually, it’s Ms. Collins. I’m divorced.” Sadly, not all my identification showed it yet. Funny how the government had no problem changing my name to add The Jerk’s surname, but when taking it off, they dragged their bureaucratic feet.
It shouldn’t be that difficult. After all, I’d existed before I married The Jerk. I’d brought in just as much as he did to the household. But, apparently, that didn’t count for shit. Citing delays from a pandemic long over, I’d yet to receive my updated health card and driver’s license.
“Ms. Collins, I am sorry to intrude, but I was hoping you might be feeling well enough to answer some questions.”
