A Snowy November Night This story may contain adult content.

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Officer John Walker sat slumped against his squad car. It was dark and cold, snow was falling – his nostrils burned with every shallow breath as he sat helplessly in a deserted parking lot on the abandoned side of town. He was bleeding to death, his body slowly draining of all its liquid, all of its energy. He could still feel the hot liquid running from the two bullet holes in his chest, although they were bleeding a lot slower now – he didn't know if that was a good or bad thing, but he was thinking it was bad. He attempted to stand up to no avail; sharp pains the only thing piercing the numb fog-like feeling that had settled over his body in the past fifteen minutes.

He couldn't stand, his body wouldn't let him – he was alone and about to die in a shitty old Target parking lot. It was fucked up way to die; it wasn't how he wanted to die. Of course you never want to die – but you sure as hell don't want to die alone, in an empty parking lot in the middle of November. What a shitty way for a 26 year old life to come to an end. There was nothing particularly wrong with a November death, other than that was when his dad had passed. He took a moment to think, it was becoming harder to concentrate – it was eleven years ago next Thursday that John Walker Sr. had been killed in a car accident while coming home from work. It was an early snow storm; it came down with a vengeance – over a foot in less than two hours. His dad had promised to come home, promised to come to his basketball game – but never showed. You know, one of those after school special scenarios – except it had actually happened to him. How could you hate your dad for dying? It was mind boggling – but he did, his selfish 15 year old mind blaming him for speeding, blaming him for sliding across the center line, blaming him for not wearing his seat belt and getting ejected.

He hated things that were out his control, hated to think of things that gave him that weird feeling in the pit of his stomach – like maybe his father needed to set things straight between them, so he pulled some strings with God and got him an early admittance. It was a weird thought to have, but it felt like a possibility. His mind shifted quickly, he also hated when people said "when it's your time, it's your time." – He couldn't accept that. He couldn't accept that if there really was a God, the heartless bastard would choose this place and time as his.

"Was I such a bad person that this is what I deserve? A right place, wrong time type of thing – to be shot by a panicked teenager – to spend my last minutes freezing my ass off while my wife and kids wait for their husband and dad to come home?" he was barely aware that he had spoken out loud, not in his head. He tried to shake his thoughts lose; he had no control at what was flowing through his head. He felt like a boy locked in a theater, his entire life being played from the projector upstairs.

His eyes began to get heavy, his eye lids like electronic garage doors and his mind had clicked the button and there was nothing he could do. As they closed the first time, for the first time – the pain stopped, it felt like he could finally take a deep breath – like the bullet holes had been magically removed from his chest – like his life had be rewound.

He was sitting in his kitchen, it was summer time – his son ran through the kitchen, water gun in hand – he could hear the screen door open and close – followed by playful screams. He smiled as he watched his wife walk across the kitchen and look at the window facing the backyard – a smile coming across her face. He could smell the fresh cut grass outside, he could hear the mower that just cut it turn off, he heard the screams of joy – hell – he could even see the love of his life – what could be better? And it wasn't November; it wasn't that cold, snowy November that had taken his father's life and would soon take his.

And just like that it was gone, he found himself still slumped against the car – he looked around, the snow had started to fall harder – the weatherman had said six-to-eight inches, he'd be glad just to see four of them. The snow around him had taken on a crimson color… the stretching half-circle looked to be growing. How much blood could you lose before you died? You had a gallon of blood, no two… he couldn't remember. The only thing he knew was he was running out of it and doing it faster then he would've liked.

He lifted his arm and felt for the door handle, he had to try and get to the radio – it was his only hope. As he felt the icy metal against his already cold hands he began to remember why he hadn't already tried it. With a pull of the handle, he felt what he already knew - that it was locked – he remembered the kid's friend had grabbed his keys… remembered he had thrown them as far as he could. He felt his hold body give up, slumping father down – putting pressure on his wounds. He sucked cool through his teeth as grimaced in pain.

"Fuck!" he yelled as he felt new, warm streams of blood trickle down his chest pooling inside his navel. And his eyes started to get heavy again, his mind was twirling… his breaths coming faster and shallower – there were deep pains in his chest, not just the bullet ones either, something deeper. He couldn't seem to catch his breath; he closed his eyes as everything had become blurry… with another few quick breaths he felt everything go limp and then it was all black.

It was dark, but he was in a car again. It was extremely warm inside; the sound of the heat blowing was loud – but mostly drowned out by the music, he couldn't make out the words or who was in the driver's seat. He was in the back seat, looking outside he couldn't see anything – snow was falling in a thick blanket – it was a complete whiteout. As they puttered along, he attempted to lean forward, to see who was driving the vehicle – his curiosity was getting the best of him. But as he tried to lean forward, the front seat began to get farther away. He jumped up, again trying to get to the front seat and again the front seat seemed to run form him. It was like a bad funhouse gag – surreal, he couldn't quite understand what was going on – was he dreaming, was he dead? What was happening? And as he asked himself this, he heard the driver speak, the voice piercing through the sounds of the music and the heater… it was his dad, it had to be – he could tell that deep gruff voice anywhere. But he couldn't hear what he was saying, he leaned forward and the voice became farther away – was he losing his mind? How could he be in the car with his dad? His dead was dead… had been for along time.

—Slam!—

He was shot back to reality with the sound of a slamming door. His eyes cracked open, his vision blurry – was it the two kids, back to finish the job? Had someone come to help? Whoever it was still silent, he heard the footsteps crunching in the snow. They reached him before his vision had cleared, standing above him… "Hey mister, are you dead?" he didn't recognize the voice, it wasn't his deceased father or a dead relative… maybe he wasn't crazy after all. "Hello?" the person took a few steps back as they said it, whoever it was – they sounded older, possibly in their 50's – a man's voice.

"No, I'm alive." John said - his voice gruff and cracked.

The man immediately grabbed for his arm – trying to help him up. The pain was incredible – but it was worth it, it would totally be worth it when he was laying on one of those rock-hard hospital mattresses, in a nice warm room – hell, even surgery sounded like a breeze after the night he had been through. The man was strong, stronger then his stocky frame would lend you to believe. John tried his best to help the man; they slowly made it to his car – a long boat of a car. It looked like a Cadillac but no one was foolish enough to drive a Cadillac in this weather – were they? He didn't feel like getting in a car accident tonight as well. The man propped John up against the car and opened the back door. The smell of pine scented air freshener was overwhelming – it burned his nostrils worse than the icy cold air.

"Here, let's get you in the back – you'll be more comfortable in there." The man had a point, sitting up front would be a pain in the ass… and the chest as well – he tried to smile at his own joke, but his face was frozen in it's place… frozen in a discontented smile.

Finally after somewhat of a struggle, he was able to flop down in the back, the man doing his best to get John's legs in before shutting the door. The light inside the car went off with the shutting of the door; he was back in the darkness for a few seconds before the man got into the front. He didn't know if it was the position he was laying in or the blood he had lost on the trip to the backseat, but he felt his mind begin to wander again… and his body started to get numb.

"You know where the hospital is right?" John said, his mind getting lazy – he felt panic in the pit of his stomach, was he dying? What was going on?

The man cut into his thoughts, "Don't worry young fellow I know here I'm going - I'll take care of you." He didn't know this man from Joe-Shmoe, but the way he said it made him want to believe him. He felt his nerves start to fade a little as he peered up at the rear view mirror and saw the man smiling warmly back towards him. John's eyes began to close, his head resting against the door. As he lay there in his own darkness, he heard the radio click on and the same song come on that he had heard in his "dream". His last thought was that the man who had saved him looked a lot like his dad once had.

* * *

Two paramedics, riding along the old Industrial Park Road in their ambulance peered out the window. They had received a call from a frantic anonymous male, claiming that they had seen a police car parked in what was once a shopping center parking lot and they had thought they saw someone outside of the car, possibly hurt. It had sounded pretty fishy at first but could they risk it? Could they allow someone to die out in this shit? No, so they continued to peer out the window, visibility near zero – the wipers sliding back and forth every few seconds – almost as if it was trying to hypnotize them.

"Holy shit, look Rick!" The driver said, pointing to his right. As Rick looked past Chris' head – he saw it, saw him. Less than 50 feet away sat a Byron Police car and just outside, against the passenger's side door sat what looked to be the police officer the car belonged to. As they slowly approached the scene, it didn't look good – he was still, his eyes closed and from the look of it… he had lost a lot of blood.

The ambulance came to a sudden stop just a few feet away from the scene, Chris and Rick jumping out, one heading to the back to get the required gear – the other checking on the victim. "Two gun shot wounds to the chest, doesn't look good." As Chris came form the back, the large bag of medical stuff in hand – Rick reached out and pressed his warm finger against the officer's cold, blue neck. There was no pulse and from the feel and look of him, there hadn't been one for a few hours. Chris could see the look on Rick's face, and stopped knowing there was nothing they could do for him.

Rick stood up and defeated look on his face, even though he hadn't met this person before… it was still see sad to see a life end, especially under such unknown circumstances. "Hey, let's get the police on the line... they're gonna need to see this." Rick walked around the other side of the car, in respect of the dead and respect of the evidence that may catch whoever had done this – not wanting to lean over him. As he trudged his way through the mounting snowfall and reached for the door handle – locked, "shit" he mumbled. "Chris, call the police – I can't get in and use the radio – it's locked for some reason."

Police arrived less than 15 minutes later and the investigation would immediately begin. It would last several weeks before the two teenagers responsible for the murder were caught. They would later receive the death penalty for their terrible crime. It was later reported that autopsy results had shown that the officer had died instantly and had not suffered – it was the only comfort they could give the surviving family members.

Comments (1)

Posted by Rams117 04-29-2008 16:46,   Nice I liked it. Good story, but shitty way to die. So did he die instantly or was that a lie given to the family by the police? thats my only question.   » Report this comment to administrator » Reply to this comment...

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