White Horse - Chris Stapleton
It’s Wednesday when I take Teddy into town for ice cream.
The kind of blistering afternoon that makes the bitumen shimmer and the flies act like they own the bloody place. I’d kill to be back at work. At least then, there’s noise, movement, something to drown out the silence. But I’m on leave, which means I get to sit with my thoughts.
Fucking great.
I’ve been trying these past few days. Trying to fill the space Olivia left behind. I’ve taken Teddy fishing down by the creek, helped Mum hang more fairy lights along her veranda, even dragged myself into the station to sort through ‘old’ reports, while Sandra babysat Teddy for the day. But no matter what I do, there’s a stillness that clings. A hollow space where her voice used to sit.
Teddy’s hand is sticky from the melting chocolate cone he’s clutching, his mouth covered in ice cream and freckles. He’s happy, talking about how Santa’s going to bring Diesel new toys. And for a second, I almost feel fine, until a shrill shout cuts through the heat.
“We need help! Someone help!”
I spin instinctively, scanning the crowd forming outside the hardware store. My pulse spikes. Teddy grabs my shirt, his fingers tightening.
“Stay close,” I tell him, already flashing my badge. “Move aside, please. Police.”
The crowd parts, and that’s when I see the lifeless-looking body sprawled on the concrete floor inside the small store. But it’s not the scene itself that makes my blood run cold, or the shiver tear through my skin. It’swhoit is.
Dominic Mitchell.
Olivia’s father.
For a split second, the gasps, the frantic chatter, the shuffle of feet,allnoise… just fades. All I can hear is the pounding in my chest, heavy and relentless. He’s lying half in the aisle, his shirt damp with sweat, skin washed out to an ashy grey. A woman kneels near his head, with a phone pressed to her ear.
“Christ.” The word slips out but I’m already dropping to my knees beside him. “What happened?”
“He just… fell,” an older man says shakily. His hands flutter uselessly near the man’s legs. “One second, he was reaching for something on the shelf, and the next, he was down. We think maybe a stroke? Is he breathing?”
I lean in, and my years of training kick in. Pulse check, airway, responsiveness. His pulse is faint but steady. “Yeah, but it’s weak,” I mutter. “Okay, everyone, give us some space.”
I loosen his collar, tilt his head slightly, make sure his airway stays open. Sweat beads down my spine. “Teddy,” I call overmy shoulder, keeping my voice firm but calm. “Stay right there. Behind me. Don’t move, okay?”
His little voice trembles. “But what’s happening?”
“Someone’s sick, buddy,” I say, eyes never leaving Dominic. “I’m helping until the ambulance gets here. You just stay close to the door for me. You’re doing great.”
He nods, and both his hands clutch the strap of his backpack tightly.
“Someone grab a towel or a jacket, anything to cushion his head,” I bark out, scanning the faces around me. “Ambulance on the way?”
The woman still holding the phone from earlier nods. “They said five minutes!”
Five minutes. That’s all I need. Just five damn minutes. The tile under my knees is cold. My palms are slick. I keep my voice steady as I check Dominic’s airway again. “Come on, mate. Stay with me. You’re alright. You’re gonna be alright.”
A low, strained groan escapes him. His eyelids flutter once before sliding shut again.
“Dad…” Teddy’s voice wavers from behind me. “Is he gonna die?”
My chest tightens. I turn just enough to meet his eyes. “No, buddy. We’re not gonna let that happen. The ambulance is nearly here. I just need to make sure he’s comfortable until then, okay? Can you count for me? Remember how we practised? Count to fifty while I help, yeah?”
Teddy sniffles, and starts counting softly. The sound grounds me. Keeps me from spiralling. When the paramedics finally push through the doors, the atmosphere shifts in an instant. Two female paramedics drop to their knees beside me while another male wheels in the stretcher.
“Officer Daniels?” One of the women, whom I recognise from a case not long ago, Alana, spots me immediately. She crouchesdown beside Dominic, her tone calm but clipped. “You were first on scene?”
“Just after,” I answer, shifting back to make space. “He’d already gone down when I got here. Pulse is weak but steady. No visible trauma, from what I observed.”
Alana nods briskly, fingers already checking Dominic’s pulse, her partner securing oxygen. “Good. We’ll take it from here.”
