Chapter Two
As a fine mist fell from the sky, Eleanor West sang along to “Scared of Lonely” by Beyoncé as she drove her yellow 2007 Volkswagen Jetta toward the Chase Center for Training. Her car, like her blonde hair, bounced along Route 703 to her first day as head of their new equine therapy program. This job meant everything to her.
As a copse of trees darkened the roadway, and her windshield wipers scraped across the glass, a memory assaulted her. Her fingers gripped the steering wheel until her knuckles turned white. Her stomach knotted, the pain too familiar. She swore she heard a cry.
“Birdie,” she murmured.
The song on the radio switched to “Uptown Funk,” bringing her out of her own funk. With that, she began to sing and dance in her seat.
Another mile down the road, she stopped singing and lifted the cardboard cup of black coffee to her lips to drink the last drop. “You’ve got this.” She popped a mint into her mouth from the container she kept in the center console. “Relax, Ellie. You have plenty of time.”
The animal therapy program wasn’t expected to begin until Sunday. She’d already spent six weeks in orientation in DC. She met every therapist as well as the staff assistants. She’d read their files as well as their therapy notes for the clinic patients they’d worked with during orientation. The only unknown was the horses. And for that, she had six more days. She took a few deep breaths. “It’s going to be alright.
“Step one, sign in at the main office and meet the boss. Two, go to the stables. Meet barn manager…” She reached for a clipboard on the passenger seat. “Luke Traylor. Three, wait for the animals to arrive.” Ellie talked through her plans.
The drive to the main entrance should take her ten minutes more according to her GPS. As she crested a hill, a large black and white Holstein dairy cow suddenly blocked her path.
“Ahhh!” she cried. Trying to avoid it, she slammed on her brakes, her car losing traction on the rain-slickened road. Losing control, the car skidded into a tree, wrapping the driver’s side around it. The airbag deployed as a large branch punctured the window. Eleanor’s chest absorbed the impact.
Pebbled glass from the driver’s side window exploded into her eyes. Blood dripped down her face, further obscuring her vision. The sounds of creaking metal and steam were obscured by voices swirling around her.
“Is it her?” a male voice asked.
A baby cried. “Shh, shh, shh. We needed to question her, not kill her,” a woman growled.
“Someone is coming. Get out of here,” another man said.
A hand touched Eleanor. “Ellie Belly, keep your secrets.”
Eleanor’s hand rose to wipe the glass and blood free from her eyes, making her vision worse and cutting her fingers.
“Lindy, is that you?”
Her body began to shake uncontrollably.
* * *
Wes headed back to the Center, happy after dropping off the electrical engineer’s certificates of completion to Town Hall went off without a hitch. “The Fighter” played on his radio. As Carrie Underwood and Keith Urban sang their duet, he patted the envelope containing the certificates of occupancy for all the new and newly renovated structures.
As he drove, white fog rose in the distance. A bright yellow vehicle curved around a large tree was surrounded by a haze of white steam. “Damn.”
Wes pulled in front of the car, parked and yanked his bag from the rear of his Tahoe. Running toward the crushed vehicle, he dialed 911. “This is Wes Crockett, paramedic with the Chase Center for Training, Ambulance, requesting fire-rescue for a car into tree. Route 703, one half kilometer east of Clarke’s Gap Road.”
Looking around, he checked for any obvious hazards as he shucked on a pair of gloves. As he got closer, he called out to the driver. “Can you hear me?”
“Help me, please,” a woman cried out.
He found a woman with beautiful blonde curls. “Hi, Curly, I’m Wes. I’m a paramedic. What’s your name?”
“El-lie. I can’t see.” A bloody hand reached out in front of her. “Don’t leave me.”
“I’ve got you.” He grasped one hand and reached through the shattered glass of the driver’s side window to turn off the engine. “I’m right here. An ambulance is coming. I need both hands to take a look at you.”
“Promise you won’t go,” she mumbled through chattering teeth.
“I’m here for the whole ride.” The words made him flash to another badly injured young blonde, a woman he treated in Afghanistan. He pulled off his jacket and covered her. “Ellie, you have glass in your eyes. I’m going to wrap them to keep them from getting worse.”
“Okay,” she sniffled.
