Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 93453 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 467(@200wpm)___ 374(@250wpm)___ 312(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93453 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 467(@200wpm)___ 374(@250wpm)___ 312(@300wpm)
“I’m not leaving this place until they find her…” My voice trails off. “I won’t leave here without her.”
“We’ll be there as fast as we can. Are you okay?”
“I have a busted leg,” I admit to him. “Not sure what else. I don’t care. Dad, I’m not fucking leaving here without her.” My teeth clench as I tell him and hope everyone around me is listening.
“We’ll be there as soon as we can,” he assures me. “Charlie.” His voice is almost broken. “I’ll be there in less than an hour.” I don’t answer him. I can’t, my voice would break, and then it would be the longest hour of his life. Instead, I hang up the phone and hand it to the officer waiting there.
“Thank you,” he says, taking the phone from me. “We have a couple of questions, and you are the only one who seems to be awake.” I look up at him. “How many people were in the vehicle?”
“Six,” I reply. “I was in the front with Waylon,” I say, my voice trailing off, “four of them in the back. Brock, Everleigh, Jennifer, and Autumn.”
“Waylon,” he repeats as if he didn’t hear properly. “Cartwright?” He says his name right away and then hisses when I nod. “Fuck,” he swears, shaking his head.
“That’s his truck.” I point at his pickup. He takes his radio out and says something, but my eyes are watching the firefighters use the Jaws of Life to cut off the back door. They remove the door, and I don’t know why I hold my breath. It all feels like it’s happening in slow motion. Blond hair is revealed instead of Jennifer’s brown hair. Autumn falls to the ground, and I see she has blood in her hair. She groans as the firefighters get out of the way so the paramedics can take over. The sound of wailing is coming from across the street, and I look over to see a woman sitting by one of the wrecked vehicles with a man lying on the road. His limp hand is in hers as the paramedics move away from him, and her head falls on him. I see the paramedics shake their heads at the firefighters, and I know the man is gone. My eyes go back to the truck, and I see a firefighter getting into the cab and pulling a woman in his arms. I’m about to get up, even with a busted leg, to rush to see if they found Jennifer when I see him slowly moving Everleigh out.
“Do you know what happened?” he asks me, and I look over at the wreckage of the other two vehicles.
“It happened so fast,” I admit. “I looked forward, and Waylon, I think, lost control. He swerved, and then I felt like we were going in the air.”
“Do you know how fast he was going?” the officer asks, and I shake my head.
“Please,” I plead with him, “if you can go and see if my girlfriend is in there.”
He nods and walks back to another officer, taking someone else’s statement, who stands up and is quietly sobbing in her hands. He looks at him, then at me, and then at the ground before he comes to me.
“There were only five people in the vehicle,” he says softly, not sure what else to say.
“That’s impossible.” I shake my head. “We were all in there.” I point at the truck, the frustration in my voice.
“Was Mr. Cartwright drinking tonight?” he asks, and I shake my head.
“No, he was drinking water all night,” I tell him, “because he was driving.
“How is he?” I ask, and he avoids looking at me. “Is he bad?” I ask, and someone calls his name.
The officer just looks at me and then the paramedic. “I’ll be back.” He walks away from me, and I look at the EMT.
“You need to go and help someone else because I’m not leaving,” I inform him. He nods and gets up to walk away from me.
I don’t know how long I sit here with my eyes on the pickup, willing Jennifer to pop up from the truck. I see the firefighters on the other side of the truck at the driver’s door. They stand around waiting for something, who or what I don’t know. I hear a car door slam and look up to see my father walking over to the yellow tape that has the area closed off. The police try to stop him. “I got a call from my son,” he says, looking over, and I sit up.
“Dad,” I call to him, and he runs over my way, followed by my grandfather, who is right behind him.
“Holy shit,” my father swears once he gets close enough to see the truck. “Charlie.” He gets on his knees. “You’re hurt.” He grabs my neck, squeezing it.