Johnnie opened her mouth and closed it again. She grabbed the camera and raced backward through the photos, then forward, examining every detail from the man to the background, which included the precise landscape where they’d traveled, as well as the wrecked Air Force vehicle and toppled old truck. She set the camera down and leaned back, hands on the table.
“You can see why I didn’t want you to speak to anyone else. The old man told the police what he told Jason….”
“What are you saying? Lookit. Look. No! This is crazy! Who else knows about this?” she demanded. She didn’t know what was happening, but she did know it wasn’t what they apparently thought and she wanted no part of any of it.
“Johnnie, when I called the cops, I just told them there was an accident and two people were hurt. When I got back and found him in our car, even I thought I must have grossly misunderstood what happened to him, you know, like maybe I was in shock, except I remembered it so well. And, of course, there was his story. But I was confused and kind of scared, so I didn’t tell the cops how he’d been hurt before I left, so the poor old dude just sounded crazy. But he didn’t care who believed him. He just praised the Lord. The good thing is, he didn’t know that stick and rock had been stuck in him, so he just thinks you brought him back from the ‘other side…;’ he doesn’t know how much more there was to it. I completely forgot about having taken the pictures till the captain picked me up at the hospital. So I showed him and told him everything. Everyone, including the cops were looking for you, but we didn’t tell them anything except you had been unconscious and probably wandered off. Then you called.”
For a very long minute, everyone was quiet. The men looked at the woman, then at each other, and back to her. She just stared at an unknown spot high on the wall with no expression at all. Finally, she slapped her hands on the table and looked from one to the other, saying, “Well, I obviously can’t convince you that this is a bunch of hooey, although I do see your concerns. But, since no one knows any better and you have these pictures, can we just call this one of those unexplained mysteries and get on with our lives?” She took great effort to keep a conversational tone, but most of her energy was internally controlling her every urge to simply get out of there to be alone. Alone. Her new favorite place…
Everyone appeared to be most comfortable, for now, with attempting to get on with business as usual, but the captain was duty bound and personally committed to point out a few pertinent rules of engagement. Much to Johnnie’s chagrin, her status had been updated in the military system as “whereabouts unknown” since she was at large for more than 24 hours--but the good news was she was not considered AWOL under the circumstances. Her absence and status, combined with the fact that she was in an accident and had received civilian medical treatment would require she receive a full military medical examination.
On a more personal note, the captain pointed out to Johnnie that while neither Jason nor he had made “false official statements” regarding the incident, they had omitted information---to include disclosure of the photos--- which put them both on thin ice if any facts came forward at a later date.
She laughed, genuinely, for the first time in two days when she realized they felt the need to make a pact to not let the information “out.”
“Boys, I mean Sir, and you,” pointing at Jason with the last word. “Do you honestly think I want anyone to hear this story? In fact, if you had any other ideas, I’d be forced to destroy government property by smashing that camera and would officially and loudly turn you both in as crazy and incompetent. Who do you think they’d believe?”
Her point was well taken. Although very down to earth, direct and certainly not professionally “polished,” Technical Sergeant Johnnie Carter had a better record and more credibility than either man – or than the entire public affairs staff, for that matter. She’d made rank the first time, every time, since joining the Air Force thirteen years prior. Although she flatly refused formal recognition, she was a very solid noncommissioned officer, having performed exceptionally in every capacity.
But an angel? Reflecting on her personal, off duty history and track record, she snickered loudly and actually snorted at the thought. Now that was funny.
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Other than the anxiety which had knotted her gut since sometime on Saturday, the next few days seemed almost normal when Johnnie returned to work, despite her supervisor’s recommendation that she take a few days off. Time off did not seem like the best way to get her mind off the recent events, particularly since the remainder of Sunday had seemed more like five whole days as she tried to fill time to avoid thinking about “it.”
The base clinic basically repeated the exam she’d received at the civilian emergency room; the doctors were most concerned about the fact that she had lost her memory for a day. She only had one bruise on her head and no conspicuous bumps, and the initial tests showed no damage. Her extended memory loss, however, indicated she’d had a traumatic brain injury. She had to take a number of verbal tests, which resulted in no sign for concern, but she was scheduled for an MRI the following week, nonetheless. Since she exhibited no other symptoms associated with serious brain injury, she was tentatively returned to duty … a call she’d already made, unbeknownst to the doctors.
By Thursday, she decided she needed to be more proactive about untying and dispensing of the knot in her stomach as well as the nagging questions in the back of her mind. She went straight from work to the gym, believing a good work out would help tremendously; it typically served as the best sober means of stress management. Not to mention, it would allow her to get up the next morning with good pain and no regret. Unfortunately this time, working out seemed to feed her anxiety. It felt as though her thoughts increased in direct relation to her heart rate while running on the treadmill. She realized she needed a Plan B.
That’s how she ended up taking a taxi to the pub a few miles from her apartment. She didn’t want to have few enough drinks to be able to drive home, and besides the safety risks, the career risks that accompanied D.U.I.’s were serious enough that the cost and inconvenience of a cab were well worth it.
Although she knew the bartender and many of the patrons at this hole in the wall, none were affiliated with the base, so she was easily able to relax not only from work, but from any prying questions about her recent car accident. While the captain and Jason remained quiet on what they considered to be supernatural elements of the events, it seemed like every other soul on the installation knew about the accident itself. Well-meaning concern was noted, but plain, old fashioned nosiness was even more notable and Johnnie had had about all the “benevolence” she could stand. She appreciated the concern, but she liked her privacy even more.
Taking a seat at the bar, she instantly felt more relaxed. As she chatted randomly with Sandy, the bartender for whom she had a growing affection, and a few of the customers coming and going, Johnnie gave in to the increasing warmth and slow buzz that eased through her with the second pint of beer.
She was feeling downright cathartic at the end of the third beer as her eyes settled on the TV mounted over the liquor bottles behind the bar. In a split second, her reclining nerves jerked to attention as the words, “Touched By an Angel” floated across the screen, hailing the beginning of a rerun television show.
“You gotta be shittin’ me,” she muttered, leaning against the bar, head hanging, slowly shanking back and forth. That lasted only seconds, however, as she buoyed her lagging spirit and called across the bar, asking Sandy for a shot of tequila. Jose Cuervo was a good friend and provided the best buzz known to man…and she felt fully justified to indulge in such a distraction, even on a Thursday night.
Sandy lumbered from the far end of the bar, literally blocking the light with his mass as he swayed her way. The man was utterly enormous. Once he occupied the chunk of space in front of Johnnie, the ba
rtender gestured toward her third empty mug. Once eye-level, which took significant leaning on the giant’s part, the gentle black man offered two words, “You driving?”
Flashing her hands, as if doing a magic trick, Johnnie wore a huge silly smile, saying grandly, “Look, Sandy, no keys!”
The burly man straightened with surprising grace and nodded, his eyes smiling more than his mouth, and he immediately accommodated the request. Heavily placing the shot glass in front of her resting arms, he added a kindly pat to the back of her hands. This girl was a dead ringer for the actress Jodie Foster, he thought, as he turned toward the shelves behind him. He reached for the open bottle of Cuervo Gold, then smiling, moved his hand to the right grasping the 1800… no extra charge. He naturally liked this young woman although he couldn’t say why. Observant, as many in his trade, he’d noticed she had that same effect on most customers, even though he’d never seen her try to impress or lure anyone. People just felt at ease around her, but he wouldn’t swear that she returned the trust. He had few friends and typically kept his distance with customers, but she offered no threat and, in fact, he felt an unexplainable affinity for her.
Filling the shot glass with one hand, he winked at her and with far superior magical acumen than she’d demonstrated with the “no-keys” trick, he produced salt and lemon slices, as if out of nowhere, with his other hand.
Glancing at the television, Johnnie carefully picked up the very full glass and held it up to Sandy in a toast, “Now YOU, my dear man, are a true angel!” And she promptly threw back the entire shot. That was the last word or thought she had that night of angels. Or accidents. Or three-legged dogs.
Mission accomplished.
A woman drinking alone at a bar, especially drinking tequila, was a hard thing for some men to ignore. Even more so when the woman didn’t look like a bar hag. And even more so when the man was one who had a penchant for spotting opportunities such as this.
She looked like she could put up a fight, but sizing her up, he was certain he was the one who would win. The physical thrill running through the center of his body told him it was his time. Finally. With that thought and a small smile, the man sitting alone at a table in the back of the room decided he should take a seat at the bar.
Adept at first impressions, as well as avoiding typical pick-up lines, the casually mannered, boyish-looking man eased onto the stool next to Johnnie, saying, “I can’t offer you a ride home, but I can surely offer you another one of those drinks. I never in my life saw a girl your size do a shot like a man!”
Hook, line and sinker. The singular statement was all it took as Johnnie thought she’d died and gone to heaven--a harmless looking guy who wasn’t trying to take her home, but was willing to buy her drinks? This was a deal made to order.
“Sandy, my man…I’d like you to meet my new friend and would you hook a sistah up?!”
Sandy was clearly skeptical of Johnnie’s bar pal and was civil, at best, as he poured more shots. He personally vowed to closely watch this one, only to be disappointed and worried a short time later when he realized he’d taken his eye off the ball while engaged with other customers. Although last time he’d checked, the man had left Johnnie sitting mutely at the bar, he turned his back a moment too long and then realized that she had also departed. When her pre-arranged cab arrived a short time after, he sorely wished he had her phone number, or even her last name. But all he had was a sick feeling of failure.
From somewhere in her dreamless fog, she reached out to pound the life out of the annoying alarm. Face in pillow, body on auto-pilot, Johnnie extended her arm up and slightly behind her at a forty five degree angle, then dropped squarely on her alarm-clock target. Or so she thought, but her knuckles skimmed the edge of a hard cold smooth surface and dropped off the edge of her bed. Missed.
Must be sleeping sideways. Just after her mental curse and before she readjusted her aim, her brain registered that it was a phone ringing, not her alarm screaming. Her head, however, was doing enough screaming of its own. Who was calling was secondary in importance to how she ended up sleeping with a vise on her head. Unlike the last time she’d awoken feeling like hell, she did have some memory of the behavior responsible for this pain. Well, at least till the tequila shots.
Eyes still closed, in her mind she vaguely saw Sandy and ...what was that guy’s name? The floating, albeit achy, quality of her thoughts froze with the gray memory of the guy at the bar. Maybe he was calling... did she give him her number? This led immediately to another, more alarming halt in the wandering thoughts, one that would have driven her eyes open if they weren’t smashed into the pillow.
Her phone didn’t sound like that.
She experienced a sickening familiarity in her gut as she slowly turned her head till the blackness behind her eyelids became gray and she squinted at the room around her.
“Oh no.”
She slowly sat up on a couch in a strange room. The phone had stopped ringing, but she saw it on the end table, next to a remote control and an ashtray. She tried to quickly gather her thoughts as she continued to scan the living room and kitchen of what looked like a very tidy studio apartment.
It was extremely quiet, and she felt alone, but had no idea if that was the case. Badly wishing she wasn’t experiencing this, especially so soon after last week’s fiasco, she chastised herself for what was apparently her own doing this time. Not one to dwell on regret and never prone to inaction, she stood up and cautiously awaited a response from her environment. No dog, no opening doors…no, “good morning, beautiful!” This was all good...
She spotted a DVD player and zeroed in on the time; it was five thirty. It seemed kind of light for this hour, but she thanked God…it was Friday morning and if she hustled, she could still get a cab home in time for work. Not proud, by any means, but a bit more encouraged, she spotted a door she hoped was the restroom.
Interesting, of late, how her most notable observations of “new friends” took place in bathrooms. She really needed to engage in more sophisticated social interactions, she told herself sarcastically.
This time, her surroundings were definitely more upper scale than an ancient trailer, but she could tell she was in a man’s domain unless some woman had a taste for men’s toiletries and wasn’t concerned about the typical feminine touch whatsoever in this bathroom. She looked in the drawers and cabinets for a clean towel, not worried about intruding; she had slept here, after all. She didn’t allow herself to acknowledge what else she may have done in this place as she located what she needed to wash up and eliminate her other pressing need, pain relief. After washing her face and awkwardly swallowing four aspirin with water straight from the faucet, Johnnie raked her fingers through her wavy, messy hair in lieu of combing it.
Oh, now that’s much better, she thought; she looked a little less like a bag lady, although she still looked conspicuously like she’d slept on a park bench. Now to find her purse and phone… her goal was to call a cab before her host awoke or came home or, whatever, and she could make a clean escape.
The purse was on the floor by the couch. Phone out, she pressed the power button, impatiently wishing she’d done this before going to the bathroom. She’d initially forgotten she’d turned it off at the bar last night; Jason had been trying to call her and she just wasn’t ready to talk to him. During the near-lifetime it took her phone to boot up, Johnnie warily looked around the room.
There were three doors besides the one to the bathroom…double doors covered by vertical blinds, which must have been to a balcony or back yard, the obvious “front door” and one other. She glanced at the creepy red eyeball on her smart phone which indicated she had at least a few more minutes before it was usable. Thinking she may as well see what she’d gotten herself into, she walked around the couch to peer into “door number three” to see if someone may be asleep in a bedroom. It was, indeed, a bedroom and the bed was empty and neatly made, but her relief quickly gave way to an anxious jump as she heard
the lock turn in the front door on the opposite side of the living room.
At that moment, her phone also came to life with sharp beeps, announcing voicemail. She turned to face her host; entering the room was the tequila guy from the bar...and he seemed very pleasantly surprised to see her.
“Wow! Johnnie! I’m so glad you’re still here!” He beamed and closed the door behind him. Before she could conjure up any response other than a slack jaw, he stopped and leaned on the door, looking suddenly serious, but intent. She had no clue what to expect, but it is certain she didn’t anticipate his next words.
“Thank you so much. Thank you. How can I ever repay you?”
Johnnie’s mind was on rapid fire as she flipped through the possible meanings of this man’s statement and disposition. With a smile half frozen on her face, she mentally shuffled through the most obvious possibilities.
She couldn’t have given him a ride home because she didn’t have her car. Besides, his apparent gratitude surpassed that which one would expect for a ride. It was unlikely she’d saved him from unknown harm since she’d been trashed herself, and he didn’t look physically traumatized in any way. The latter realization was something of a relief after the whole farmer-Lisa-baby thing.
Sex? Having slept on the couch she had initially hoped she hadn’t had a one-night-stand with him or anyone else…but what else made sense? She dropped her head, trying so, so hard to remember. Casual sex was not something she was prone to do these days. But if she had…it would just figure, she thought. She finally gets laid after a very long time and was apparently even worthy of not one, but two “thank you’s,” and she couldn’t even remember it! Crap…
“Johnnie! Are you alright?” His close voice snapped her back and she saw he was crossing the room toward her and now looked concerned. Apparently she’d ruminated a bit too long; must be the hangover fog, she thought as she darted to her right to avoid any contact with… whoever he was.
“Yes! Fine and you’re welcome…I guess. Look, I hate to be rude, but I have to be at work in an hour and a half and I don’t even know where we are…” She looked at him quickly, not wanting to admit she didn’t even know his name. She held up her phone. “I was just calling a cab….”
The Unlikely Savior (The Unlikely Savior Trilogy) Page 4
