Runner

By M. J. Crook

He must have been in his early thirties or maybe even his late thirties. His jaw was broad and masculine and it appeared he had come from a line of warriors. Tall and broad of shoulder and chest, this man had to be one that was desired by many women.
Toes dug into the wet sand and his muscles pumped in a steady rhythm while his movement was graceful and smooth.
She saw the man tumble and fall. He now had her full attention as she watched to see if he had only fallen and would rise again, to run on, but it didnt happen. His body lay inert and still on the sand.
Opening the sliding glass door immediately, she ran full tilt toward the waters edge and the man who hadnt moved.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Apr 8, 2013
• ISBN: 9781481726962

M. J. Crook

Writing seemed to have been something she had always wanted to do. In her school years, she wrote romance and mysteries for her girlfriends. They encouraged her to write more, but there wasnt enough time. During college, she attended a police report writing class, learning much about observations. Since her profession required investigations on many subjects, including those on vehicle accidents, she was able to enjoy the writing of findings and putting the information in such a way so as to make it easier for the reader to picture what had transpired at the scene. She decided to take an early retirement, and she began to write in earnest. With a dozen romances on the shelf and several childrens stories as well, she continues to write to share the joy of finding that perfect half for many womens dreams. There is mystery and fiction, with a touch of paranormal in many of her stories too, so there is something for everyone with lots of possibilities.

Book preview

Chapter 1

23389.jpg

He was tall. At least six foot three. He looked as though he was in the best of health. He had muscles showing everywhere especially in his legs. Anyone could see that he was used to running, and probably lifted weights as well, since his arms and shoulders were massive in size.

The young man must have been in his early thirties or maybe even his late thirties. Certainly not any older than that! His hair was over his collar but well cut. He had an intelligent face with large dark brown eyes that matched the coffee color of his hair. There was just a little curl in his hair. Something that would make a woman dream of running her fingers through it, especially since it looked as though it was silky soft.

His jaw was broad and masculine. It appeared he had come from a line of warriors. Tall and broad of shoulder and chest, this man had to be one that was desired by many women. And there wasn’t any ring on his hand. But, of course, not all married men wore a wedding ring.

He had a long gait and he covered the ground rapidly. His head was up and his eyes scanned the horizon as though he planned to run that far. He appeared to have a great deal of stamina. Covering the wet sand easily he glanced around, then centered his vision on what was ahead of him. He seemed alert, yet he was miles away in his mind.

Toes dug into the wet sand and his muscles pumped in a steady rhythm. His movement was graceful and smooth.

The sun was still low in the sky but was shining brightly, reflected by his sweaty brow. He moved on down the beach, seeming to enjoy the breeze and fresh air against his face. The air was warm, even though it was early yet. It was late springtime and temperatures would probably rise to the mid eighties by noontime, along the beach. He wore a white tee shirt minus any picture or design on it. His shorts were standard local department store brand, and his shoes and socks were unmarked in any way. He was just a man out running on the sand. In his pocket he carried a small amount of change, a cotton handkerchief, and his cell phone.

As she watched the runner, she noticed his feet didn’t hit the sand in a hard way. There wasn’t any hard bounce in his step. Instead he seemed to glide smoothly over the sand without any jarring.

Suddenly there was a flash of bright light in his eyes. He instantly closed his eyes to try to stop the pain. He squeezed his eyes shut tightly and started to double over. His momentum kept him moving forward even though his feet had stopped running.

His shoulder hit the sand first. Then he tumbled, rolling head over heels before coming to a stop at the edge of the water. As his feet came flying over his head they slammed into the wet sand and he landed like a rag doll. By then, his mind had shut down and he was unconscious.

An artery in his brain had ruptured when more pressure than was normal pressed against a weak spot. It was bound to happen sooner or later. The undetected weak spot in the artery wall simply gave way.

He lay splayed out across the sand where he ran several days each week. He passed many homes that sat only feet from the incoming waves. And for his sake, thank goodness this was true.

A woman had been standing inside her picture window, sipping her first cup of coffee for the morning. She usually took her coffee cup with her into the den where she would sit at her computer, typing away. Yet this morning she had an urge to enjoy the glow of sunshine across the warming sand. And she saw the young man tumble and fall. Immediately she watched to see if he had only fallen and would rise again, to run on, but no such thing happened. His body lay inert and still on the sand. It frightened her. Immediately she sat her cup down and raced for the patio door. Pushing it open she ran full tilt toward the water’s edge and the man who hadn’t moved.

Her heart raced and she worried that something awful might have happened. At first she expected him to be stunned but able to get back on his feet, but when that didn’t happen, her heart beat harder in fear for him.

Sliding to a halt beside him she knelt down and looked at his face. His muscles in his face looked relaxed but his eyes were closed. He appeared to be asleep. She put her hand on his shoulder and shook him gently. Hey, Guy! she said to him. Buddy? Are you all right?

There wasn’t any response and she couldn’t help but wonder why. It just didn’t seem normal for him to be unconscious. He had only tumbled!

When she realized he wasn’t going to rouse she began searching his pockets for some form of identification. She looked at his wrist and neck for a medical alert piece of jewelry, but found none.

As she searched his pockets she found his cell phone. Looking at the keypad she quickly searched for his phonebook file. She hoped there might be some identification there. Scrolling down through the names he came across one that was labeled Mom. She saw he had voice capability for making outgoing calls, but realized that only his own voice would be recognized, so she couldn’t make the call using her voice to activate. She managed to locate his mom’s number and punched in the digits. As she waited for someone to pick up at the other end, time seemed to drag. Finally a woman’s voice came on the line. Hello? Is that you Tom?

Hello? she said to the voice. I live on the beach and I saw your son running. He’s fallen and seems to be unconscious. He doesn’t have any identification on him. Will you tell me what his name is?

What? Is this a joke? the voice asked.

No! No! Listen, this is a medical emergency! Your son had this number in his cell phone listed as ‘mom’. I managed to get the number up so I could dial you. He’s lying here on the beach out cold. Only I don’t who he is!

Oh my land! came the reply. Are you sure it’s my son?

Let me describe him to you. He looks like about six three, dark hair and very handsome. He looks big and solid, and actually very healthy. Does that sound like your son?

Yes, it does. Oh, what can I do to help? she asked.

Tell me his name!

His name is Thomas Woodley. He runs almost every morning. I don’t understand what could have happened.

I understand. Is your name Woodley also? she asked.

Yes! What’s wrong with my son? the mother asked.

I’m not sure. You know your son’s cell phone number don’t you?

Yes, I have it here by the phone.

Then I want you to call nine one one and tell them that your son is unconscious on the beach at 243 Oceanside Way. That’s my address! Send the paramedics! Then you can reach me if you need to at your son’s cell number. I’ll stay with him until the paramedics take him. You will be able to find out from them what hospital they are taking him to, or you can call me here and I’ll tell you. That is, until they take him. Do you want me to return his cell phone to you, or should I give it to the paramedics to take with him to the hospital?

No, don’t give it to anyone. They might decide to use it. I live on Pinewood in Santa Monica. Would it be possible for you to go to the hospital where he will be taken? I could meet you there and get the phone from you there. I’d very much like to meet the person who helped my son.

Yes, I could do that. But get off the phone now and call nine one one. Or do you want me to call from this cell phone?

Maybe you ought to call from his cell phone. Then you can tell them exactly where he is. I’m afraid I’m a bit shaken up right now. And when you find out where they are taking him, please call me back so I can meet you at the hospital.

Okay! Talk to you later! and she quickly cut the connection. Punching in the numbers she called for paramedics. In only minutes she could hear the siren approaching.

Holding the cell phone to her ear so the operator would know that she was still holding on, she ran for her house, opening the back door and running straight through to the front door. She went out the door just as the paramedics were stepping out of their ambulance. She waved her hand at them to get their attention.

The two paramedics approached her with their hands full of equipment. Where is he? one asked.

He’s on the sand. We’ll have to go through my house. Follow me! She turned and ran for her front door, holding it open for them to pass through. Then she ran inside, leading them to the sliding glass door that led onto the sand. Again holding the door for them, they all raced across the warming sand with their gurney, to the still body lying near the water’s edge.

The paramedics set up their monitors quickly and began checking Tom’s vitals. As soon as they were in contact with the hospital they relayed what they had found out. With the information of what the young woman had seen from her window, they began to surmise that there was a possibility of an embolism, or a rupture in an artery, or even possibly a stroke. Just looking at the healthy condition of the man, they doubted it was a stroke. But, of course, as paramedics, they knew that even supposedly healthy looking people have strokes.

Marsha gave her name and other information to the paramedics and told them she had made contact with the man’s mother and that she would be meeting them at the hospital. Then they loaded the still unconscious man into the ambulance and started for the hospital.

Marsha called Tom’s mother on his cell phone and informed her where they were taking her son and that she would meet her there, in the emergency room. Hanging up, she rushed for her car, since the paramedics were already gone.

Finding a parking spot at the hospital took a little while, but Marsha finally found one in the far end of the lot. She knew the ambulance would have already dropped off Tom and she pretty much assumed that his mother had already arrived as well, since Marsha suspected that his mother lived closer to the hospital than Marsha did. Walking into emergency she looked around. Not feeling as though she would recognize Tom’s mother, she moved to the information desk and asked for Thomas Woodley. The nurse informed her he was in room four and that his mother was with him. Marsha thanked the nurse and headed for room four.

Stepping into the room Marsha saw Tom on the table. There were several doctors and nurses working on him. His mother was talking to a nurse just inside the door. The nurse excused herself and stepped over to Marsha. ‘I’m sorry, but you will have to wait outside. Do you know his mother? she asked Marsha.

I’ve spoken with her, but I don’t actually know her, answered Marsha.

She is quite upset, and that’s understandable. She refuses to leave the room. We need to have her wait in the waiting room. Would you assist me in getting her out of here? I’m sure seeing what is going on here would be very disturbing to her.

Yes, of course. I’d be glad to take her to the waiting room. I need to speak with her anyway. Marsha turned to the woman watching what was taking place at the table. Mrs. Woodley? she said to the woman. I’m Marsha, the person who called you. Would you come with me? I think we should talk.

Without saying a word Mrs. Woodley grabbed on to Marsha’s arm and went quietly from the room.

Marsha led her to a pair of chairs in the corner. She could see there were tears in the woman’s eyes. After seating Mrs. Woodley in one of the chairs, she sat down beside her. I’m so glad I was able to reach you on Tom’s cell. Oh, I have it here. Let me give it to you. Marsha pulled the cell phone from her purse. You are Mrs. Woodley aren’t you? she asked.

Yes, she whispered. I’m Mrs. Woodley. Thank you for your kindness to my son, she said.

Marsha handed the cell to the woman. Have they said anything yet as to what they think happened?

I heard one of the doctor’s say something about an artery rupturing and that they were going to send him to surgery. He also said something about pressure in his head due to hemorrhaging.

Oh, yes, I guess that would make sense. If an artery ruptured, there would be blood in there. They would have to remove it to reduce pressure on his brain.

Do you think he may die? she asked Marsha.

I really don’t know. I’m sure there could be complications, but since I’m not a doctor or a nurse, I really don’t know. But I do understand that they wouldn’t want pressure on his brain. That can cause all kinds of problems, including coma.

Oh my! He’s all that I have now. His father died last year of a stroke. He was such a good man. Tom is all the family I have left. I couldn’t bare it if I lost him too. Mrs. Woodley began to cry softly, her hand over her face.

Feeling as though she ought to do something for the woman, Marsha gathered her into her arms and just held her as she cried. "We should trust the doctor’s to do what’s best for him. We have to think positive about all of this, Mrs. Woodley.’

Yes dear, I’m sure you’re right, she said as she raised her head from Marsha’s shoulder. I just can’t help but worry. It hasn’t been that long since I lost his father. I guess I’m not very strong, she told Marsha.

Of course you’re strong. This has just been a shock to you. I’ll stay with you if you want. We’ll see this through together. Would that be all right with you? Marsha asked.

Oh yes, dear. I would appreciate your staying with me, as she gasped, trying to stop crying. At least until after the surgery. Then maybe we’ll know what to expect. It just seems like he’s too young to be having such health problems. He’s always been so healthy and all. Mrs. Woodley dabbed at her eyes with a cotton handkerchief.

Marsha noticed the woman used a cotton handkerchief rather than a tissue. She had seen one similar to it in Tom’s pocket. What a wonderful tradition to use a real handkerchief, she told Mrs. Woodley. Did your husband use a real handkerchief also? she asked.

Yes! I liked to make them for him. I made some for Tom as well, but he wouldn’t use them.

Oh, I don’t know about that, Marsha told her. There was one in his pocket when I looked for some identification.

Oh! Mrs. Woodley said. Is that right? I hadn’t noticed that he actually used them. I figured he just put them in a drawer and forgot about them. That means a lot to me to know he actually carried one in his pocket. He really is a good man, my Thom.

What was his father’s name, Mrs. Woodley?

His name was Thomas also. Our son was named after his father. But we spelled it differently. It’s Thom, not the usual spelling of Tom.

Oh, how unique. I like that! It is different. Whatever made you think of using that spelling? Marsha asked the older woman.

Her tears had stopped now that she had someone to speak to about what was happening to her son. I don’t know. I rather liked the British way of spelling it, I guess. I just liked the way it looked.

I think I do too, Marsha told her.

Thank you dear. That’s very sweet of you. I think my Thom would like you.

The two women talked softly about life and children growing up. Since Marsha hadn’t ever had a brother around she really didn’t have the opportunity to play football, or boy type sports with a guy. Of course she had shot some baskets every Friday night with her dad in the driveway. They had a basketball hoop hung on the front of the garage, so they would take turns trying to get the ball into the basket. But as far as understanding the game of basketball, Marsha didn’t really know much about it.

Her father used the hoop for exercise. He used to say it helped keep his heart healthy just to get some exercise. So every Friday evening the two of them would run around and shoot ‘hoops’ together. Sometimes they would try to get the ball away from each other and then shot at the hoop. It was great fun, and created great memories.

Marsha hadn’t thought about her father in some time. Since her parents death in an automobile accident two years ago she hated to think about it. She was angry for months after her parent’s death. It seemed so unfair to her. To lose the two people she loved most in life, and losing the last of her family made her feel so alone. She tried to stay busy so she wouldn’t have time to think about it. She had a hard time getting through the Christmas holidays alone. She volunteered at the neighborhood soup kitchen, just to be busy helping prepare food for others. Even just doing dishes felt good to her.

Finally a nurse came looking for them. She told them Thom was out of surgery and had been taken to recovery, that the staff would be setting everything up and then the family could visit for five minutes. She told them that he would remain unconscious for a while yet, but how long it might last, was unclear. The nurse said his body would know when it was time to wake up. So even after the anesthesia wore off he would probably remain in an unconscious state for a while yet.

Can I see him now? Mrs. Woodley asked.

Not yet, but very soon. They’re still getting things set up. He’ll have several monitors to record his heart, his brain waves, his movement, plus other things. So they want to be certain everything is working correctly first. I’ll let you know when, okay?

Yes! Yes, thank you! Mrs. Woodley leaned back in her chair and sighed. The strain was taking its toll on her. They had been sitting and waiting for hours while Thom was in surgery.

Marsha watched as the runner’s mother swept her graying, short hair back from her face, running her fingers through the short lengths above her right ear. Then her pale hand did the same over her left ear, trying to pull her short locks back from her face. As she had sat crying softly she would tilt her head down to dab her handkerchief to her eyes, letting her trimmed ‘bob’ swing forward, hiding her face.

Marsha suspected the woman was in her late sixties and may have lost some weight after the loss of her husband. She considered the possibility that cooking for one could be difficult for the woman and her loss of appetite might also be due to being alone. Her frame was petite so she was quite small to begin with, so losing weight seemed to make her cheeks sag slightly causing her to look older. Marsha felt certain all this waiting and worrying about her son’s well-being wouldn’t be good for her health.

Marsha could feel some of the pressure that Thom’s mother was under and her heart went out to her. She thought perhaps if they went for a cup of coffee in the cafeteria that it might relieve some of the strain of just waiting, before she went in to see him. Marsha figured just the movement would probably be good for her.

You know, Marsha said. I think it might be a good idea if we went over to the cafeteria and got ourselves a cup of coffee while we wait. She said it would be a while before you could see him, so why not? It would give you something warm in your stomach and maybe a little energy as well. And it would give you a little break.

Reaching for her arm to help her from the chair, Marsha helped Mrs. Woodley up. She continued to hold on to her as they walked. She realized that the older woman seemed a little shaky on her feet. But the main reason she wanted to hold on to her was simply that she knew that the touch of another person was an important aid in remaining calm.

They wandered over to the nurse’s station to inform the nurse they were going to the cafeteria. After getting directions, they headed toward the cafeteria.

So tell me, Marsha. How did you happen to see my son? How did you know he had fallen?

Well, she began, I was having my first cup of coffee for the morning and I wasn’t ready to sit down at my computer just yet. So I wandered to the large window that over looked the sand. I was watching people walking or running on the beach when I noticed him run by. He was just leaving my property area when I saw him pitch forward as though he had stumbled on something. At first I thought that was all that had happened. I expected him to get right back up and continue on, but when he was lying so still on the sand I realized that something was wrong. That’s when I hurried out the back door and across the sand to check on him. He looked as though he was asleep. I tried to rouse him, but he wouldn’t respond. Then I began to search him for a medical alert tag. I didn’t find one so I searched his pockets for identification. So that was when I found his cell phone. I scanned quickly through his phonebook hoping to find his ID, but when I came across mom I decided to call you and the paramedics. I think he was down only about ten minutes before the paramedics arrived.

"Marsha, you’ll never know how much I appreciate your being there for him. And when he wakes up, I’m going to