First Responder

By James Summers

Centrally located between Malibu Creek and Topanga state parks is a lonely stretch of road the locals refer to as the Mulholland Dieway. Here first responders frequently rally to save those unfortunate enough to find themselves stranded and in need of assistance. For years Karen thought that section of road was unusually treacherous tonight would be no different.

Nearby lies a creature with a heart as black as night. It has reinvented itself and moves through time unnoticed by most. It feeds on those less fortunate and in dire straits. Immersing itself in the misfortune of others, it is a life saver for most; but for some, it is the last thing they will ever see.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Feb 20, 2017
• ISBN: 9781524584153

James Summers

James Summers is an IT professional who writes in his off time on weekends and on camping trips. He’s happily married and lives in Southern Indiana, USA. An avid fan of psychological horror, he loves to portray darkness and chaos. The author thrives on the darkness that lies inside us all, tending to focus exclusively on psychological horror. He paints a subtle mixture of what the mind sees and thinks, whether or not it can get away with it. Sometimes it’s not what has been described; but what is missing that disturbs you the most

Book preview

Copyright © 2017 by James Summers.

Library of Congress Control Number:   2017902402

ISBN:      Hardcover           978-1-5245-8417-7

                Softcover             978-1-5245-8416-0

                eBook                 978-1-5245-8415-3

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Rev. date: 02/17/2017

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Contents

My Camping Trip to Hardy Lake: Working on the First Responder Novel—a rough diary

Acknowledgments

Chapter A Crossroads

Chapter 2 Karen’s Song

Chapter D I Pledge Allegiance

Chapter 4 Full Monte

Chapter 5 Saint Michael’s on the Ridge

Chapter 6 Tastes Like Chicken

Chapter 7 Coldhearted

Chapter 8 Bataille un

Chapter 9 For All Eternity

Chapter 10 Losing my Religion

Chapter 11 The Doctor is In

Chapter 12 Normalcy

Chapter 14 Plan 9

Chapter 15 Waffles Anyone?

Chapter 16 Play it Again, Sam

In case you missed my previous novels

My Camping Trip to Hardy Lake: Working on the First Responder Novel—a rough diary

Day One

I filled up the water tank and backed into the site. Before I’m even unhooked, I have a huge horsefly attack my right leg. It was savaged right above my heel. When I attend to it and spray bug repellent, I notice a matching bite mark above my right heel with a blood trail that went down and soaked part of my sock! Good times! I set everything up and check my TVs, laptop, and PS4. I have forgotten my spicy sausages for tomorrow’s breakfast and my iPod Shuffle—so no loud soundtrack, as my laptop speaker’s going out. I find it unusually hot and humid and my air conditioner is tasked to keep up. The fan is somewhat amusing, as it seems to help, but it’s not enough to keep me frigid! Writing in my book distracts me until I get tired. I’m on a roll, so I keep writing and before I know it, it’s midnight—time for bed.

Day Two

Woke up after 8 a.m. feeling wonderfully rested. I chose to have two donuts and coffee for breaky. A trip to the community outhouse is in order as there’s just not enough dirty water in the tank to accommodate. It’s humid already, but there’s a bit of a breeze. I wrote in my book and edited the first two chapters. Chili dogs for lunch, yes thank you. I also had a few tortilla-flavored Pringles. The rain is coming. It is very, very cloudy and windy. I’m again writing my book as it get darker outside. They are coming …

Day Three

It is in stark contrast from the empty campground upon my initial setup to where I am now. It looks like a zombie apocalypse has occurred. There are all manner of people and all sizes of vehicles. Total commotion and chaos has erupted at exactly 2:01 p.m. (check-in time). I now focus on fishing and protecting my cooler of beer with my fishing knife and the farts from several Slim Jims. Who knows, it just might do the trick.

Day Four

I write nearly illegible text due to beer and fart intoxication. Still no fish to speak of and it’s quite noisy at times. I enjoy the movie Deadpool on my PS4 and go back to writing to clean up some of my newest thoughts. What a wonderful trip after all is said and done.

I love our state parks. Visit them today and enjoy the world we live in.

James Summers

Some Random Thoughts

1. Dogs will be dogs. Most people think dogs that provide protection are voracious man-eating dogs large in size, loud in bark, and usually just around the next corner. In all reality, it’s the one who accepts you and barks to alert you for your safety, not to protect you—you’re the Vampire!

2. Being a short balding man with aging blonde hair enabled Dr. Stevens to fit in. This made him almost invisible anywhere he went in public where there was chaos and crowds. By himself however, he did stand out. When he did go out in public, his smile always arrived minutes before he did. That smile coupled with his charisma took him places. That was part of the reason for his success. It was his master key that opened all doors. It came in handy when he needed to feed and had never failed to provide interesting conversation and nourishment. Dr. Stevens was nothing if not a social butterfly. A short charismatic, deadly social butterfly.

3. Looking at the cars parked in the Waffle House parking lot, his eyes were pulled toward a simple white bumper sticker with red letters: GUNS DON’T KILL PEOPLE—VAMPIRES DO! How ironic for him to be reading that, he thought. And it couldn’t be any further from the truth. He hung around, literally, until its owner came out, mainly out of curiosity.

4. Dr. Stevens is the epitome of a classical Vampire. He’s the one that I fell in love with when I was growing up. Since I have never met a Vampire in person, I can neither confirm nor deny their existence or abilities, so I’m sticking with what I love. Slow moving mists, bats, wolves, flying, and moving quickly through the darkness were all things that I thought of as fun. Along with those superstitions came the thoughts of being staked would kill a vampire and them not allowed ingress unless invited. In the end, I took the good with the bad. What? Vampires can’t change into mist and then back afterward wearing the same clothing as before? I will spare you the descriptions of them undressing and neatly placing their clothing in a place where they can ensure that when they come back it will be there for them. Enjoy.

Acknowledgments

I would like to say thanks to the people that took time to read my book and provide feedback; your efforts helped to make First Responder a success. I would particularly like to mention Audra, Cheryl, Erica, Jacqueline, Jay, Karen and Rob.

Chapter A

Crossroads

This is very important, so please try to concentrate, the doctor whispered from across the wooden desk.

Looking away to the wall on their left, he turned to face her again and asked her what she remembered. He watched as the woman shook uncontrollably and awaited any sign or acknowledgement of what he had just asked for. There was nothing that he could do to stop her from shaking. Moments ago the man had tried to comfort her with a calm voice. He spoke to her from the opposite corner of the room, making sure to keep plenty of distance between them. Why, he had even dimmed the lights in the room in an attempt to relax her. Nothing the doctor did worked to calm the woman.

He watched as the woman cried what he thought were her last tears, ever. Her mascara ran down her cheeks to varying lengths. The woman’s left eye looked like it belonged to a circus clown, with dark colors running mainly down from the center, and less from around the corners. Her right eye resembled that of a battered housewife. Earlier she had rubbed it with her fist and spread the mascara evenly around the eye, effectively blacking out the entire area. She was a sad sight to see, and one’s heart went out to this woman if but a single glance was thrown her direction.

Continuing to take notes and record his evaluation, he focused on the condition of her head and shoulders. Her short blonde hair was long enough to be pulled back into a pony tail, but it was unkempt. Individual strands of hair that were probably once tightly held in place with the others around it protruded this way and that. At points along the way it almost looked frayed, possibly from being pulled on or yanked about. The woman’s right cheek had a lateral cut about an inch long. Upon closer inspection, it turned out to be more of a puncture. It had been tended to by police, and a few small white strips helped to keep it closed.

Both cheeks were dirty, covered with blood and debris in various amounts but mainly around the outside edges. It was apparent that she had wiped her face in an attempt to clear the blood so she could see, mixing and smearing the blood even further. It was probably wiped away to some extent by the first police to arrive on the scene, as they tried to determine where she was bleeding from. A gash on her forehead which had also been tended to, sat kitty corner to a large goose egg centered slightly left of her right eye. Looking at the woman’s eyes when he asked her questions, he found it distracting and noticed that it sometimes seemed to move all by itself.

Do you know your name? he softly asked.

The woman stared straight ahead, as if he wasn’t even there in front of her. She neither spoke nor moved in response to his questions. If asked what her attacker looked like, she would have been hard pressed to describe any discernable features whatsoever. She was definitely traumatized, he was sure of it.

Can you speak? What about your eyes? Can you blink them slowly to let me know that you understand me? he asked again.

The woman slowly closed her eyes and opened them back up. That was something! He had just gotten through! Excitement flowed through him as he thought about what to say next.

OK, good. Let’s say that slowly blinking your eyes is a sign of understanding, of agreement. So, if you close your eyes and open them slowly, it means yes, he said excitedly.

He watched as she again slowly closed and opened her eyes. A smile crept across his face, displaying his satisfaction of the progress they had just made.

The descriptions and accounts of his notes stopped with the possibility of open communication, so he let the video diary take over. Sessions were recorded to protect all parties involved. Such was always the case when one was in a precinct interrogation room. He would get a copy of today’s conversation in DVD format when the assessment was complete, just as he always did. The doctor was known to overdocument and, therefore, took solace in the fact that he could just be himself. He was all too happy to let the police department video documentation process do the majority of the work.

Tell me what happened. Who did this to you? he said patiently.

She began crying more tears, and as the man watched he knew he was wrong. She had plenty of tears remaining. Again she shook uncontrollably, bouncing in her seat at times as high as three inches before coming back down to rest. He could not put his hands on her shoulders or hug her the way he wanted to, it was unprofessional to do such things. He was torn with enjoying the ease of recording his findings versus his need to comfort her. Back in the day, he often hugged male and female patients, comforting those who needed it. However, with today’s society, it was not a good thing to do. Things like that always seemed to make it into the evening news and were more often than not grossly misunderstood.

Staring forward to the wall that was only six feet away, she listened to the voices in her head.

Don’t answer him. Keep him in the dark, she heard as her eyes darted around the room.

Fuck him! Make him wait for your response, the voices said again.

One by one they flooded her mind, her thoughts. They had been doing that now for days, and it seemed like there was no end in sight. At times they interrupted each other, one drowning out the next. But in all actuality, they had never answered each other, at least not until now.

Have her run for the door to escape, one said.

No, she’ll never make it. There has to be another way, said a third.

The man looked on and wrote in his book one, two, sometimes three words at a time before looking back at the woman sitting opposite of him. He watched as her eyes became even more animated. He placed his pen back into his pocket and took in the train wreck in front of him. If asked to sum up how she was right now, he would say she was purposefully fidgeting.

She wasn’t paying attention to anything that he was saying. This woman had her own agenda. Her eyes moved from one object to another, taking inventory of her surroundings. They never stayed put for more than a second or two, but it was obvious what she was doing.

Are you all right? Do you need a minute to gather your thoughts? he asked softly.

Her response was a glance that lasted about ten seconds, before nodding a yes, and moving her eyes to look at yet another nearby object. Cindy thought that she didn’t want to gather any thoughts. She didn’t think that they were her own anyway.

At times, the voices in her head were so loud that she couldn’t differentiate them from her thoughts, someone else’s, or words spoken out loud. The words in her head came to her as if she had spoken them. They appeared to be her own thoughts, but Cindy was at times unsure.

It’s time for more tears. Cry more tears, she heard herself say.

The man looked on as yet again the woman in front of him shook violently and once again began shedding tears. The doctor looked down at his notebook and then back up to her face. He patiently awaited her next response.

It’s time to talk to him now. He needs to know. He needs to know everything, the voices said to her.

Tears again flowed steadily from her eyes. It was hard to imagine them any redder, he thought as he opened his notebook and reached for his pen.

R-r-r-raped. I was raped, she said between sobs.

The doctor kept writing as he frequently took turns between looking her in the eyes and writing down her every word. He had rapidly filled four pages, front to back before he took a break to ask her some direct questions.

A cheer leader? You pledged a sorority to be a cheer leader? he asked.

Cindy looked away and then back to him before she nodded in agreement. It was a bit embarrassing, she knew that now. Back then she had been looking for change, and doing that seemed just what the doctor ordered. She shook less violently now, but she still shook. From time to time she inhaled deeply in an effort to control her breathing. Between her crying and her explanation of last week’s events, it was hard for her to breathe normally. Her entire body ached. Cindy’s lungs cried out in pain as she made them expand against her bruised ribs. The fact that she was beat up pretty badly and had been pulled from a burning wrecked vehicle not four hours ago didn’t help matters either.

Cindy stared at the doctor as he changed pages and continued writing. She had never really looked at him before, just occasional glances, but there was something about him that felt calming. He was short, very short, probably only five feet tall. He was an older man with blonde hair, mixed with gray. It was long enough to be pulled back, just like hers was in a ponytail. He wore blue jeans and a short sleeve shirt underneath his white lab coat. A pocket protector that must have had at least six different pens and pencils in it distracted anyone unfortunate enough to lay eyes on it. Underneath it was his ID badge. It read: Dr. Stevens (visitor). Overall he was a gaunt and frail looking man. Even with his layers of clothes, he still looked thin. The entire time he questioned her he had never shouted or yelled. Cindy noticed that this man was very professional and took his job seriously.

The doctor went back to his notepad and after looking up at her, asked her to continue. He spent more time writing now, but he still stopped to make eye contact with her. He did this partly out of a need for safety and curiosity. He still didn’t feel that he could fully trust her. He was, after all, called in to determine the validity of her story and to gauge her sanity.

It’s been several hours since your last pain meds. How are you holding up? Would you like some coffee to help keep you alert? he asked.

That would be nice, thanks for the coffee. I hurt all over, I’ll take whatever I can get right now, Cindy replied.

There was a knock at the door and then it opened slowly. Two uniformed officers entered, escorting a third who was carrying plastic cups on a plastic tray. The smell of coffee quickly filled the small room as the officers walked the tray over to a corner table.

If you need anything just let us know, we’ll be right outside, the taller man smirked as he waited for his team to leave.

It was obvious that some sort of encounter had gone sour between them. There was always a chance, albeit a small one, that some of her injuries had occurred sometime from when she was pulled from the burning vehicle and when she was booked. After querying her about her preferences, he stood up to make their coffee. Keeping one eye on her, he poured on the sugar and cream for the woman until the cup could hold no more. He then poured his black and carried them both over to their table.

I trust you won’t make me wear these, he said smiling as he placed the cups between them.

It wouldn’t be that bad anyhow, he thought. It appeared that the coffee was made hours ago. They took a break from the questioning and enjoyed their drinks. He took a pill bottle out of his pocket and maneuvered the plastic safety cap to allow access. Tapping the bottle into his palm he took two pills and handed them to her.

They’re for the pain. Take them both, they should last you about four hours, he said seriously.

Cindy took them with a very large mouthful of warm coffee. Having had ample time to calm her nerves and catch her breath, Cindy had ceased shaking. Her voice was clearer now, her word choice became better, and for the first time he felt that he could trust her. They started back up, and after a few more sentences made their way onto his paper he looked up at her in disbelief.

I don’t remember anything else, Cindy repeated.

There has to be more. One just doesn’t go from being flat on one’s stomach to where we are now, he insisted.

I need more time. I can’t remember. I just can’t, she cried out.

Take as much time as you need. We are not done here until you explain how you assaulted that large oak tree with your Camry, he said half smiling.

Come on. You made it out alive. You escaped the burning vehicle, crawling a few hundred feet back to the road. The cops found the accident scene on a tip about a car wreck, he thundered.

Cindy cringed as he raised his voice. She had felt that level of anger before. She shrugged her shoulders and closed her eyes against it. Trying to recoil from the outburst, she was again reminded that she was shackled. It was for her safety, they had told her as they connected her leg irons to the bar set in the floor and her waist to the table. Her hands were free, and to some extent her legs were too, but she was definitely attached to the table, and therefore welded to the floor. Cindy thought back to her fateful decision to join that sorority. It started with that day and was initially meant to progress one’s future, to challenge one’s self. Thinking back to the day that she spent in the small library studying, she never knew how much challenging herself could hurt.

Cindy breathed in deeply and closed her eyes. She started going over all of the recent events in her head. Clearing her thoughts, she focused on the fateful day. Cindy dug deep as she began reliving the events that had led her to where she was now. "It was the best of times, it was the worst of times—what kind of crap was that," Cindy thought as she leaned forward and placed her head flat on the library desk. Sighing in disbelief, she slowly exhaled and wondered where that cheat guide was. Opening her eyes and collecting her thoughts, Cindy sat up straight and placed her hands on the desk. Looking left and right to make sure no one saw her, she let out a small laugh as she parted the books in front of her. She had buried herself within a stack of books that stood taller than she did, and it was now time to escape.

It was a Friday evening and the library resembled a ghost town. Although it was finals week at her local community college, no one cared to spend their Friday here. To be totally honest, all of her friends had already finished studying for exams. The ones that had not were probably too embarrassed to be seen studying out in public and would therefore finish their studying at home. Her dates were Monday and Wednesday of next week which gave her plenty of time to brush up on her subjects.

Cindy did everything to excess, no matter what the cost. At the gym she tended to do more pushups and sit-ups than were expected, which would inevitably lead to discomfort for the days that followed. Overstudying for exams would lead to sleepless days during and after, which would in turn ensure she would not find a suitable boyfriend during the next few weeks. Eating was no different. She had an unusual diet that allowed her to fast one day, and eat until full the next, to the dismay of her family physician.

Standing up and stretching her hands in the air, Cindy went to her tippytoes and then back to a relaxed position. Gathering up her papers and a very small notebook computer, she headed for the door. As always, no person acknowledged her egress, but she was sure that the cameras recorded tonight’s excursion. Smiling as she passed the last one, she mouthed the words wish me luck and left the building.

Cheetos and beer were just what she deserved after a long night of studying. In order to obtain her just rewards, Cindy would have to walk two blocks to her car at night along a narrow, twisting sidewalk. It was an unusually warm fall evening, and although the streets were adequately lit, she still felt anxious. She was a petite blonde who saw herself the way she thought others did, as a potential victim. Were it not for the fact that she worked out regularly and fought each and every day to keep her weight in check she would have agreed with them, but such was not the case.

Cindy had long legs, a strong smile, and enough confidence to make most men follow her commands to the letter. The problem was that she didn’t like most men. More to the point, she didn’t like most of the men that she had access to in her small town at her even smaller junior college. Prepared for an epic battle to obtain said rewards, Cindy watched her surroundings carefully as she continued walking to her vehicle. All was well as she unlocked her door and went inside. It would take her ten minutes to drive to the gas station and another ten to reach her apartment. Soon all would be right with the world.

Another curve or two and the gas station would be in sight. Cindy had her high beams on to illuminate the entire road and her windows down to enjoy the clean country air. She often drove with an audio book or a CD to help her study for a class. Tonight was to be a night of relaxation and therefore the radio was turned off. Obeying the speed limit, especially on dark country roads, Cindy let off the gas enough to safely take the curves. She heard a loud horn when she had entered the first, and upon exiting it became silent. There was a car off the road back there, she was sure of it. Checking out her rear view mirror she saw a pair of headlights angled to her left. They flashed at her one time, as if someone had walked in front of them and then disappeared.

Glancing on the road ahead, she again looked backward for the lights, but they were gone. She wasn’t sure what she saw back there so she decided to turn around and see if they were OK. Who knows, she thought, maybe he would be cute. Cindy turned the car around and headed back to the curve. She saw the car at a distance, and immediately knew something was wrong. It was on its side, resting against a tree. It was a smaller car, dark in color, probably blue, she thought as she put on her flashers and pulled over to the shoulder.

Stopping just short of the edge of the woods, she turned her car toward the other vehicle, lighting up the accident scene. About twenty feet in front of it, lying face down in the grass was a motionless body. Cindy was too far away to tell if it was a man or a woman but it didn’t matter. She felt confident that she could help out until others arrived. She took a breath to calm her nerves and dialed 911 before running over to offer assistance. The operator listened intently to her and stated that help was on the way. She asked Cindy if she could go over and render first aid, and asked if the victim was still alive. She took a few more steps and reached down to feel for a pulse.

She’s dead. It’s a woman in her early twenties, I think, but she’s dead, Cindy said softly.

The operator kept Cindy talking until sirens could be heard in the distance. It was only a matter of minutes, but it felt like it took the police days to arrive. Cindy was so tired by the time the cops approached that she could barely stand. They found her sitting in her driver’s seat with her door open speaking to the 911 operator when they arrived. Two of her area’s finest took a statement from her and told her they would be in touch. One went to place tape around the accident scene while the other helped her on her way.

OK. There’s nothing more to see here, move along please. You are OK to drive then? the officer asked.

Yes. Yes, I’m fine. I was nearly home when I saw the lights, Cindy said solemnly

The officer smiled at her and stayed put until she drove off. By the time she pulled into the gas station Cindy was wide awake, probably due to the adrenaline, she thought. Smiling to the cashier she paid for her two bags of Cheetos and her case of light beer. Reaching over to take her rewards, she saw a blonde wearing a cheerleader uniform, smiling from ear to ear. The woman could have been her twin if she was but an inch shorter.

Hi. Let me help you with that, the cheerleader said.

Oh, I’m OK, Cindy said as the woman picked up her beer and headed for the door.

It was everything Cindy could do to catch up before the woman stopped abruptly and pointed to the dark green Camry.

Oh, yes. Yes please, Cindy responded.

Cindy popped her trunk as she smiled to the cashier who looked on through the window at the two women. The cheerleader placed the