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The Accident
By KerrAvon
"Well, that was a complete waste of time," spat Lassiter, as he slammed open the bar door and stomped out into the night, almost colliding with another man entering the sleazy hole-in-the-wall. As he screeched to a surprised halt, only Juliet O'Hara's lightning-fast reflexes kept her from plowing into his suit-coated back. She tried unsuccessfully to peer past his lanky form as he deeply inhaled, then let out an audible sigh.
"Spencer." The single word held volumes of nuance, mostly in tones of irritation. "Why am I surprised?"
"Lassie!" cried a familiar voice. Juliet finally managed to ease past her partner just in time to see the delighted grin spread across Shawn's face. Somehow she knew he wasn't there for a drink.
The detective crossed his arms suspiciously as his eyes narrowed. "If you've come to talk to Gloria Freeport, don't bother. She's so drunk she's practically comatose."
Shawn pasted on an innocent, surprised expression. "What? Ms. Freeport's here?" His gaze shifted past the two detectives and into the smoky gloom of the bar. "And I was just going in for a pineapple wine spritzer."
Lassiter rolled his eyes. "Sure you were, Spencer. The only wine in this place comes out of a box." Turning to his partner, he ground, "O'Hara, when you're finished, I'll be in the car." He pointed across the rain-slick street at his red Crown Victoria.
Juliet was apologetic. "I'll be right there, Carlton."
Lassiter nodded, then started across the street, muttering to himself. He never would understand O'Hara's fascination with that annoying charlatan. Juliet watched him go, then turned back to Spencer with a small smile on her lips. "Seriously, Shawn, she's completely nonverbal right now."
Spencer smirked and shook his head in mock resignation. "Jules, Jules, Jules. How many times do I have to tell you? My gift doesn't work that way. She doesn't have to say a…" He cut off abruptly, head jerking up. Taking in his surroundings in an instant, his trap-like mind registered the feel of cold drizzle down his collar; the sound of slightly squealing tires approaching too fast on the cross-street; the reflection of drunkenly weaving headlights in the windows of the building across the intersection; and the splashing footsteps of an irate detective who wasn't paying much attention to near-non-existent 2 a.m. traffic. His eyes widened as his mind played out the scene in a heartbeat and he drew the inevitable conclusion.
"Lassie!" he screamed as he whirled and charged towards the detective. "Watch out!"
Lassiter stopped dead in the center of the road and turned back towards the psychic in irritation. Arms stretched to each side in a 'what now?' gesture, he began, "Spencer, what are…" His words caught in his throat as the pickup truck rounded the corner, ran the stop sign, fishtailed haphazardly and headed straight for him. There was no time. He closed his eyes and mentally braced for collision, catching a glimpse of the driver's shocked, inebriated face as he did so.
The actual impact was much softer than he anticipated, and came from the side. Forceful hands jolted him from place, shoving him unceremoniously to the pavement behind his car before being swept away with a sickening thud. He opened his eyes in surprise as he heard the truck screech to a momentary halt before peeling away in panic, leaving a body motionless in the street.
The entire sequence had been dreamlike for Detective O'Hara. One moment she was being teased by the SBPD's 'psychic', the next he was running towards her partner and shouting. Time slowed to a near stop as she watched, horrified, as the beat-up Ford pickup blew through the stop sign and took the corner too widely. Shawn made a flying leap to push Carlton out of the way, barely managing to do so in time. He himself was not so lucky; the tackle that had saved the detective's life didn't quite clear the passenger side of the front bumper, which struck Spencer's legs and hips. The vehicle's velocity tossed him over the front passenger side quarter panel and into the street, where he rolled twice before coming to rest in a prone position, arms akimbo like a broken doll. The driver, shell-shocked, paused a moment before hitting the accelerator in a panic, tearing down the street and disappearing around the next corner. By this point Lassiter was pushing himself up from the ground while O'Hara sprinted towards the psychic's unmoving form.
"Shawn!" she screamed, praying against all odds that he would answer. Despite the distance, she reached the downed man just as Lassiter did.
"Spencer. Spencer, can you hear me?" Lassiter was uncharacteristically gentle as he grasped the psychic's shoulder and shook it.
"Lassie? … 'Zat you?" groaned the younger man. "Lass…'urts…" Eyes shut, he tried to roll over, only to wince and collapse back onto his chest with a moan.
"Shawn, don't move," Juliet placed her hands on his back to hold him flat as Lassiter whipped out his cell phone.
"I'm calling 9-1-1," he told her. "Keep him quiet."
Juliet nodded, pulling off her scarf to dab at Spencer's face. The drizzle had turned into actual rain by this point, mixing with the sweat on his forehead before running into the street. "Shhh, Shawn. It's OK. It's going to be OK…."
"Jules…" Spencer groaned, blinking open glassy eyes. He tried again unsuccessfully to roll onto his back, collapsing back to the pavement as O'Hara gently held his shoulders down.
"Shawn, don't move. You could have a spinal injury. You've got to stay still!" She didn't like how her voice quivered, so she swallowed the lump in her throat and took a deep breath. "Please, Shawn. For me."
Despite only being semi-conscious, the psychic smirked slightly. "For you, J'les, 'nythin'…" he mumbled, allowing his eyelids to slide shut once more. His entire body relaxed as he slowly surrendered to the encroaching darkness.
Juliet looked up at her partner, who had just finished putting out emergency flares in the roadway to divert traffic around the downed man. After all, Spencer couldn't be moved and didn't need to be run over a second time. "Carlton, he's passed out!" she cried, a note of hysteria in her voice.
Lassiter jogged over to squat next to her and the prone form in the street. Placing his fingertips on Spencer's neck, he concentrated a moment, then nodded. "His pulse is a little rapid, but it's present. The ambulance should be here any minute." He glanced over at the doorway to the bar, surprised that no one had appeared to investigate the commotion outside, before standing and striding restlessly to the corner, peering down the empty cross-street in the direction of the hospital. Pacing back to his car, he keyed the radio and put out an alert on the make and model of vehicle that had struck the psychic, as well as a brief description of the driver. After two more anxious trips between the insensate private investigator and the corner, he sighed in relief to see flashing lights in the distance.
Upon arrival, the two paramedics wasted little time setting up their equipment. The driver was clearly older and more experienced, and sported a well-groomed handlebar moustache that matched his dark brown hair. The other EMT was tall, thin, and clean-shaven, with sandy-blonde hair that bespoke of time spent on the beach in his off hours. "Hi, I'm Sam. Can anyone tell me what happened here?" asked the senior man, approaching the two detectives, as his partner finished unpacking their equipment and efficiently began taking Spencer's vital signs without moving him.
"Hit and run," grunted Lassiter. "Car was going about 35 when it rounded the corner. Impact threw him into the air; he bounced on the pavement twice."
"Any other medical problems?"
"I'm not familiar with his medical history." Carlton turned a questioning eye to his partner. "O'Hara? You know of anything?"
Juliet, who had been staring unblinkingly at the proceedings, gave herself a mental shake. "No…I don't..." Her eyes widened as she turned a stricken face towards her partner. "Mr. Spencer!" she exclaimed. Addressing the paramedic apologetically, she explained, "I need to call his father, let him know what happened."
The man nodded. "Ask if the patient has any allergies to any medications or any serious medical issues." So saying, he knelt back down next to his partner, where they had a murmured conversation before contacting the hospital.
With the physician's blessing Shawn was soon wearing a cervical collar and had been log-rolled onto a backboard to stabilize his spine. An IV was placed as Lassiter watched, disconcerted by Spencer's uncharacteristic silence. The psychic's eyes remained mostly closed, although he would intermittently open them and look around uncomprehendingly.
"Yes, Mr. Spencer, the paramedics are with him now. They want to know if he has any allergies or medical problems." Juliet's voice as she spoke to Henry was actually easier for Carlton to understand than the conversation between the EMTs and the hospital. "Alright, I'll tell them." Twisting the phone away from her mouth, she addressed the two men working on her friend.
"Mr. Spencer says that Shawn's allergic to shellfish, but nothing else. No medical problems."
"Thanks, that could be important." Sam relayed the information over the radio to the hospital, then nodded as they confirmed.
Lassiter mentally muffled Juliet's continued conversation with Henry as he saw awareness dawn in Spencer's eyes. They darted frantically around the scene, absorbing each detail, only to finally fix on the detective. Licking his too-dry lips, the injured man grated out, "Lassie?".
"I'm here, Spencer," replied the head detective from his position behind the paramedics.
"…'K?" came the mumbled question. The soft tone was a disturbing juxtaposition to his clinically assessing eyes.
It took Lassiter a moment to realize that Spencer was asking if he was all right. He shook his head in frustration. "Yes, Spencer, I'm fine. In case you hadn't noticed, you're the one who actually got hit by the car."
Spencer nodded fractionally, then allowed his eyes to slide closed once more.
"All right, we're ready to move him," announced the paramedic who had spoken earlier. "Cottage Hospital."
"Did you hear that, Mr. Spencer?" asked Juliet into her cell phone. "He's being transported to Cottage." A brief pause, then she nodded. "All right. We'll meet you there."
The backboard was lifted onto a gurney which was then loaded into the waiting ambulance, taking care not to jostle the injured man or his IV. The younger paramedic climbed into the back with Shawn and the radio as Sam closed the door behind him. Shooting the detectives a reassuring look, the older man stated, "We'll take good care of him. See you there.", before climbing into the front seat and starting the engine.
Lassiter and O'Hara were in the Crown Vic, siren blasting, before the ambulance had even pulled away from the curb.
TBC….
So, what did you think? Worth continuing?