Chapter 3: Help
The ambulance pulled up to the scene, and the wet-faced Collins turned to look. One man stepped out from the driver's seat. He walked over to Collins.
"Were you involved?" He asked, and the anarchist nodded.
"She's still in there," he told the EMT. He looked about, and then back at the man there to help. "Are you alone?" he asked.
"Yeah," the EMT nodded, "there was a mix-up, but others are on the way." He started pulling on rubber gloves. "You said someone's in there?" he asked.
"Angel," Collins told him, "Angel's trapped. She's unconscious."
The EMT pushed to the driver's side and peered in. He retrieved a neck brace from the ambulance, and placed it around Angel's neck.
"Will she be alright?" Collins called, which was met with a nod.
"I'm sure," he used his flash-light to test her iris-reflexes, and listened to her breathing with his stethoscope. A police are soon pulled up, and two officers came out. They helped the EMT to slide Angel out of the car and onto a flatboard. The two men left, going to re-direct traffic. Collins hated watching this scene play out through tear-blurred vision. He needed to go to Angel.
As he walked over to his lover's body, he kneeled down, and grabbed her hand.
"I think she'll be fine," the EMT mumbled, "your girlfriend?" Collins nodded, and wiped his eyes. "She has cuts and bruises," he continued, going back to the ambulance, "and I think she has a punctured lung. There may be some internal bleeding. It could be very serioud, but we will have no idea of the whole damage until we get her to the hospital.
"Now, she's bleeding pretty heavily form her chest, and I'm going to have to create a make-shift hold for it, alight?" he came over with a large medical bag.
"Fine," Collins said, stroking her wig, surprised that it stayed on.
"And," the EMT told him, "I'm going to have to take off her shirt, alright? It's the only way."
"Fine, fine, I know," the sobbing anarchist responded. The EMT took some scissors from his bag and began to cut up Angel's blouse. Once he reached her collar, the pulled the wet cloth from her bleeding chest. He stared in awe, not at the wound, but at her masculine body.
"Is this," the EMT asked, covering his mouth, "a man?" Before Collins could answer, he jumped up and looked down at the body. "Is he a freaking cross-dresser?"
Collins nodded, and the man shouted at him. "And you're with him?" Collins nodded again. "Sick," he muttered, "you're freaking sick."
"Sir," the upset man said, holding his lover's hand close, "please help her."
"It's a man!" the EMT cried, walking back to the ambulance.
"I know he's a man!" Collins screamed, "But you're a professional!"
"I can't help someone sick like that!" the man screamed back, "I'm not even going to touch that…that pervert!"
"What?"
"You're on your own." The EMT grabbed his bag and climbed into the ambulance.
"But she'll die!" Collins called, hot tears streaming down his face.
"Good!" the EMT cried, slamming his door. The engine roared and the ambulance pulled away, leaving a dying man cradled in his lover's arms.