Signal 41 Novel – As Carson sat at her kitchen table, she stared at her husband of ten years. He wasn’t the same man she’d married her senior year of college. No, he’d become someone different. She supposed she had too – isn’t that what happens as one gets older? People change, they grow up. Well, most people. But not him, not Phillip – at least not in the way a person should. Carson could hear him talking, the words spilling from his mouth as he screamed at her… again. She was tired. Tired of this life. Tired of being alone. But most of all, tired of his lies. “Do you hear me, Carson?” He smacked her glass from the table, “I asked you who told you those lies.” “Lies?” Carson scoffed, “Really, with that in front of you,” she tossed the cell phone bill at him, “tell me why you would have so many calls and text messages to her?” Phillip stood, “She’s my secretary – there are bound to be calls between us.”
“Do you hear yourself?” “What I hear is my ungrateful wife accusing me of something that’s nonsense.” “Nonsense? Let me see your phone then,” Carson stood and grabbed for his phone. But Phillip was quicker and snatched it out of her grasp. “What is your problem?” Phillip shoved his chair back, the legs scraping the floor. “You’re out of your mind.” Carson held her finger up, silencing his words, “Yeah… that’s what I hoped – but then Cassie, your paralegal, saw you with her in your office. Her legs spread wide while you banged her on your desk.” Carson watched as a myriad of emotions cross his face, “so, if you still want to tell me I’m the one who is crazy, go ahead.” Phillip stood frozen in his spot. His eyes never left hers.
Snapping from his trance, he turned on his heel, leaving her to watch his back as he retreated from the kitchen. “Where do you think you’re going? We aren’t done you prick.” “I’ll be back later.” Carson stared at the large oak door as he slammed it behind him. The grain of the wood mesmerizing her. Blinking back tears, she noted the time on the clock, 1:15. She still had a little time before she needed to pick Max up at school. Grabbing her cell phone, she googled attorneys. There was no way she was staying trapped in this marriage another minute. Max would be better off with divorced parents, rather than two parents that fought non-stop. She wanted him to grow up happy and well adjusted. Carson gathered her purse, keys, and phone, and headed towards the school. She always picked Max up from car riders.
Not working left her plenty of time to focus on him. Pulling into the school’s car line, she relaxed and waited. Glancing up, Carson realized the line had started to move forward. Easing her car up, she didn’t see Max anywhere. Unrolling her window, she asked one of the teachers if she could see where he was. “Mrs. Harding, the front office says your husband checked him out an hour ago.” “Oh,” dread filled her chest, “We must have crossed wires today. Thanks. See you tomorrow.” Carson navigated her car from the school parking lot, her stomach in knots. She knew Phillip had left on his bike, meaning her son was on the back of said bike. Another thing they fought about constantly. Rushing back home, Carson was disappointed when she pulled into an empty driveway. Where was Phillip, with her son no less? Smacking her hands on the steering wheel, she pushed herself out and slammed the car door. She snatched her phone from her purse and immediately tried calling Phillip. Voice mail… Of course. She wanted to scream. Instead, she ran inside to wait.
Hopefully, Phillip would come home so they could sit down and discuss things – without yelling. Slow day’s like this one nearly killed Jason. He lived for the thrill, the rush of a call – but so far, his twenty-four-hour shift had been nothing more than keys locked in a car and hydrant duty. Being on the special operations truck, aka, squad, he typically sat around waiting for a massive fire or accident. When the bell finally went off, two hours before his shift was supposed to end, he sighed. Sitting around for almost twenty-two hours, some of which he slept, a call this close to shift change was not welcomed, it was nearly four – another two hours, and he’d be off. Signal 41 – possible injuries. Truck versus motorcycle. Squad 6, Truck 6, Medic 6 respond to 7th and main. Jason winced. A motorcycle versus a truck never ended well.
Pulling on his turnout pants and jacket, he climbed into the passenger seat of the squad truck. Jason surveyed the scene. A man was being restrained by officers, screaming at them. Walking towards them, Jason looked him over. “What’s going on?” The man had a gash down his leg and road rash on his forearms. “This guy took a pretty hard hit – he’s not making any sense.” The officer on the scene stated. “Sir,” Jason waved his fingers in front of the man’s eyes, “Can you tell me your name?” “Phillip – and I’m fine. Please, you have to find my son.” “Were you involved in this accident?” Jason’s hair stood, unease settling in his gut. “Yes… my son and I were on my bike. I wasn’t paying attention and –” The realization there was another person on the bike sparked Jason into action. He turned, scanning the surroundings, he started towards a ditch opposite the accident scene. The kid had likely been thrown, projecting him anywhere.
As he neared the edge, he caught sight of small shoes, attached to legs. Picking up his speed, he dropped to his knees next to the boy. Feeling for a pulse, he sensed it was weak. “MEDIC!” he screamed, “I’ve got him!” Paramedics swarmed, taking control of the small lifeless boy. He was in awful shape, bones protruding from both legs, his forearm bent at an odd angle, and the most concerning, his helmet laid on the ground a few feet from him. Jason snatched it up, fury filling his blood. It was an adult helmet, much too large for a small child. He watched in anger as they loaded him and the father inside the ambulance and tore away from the accident. Jason knew there was little chance the boy would survive something like this – he wondered where the mother was. Carson paced in her kitchen as she waited. It was nearly six and she’d still not heard from Phillip. She was getting ready to call him when her cell phone flashed an unknown number. “Hello?” “Is this Mrs. Harding?” “Yes,” her tone filled with irritation, “This is Carson Harding.” “Mrs. Harding, this is officer Browning with the Carver City police department.”
Carson stumbled into the table, “The police department?” “Ma’am, I need you to come to Carver Memorial Hospital. Your husband and son have been involved in an accident.” “What? An accident? Are they… are they, ok?” She asked, her words strained and breathless. “You need to come here, do I need to send someone to get you?” Carson’s gut churned, she knew it must be bad if he was avoiding the question, “No, I’ll be there in twenty minutes.” She disconnected the call and grabbed her keys. Slipping her phone into her pocket, she raced out the door and peeled out of her driveway. Her heart nearly beat out of her chest. She knew that bike would get him killed, they fought relentlessly about Max riding with him. And now, as she pulled into the parking lot of the emergency room, the tears streamed down her face as she anticipated the worst. Throwing her car in park, she rushed through the entrance towards the nurse’s station.
“Please,” her words breathless from running from her car, “My husband and son – they were in an accident.” A uniformed officer approached her, “Mrs. Harding?” Carson glanced towards the young man’s face, his expression filled with sorrow. “Mrs. Harding, your husband, and son were in a bad accident. I’m afraid,” Carson cut him off. “NO! Please… is he? Is he…” her sob bubbled from her throat, bursting out like a shaken soda. “Ma’am, your husband has minor injuries. A broken arm, and some cuts. Your son,” He took a deep breath, “I’m afraid your son is worse. He was thrown from the bike and is in surgery.” “No… no…” Carson couldn’t see, her vision was blurry. “Mrs. Harding? Are you ok?” “I…” Her head spun, it was hard for her to breath. “MRS. HARDING,” she heard the officer call out to her as darkness clouded her mind.