Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 85342 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 427(@200wpm)___ 341(@250wpm)___ 284(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85342 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 427(@200wpm)___ 341(@250wpm)___ 284(@300wpm)
My head is spinning. “Is the baby?” I can’t even say the words before the lump gets stuck in my throat. My stomach feels like someone just kicked me at the same time that pressure is now forming in my chest. I’ve been doing this for long enough to block it off, but nothing, and I mean nothing, prepared me for this.
“Not sure yet,” he states, and I put my hand to my stomach, thinking I’m going to be sick. “Not sure of her injuries.” He lets go of me when he knows I’m not going to run off. “She’s got cuts all over her face from the broken glass on the other side.”
“What the fuck happened?” I ask, looking toward the car now. I put my hand on my head, ignoring the way it’s shaking.
“From what we got from a couple of bystanders.” He motions to four people on the other side near a policeman as they watch. “She was swerving down the street, going fifty to sixty miles an hour.”
“What the fuck?” I say, shaking my head.
“She then ran a red light, and a car hit the driver’s side of her car.” He points at the skid marks. “Then she must have turned her wheel because she hit the pole with the passenger side of the car. Someone said it looked like a pinball game.”
“Did you see her?” I ask, and he nods.
“I was on my way to the station to start my shift, but they called me when they couldn’t find a pulse, so I came right here.” He puts his hands in his back pockets. “I don’t know what the toxicology is going to come back with, but she reeks of booze.”
“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” I put both hands on my head. My hands shake, and my feet move as I do a circle while I try to comprehend what he is saying. She was sitting in front of me two days ago, alive and well, and now she’s here dead, and all I can do is hope Penelope pulls through.
“We tried to get to the baby, but her car is sealed shut, so we called the fire department to cut her out,” he informs me when we hear shouting coming from the firemen.
“We have a pulse,” one of them says, and I can’t help but squat down and put my hands to my mouth. I see a couple of the firemen reach in, and then all of a sudden, her whole car seat is taken out.
“Colin.” I look at him, and he nods his head as he puts his hand on my back and ushers me forward.
The paramedic wheels the gurney toward the scene. “She’s going to escort her,” Colin says, and the paramedic looks at me. I look at the car seat, seeing Penelope with her face riddled in blood and glass all around her head. She looks like she’s sleeping.
“I’m from CPS,” I tell them, and they give me a sad smile. “She is already in my case file,” I share with them. Then I make the mistake of looking back at the car. I can see her silhouette hunched over the steering wheel, and my heart breaks. “Is someone going to stay with her?” I look at Colin.
“I’ll stay until she’s out of the car,” he tells me. “The coroner is on his way. We can’t take her out before he gets here.” I look over at the firemen, who are all looking at the little girl who has captured them.
“We have to get her out of that seat,” I say. “She’s getting cut.”
“We need to take her vitals,” the paramedic says as they start rushing toward the waiting ambulance. “We don’t want to move her until they assess her.”
They lift the gurney into the ambulance, and one of them holds out their hands for me. I put my foot on the step at the back of the ambulance and climb in. They point at the side, and I sit down, watching them try to take her vitals. My hand moves on its own as I place her small hand in mine, feeling it’s cold. “She needs to be covered. She’s cold,” I say, my body numb as I pray she wakes up. I pray to hear her little voice, even if it’s to ask for her mom.
“We are going to secure her neck, and then we’ll take her out,” the woman explains as she reaches over and grabs the white and blue neck collar. She takes her scissors out to cut the safety harness so she can move her gently. She doesn’t even groan. “Her blood pressure is stable,” she states as she takes her pulse and then cuts the belts around her legs. The car seat I bought with her mom when she grew out of the infant carrier. Monica picked it because she liked the little butterflies on the seat cover. “I’m going to move her, so watch the glass,” she tells me, and all I can do is look at Penelope.