Chapter 2 A Longer Night #2
All the color drained from her thin face as the car crashed through the double doors, into the podium, and then into Rachel—the bag in her hand flying one way, as she disappeared under a sea of shattered glass and wood, the car stopping before it ran her over completely.
As the chaos unfolded in front of Lana, she was frozen for a moment like one of the animals in the La Brea Tar Pits, her eyes not believing what was happening.
She usually treated victims after something like this, but never witnessed anything like it first-hand.
She finally collected herself, jumped off the barstool, and ran towards Rachel.
Please don’t be dead. Please don’t be dead.
The podium that was in front of the door was now in pieces, and they were on top of Rachel.
Lana started pulling them away and didn’t realize just how heavy it was.
It was made of real wood, so it was harder than it looked, and she had to use some serious upper-body strength to get it to budge.
People in the diner were screaming and running as far away from the car as they possibly could.
Some were in obvious shock, their eyes transfixed on the wreckage, and stood unmoved.
The few children there were crying and clutching their parents, while some people attempted to go around the car and leave the building.
It was madness! Lana got the last piece of wood off of Rachel’s face finally and saw her moving.
“Are you OK, Rachel?” Lana asked.
Aunt Mae flew out of the kitchen, the door slamming the wall so loud it sounded like a shotgun going off.
“What in the blazes of hell is going on?” she yelled, then stopped as she saw Lana bending over Rachel. The car was between where her front door used to be and the dining room.
“Turn off the gas!” she screamed, running back into the kitchen, waving her oven mitt in the air.
Although most of the damage was in the front of the building and unlikely a gas leak would happen, it was better to be safe than sorry.
Sturdy architecture. Lana couldn’t help but think how much worse this might have been if the building were in disrepair.
She studied Rachel to assess her injuries, and there was a gaping gash on her forehead, the crimson of her blood oozing down her face.
She was trying to sit up, but Lana dropped to her knees and held her down to stop her.
“No, don't move. We don't know what other injuries you could have, and you may make it worse,” Lana said in a huff and lowered her back to the floor.
“I'm OK, my leg just hurts like hell,” Rachel managed to get out.
Lana looked down at her lower body. It was still covered in a large piece of wood from the entrance door.
She crawled over to it and carefully and slowly removed the wood.
Only then did she see part of Rachel’s femur bone protruding out of her thigh.
This is really bad. If she doesn’t get to a hospital fast, she could lose her leg or bleed out and die right here.
Lana, now in full nurse mode, searched the room with her eyes and spotted a man standing and watching them, the color gone from his face. She pointed to him.
“You, call nine-one-one, now!” she barked. He was startled by her tone, but snapped out of his fixation and fumbled with his cell phone.
“No! Use the land-line, it'll be faster,” she continued.
He nodded his head in submission and ran behind the counter.
He slipped on something but caught himself before he hit the ground.
Probably my pot pie dinner. He steadied himself on the edge of the counter and grabbed the rotary phone on the wall.
Lana reached for a broken chair leg and took off her sweater.
She stood and walked back to the counter, leaned over, and grabbed a knife. She started ripping the sweater into strips. The man she sent to call the police touched her arm, and she spun around, the knife inches from his chest.
“They’re on the way,” he said, looking down at Rachel’s leg. He was starting to look green now.
“Thanks,” Lana replied, “go outside and get some air, OK?”
The last thing she wanted was for him to pass out and hurt himself.
She didn't need two people she had to provide emergency care for. Patrons started leaving the diner through a back exit, herded by Aunt Mae and some of the kitchen staff. Lana returned her attention to Rachel and tried to figure out how she would address the leg, and glared up at the car. Kayden must be hurt because he hasn’t moved.
She kneeled down again and started using the pieces of her sweater and the broken chair to place Rachel’s leg in a splint. The bleeding wasn’t too bad, which was good. It meant any major arteries weren’t punctured, but she needed to get Rachel to the nearest hospital right away.
“Now, Rachel, I need you to stay as calm and still as you can for me okay?” Lana said to her.
Rachel nodded her head in compliance as Lana slowly started to move her leg. She screamed, but Lana knew she had to keep moving. It didn’t make sense to stop only to have to restart again.
“Almost done,” she said and tied the pieces of the wood as tightly as she could get them to Rachel’s battered leg.
She let out another scream, but it was weaker than the last. She would probably pass out from the pain. Lana moved to her head and smoothed her hair back to provide her with some comfort.
“It’ll be OK now. The worst of it is over,” she whispered to her.
Rachel grabbed her hand and squeezed it tight.
Lana didn’t notice when the car door opened, so when she looked up and saw Kayden, it startled her.
Gone was the cocky, reserved jerk she’d met on the road hours earlier.
He looked scared. He should be. His face twisted in pain, as he looked down and saw the small, broken woman lying on the floor.
His now panicked, watery eyes found Lana’s.
“Is she dead?” he asked, his face devoid of color.
He looked almost supernatural with his eyes being as light as they were.
What were they blue? Green? She pushed the distraction away from her mind.
He was a reckless ass, who obviously didn’t think before he made idiotic decisions.
He was probably used to just throwing money at his screw ups to make them go away.
It’s what he did on the highway with her.
His Armani shirt probably cost more than the salaries of everyone in the restaurant.
What made people like him think they could tear through this world and treat people any way they wanted?
She rose from the floor slowly, placing Rachel’s head down on the ground softly.
The rage in her built up so fast that she began to shake as she stood toe-to-toe with him now.
“No, she's not!” she yelled at him, her fists balled in anger.
A look of relief flashed across his face as his gaze narrowed on Rachel, her chest rising and falling slowly.
Loud sirens were approaching, and red and blue lights started to flash into the darkened diner, getting more intense as they got closer.
A few local police cars sped up to the curb, followed by an ambulance.
Lana shivered, feeling the cold draft, and remembered she was in nothing but her bra.
She started to cover herself with her hands, but it didn’t do much to hide her ample bust.
Kayden pulled off his leather jacket and handed it to her. She snatched it from him and put it on, knowing it was rude of her, but rude was what he deserved.
“You’re welcome,” he said, as he ran his hand through his tousled hair.
His eyes were fixated on her chest, and she flashed him a look that could kill if possible.
Seriously? She wrapped the large jacket around her, making him shift his eyes back to her face, where they belonged.
His mouth turned up in the corner in a faint smile, and it took every ounce of willpower in her body not to slap it clean off his face.
“Are you OK?” he asked quietly.
“Please don’t pretend you care about anyone other than yourself,” she snapped coldly.
“Hey! We need to move this car out of the way now!”
They both turned to face the voice, and it was an EMT.
Kayden jumped into the car, and Lana returned to Rachel.
She kneeled beside her as Kayden started the car and backed it slowly out of the doorway.
Part of one of the shattered stained glass doors slid off the roof of the car as he reversed, and it hit the floor with a thud.
When the doorway was clear, Kayden got out and walked back into the diner with the EMTs.
Lana stood and moved out of the way as they got to work, placing Rachel on the stretcher.
A police officer, a tall, lanky man with a ridiculous mustache, turned his attention to Kayden. He was much calmer than he was a few moments ago, but his attention was on Lana.
“Are you the driver of this vehicle, sir?” he boomed, his voice way deeper and more foreboding than his small stature would presume.
He was already removing his handcuffs, and that made Lana smile. Good, she thought, take him away.
“Yes,” Kayden replied, never removing his eyes from her.
She was starting to feel as naked as she had before putting his jacket on.
“Sir, I need you to step outside, please.”
Kayden finally broke his stare and was led out of the diner as the officer started reading him his rights.
The EMTs finally finished with Rachel and lifted the stretcher.
She reached her hand over to Lana’s again and gave it another squeeze.
They started wheeling her away when Lana felt a tap on her shoulder.
She turned to find Aunt Mae standing there.
“Thank you,” she said and handed her a takeout bag. Lana took it and could smell the contents right away—the chicken pot pie. She reached into her jeans pocket to pay for the meal, but Aunt Mae placed her hand on her forearm, stopping her.
“Don't you dare,” she said with her radiant smile, the lights in the room making them flash red and blue.
Before Lana could say anything, Aunt Mae rushed back into the kitchen.
She grabbed her purse off the floor and walked out of the restaurant, her shoes crushing shards of stained glass and splintered wood.
Once outside, she saw the tire’s skid marks leading from the street into the entrance under her feet.
Lana glared at Kayden as the police officer finally placed him in the back of the squad car.
Idiot, she thought to herself, he’s lucky he didn’t kill anybody.
A strong wind blew, and she put her free hand into the jacket pocket, and her hand hit something cold and hard.
She pulled it out, and it was a metal flask.
It was stamped: KAYDEN CAPSHAW. Anger spread through her again, and she was ready to explode like fireworks.
She looked up at him, and he dared to be smiling at her again—that crooked, gorgeous, self-indulgent grin, as the squad car pulled away.
He didn’t hand over his jacket just to be a nice guy; he was trying to get rid of his evidence!
She was already stomping towards her truck to follow the cop when another police officer approached her, blocking her path.
The flask won’t matter, either way, Mr. Capshaw.
It won’t stop a breathalyzer test. She took the flask out of the jacket pocket and handed it to the officer.