My job used to have me working until 3 AM. I live in the boonies and it was very rare for me to see any vehicles at all on my ride home. One summer night on the very dark and lonely backroad stretch to my home, I see a pair of headlights rapidly growing in my rear view mirror. My first thought is that it's some bored cop coming to check me out, but as the car gets closer I can tell it's not.
Then when it gets about twenty feet off my bumper, the headlights start flashing frantically. Oh great, I think, it's some drunk. I start to pull over to let this yahoo go by me, but the car slows and stays on my tail. I stop on the shoulder, but keep my car in gear with my foot on the brake while watching the side mirror. Someone steps out of the driver's side and though the only illumination is from those headlights, I can make out that it's a woman. I lower my window and as she gets closer I can see blood all over her face and down her tank top.
Now I'm kind of nervous. My first thought is that her boyfriend has just beat the holy hell out of her and maybe he's going to come after me if I try to intervene. By this time, she's reached my window. She's mid-20s. I ask, "What the hell happened?" All she can say is "Please help me" over and over. I step out of my car and look back but I don't see anyone else. My next thought is how much this is like a scene from some cheesy horror flick: Unsuspecting good samaritan tries to help a damsel in distress when suddenly he's eviscerated by a hatchet wielding maniac. At the time, in that atmosphere, it didn't seem far fetched.
In the meanwhile, this girl has moved in front of my car and is laying there on the road moaning and sobbing. By now, my rational mind has taken over and I forget about my previous scenarios. I pick her up, walk her to the passenger side, and get her seated there. She's still saying, "Please help me". I turn on the overhead light and get a good look at her. Her left eye is shut and swollen. It looks like blood is streaming from her eye socket, but then I see a gash on the left side of her head just above the hairline. The blood is kind of weeping out of there and flowing down that side of her face.
It takes awhile, but after a few minutes of reassuring her that she's going to be ok, she finally calms down a bit. She moans and says that her back really hurts. I gently lean her forward and see divot in her left shoulder blade where a big chunk of flesh is missing. I have a sweatshirt in the backseat that I roll up and place behind her back as a halfassed bandage. I give her a wad of napkins to hold against her head wound. I call 911. While we wait, she tells me her name (which I've forgotten). She says she had pulled over to pee and a car hit her. She's worried because "Mom is going to kill me"!
Some cop cars and an ambulance arrive in about three minutes. I tell the cops my story and stand aside as the EMTs tend to her. I walk back with one of the cops and look at her car. It's a VW Jetta. The entire left side is dented and creased. The driver door is bent completely forward against the fender. Its interior panel has been torn off and is missing. Her cell phone and Marlboros are on the passenger seat.
Catching bits of radio conversation and speaking with one of the cops brings out details of the accident. Apparently, a truck driver had contacted local police that he had hit something on the highway (about 4 miles from where we are) but didn't know what. He had looped back but couldn't find anything. The cops showed up so quickly because they had already been out trying to figure out what had happened. So it seems that she was drunk, pulled over on the highway (not far enough), and got creamed by this truck as she stepped out. Then, in shock and panic, she drove 4 miles with an open door trying to find someone to help her.
I couldn't sleep that night. I spent the next couple of hours cleaning the blood out of my car. I then called both police departments involved to find out how she fared. They each told me the other department was responsible and couldn't give me any information. I called the hospital where she was likely treated, but patient confidentiality rules kept me in the dark.
So I never talked to her again to find out the complete story. I'm sure she was okay, though. And I'm glad I wasn't butchered by a psycho killer.
Then when it gets about twenty feet off my bumper, the headlights start flashing frantically. Oh great, I think, it's some drunk. I start to pull over to let this yahoo go by me, but the car slows and stays on my tail. I stop on the shoulder, but keep my car in gear with my foot on the brake while watching the side mirror. Someone steps out of the driver's side and though the only illumination is from those headlights, I can make out that it's a woman. I lower my window and as she gets closer I can see blood all over her face and down her tank top.
Now I'm kind of nervous. My first thought is that her boyfriend has just beat the holy hell out of her and maybe he's going to come after me if I try to intervene. By this time, she's reached my window. She's mid-20s. I ask, "What the hell happened?" All she can say is "Please help me" over and over. I step out of my car and look back but I don't see anyone else. My next thought is how much this is like a scene from some cheesy horror flick: Unsuspecting good samaritan tries to help a damsel in distress when suddenly he's eviscerated by a hatchet wielding maniac. At the time, in that atmosphere, it didn't seem far fetched.
In the meanwhile, this girl has moved in front of my car and is laying there on the road moaning and sobbing. By now, my rational mind has taken over and I forget about my previous scenarios. I pick her up, walk her to the passenger side, and get her seated there. She's still saying, "Please help me". I turn on the overhead light and get a good look at her. Her left eye is shut and swollen. It looks like blood is streaming from her eye socket, but then I see a gash on the left side of her head just above the hairline. The blood is kind of weeping out of there and flowing down that side of her face.
It takes awhile, but after a few minutes of reassuring her that she's going to be ok, she finally calms down a bit. She moans and says that her back really hurts. I gently lean her forward and see divot in her left shoulder blade where a big chunk of flesh is missing. I have a sweatshirt in the backseat that I roll up and place behind her back as a halfassed bandage. I give her a wad of napkins to hold against her head wound. I call 911. While we wait, she tells me her name (which I've forgotten). She says she had pulled over to pee and a car hit her. She's worried because "Mom is going to kill me"!
Some cop cars and an ambulance arrive in about three minutes. I tell the cops my story and stand aside as the EMTs tend to her. I walk back with one of the cops and look at her car. It's a VW Jetta. The entire left side is dented and creased. The driver door is bent completely forward against the fender. Its interior panel has been torn off and is missing. Her cell phone and Marlboros are on the passenger seat.
Catching bits of radio conversation and speaking with one of the cops brings out details of the accident. Apparently, a truck driver had contacted local police that he had hit something on the highway (about 4 miles from where we are) but didn't know what. He had looped back but couldn't find anything. The cops showed up so quickly because they had already been out trying to figure out what had happened. So it seems that she was drunk, pulled over on the highway (not far enough), and got creamed by this truck as she stepped out. Then, in shock and panic, she drove 4 miles with an open door trying to find someone to help her.
I couldn't sleep that night. I spent the next couple of hours cleaning the blood out of my car. I then called both police departments involved to find out how she fared. They each told me the other department was responsible and couldn't give me any information. I called the hospital where she was likely treated, but patient confidentiality rules kept me in the dark.
So I never talked to her again to find out the complete story. I'm sure she was okay, though. And I'm glad I wasn't butchered by a psycho killer.
