Well, number eight. Two more after this one, and I'll have reached Wolfpup's goal of ten new stories before she gets back online. I started this one in pen on Wednesday. I had a banquet to go to. It was an OK event. Good people. But it meant that I couldn't work on number seven. I can't even remember the title, now. Oh dear. I'm going to have to read them after they're posted, just to see what they're all about. J Anyway, we had to stop and get a card for an acquaintance's birthday, and I had my cousin pick up a notebook for me while she was at it. That's where this story got started. I'm hoping I can read my writing. It's pretty bad.
Oh, well. Blame Lora for this one. She mentioned that I still needed to do some more Hero du Jour's for Simon and Joel. This one isn't my specialty, but here goes, anyway. I don't pretend to remember all the psychobabble that goes along with this, so just bare with me, please.
Disclaimers: I don't own them. I won't make any money. Please don't sue me. Thank you.
Hero Du Jour-Joel
by
[ Reader
comments ] [ Add your comments
]
The late afternoon traffic was, as usual, heavy. He patiently waited through the gridlock. He was on the bridge, sitting. Waiting, in no hurry. He allowed his gaze to wander away from all the red tail lights.
He froze, blinking. Uncertain if he was seeing what he thought he was seeing. He stared. Abruptly, he slammed the gear shift into park, turned on his emergency flashers, and bailed out of his car. He ran to the railing, pulling out his cell phone and hitting the speed dial.
"There's a jumper on Veteran's Bridge. Traffic is stalled and I'm going to see what I can do. I don't know if the fire department can get through or not. I'll keep the line open." He was on the walkway, looking at the young woman poised on top of the safety railing.
Approaching cautiously, he called out softly, "Miss? Please don't do this." The woman, barely more than a girl, really, turned her tear-streaked face toward him.
"Go away." She sobbed.
"I'm sorry, I can't do that." He replied.
"Why? It's not like you know me or anything. Why don't you just go away and leave me alone?"
"Because I know that whatever you think is so terrible isn't so bad that you need to die for it. Please, let me help you." He had her attention. "Please? At least tell me what's wrong? Maybe there's something I can do to help." He could see her hesitate, thinking. "What do you have to lose?"
"I'm fourteen and I'm pregnant and my folks threw me out and my boyfriend broke up with me and I don't know what else to do." She wailed, shaking with her sobs.
"I know someone who can help. He called out softly, his voice gentle, confident and, most important, kind.
"How do I know you're not some pervert?" Not so distraught that she was foolish.
"Well," He reached in his pocket, removing his wallet and badge case. Opening both and holding them so she could see. "I'm a cop. My name's Joel. From what you've told me, your boyfriend is in a lot of trouble. How old is he?"
"Twenty-six." She replied, sniffling. Watching him, wondering if he really could help her.
"What's his name?" Slowly inching toward her.
"John Walters. He's a teacher at my school."
"I really can help. Please? Just come down. I know of a safe place you can stay. No one will hurt you. Please?" He was feeling a little desperate. This was nowhere near his area of expertise. What he knew about suicides was what he could remember from a one hour briefing several years earlier. He knew not to discount her feelings, however.
He could see her thinking, deliberating on his words. Looking into his eyes. He knew there was no way to stop her if she really wanted to die, but if she was just looking for help, then he had a chance.
"Who would help me?" She asked, turning more toward him, shifting her hold on the I-beam she was holding onto.
"My church. We have an outreach program for pregnant teens. You don't have to go to church or anything. We just want to help. Please, can I come closer?"
She looked at him. He'd managed to get within seven or eight feet from her, still too far away to be able to grab her if she decided to jump, or save her if she slipped.
Clinging tightly to the I-beam, she watched his eyes. Deciding, she nodded, slightly. "OK." He kept his movements slow and deliberate. Easing closer. Looking up at her, he smiled.
"What's your name?" He asked.
"Tammi Johnson." Up close, he reminded her of a teddy bear. She smiled shyly at him. "Help me down?" Extending one hand.
"Of course." Reaching up to take her hand. She started to crouch down, preparatory to climbing down, but started to wobble, losing her balance. Joel reached out and grabbed her closest leg and pulled her toward him, to prevent her falling over the rail to the rushing water below. He caught her as she came down, sliding his arm up her body, breaking her abrupt descent.
"Oh!" She turned in his grasp, partly to escape, partly to look back at what had almost happened. As she pulled away, he released her with the arm holding her, only hanging on to her hand to prevent her running away.
"Oh, honey, that was close." He told her, shaking a little, himself. Pulling his cell phone out and speaking into it. "I've got her, guys. She's OK. I'll bring her down for the paperwork and then I'm taking her to a shelter." He listened for a moment, frowning. He looked up and realized that there were TV cameras pointed at them. He sighed. Looking at Tammi, he said, "Well, it looks as though we're going to be on the evening news." She turned to see where he was looking and immediately turned back, burying her face against his chest in embarrassment.
"Please?" She whispered, mortified.
"Don't worry. It'll be OK. I promise." Turning her to lead her back to his car, the traffic finally flowing around it, curious onlookers staring at them as they drove by.
With the reporter calling out questions, Joel deftly kept his young charge's face from being photographed. He apologized to the reporter, "I'm sorry. She's a minor. I can't tell you her name."
"OK. How old is she?"
"Fourteen."
"What's your name?"
"Joel Taggart. Major Crime, Cascade PD." He replied, opening the passenger door to his car and helping Tammi in. Closing the door, he circled around and got in behind the wheel, checking traffic, he turned off his flashers and with his turn signal blinking, pulled out into traffic, finished crossing the bridge, turned around and returned to the station to fill out the reports. He convinced his Captain and the DA not to press charges against the fourteen-year-old, filing charges instead against the teacher for Statutory Rape and against her parents for criminal neglect.
When he got home, after taking Tammi to his Church's shelter, with a promise to stay in touch, he was met by his wife, who told him how proud she was of him. Puzzled, (for, although he had called her to tell her he would be late coming home, he hadn't explained why) he asked what she was talking about. She simply handed him the remote to the VCR. Sitting on the couch, he pushed 'play', only to blush at seeing himself as he had been earlier on the bridge.
"During the evening commute, our team was on Veteran's Bridge, when they observed the following." They showed the tape of Joel talking the young girl down from the bridge railing and how he had saved her from falling over the edge. "The Good Samaritan has been identified as Joel Taggart of Cascade Police's Major Crime Division, who was on his way home when he observed the teenager's plight and stopped to talk her out of jumping. The girl has been taken to a local shelter. In other news today..."
The End
Eight down, two more to go. I have one that I started a while back, that I'll finish. Now, if I can only think up another story for number ten ... ssssssssssssssssszzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz ssssssssssssssssssss (the sound of my brain frying from the abuse).