Eeeeeoooowwwww!
The police car’s siren
cut off in a long, mournful blare as it pulled over to the side of Classen
Boulevard. Just in front of it was a
maroon Mercury Grand Marquis—an older model, headlights showing it had been
built at least fifteen years ago. This
car was empty, except for the driver, who’d pulled right over when they’d seen
the flashing lights behind them.
With a squeak, the door to the squad car popped
open, and Officer Hanson of the Norman Police Department popped out. He wandered up the gravel at the side of the
road, shielding his eyes from the glow of the setting sun on his right. Tons of cars passed to his left, but the
speed limit was fifty miles an hour, and no one was really paying attention.
When he came to the car,
the window was already down. The
vehicle’s occupant was a girl who couldn’t have had her license for long—Hanson
would have put her age at sixteen, if he had to guess. Her hair was light brown, cascading in gentle
curls about six inches past her shoulders.
It framed a face that obviously usually bore a grin—but not now. An air of nervousness was evident about her as
she spoke.
“What’s the matter,
officer?” she asked. “Was I speeding?”
Hanson shook his
head. “Not at all, miss. Only reason I stopped you was, that light was
red when you went through the intersection.”
The statement didn’t
cause the girl to relax very much, but she was pleasant. “It was?
Oh, dear. I’m so sorry, officer! I wasn’t paying attention.”
Hanson chuckled. “Had your license long?”
“Three months,” the girl
said.
“I can remember doing
stuff like that when I was your age,” Hanson said. “There’s a lot to concentrate on when
driving, and sometimes, you’ve just got to get experience to remember
everything. Mind if I see it?”
“The license?” the girl
said. “Certainly!”
She plunged her hand into
her pocket, then rummaged around—quite a while.
Then, the hand plunged into the other pocket. Then, she reached into her shirt pocket, and
her face got even more nervous-looking—
“Oh, wait! I think it’s in my purse!”
She reached in, this time
pulling out the card in less than five seconds.
Hand shaking, she handed it to the officer, who took a look at it.
“Stephanie Dale,” the
Oklahoma card read. The birthdate confirmed
his guess—she was just sixteen—and the photo matched its holder perfectly. A little smile came over the officer’s lips,
as he saw she’d marked “organ donor” on her card.
Handing it back, he asked,
“This your first car?”
She nodded.
“Good vehicle,” Hanson
said, running his eye over it. “These’ll
get you far, if you take care of them.
Alright, just a warning this time.
Watch out for red lights.”
The girl nodded
gratefully. Her mouth opened, as if she
wanted to say something else, but the words didn’t come out. Instead, she sat rather stiffly, smiling at
the officer—a smile that was more nervous than happy.
Hanson, for his part,
nodded at the girl, then walked back to his car.
As he got in, he saw the
lights go back on for the Mercury. The
car accelerated gently, then cut all the way across the road until it was in
the left turn lane. This time, the
signal turned green as soon as the vehicle hit the intersection, and it was
soon headed up the ramp towards Route 9—Chickasha direction.
Smiling, Hanson pulled
back into traffic and continued south—off to Walmart, to pick up some nachos
for a football party. People ran red
lights all the time, and the incident was soon forgotten. Little did he realize that he would be the
last person to see Stephanie Dale, before she…
Well, you’ll just have to
keep reading.
Oh I will, believe me!
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