A Walk in the Park. By Isobel Herring Copyright Isobel Herring 2012 Published by Osier Publishing at Smashwords www.osierpublishing.co.uk ISBN: 9781301165650 Electronic Edition first published – January 2013 The moral rights of the author and artist have been asserted. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical or otherwise, without the written permission of the publisher or author. All characters and locations within this work are fictitious and any resemblance to real people or places is entirely coincidental. This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each reader. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. Cover design by Osier Publishing. Cover Image courtesy of Vlado at FreeDigitalPhotos.net 1 Rick was almost thirty, a lecturer at the small college in the sleepy town of Wingate. It was the back end of nowhere, and nothing ever happened. He rolled over in bed, slapping a hand at the alarm clock and drifting back off to sleep, slipping into a familiar dream. He'd felt, from an early age, that he was waiting for someone but he hadn't found them yet. All through his teens, not that long past really, he'd had a recurring dream of a woman with wild chestnut hair that floated in tight curls around a smiling, golden tanned face with laughing green eyes above a wide, open smile. In the dreams, she held him close and he felt safer than he'd ever felt. He could never see more of her, just her face but he could feel her arms around him, warm and comforting. He looked forward to those dreams. He wished she was real. He hadn't had that dream in a while, and he'd missed it. She was beside him, wild chestnut curls tight with moisture but still falling into her face. She wiped a hand upwards, brushing the hair back from those vivid green eyes. Her arms were around him, he could feel them strong on his back and shoulders. "It's OK, Rick, it's OK," she murmured softly. He felt so warm, so safe. The alarm woke him, again, and he reluctantly crawled out of bed. He opened the back door, let the dog into the garden. Breakfast was a bowl of cereal and a mug of instant coffee. Rick had his own space, and habits, and he couldn’t really imagine sharing his life with anyone, except Heathcliffe. He’d had relationships over the years but somehow no-one was quite right, no-one quite measured up to the vivid green eyes and wild chestnut curls of his dream. For years he’d assumed she was real and he’d meet her one day. He told himself it was fate; maybe they had a future together. He shook his head. It was just a dream. He washed the bowl and mug, left them to drain, fed the dog and went to work. It wasn’t an exciting life, but he was happy enough. 2 Rick heard the whining as he reached his front door after a day at work that had dragged until time slowed to almost a stop. He'd named the dog Heathcliffe, just so he could call the name out in the park. He'd toyed with other names, not so savoury nor as polite, but just as funny. But the shaggy mongrel with the mostly black coat had suited the name, Heathcliffe. So that had stuck. He'd rescued Heathcliffe from the local animal shelter, a skinny, scruffy mutt with adorable eyes, and since then the dog had filled out into a delightful companion who followed Rick everywhere and pined when left alone. Today it was raining and Rick wished he could stay at home, curled on his large, blue sofa in front of the television on a quiet road on one of the new estates springing up around Wingate. Instead, the dog had been sitting by the door as he arrived home from work. Heathcliffe had his leash clamped firmly in his mouth and seemed to be grinning, teeth bared and panting with his tongue lolling. His huge brown eyes wide and ears perked up. Well, one perked, the other never quite made it, the white sprinkled tip permanently drooping forward. Rick reached down and the leash was placed carefully into his hand. He hung it back on the hook. "Let me get changed first? I suppose a drink and something to eat is out of the question?" The dog barked, just once. Rick shrugged. "I thought not." Heathcliffe followed him to the bedroom, waiting expectantly in the doorway while Rick got changed. The dog's nose brushed the side of his leg as he went into his kitchen to grab a chocolate bar and his trainers. A glance out of the window made Rick reach for his coat but he thought the sky was brightening a little. He laced his trainers up tightly, and Heathcliffe was waiting by the door with his favourite, chewed, slobber soaked, tennis ball in his mouth. "Come on then." Rick fastened the leash and took the dog out. Walking across the park, Rick wished he wasn't single, so that sometimes, just now and then, someone else could walk the dog with him. He let his mind wander and smiled at the thought of his green-eyed red-haired woman waiting at home for him, or walking with him. One day. The rain was steady drizzle now, making the grass shine and collecting in the trees so it could ambush him as he passed beneath the branches. He pulled his collar up and shivered as cold trickled down his neck. The rain wasn't heavy, but it was persistent. His jeans were cold and damp, his legs were going to be red with the chill by the time the dog had finished and he got to go home. He groaned, not relishing the prospect of the aroma of wet dog pervading their home for the rest of the day, and probably into tomorrow, which was also forecast to be wet. Shame really, seeing as it was the weekend. Rick had planned to take Heathcliffe out for a long hike in the rolling dales surrounding Wingate. Once Summer arrived the hikes would be a regular occurrence, but Spring weather often stopped them for weeks on end. Both man and dog loved spending an entire day wandering the hills. The dog came bounding back with the ball, spraying more than rain from his coat as he ran. He skidded to a halt at Rick's feet, sending mud in all directions and he dropped the ball. Dark dog eyes fixed on Rick, back twitching and tail flailing in anticipation of the ball being thrown, again. Neither of them ever tired of this game. Heathcliffe ran and fetched, Rick threw and watched as the dog streaked away, over and over. The rain didn't bother the dog in the least, but it would make the man uncomfortable and grumpy very quickly. Rick pulled his coat collar closer, trying to keep the rain from sliding further down the back of his neck. It didn't work. He watched Heathcliffe sweep back and forth, smelling things, putting the ball down only to pick it back up only moments later. Rick smiled. Work had been arduous, his manager making unreasonable demands, again. Being out in the park, with Heathcliffe, soothed him, it always did. Even in the rain. Rick snorted, blew water from the drip dancing on the tip of his nose. At least it wasn't a thunderstorm, or hail. He pulled the chocolate bar from his pocket and unwrapped it. He took that especially tasty first bite sheltered beneath a large tree with broad leaves. He had no idea what sort it was, but it wasn't a horse chestnut. He remembered searching for that sort of tree as a boy, hunting for the red-brown treasures that fell in spiky green cases. Conkers. He'd had boxes filled with them stored under his bed, right until he left home at nineteen and he'd finally got rid of them. His mother had nagged for years, but Rick had loved his conkers. It was almost dry under the tree and Rick stayed there to finish his snack while Heathcliffe found something smelly to roll in and interesting things to sniff at. The dog was going to be disgustingly muddy by the time they got back home. Rick hunched his shoulders and realised he'd lost sight of Heathcliffe. "Damned dog," Rick grumbled, scowling his irritation as he cast around, trying to catch sight of the absent mutt. There was no sign of him, not even his normally perpetually wagging tail that usually stuck out from wherever he was hiding. "Dammit." Rick pulled the dog lead from his pocket. "Heathcliffe!" he called. Thunder rumbled in the distance. "Ah, shit." Rick kicked at the grass. Heathcliffe hated thunderstorms and would be cowering under a bush somewhere, refusing to come out until the storm had passed unless Rick could find him and get him back on the lead in the next couple of minutes. Rick strode to the carefully landscaped bushes near to where he'd last seen Heathcliffe, and he pushed into them. No sign of the dog. "HEATHCLIFFE!" He shouted as another low rumble shook the heavens. He looked up. The sky was getting steadily darker, the clouds gathering in denser pattern now and the rain becoming heavier with each drop that landed on Rick's exposed head. "I need a coat with a hood." He kicked at a bush and more water fell on his trainers and soaked into his trousers. "Heathcliffe, where are you?" he was starting to feel the first edge of concern through his irritation. There was no way he was going home without the dog. He whistled. He slapped the leash against his wet thigh, hoping that the jingle of the links on the clip would attract Heathcliffe's attention. Thunder rumbled again, this time followed a few seconds later by a flash of lightning that lit up the sky as the rain roared from overhead. Rick yelled back at the sky, an inarticulate cry of dismay, and he fled to the relative shelter of a nearby tree. Then he paused, looked up at the branches overhead, remembering the old advice about never, ever, sheltering under a tree in a thunderstorm. He looked at the rain pouring from the dark sky overhead and he decided that the tree would do just fine, at least until the torrent eased a little. It couldn't keep this up for long, could it? He had to find Heathcliffe. He couldn't go home without the dog. Rick peered into the rain. Was that a movement? There, in that clump of bushes threatening to collapse under the wet onslaught. "Heathcliffe?" He wiped the water from his face and it dripped back down from his hair. "Come on, boy, come back so we can go home." Rick slapped his leg, hoping the movement he saw was the dog and hoping he could go home, dry off and relax. A shivering nose poked out from the leaves. Heathcliffe. "Come on, you daft dog. I want to go home. It's only thunder." The crash that came next shook the tree and Rick was showered with more water. "Great." He shook himself, hunched his shoulders and left the branches' protection to go and fetch the dog. Lightening flashed across the sky and Rick cursed at being out in the open. He reached into the undergrowth, groping for Heathcliffe's collar. His hand brushed wet fur and he tried to wrap his fingers into the tangled mess, to pull the dog out. Heathcliffe trembled under his hand, dug his paws into softening earth, resisting being brought out into the open. Rick slid, knees now caked with mud, and his groping fingers found the collar he was seeking. He reached to clip on the leash and the rain stopped. He let the leash go slack in his hand, leaving the dog untethered. "Oh, that is just bloody typical!" Heathcliffe slunk from the bushes, belly close to the ground and he peered upwards before deciding it might be safe. Then he shook himself, all over Rick. "Gee, thanks." Sarcasm dripped along with water and mud, as Rick set off to the main park gates, heading for home. The dog ran back to the bushes, the man carried on walking. He reached the gate as the dog began to hurtle towards him with the missing tennis ball gripped firmly in his mouth. The road beyond the gates, slick with the torrent, was more like a shallow river when Rick paused to wait for Heathcliffe. The car came round the corner far too fast, sliding on water still welling up from overflowing drains. There was no control at all when the front wing ploughed into Rick, slamming him into the wall with a screech of tortured metal. The car bonnet crumpled, the side wing collapsed and smoke rose from the somewhere within the shattered engine. Somebody screamed. Rick couldn't work out who it was. He lifted his head to stare into the terrified eyes of the car driver. It was a young man. A young woman, presumably his girlfriend, slumped in the passenger seat beside him. She stirred, lifted her head, face spotted with blood. "No! Oh God, No!" The shouting coalesced into words. Time stopped. The world paused. Then his brain caught up, time returned to normal and Rick screamed as the agony of his injuries coursed through him. He was pinned, crushed against the wall with the full weight of the car on him. Grey edged into his vision and rising sensation overwhelmed as he passed out into welcome oblivion for a moment. Pain surged to drag him back to awareness. He couldn't breathe, so he gasped as best he could. Help was on the way, try not to move. As if he could do more than suck in one breath, and then another, until the blue and red lights of the ambulance arrived. By then Heathcliffe was beside him, paws on the wreck of the car, nosing his face and whining. The weight of the dog pressed down. Rick screamed. Heathcliffe whined, backed away. The ambulance was followed by a big, red fire engine and Rick almost smiled. He'd loved fire engines as a child. The police arrived and the crowd of uniforms surrounded the crash. The air lit with blue and red, a psychedelic cacophony that Rick slipped into from the dark that swam in his eyes. Huge metal jaws cut the car apart and both the driver and passenger were pulled free while a burly paramedic found Rick's arm. "What's your name, mate?" he asked, fingers probing for a vein. "I'm going to give you some morphine for the pain." "OK." Rick blinked, shivered. "Rick." "Well done, mate." The needle slipped in and some of the pain was wrapped in cotton wool. "I'm going to leave you with my mate, Ash, she'll look after you." He turned away, murmured a few words to someone behind him. There was a conversation drifting around him, distant and vague. Something about when they moved the car, and there being no hope. His legs. Why was the pain only above his waist? It didn’t seem to matter. An ambulance left in a whirl of light and sound that he barely noticed amid the remaining lights, voices and cotton-wrapped razor-edged pain. Rick let his eyes close for a second, he was so tired, so cold. "Hi Rick, I'm Aislinn." She told him, pronouncing it, Ashlinn in a soft southern Irish lilt. He dragged his eyes open. "I dreamed about you." He whispered. "I know." She agreed, her green eyes sad and apologetic. "Let me try to make you more comfy?" "My dog." Rick mumbled. "Look after Heathcliffe." The words sounded slurred. He hadn’t been drinking, had he? Aislinn laughed, "Of course I will." She held up the leash, pulling it from beneath the car. She passed it behind her and Rick heard the snick as the leash was attached to Heathcliffe's collar. The dog was whining again, but at least he was safe. "My legs?" Rick asked. "Don't worry about it." She told him, wiping his hair back from his face to place an oxygen mask over his mouth and nose. "This should help a little. Just try to breathe normally and don't try to talk too much." Someone spoke and she looked up, shook her head with regret. "I dreamed about you too. Those dreams are why I became a paramedic. I've known this would happen since I was ten years old. I waited for you." Her face was going fuzzy as metal tore and the car moved. "I'm going to die, aren't I?" He knew it now, felt it beginning to happen as the pressure of the car on his lower body began to ease and his blood flowed out of him and across the road. Then she was beside him, wild chestnut curls tight with moisture but still falling into her face. She wiped a hand upwards, brushing the hair back from those vivid green eyes. Her arms were around him, he could feel them strong on his back and shoulders. "It's OK, Rick, it's going to be OK," she murmured softly. "Yes, you're dying, but I'm here. You're not alone. The car was sealing off your injuries, as soon as it moved you bled out. There was never a chance of saving you. I'm sorry." He felt so warm, so safe. "I could listen to you..." he gasped, pressure in his chest now and the taste of blood in his mouth. "….for the rest....." He managed, stared into her eyes, "… of my life." His eyes slid closed and his chest stopped moving. Aislinn felt for a pulse, lowered him gently to rest on the ground where a stretcher waited. "He's gone." "Shame. What about the dog?" A policeman stood at her side as she straightened up. "I'll take him home with me, he looks cute." Aislinn scooped up Heathcliffe's leash as Rick was zipped into a body bag, loaded into the ambulance, and driven away. ~oOo~ This story is dedicated to Butch, without whom walks would be so much less fun. Isobel Herring can be found on Facebook, on Twitter and at the Osier Publishing website. If you like the feel of Wingate, and its inhabitants, and aren’t easily offended then you might like to search out Isobel Herring’s full length novel: Tea with the Demon.