The Curse of Friday the 13th, Day 1, Part 3

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Length (rounded up): 2000 words, 8 min.
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The Curse of Friday the 13th, Day 1, Part 3
Friday the 13th, 9:45 a.m.

The medication proved to be a real lifesaver, and the pain was now less than it had been an hour before. With a renewed sense of energy, Julie sat upright in the bed. Alone in the Cast Room, she pulled up her skirt to feel and see the freshly made shells that held her legs rigidly in place.

Starting at the uppermost part of her shins, the solidified bandages tightly sealed everything from her knees down to the base of her toes. The soft padding inside the casts tenderly embraced her skin. To test the extent of her confinement, Julie tried to flex her ankles, but her feet remained firmly restrained within an encasement that had been precisely fitted to the shape of her legs. All that she could move were her toes, which rested on the padded plates to protect them from further physical harm.

With curiosity, Julie bent forward. Her fingers gently probed and explored the beautifully rounded upper rims that encircled her broken legs. She tentatively scratched the rough outermost layers, but her nails failed to make any marks on the stone-hard surface.

Although the size and the shape of the short leg casts were almost the same, their materials and textures were different. The cumbersome shell, which confined her left limb, weighed no less than half a ton, while the other shell felt significantly lighter and thinner in comparison.

The door opened, and a man appeared in the Cast Room to stop her from inspecting her casts. 'You were quite lucky, Ma’am.’

‘Lucky enough to have two broken legs?’ Julie couldn't decide whether to laugh or cry in reply.

'Indeed! When I started to do this job thirty years ago, cars weren't as safe as they're nowadays.’ The man approached her bed. ‘Decades ago, if you had a car accident as serious as yours, your pelvis would have been broken, and you would have had to wear a large cast from your toes up to your neck for an entire year.’

Julie surveyed her bandage-bound limbs. 'Oh, I'm afraid that doesn't provide much comfort, Doctor...?'

‘My name is Tom Thomson. If only my parents had been a bit more creative,’ he said, trying to ease the tension. ‘And you’re Mrs Julia Warden, aren’t you? I’m not a physician, but I’m happy to help in any way I can. I transport patients who are not in urgent need of care, and I'll be driving you back to the hospital in your hometown.’

‘Could you please have a look at my casts? They're so different.’ Julie gave both casings a quick pat. ‘The left one appears much heavier and thicker. Do you have any idea why?’

Tom closely examined the pair of white casts. ‘That's because this cast is made from plaster of Paris, and the other one is from fibreglass.’

‘Why?’

‘I'm afraid I can't say for sure. There could have been some issues with the medical supplies.’

‘Oh, you seem to know a lot about casts,’ Julie said.

‘I’m just a driver.’ Tom grinned. ‘But I picked up a few things about casts, because I spend most of my time in hospitals. Luckily, as a member of the staff, and not as a patient.’

Tom assisted the handicapped woman by transferring her from the bed to a wheelchair. After ensuring a safe and comfortable position for her legs encased in casts, he proceeded to wheel her out of the room. While he was doing that, he chatted with her to cheer her up.

‘Your recent casts aren’t made for walking, but in two or three weeks, you’ll get walking casts. I'm sure you'll even be able to dance in them!’

Tom’s words promised better days ahead, and brought a smile to Julie’s face. 'Dancing while wearing short leg casts? You can't be serious!’

‘Of course, I am! But two conditions have to be met: find a caring dance partner, and choose music with a slow tempo.’

Julie chuckled.

He glanced at the snow-white casts that lay on the footrests. ‘Pink would suit you better.’

'Pink what?'

‘Dr Cobb didn’t tell you about the colour options you can select from?’

Julie shook her head. ‘No, he didn’t.’

‘Ah, they always prefer white casts, although you can find every colour of the rainbow,’ he whispered, pretending to share an official secret.

'Pink? Oh, absolutely not.' Julie shuddered at the mere thought of wearing two pink casts on her legs.

Tom turned into a dedicated salesman. ‘Which colour would you prefer?'

‘I need something serious. I’m a corporate lawyer.’

‘Then blue or black would be the best choice for an outfit of a businesswoman.’

‘And if I attend a business meeting, should I hobble around on crutches or use a wheelchair? Will it give the impression that my disability is more severe than it actually is?’

‘Does it make any difference, Madam? And what about your right to equal treatment?’

‘That’s a fair point.’ Julie sighed. ‘There's one thing I regret, however.’

'What is that?' Tom asked.

'I've been eagerly waiting for a wonderful holiday invitation for a week. Unfortunately, I would have to decline it if it would come now. A sunny beach is a lovely destination, but the wheels of my wheelchair would sink into the soft sand.’

***

During the drive, Tom wasn’t as talkative as he had been in the hospital. Julie also sat quietly in the passenger compartment, adorned with something that she hadn’t had this morning: two short leg casts.

Out of nowhere, a series of irritating clicks shattered the stillness in the ambulance. Drawn by some invisible force, the vehicle lurched to the right.

‘What's going on?’ Julie's voice was full of worry.

Tom firmly gripped the steering wheel with both hands to counteract the intense jolt. ‘We've got a flat tyre.’

Tom just gently released the accelerator, gradually reducing the car's speed until it came to a smooth stop at the side of the road. Then he turned back to check on the patient in the back seats.

‘I can repair it,’ he said. ‘Would it be alright if we would wait here for a while?’

Julie nodded politely.

'Then let’s get to work.’ Tom got out of the driver's seat.

'Oh, what a peaceful silence!' Julie relished the sweet symphony of trilling birdsong after enduring thirty minutes of monotonous engine noise.

Crouching at the side of the van, Tom pulled the spare wheel closer. His answer was accompanied by the sound of pattering and rustling hand tools. ‘We left the busy highway ten minutes ago, when I found a quicker route to take you home faster.’

Julie leaned towards the side windows, almost pressing her face against the cool glass panes. The ambulance was parked in the heart of a beautiful woodland, where the tall trees seemed to pierce the clouds. The picturesque scene had a touch of cliché, resembling a vintage postcard. Just a few yards away, a group of bushes embraced a signpost.

As she read the white letters and numbers on the green board, her state of serenity suddenly dissipated. The broken bones in her casts began to throb again. ‘Did you take Route 1313? Exactly on Friday the 13th?’

'Do you believe in superstition, Ma’am?' Tom asked with a laugh.

‘I've had some very strange experiences since this morning. Actually, I met a black cat just before my accident.’ Julie recalled the moments leading up to the car crash. ‘And the license plate number of the car, which collided with mine... as if it had been a message written directly to me.’

'What can the answer be from the man of science?’ Tom shrugged. ‘What harm can happen to you on an empty road in an abandoned forest? Absolutely nothing, because there's a strong and attractive superhero to protect you.’

Sitting alone in the passenger compartment, Julie thought about the chivalrous driver. Mr Thomson was friendly, often overly so, especially when the conversation turned to casts. Nevertheless, it was nice of him to suggest alternative colours for her casts. Her next casts could be something other than white. Would she choose black fibreglass to match her dark outfit from Tiffany's? Or blue as a stylish alternative?

She struggled to imagine her new life with two leg casts. How easy would it be to hobble around with two crutches? Or would she be totally disabled and need a wheelchair for the next few months?

As Julie pondered the best way to accessorise her casts, a noise caught Tom's attention. For the first few seconds, it was hard to tell what it could be. A sound of a siren? In the middle of the forest? Why? Shortly after, the deep rumble of roaring car engines joined the high-pitched shriek.

Luckily, Tom had already changed the punctured tyre. He stood by the side of the road, waiting to see the approaching vehicles. The lead car of the fast-moving convoy was a sports car, racing crazily at over 150 miles per hour. Or more. Just like in a cliched action scene from a low-budget trash movie, three police cars chased a runaway driver.

Fortunately, the empty Route 1313 was an ideal location for this reckless pursuit. In an attempt to shake the cops off, the fleeing car kept increasing its speed, but to no avail.

Alarmed by his sixth sense, Tom resolved to get the ambulance ready. He almost opened the door, but he decided against it. It wasn't wise to get in the way of a maniac driver. He opted to wait patiently for the manhunt to end.

But the pursuit finished much sooner than the lonely onlooker supposed. Just around the next bend, the chased driver abruptly lost control of the sports car. It could have been a bullet fired by the pursuers. Or perhaps Newton himself intervened, and the law of physics prevailed over the driver. Regardless of the reason, the car spun out of control and failed to manoeuvre the sharp bend. The wheels veered off the road, spinning, and the car skidded across the tarmac.

Like a small rocket, the car sped straight towards the ambulance. It was awfully late to rescue Julie, or to rev up the engine for a quick getaway. Chaos ensued within seconds. In a desperate attempt to save his life, Tom dived into a drainage ditch beside the road, and covered his head with his arms.

At the end of its violent trajectory, the sports car crashed into the ambulance. Accompanied by a thunderous cacophony, the shattered fragments of the car and the wretched parts of the ambulance soared through the air above the ditch where Tom was hiding.

When the storm of metal settled, the man emerged from the trench, and seemed to find himself on a battlefield from World War 1, as hundreds of deformed debris of metal and plastic littered the ground around him.

The sports car had landed in the trees and caught fire, while the ambulance had been sliced open and cut in half. Its upper section had been shredded into millions of pieces, creating a horrific display of destruction. The force of the collision had thrown the lower segment thirty feet away.

Tom was lost in thought at the terrible land of devastation, and didn't even notice the police cars pulling up behind him. The patrolmen got out of the cars, and came over to him.

'Excuse me, Sir, are you all right?' a police officer asked the visibly shaken man, who continued to stare at the pitiful wreckage of the destroyed ambulance, adding to the drama of the scene.

'Don’t worry about me!’ Tom yelled, gesturing frantically towards the epicentre. ‘There’s a woman over there. She can still be alive.’

The policeman's arm moved to turn on the walkie-talkie, when the sergeant asked him, pointing to the blazing sports car at the edge of the woods. ‘Where's the fire extinguisher?'

‘Save the patient first,' the patrolman said, and called the emergency services. 'A serial killer can wait, you know.'

And slowly, very slowly, the officer made his way back to his car. He opened the boot and handed a fire extinguisher to the cop, saying: 'Let's give him one more chance, and be as helpful as we can. I’ll call for another ambulance.'

to be continued

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