"I've never seen both freeways completely stopped before,” said Joseph.  His son David scanned his iPhone.  "Here it is.  A truck rolled over and caught on fire at the junction of 238 and 580.”  Joseph wasn't upset, even after 20 minutes stopped in gridlock, because any time spent with his son was welcome. 

Joseph and his son had always been close, but even more so after David left for college.  They had the same, quirky sense of humor, a combination of Monty Python and Steven Wright.  David was telling his Dad some jokes to pass the time.

But Joseph laughed so hard and for so long that he began to cough, and then fell forward slowly.  David was panicked and reached for his father.   "Dad, Wake up.”   Joseph was unconscious but realized he was driving and recovered in a panic.  His body shivered and his eyes opened to see that he was still stopped in traffic. "Oh, how long was I out?” "About 30 seconds, but I thought you had a heart attack.” Joseph took some deep breaths. "No I just blacked out.  You better drive."

"We should go to a hospital", said David.  Joseph wiped some sweat from his forehead.  "No, I'm ok, let's get you back to Berkeley."  David insisted, "No Dad, I'll take you home.  Annie can take me back to school."

The next day Annie and Joseph went to the doctor.  The nurse asked him why he came in.  "I fainted last night, he said.”  The nurse was taking notes.  "Where did this happen?”  Joseph paused.  "My son and I were stopped in that traffic jam.  He was telling me a joke.  I laughed so hard I lost my breath and fainted.”  The nurse looked up.  "Didn’t you go to the ER?”  Joseph reassured her.  "No, I just went home and rested.  My wife took him back to school.”  The nurse took Joseph's blood pressure and listened to his heart.  "So you were driving?” Joseph couldn’t believe what the nurse was saying.  "We were stopped in traffic; I had my foot on the brake the whole time.”  Later the nurse came in to get a signature approving treatment.  Joseph didn’t notice that an admission that he was behind the wheel when he fainted was hidden in small text of the three-page form.  The doctor came in and confirmed the exam.  "Well, you seem ok now, but I want to run some tests.”

A few days later Joseph received a letter from the DMV.  "Your license has been suspended.  You may apply for reinstatement in 90 days.”  Apparently the nurse had reported the incident, some law he wasn’t aware of.  “If I thought this would happen, I would have said David was driving.”  Calls, emails and letters to the doctor and the DMV were fruitless.  Joseph understood the need to keep the roads safe, but his car never moved; there was never a moment when others were endangered.

Not being able to drive meant keeping a secret that would jeopardize his job and any future work he might apply for; you see, most applications include a question about your driving record and employers routinely check a DMV report before hiring.  It didn’t matter that Joseph was healthy; it was the appearance of a serious health condition that put his resume in the rejected pile.  So what do you do when you can’t tell the truth to explain a misconception?

These 30 seconds were threatening to derail Joseph’s career and life.  The nurse didn’t discuss the issue with Joseph and the doctor; she just filled out a form and sent it in.  She blindly followed a legal requirement and we know where that can lead.  We all know doctors skew the facts in order to protect their patients.  Isn’t justice more important than truth?  It was too late to blame the nurse and the DMV didn’t care.

After the EKG, the halter monitor and the stress tests, Joseph had a clean bill of health.  The doctor never apologized for the nurse of course, but he was sympathetic.  He assured me that the cause of the fainting was a mystery and in all likelihood, wouldn’t happen again. 

Well, 90 days came and went and Joseph expected a reinstatement letter.  It didn’t arrive.  Bureaucracies like the DMV have no incentive for efficiency, much less personal attention to cases that are suspect.  Fainting while behind the wheel is more egregious than a DUI when it can’t be explained.  After another month of appeals and meetings, the suspension was finally lifted.

Annie sat down with Joseph for dinner.  “Honey, your license is reinstated tomorrow.  How should we celebrate?”  Joseph looked happy for the first time in months.  “I think I’d like to take a drive to the coast.  We can have lunch at that seafood place.”  Annie smiled.  “And maybe stay overnight?” 

Joseph and Annie headed off that Saturday, around the winding road over the mountain towards the ocean.  A morning fog was lifting from the Sun’s rays.  As he turned around the blind corner, Joseph saw a truck in his lane swerving; the driver had collapsed over the steering wheel.  Thinking quickly, he slammed on the brakes, put it in reverse and headed backwards around the corner of the road.  The truck slowly veered off of the road, flipped over and landed 100 yards below.  Annie screamed and grabbed her husband.  “Joe, that man was asleep or had a heart attack.  He would have killed us for sure.”  Joe called 911 and waited.

The police took their statement.  “Was he drunk officer?” said Annie.  “No he had a suspended license for health reasons, bad ticker,” said the cop.   Annie held onto Joseph.  “It was the scariest minute of my life.”  Joe nodded and said to himself.  “Half a minute.” 

Joseph and Annie left shaken on their way to the coast. LS

15th April 2010

Fiona and Mitchell stand beside the bar in the luxurious Keats Room. The wedding guests form a queue, each wanting to pass on their congratulations and good wishes for the future. Mitchell dishes out firm handshakes and booming laughs for the men. Fiona receives the attentions of the women with graceful smiles.

Rosie taps her foot and checks her watch as she stands in line. She wanted to be first but the coach-load of colleagues from Fiona’s college pushed her aside outside the wedding venue. When she got to the Keats Room, Mitchell’s friends from the golf club beat her to the queue.

Eventually Rosie reaches the happy couple. She hugs Fiona, and tells her favourite cousin how beautiful she looks. Fiona manages a blush for the fiftieth time that afternoon, and thanks Rosie for coming. Rosie steps to one side to allow Mrs Patterson to pass on her congratulations.

“Thanks for coming, Rosie,” says Mitchell. He shakes Rosie’s hand. Rosie forces a smile. She doesn’t like Mitchell. He stinks of money and influence.

“No problem, mate. Wouldn’t have missed it for the world. One word of warning though - you hurt Fiona, and I’ll kill you,” says Rosie.

Shock flickers across Mitchell’s face before they burst out laughing. Mitchell claps Rosie on the back. Rosie ruffles Mitchell’s hair.

“Good one! I’ll look after her, I promise,” he says.

“You’d better,” mutters Rosie as she leaves the couple and heads toward the other cousins by the window. She drops a handful of Mitchell’s hair into her purse.

29th October 2015

Mitchell sits on the sofa in Deirdre’s living room. He looks around at her modernist decor, and smiles. He remembers Fiona’s chintz and pastel shades, and shudders. He rubs his wedding finger, glad to be rid of the ring.

His phone buzzes on the sofa beside him. Another text from Fiona. Mitchell shakes his head. She’s been hysterical since he left three days ago. He tells her that it’s not her fault, that these things happen. He tells her she can keep the house, he really doesn’t care. He tells her that he wishes it could have turned out differently. He tells her that she’s not to blame, and nor is Deirdre. He tells her that he cannot help who he falls in love with.

Mitchell sees movement outside the living room window. He sighs, and hauls himself up from the couch. He expects to see Fiona outside. She has been by twice already, pleading with him to change his mind. He told her to leave, to stop embarrassing herself. He told her the divorce will be fair. Mitchell kicks himself. He needs to call his solicitor and find out how to begin proceedings.

The front garden is empty. Mitchell wonders if Deirdre is back from work. He peers up the road, trying to spot Deirdre’s Nissan Micra.

Pain shoots up his left arm. Mitchell lurches backwards, clutching at his shoulder. A throbbing beat begins in his abdomen. He falls to his knees, doubled over. A fresh wave of agony shudders through his body. He looks up and sees a shadow beside the window.

He calls out for help. A fist of pain reaches into his chest and grips his heart. Panic seizes Mitchell. A wave of agony knocks him onto his back. He feels as though a giant is thrusting a hundred needles into his chest. A burning sensation crawls up his arm from his right hand. Tears spill down Mitchell’s face now, his blurred vision focussed on the shadow at the door. He tries to call out but the pain is too great.

He wheezes as an iron grip clamps around his heart. Mitchell twitches twice, before lying still. His glassy eyes stare at the wall, seeing nothing.

* * *

“I told you I’d kill you if you hurt Fiona, but you didn’t listen, did you?” asks Rosie.

She stands outside the whore’s house, watching Mitchell’s body twitch through the front window. Rosie puts away her lighter, and drops the doll filled with Mitchell’s hair into her bag.

Rosie smiles and leaves the garden and walks away down the street. The coroner will conclude a heart attack killed Mitchell, and Fiona will claim both his life insurance and his fortune. The slut will get nothing.

Rosie gets into her car. She looks in the rear view mirror. The Angel of Vengeance looks back. LS