My Guardian Angel (1)

Chapter One – Witness

Kalaen Warterton died in a fatal car crash on July 13, 2003.

It was a dark night, extremely cold. Rain poured down on the streets of our small country town of Middleton, making it hard to drive on the road. Strong gusts of wind blew through the bare streets, tossing the tips of the tall pine trees about.  No pedestrians walked the footpaths, no one dared to go out in the torrents of whirling rain that were tossed about by the wind. It was a silent, dreary winter night.
The sound of tires sliding across the road and brakes screeching filled my ears, waking me from my sleep. My eyes shot open, aware of the high-pitched reverberation coming from the road outside my house. I jumped out of bed and raced over to the window, throwing aside the white lace curtains and peering outside at the dark street. There was nothing there that I could see.
Then suddenly, so quickly I didn’t see it coming, a car slid around the corner, swerving across onto the other side of the road; the wrong side of the road. I watched the car – a black Mercedes – as it zigzagged down the road, swerving onto the right side and then the wrong side of the road over and over again. Where they doing this on purpose, or had they lost control of their car? It would be easy to do that. The roads were so wet and slippery. I wondered if anyone else had heard the racket. Surely my parents would have woken and checked out what the sound was. Maybe Grace had woken, but I could hear anything coming from the other rooms in our house. I could be dreaming, but it was too real to be a dream.
I couldn’t see the driver from my room, but I knew that if I didn’t find some way to help them, something terrible would happen and I would witness the whole thing. But what could I possibly do without getting hit by the car that was speeding towards certain death at a hundred kilometres an hour. I looked up and down the road outside. Nothing but power poles, large pine trees and the single street light. I turned my confused and scared gaze back to the car. It was nearing the front of my house, where the street light was.
I watched helplessly as the car sped towards the street light, not seeming to slow down. It was only getting faster. In a matter of seconds, it would collide with the light. I winced as I knew what would become of the driver and it wouldn’t be pretty.
The sound that followed was an ear-splitting crash as the car hit the light. A small scream escaped my lips as I saw the bonnet of the Mercedes crumble, moulding around the light. I ran from the room, stumbling blindly down the stairs. I needed to help whoever it was in the car. I fumbled for the phone from the counter in the kitchen and then ran towards the front door, wrenching it open.
The cold wind caught me off guard as it whipped around my face, tossing my hair around. The rain drenched me completely, causing large goose bumps to form on my pale arms. I didn’t care though. I had to get to the road to save the driver. I fought against the wind and rain as I ran towards the street, running carelessly over my mother’s neat flowerbeds. I jumped the small stone wall that ran around the front of our house and ran onto the street, towards the wreckage of the car.
The Mercedes looked like a pile of metal. I didn’t know how I would get in there to get anyone out. There was no point being the hero I wasn’t. I tried to look inside the car. There, seated in the driver’s seat, was a boy of my age. His face was covered in red blood, as were his clothes. But I could still tell who it was. That’s the bad thing about living in a small town where everyone goes to the same school. You know everyone so if something bad happens to them, it’s your loss as well. I recognised him as a boy from most of my classes; Kalaen Warterton.
I’d never taken much notice of him while he was at school. He was just another boy, keeping to himself as much as he could. He never seemed to notice anyone else. It was like he had been in a world of his own. A world where only he existed. And soon, if I didn’t help him, he wouldn’t exist at all.
I stared in horror, wondering if he was dead or if his heart was still beating. His legs had been crushed by the top of the car, no doubt broken now; the bones shattered and irreparable. I winced at how much pain he must be in. All the windows were smashed and there was glass littering his lap, the ruined seats and the ground I stood on. I was aware of a sharp stinging on the bottom of my feet, but it was nothing to what he must be feeling.
A flicker of hope lit in my eyes as I saw his chest rise and fall quickly as he gasped for air. I ran around the destroyed Mercedes to his side. The door had a large dint in it, the black paint scratched, and it hung from just one hinge. I looked at Kalaen’s face. His eyes were wide open, the blood running from his forehead down his cheeks. The skin on his face was covered in scratches and cuts from where the glass had smashed into his face.
    “Kalaen?” I called, choking on my voice. “Kalaen, can you hear me?” No response. I remembered the phone in my hand. I quickly dialled the emergency number and waited for it to ring through. A lady answered.
I had never taken much notice of what to saw when you call the emergency number when we had been taught it in class. I never thought I’d have to call it. But now I did.
    “Hello? Police, Fire or Ambulance?” a lady’s voice asked.
    “Um... all of them,” I jittered. I glanced underneath the car to see the oil starting to leak onto the ground. The lady asked several more questions and I answered them, staring in horror at Kalaen’s crooked body. His chest was still rising and falling as he took small amounts of the tense air into his lungs.
I stayed on the line of the phone until I heard the familiar sirens of the ambulance racing down the street. If they didn’t slow down, they would slip and slide all over the street and crash as well.
The sirens must have woken my family, because they were outside our house in minutes. Grace was clutching hold of my mother’s waist, looking terrified as she examined the scene. The look upon her face was not new to me; mixed with fear and worry. It was one I saw quite often. But this time, there was something new about it; sadness. The ambulance pulled up beside the car and a man and a lady jumped out of the front seats. They ran to the back of the van and pulled out a stretcher on wheels. Seconds later, police sirens began to ring in my ears and two police cruisers came to a halt on the street as well, followed by one large, red fire truck.
The paramedics were by Kalaen’s side, surveying him closely. They were talking to each other, so fast and quiet I couldn’t hear what they were saying. I saw one of them put their fingers to Kalaen’s throat.
    “He’s alive,” I called, hoping they would hear me and hoping I was right. The lady looked back at me, a distraught look upon her features. Then she looked back at Kalaen, muttering something to her partner.
I felt two restraining hands on my arms and I looked to see a police officer pulling me back past the yellow tape another police officer was setting up around the crash. I couldn’t take my eyes off Kalaen. Though I barely knew him, I felt so sorry for him. The look of pain and horror mixed upon his face was stuck in my head, and I knew it would be forever.
A second ambulance arrived ten minutes later. I was glad to see they had called for reinforcements. But then, as the two men hopped out of the van and walked over to check up on the victim, the two paramedics who arrived earlier stood up and walked over to greet them. The lady who had looked at me shook her head sadly to the new paramedics and then glanced in my direction. I stared in horror. Did that mean he hadn’t made it? Did that mean he was... dead? He couldn’t be. They hadn’t done anything to help him. They had to do something.
One of the paramedics, the tallest, walked over to a police officer and began talking to him. The officer nodded his head and they both walked over to me.
    “Excuse me, Miss? Are you okay?” the lady asked. Her voice was very serious, but calming.
    “I’m fine. Is he going to be okay?” I stuttered. They exchanged glances.
“I’m so sorry. You’re friend didn’t make it. Now, if you don’t mind, Constable Frisby would like to ask you a few questions about what happened. I’ll get some paramedics to check you later,” the lady said before turning and swiftly walking back over to ruined Mercedes, and Kalaen. What? How could he not make it? He couldn’t be dead. That couldn’t happen. He wasn’t dead... but he was. And there was nothing I could do about it.
Suddenly the air seemed so much colder as an ice cold breeze blew through the crash scene, increasing the size of the goose bumps on my arms and legs and tossing my hair around my face. Everything seemed lifeless around me. The only thing I could feel moving was the racing rhythm of my shocked heart. The wind made a strange hushing noise that almost sounded like a voice.
“Be brave,” it sounded like it said, but I was sure I was hearing things. The wind sometimes sounded like it was talking to me. Something freezing cold touched my cheek, brushing it. I winced at how cold it felt. It must have been the wind. That was when I decided I would be brave. I would be strong and not cry. I would try not to dwell too much on his death. The first thing I would need to do to be brave was risk a glance at Kalaen.
I looked over at Kalaen’s limp, body. His dark, glassy eyes were staring at nothing in particular. I wondered if the eyes still sent messages to the brain of what it was seeing. His chest was unmoving, the blood on his face still slightly wet and dripping. His clothes were a nasty, bright red colour. I couldn’t see what colour they were before stained with his own blood. I screwed my eyes up, hoping that it was just a dream and when I opened my eyes, it would be over. But it wasn’t. When I opened my eyes, the car was still there. Four paramedics and three fire fighters were gathered around, somehow blocking my view of his hideous body. They were trying to pull him out of the car. I shuddered and then realised that I couldn’t feel the rain pricking my skin. I looked up to see a large black umbrella over my head, and a man holding it- Constable Frisby.
    “Would you mind answering a few questions about what you saw?” he asked. He had a deep, gruff voice. I nodded my head, not quite realising what he had said.
    “Can you identify this boy?” he asked.
    “Yes, his name is Kalaen Warterton. He’s in my classes at school,” I said carelessly, not taking my eyes of the large group of trained rescuers around Kalaen’s body.
    “And you are?” Constable Frisby asked.
    “Maddison. Maddison Summers. What’s going to happen?” I pleaded. Constable Frisby patted my shoulder sympathetically and then turned back to his notebook and pen.
    “Miss Summers, can you please tell me what exactly happened?” Frisby asked. I frowned, trying to remember when it had all started. It seemed like such a long time ago, but it had barely been half an hour.
    “Um, I was asleep in my room-“
    “Wait, you weren’t in the car?” Frisby interrupted.
    “No. I live just there. That’s my family,” I said, pointing to my puzzled and terrified sister and parents.
    “Oh, I see. Continue please,” Frisby said.
    “I was asleep in my room and then I heard this loud screeching noise so I got up to see what it was. I saw this car swerving down the road going at least a hundred or so kilometres. And then he hit the light. So I grabbed the phone and came out to see if he was alright and then I recognised him. He was still breathing though. I didn’t want to move him in case he had broken something really bad. I called triple 1 and then waited for you guys to come,” I explained.
    “Ok, and did you try to get a response out of Kalaen?” Frisby asked.
    “Yes. I called his name twice and asked if he could hear me. But he didn’t reply. But I could see him breathing,” I said.
    “Ok, well thank you very much for you time. I’ll have to ask you to come down to the station tomorrow or sometime over the next few days so we can get a statement from you. Now, I think the paramedic would like to see you over there,” Frisby said.
    “I’m fine, seriously. I’ve just got a bit of scratches on my feet from the glass, really,” I argued. But I walked over to the paramedic who was waiting for me. He helped me into the back of the van and then began examining me; looking at my eyes, asking me to follow his finger while he shone a light in my eyes, taking my pulse and my temperature, asking me to recite the alphabet. Then he looked at my feet. I hadn’t realised how badly cut up they were. I had only been standing.
    “I’m going to have to get some of this glass out and then clean it. It may sting a little,” the paramedic, who’s name was Jim, told me. I nodded and gritted my teeth, staring at the back of the car that was bordered off by yellow tape.
A sharp stinging in my foot brought my attention back to Jim. He grimaced as he dabbed at it with a clean, sterilised clothe. I couldn’t find the courage to smile thankfully back. The image of Kalaen’s torn body; his mangled face was stuck in my head. I looked back over at the scene. Two of the paramedics were pushing the stretcher back to the other ambulance, a white sheet over the body I knew belonged to Kalaen. I felt guilty, bad, and sorry for his family.
    “Wait a minute,” I whispered, before jumping off the seat I was on and climbing carefully out of the ambulance to the ground. I ignored the sharp searing pain in my feet as I hurried over to the paramedics who were pushing his body. They stopped when they saw me.
    “I’m sorry,” one of them, a man, said. I nodded my head.
    “I know. I just wanted to say... thanks; for trying,” I said. I expected myself to start crying, but I didn’t. I couldn’t. There are a lot of people who would be crying over his death, even if they didn’t know him. But I couldn’t cry. I had to stay strong.
    “Thank you,” the lady said and then they continued to push Kalaen towards the ambulance. I gulped, a large lump forming in my throat and then drifted back to the ambulance where Jim was waiting patiently.

Kalaen Warterton died in a fatal car crash on July 13, 2003... And I witnessed the whole thing.



Our school held a memorial service for Kalaen a few days later. It seemed strange to go to it, knowing that I was the only one in the whole school who had seen him before he died; had seen his distorted face, his red blood all over his clothes, seen his last few breaths before he had drifted away to peace in heaven. I was the one who had called for help, who had stood by while they paramedics tried to save him. But it had been too late. Perhaps if I had called earlier, then he would have survived.
I had a few days of school off afterwards, still stunned by the accident and loss of one of my fellow classmates. My parents had known not to disturb me, to let me get over it by myself. Grace even kept away from me, which was unusually strange. I spent a lot of time just staring out the window of my bedroom at the street light. The car had been taken away, but shards of glass still sprinkled the road. Luckily, my feet were on the mend.
I had gone down to the police station to make a statement, and was thankful that it was over. It only made me feel guiltier, that Kalaen’s death was my fault, though people were telling me constantly that it wasn’t.
My friends knew not to talk about the accident when they were around me when I did return to school. Everyone seemed a little gloomy, though Kalaen had not exactly been the hot topic of our school. Now, it seemed, I was. Everyone wanted to know what had happened, had he said anything, what he looked like, could he move... I couldn’t take their questions. It was enough seeing it crash into the pole, let alone seeing his tortured face as he passed away. I wanted to forget it all, forget it ever happened. But that wasn’t possible. It would never be possible. If someone ever said anything that had was to do with crashes or Mercedes or death or even glass, if triggered my memory of the terrible night. The night I didn’t want to remember.
I was invited to the funeral, courtesy of Kalaen’s kind parents who were about to spend the rest of their lives mourning over their dead teenage son. They seemed very nice and thankful to meet me, though I had not exactly helped to save their son’s lives. I could see how cut up they were and wished there was someway to help. But there was only one thing that would make them happy, and that was to bring back Kalaen. Unfortunately, there was no way to do that.
So I would spend the rest of my life feeling guilty; they would spend the rest of their lives mourning and school would be just one person short and incomplete for the rest of my school years.