Freedom Lights

3 am on Saturday nights, well technically it’s Sunday, in Sioux Falls are normally a quiet time. After leaving The roadhouse, I am wiped. Bartending for the only bar worth a damn in this small town isn’t an easy feat. The Roadhouse is located about a mile on the outskirts of town, surrounded by nothing but fields on all four sides. I force myself to stay focused on the road ahead and I take the highway that will lead me to home. Not even five minutes into my drive, red and blue lights flash in my rear view mirror. This is not what I need right now. Huffing out a breath, I forcefully grabbed the steering wheel at 10 and 2 because I was not chancing this man of the law to be the dickwads I normally got when they found out they pulled over a woman. Glancing in my mirror as I watch him approach, I take a deep breath, steeling myself from the nerves writhing under my skin. Carefully moving my hand, I slowly rolled my window down. “Good evening ma’am, do you know why I stopped you tonight?” Electricity. This man spoke with bolts of lighting on his tongue. The buzz of it caressed my skin like a spring rainshower. My jaw was on the floorboard of my jeep while taking him in. My gaze started at his shoulders. Broad, wide and looked like they could carry me across town to his bed properly. But when I reached his face, woah. Sharp jawlines able to cut down all my walls. A light scruff that looked like he just missed five o clock. But what really caused me to lose my breath was his eyes. Real emeralds couldn't have shown brighter than this man’s eyes. They were so green, I felt like I was looking at a forest floor covered in green moss so bright, even tree canopies couldn't hide them. Top that all over with a crisp sandy brown buzz cut that somehow accented his perfect face even more, and I was a puddle. Somehow managing to speak without stuttering, “I don’t think I was speeding, sir. So, I’m honestly a little confused.” I raised an eyebrow at him. There could be multiple reasons. The one I first thought of was the year old registration sticker on my license plate. I mean who the hell wants to pay 200 dollars for a god damn sticker? Not me, I got better things to spend my hard earned money on. “You’re right, you weren’t speeding. Can I see your license and registration please?” I ignored the fact that he didn’t say why we were here. On the side of the quiet highway in the middle of the night. I probably should’ve waited to pull over until we got closer to town, but I was tired and just wanted to get home. “Yes, but the registration is in my glove box, and my license is in my wallet on my phone case. May I grab those things please?” I’m not one to get in trouble with the law, but the world is a scary place at the moment and too much unease is going on between police and citizens. If I wanted to get home quickly, I was going to make this painless for both of us. And if asking permission to remove my hands from the wheel so he didn’t think I was grabbing weapons was what I needed to do to move this along without a hitch, that’s what I would do. His eyebrows shot up. Seems like Officer Winchester (as his badge read) didn’t get that curtsy often. Which is a shame. Yes, he was intimidating, but he didn’t give me the “I’m a dirty cop” feeling. And I’m normally a great read of character…like 90% of the time anyway. Cops always got bad raps in the world today. I’m not saying there’s not a batch of bad apples in the world. But most of those in uniforms lay their lives on the line just because of the uniform they wear. And I’m not stupid enough to not appreciate the hard work, dedication and courage that the good ones always employ just to do their jobs. “Of course. Thank you for asking.” I gently pull my hands to grab the required documents before slowly handing them to him. “You never told me why you pulled me over, sir.” He glances down at my ID before looking back to me to answer, “I got a call earlier. A very similar car to yours, same make and model, was stolen earlier tonight. That, and your sticker is a year out of date.” The look on his face tells me he’s not impressed, but when he glances behind me and sees the empty car seat in my backseat, his gaze softens slightly. “Yeah well, being a single mother, spending $200 on a stupid sticker takes a backseat sometimes.” I huff with annoyance. I mean seriously? Who comes up with the prices for that s**t? “I don’t doubt that at all. Let me run these to make sure you don’t have anything I should bring you in for. No outstanding warrants I’ll find, is there,” he slowly glanced down at my ID again, “Miss Singer?” His eyebrows furrow together at my last name. Like it was confusing or something. I roll my eyes. Did I really look like a criminal? Then I remembered I’m in my bartending outfit. Crop top, flannel unbuttoned, jean cut off shorts and old army boots. I might look like a hooker actually. “No sir.” I state firmly. He nods his head before turning around to run my information. I drum my fingers along the steering wheel. I bet my babysitter is freaking out right now. I'm NEVER late to relieve her of her duties, but I don’t want to risk grabbing my phone to give any excuse for the officer to give me a ticket. I think about the way he said my last name. He probably knew my father. Running the only mechanics shop in town did make his name well known. But if the man knew who my father was, he knew who I was too. The poor mechanics daughter who got dumped after a baby and a failed marriage. Ugh. I hear the gravel crunch under his boots as he walks back to my car, and I slowly pull myself from my mental bereavement. “Any problems sir?” I ask as he reaches my window. “Nope, everything seems to check out. I’m not going to ticket you for the sticker. But fair warning, the next cop might not be such a family man.” He flashes me a smile that I’m sure he’s used to melt panties before. Too bad I’ve swore men off. If I hadn’t, this man might very well tempt me. “I appreciate that. Not a lot of people give a s**t about my problems and like to add more.” I plaster a fake smile to my face, because I’m not lying. Most people actually shame me, ‘she couldn’t keep that man happy.’ ‘She probably drove him away with her attitude.’ Blah blah blah. Good thing they didn’t live in my shoes. They couldn’t handle it. “Well Miss Singer. Sorry for the delay in getting you home. I hope you have a good night.” Everything that happens next, happens in slow motion. As he slowly backs away from my car, I hear the sound of an engine roaring. I try to yell a warning but the vehicle screaming down the highway is too fast. I undo my seatbelt and grab my phone as the back passenger door of an 04 Chevy Impala slams open, hitting Officer Winchester and sending him flying towards the pavement. I’m quick to take in all the details as they screech down the road yelling “PIG” as they go. 4 people in the car, silver color, license plate 07J 89L. I quickly snap a picture, not sure how helpful it will be because they’re moving so fast, before dialing 911 and rushing to his side. My breathing is heavy as I kneel beside him, the gravel digging deep into my knee caps. “Hey hey hey, can you hear me?” I know not to move him in case he broke his spine. I set my phone down on speaker beside me while I wait for the operator to answer. “911 what’s your emergency?” “Officer down. Route 104 mile marker 7.5. Squad car with license plate..” I pause to glance at his car, “8778000. He was hit by a car.” “Okay ma’am take it easy. Is he breathing?” I quickly take his pulse to find it rapid but there. “Yes.” “Great, we have medical services on the way. Can you stay with me until they arrive?” “Yes. He has a massive cut on his forehead that’s bleeding bad, but I’m scared to touch him.” “Don’t move his neck. Do you have something you can apply to the wound? A cloth or towel?” I quickly rip my flannel off and tear a corner off so I can gently apply the pressure to his cut without using the kind of force that would move his neck. “Okay done.” “Perfect, you’re doing great. We’re about 5 minutes out. Can you tell me your name?” “Remi Singer.” “Perfect, Remi, can you see the officer's badge? I need his badge number?” I glance down at his chest before rattling it off to her, “W777896” “Perfect. So the man with you right now is Dean Winchester. Do you see any other bleeding or any other signs of damage?” I carefully drag my graze over his body, “he has major road rash on the right side of his body. I don’t see any blood besides what’s coming from his head wound. If I had to guess, I would say the car was going around 45-50 MPH so I guarantee he has more than those small injuries.” My breathing is becoming more rapid. I'm trying to stay calm because right now, I’m all this Dean dude has until the paramedics get here. I hear the 911 operator gasp loudly, “And he was hit head on?!” “No, the back passenger door swung open and they hit him with that.” I hear her inhale deeply. Yeah this was intentional. Suddenly, I hear sirens and let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. I hear them pull up and block the road, but I don’t take my eyes away from Winchester. I want to make sure he’s safe. This is my fault. He was on the side of the road because of me and my carelessness about not getting a f*****g sticker. The next hour or so is a blur. He’s lifted to a gurney and rushed to the hospital. I’m questioned by other police officers about the incident and asked to fill out a report. “Look John, right now, I would like to go home to my child. Is there a chance I could come to the station first thing in the morning please?” I give the older officer, who has been a friend of my dads for as long as I can remember, a pleading look. He sighs heavily before nodding stiffly. “I don’t know if you know, but Dean’s my oldest. I appreciate your efforts and staying with him to make sure he’s okay.” He gives me a genuine look saying how much he appreciates me sticking around. I hadn’t seen it before, but the look of worry and fear was strongly etched into his features. Father and son duo on the squad huh? “Absolutely, it’s the least I could do since it was my fault.” John gives me a pointed look before I power on, “I do plan on visiting in the morning, but I would love an update as soon as you get one?” I raise an eyebrow. I know he’ll comply with my wishes, but he purses his lips anyway. I say my goodbyes to John before slowly making my way home. As expected, Annie, my babysitter, was hysterical. I apologized profusely and tipped her big for her worries. Jameson was passed out in his bed and had been for hours. I trudged to the den where I knew my father was at his desk. I’m sure he already knew what had happened but I would give him the courtesy of the whole story before I passed out. Normally, he would be with my son while I worked the night shift. But he was slammed in the shop and probably walked in the door minutes before I did. Speaking of, I quickly glanced at the clock, groaning loudly. 3:38 A.M. Jameson would be up by 7. “Hey.” I had been right in saying my dad was at his desk in the den. He stood and nodded toward the kitchen. Jamesons room was just above this one. So talking in here was a risk in waking him. I followed my dad to the kitchen, heading to the fridge to grab some water before the interrogation began. He leaned up against the counter before quirking an eyebrow in my direction. I sighed heavily before recounting the events. After storytelling was done. My dad heaved a heavy sigh, “I’ve known John and his boys a long time. I’m surprised you didn’t recognize Dean.” I tried to rack my memories on any kids John had. I had been shocked to find out he had one, and the way my dad said ‘boys’ meant there was more than one. “Uh, am I supposed to know them? They didn’t go to school with me or else I would definitely remember.” “No, they were homeschooled. John was in the marines for most of their life and once they had settled down here, he thought sending them to school was a pointless change to their routine. But they’re around the shop often. Dean especially.” Dad raised his eyebrows at me again, and I just rolled my eyes. “In my defense, when I’m in the shop, I’m in my own world. You know that as well as I do. I don’t do customers. They don’t like my ‘attitude’.” Throwing the last part in air quotes. The only reason I ever had an attitude was misogynistic men think women shouldn’t be beneath cars. Insert massive eye roll. My dad nodded before continuing, “you better get some shut eye. Little man will be up running in mere hours and sounds like you got a long day ahead of you tomorrow.” I nodded quietly, giving him a quick peck on the check before heading to do my nighttime routine, crashing before I could replay tonight's scary events over and over again in my head