August 22, 2007
By J.D. Cook
Chapter III In the Bag
Awakening in the dark was frightening, but the sudden bumps assured Wellington that he was in existence somewhere. His last memory was of the man in the grey Honda’s fist. Questions raced through Wellington’s head. He asked himself if he was dead, and started trying to decide if he was. Then another bump sent light towards his eyes. He was looking at a zipper. Surveying the area as quickly as he could he saw that he was on a floor in a back seat; it took a second before he noticed the broken glass in the passenger seat. Then his fears became reality. A hand reached back from the driver’s seat, and zippered up the light again leaving Wellington to ponder his fate in the dark.
The car stopped abruptly, and Wellington awoke in the blackness. The sound of a car door opening could be heard somewhere in the distance, and then foot steps began to come towards wherever the Honda was stopped. Voices came to Wellington through the zipper.
“Is there a problem officer?” asked the voice of the man Wellington knew had to be the Honda driver.
“Do you know how fast you were going?” asked a person that must have been a cop. A great decision now encompassed Wellington. If he yelled out he could easily get help from the cop, but at the risk of getting arrested. On the other hand of he stayed in the darkness who knows what could happen to him.
“I think I was goin about fifty five?” said the Honda driver, and for the first time Wellington detected a slight accent, but where he had heard it before he didn’t know.
“The speed limit here is forty sir. May I see your license and registration?”
Wellington heard the footsteps dissipate and he once again struggled with his conundrum. It only took a minute before he decided that when the cop returned he would yell for help. But as he went to move his lips, he realized for the first time that tape covered them. Luckily for him he was able to pry it off with his tongue, a trick he had learned after a college party. The footsteps returned, and the moment of truth came. Wellington yelled as loud as he could, but all that resulted was a pain in his throat.
“Well Mr. Underhill everything checks out here, but I noticed you had another ticket about a week ago just outside Columbia, South Carolina. You should really slow down when you drive sir, or you’re libel to get hurt!”
A ripping sound came to Wellington as the footsteps left his ears again.
“Thank you Officer,” shouted Underhill out the window, and then he muttered “jackass” as he started the Honda. Again Wellington was left alone with Underhill, but now with the realization that the shot he took to the neck had injured his vocal chords some how.