Albert Peterson: The Hibernia Strain

I comply and our lips and tongues collide again in a passionate onslaught. This continues for a couple of minutes when suddenly the driver yells, “Shit” and slams full force on the brakes.

We’re both slammed forward. My seatbelt tightens around me and holds me there until the forward inertia stops, and I’m thrown back into my seat with a thump. I’m fine, so I check on Emma. She appears ok, although she is clutching her neck. She might have minor whiplash.

“I’m fine”, she insists when she sees me looking at her.

The driver asks if we’re ok and on confirmation he switches off the ignition and gets out of the car muttering, “Stupid bitch”.

I observe outside the car and notice that we’re quite close to the college. It’s also clear that the car is wedged up against the roadside kerbing.

Next, I see a woman, in her early twenties, standing in the middle of the road. She seems unfazed by the fact she could have been run down and looks even less so by the raging driver walking towards her, shouting profanities. Is she drunk? Or is she high maybe?

I urge Emma to stay in the car as I unbuckle my belt and get out. I have a clearer view of the woman now, and with the aid of the street lights, I can plainly see her face.

My face drops. She has the exact same pale hue to her skin like the thugs from earlier in the night. She also has some bloody looking wounds on her face and arms. We definitely didn’t hit her with the car.

An eerie feeling washes over me and I can’t help but feel really fucking uneasy. It’s too big of a coincidence to have two bizarre events happen in one night, with such similar factors involved.

The driver meanwhile has positioned himself face to face with the woman and continues yelling at her. He begins to shake her roughly by the shoulders when she remains unresponsive.

I’m totally unprepared for what happens next. She snaps out at his throat. Her teeth cut deep into the soft flesh around his Adams apple. As she pulls her head backwards, it reveals teeth and lips stained red with the driver’s blood.

The driver first falls to his knees; blood is streaming out of the sadistic looking wound, and then he unceremoniously slumps to the ground, face first. He’s just lying motionless. Is he dead? Has he passed out from the pain or shock? I can’t tell for sure. Fuck! What should I do?

I half hiss / half whisper an order to Emma to get out of the car. She obviously has witnessed the entire episode and is just sitting there frozen with her hands covering her mouth; in an attempt to subdue the screams which I’m sure are bursting to escape.

I didn’t notice him at first, but arriving on the scene is a second individual; a tall man. It’s difficult to make out his age as he’s cloaked in shadows. Does he know what he’s just stumbled upon? He might have witnessed it all and unlike me is willing to help. If he’s here to lend a hand, then, I’ll help too! He reaches the woman, but instead of pulling her away from the driver, he instead helps her to subdue him further. What the hell!

Without attracting the attention of the psychos, who are now kneeling over their victim; holding him down, I help Emma slide herself out my door. We proceed to back away from the scene, our eyes on the duo the entire time.

We certainly can’t help the poor bastard now, even with the numbers being two against two. Or maybe I’m just too much of a chicken-shit to go to his aid after what I’ve just witnessed.

We slink away. When we’re at a safe distance, Emma lets out a petrified jumble of words. I can’t really make out much of what she’s saying though. I stop and grab her. The alarmed look on her face frightens me, although, I’m sure my face must express a similar, horrified look.

I know for a fact that we’re close to where Emma lives. I convince her to lead us there, explaining that we’ll ring the Gardai once we’re safe inside.

She leads on, choking the tears back. It only takes us seven minutes of fear fuelled sprinting to get to her front door. She fumbles her keys into the lock and bursts in.

“That was Toma,” she exclaims.

“Who’s Toma?” I enquire.

“She’s a Lithuanian girl from my college course. I only spoke to her this morning. She was going to visit her grandmother in the old folk’s home. What happened to her?”

She looks at me with utter disbelief. I have no answer, so I remain quiet, take out my smart phone and dial 999 for the emergency services. It rings twice before a woman’s voice answers, “Emergency service how may I help?”

“Yes hello, I’d like to report an assault,” I explain.

She continues to take all the necessary details before telling me to stay where I am, and a Garda car will come to visit us at some stage, although she adds, “It might be awhile as there’s an overwhelming amount of calls in tonight.” I hang up and put my phone down on the kitchen table.

Emma is on the couch in the sitting room. Elbows on her knees, with her head embedded in her hands. I amble over and sit down beside her. I inform her as to what the operator said, and she agrees that waiting here isn’t just the best option, but it’s our only option really.

She decides to get up to make some coffee. I slump back on the couch and take in my new surroundings. Typical student digs. A bit of a dump with minimal furnishing, a chunky outdated television, sits in front of me adding to the clichéd student cheapness. It’s very neat and tidy nonetheless.

Emma returns after a few minutes, sits down again and hands me a steaming cup before nestling in close to me. She’s also had time to change into more casual wear instead of the skimpy, sexy outfit from earlier. I can feel she’s still shivering with nerves.

I take one look at the mug and shudder. I don’t drink coffee. It repulses me. The bitter taste of the brew insults my taste buds. I take a sip so as not to offend her and then place it down on a coffee table. She does likewise and then rests her head on my shoulder.

The Gardai will hopefully be here soon, so I encourage her to rest her eyes. She places a delicate kiss on my cheek before getting more comfortable.

It’s so late at this stage that there are slight signs of red beginning to streak across the horizon. It’s the beginning of a new day. What on earth is it going to hold in store for us?

Rays of sunlight have begun to shine in the window. I watch as they slowly creep along the faded paint of the apartment walls, progressing steadily until they flicker in my eyes causing me to squint.

Emma dozed off some time ago. Her head’s now resting on my lap. A slight, damp patch of drool has seeped from the corner of her mouth onto the crotch of my trousers. I can’t help but hope she doesn’t wake up and think that it’s something else.

Its two hours since I rang the Gardai, but there’s no sign of them still. They must all be busy putting a dampener on the mini riot we started. I let out a groan at the thought of it. A groan, that just so happens to be loud enough to stir Emma from her sleep.

“What was that?” she asks as she sits up and stretches out her neck and shoulders before looking at me and noticing the wet area on my jeans.

“Oh,” she remarks while shrivelling up her nose, at what she deems to have been a groan of pleasure.

“No, no no,” I interrupt, “it’s not what you think.”

She smirks at me and exclaims her relief, “Phew, I’d be a little disappointed if that was all ya had.”

I’m taken aback by her cheekiness but manage to repay her smile with one of my own.

“Still no Guards huh?” she questions, while looking at her phone, choosing to ignore the several messages she’s received from her worried friends no doubt.