Free Nothing to Report by Patrick Abbruzzi Page A

demolished cigarette.
     
    Oh, they worked on her for a long time, for such a very long time. They’ll do that if the victim is young. Those doctors took that little girl’s heart right out of her chest and actually massaged it with their hands. They tried everything, but everything wasn’t good enough. She died that night, and I truly believe I was the last person she saw on this fucking earth. Me, some fucking stranger in a blue uniform who did not even know her name!
     
    The lieutenant’s body shook as a sob erupted from somewhere deep in his throat. His eyes fully welled and the tear drops began to fall, leaving crooked, shiny trails on his cheeks. He fell silent and turned his head towards his window, eventually using his sleeve to wipe away the tears. Charlie respected Lou’s need for silence as Lt. A. lit another cigarette and drew in heavily, taking the acrid smoke deep into his lungs. The cigarette seemed to calm him down a little and finally, after several long minutes without words, he began speaking about the little girl again.
     
    “You know, Charlie, I never even got a chance to talk to her and tell her that everything would be okay. When it was over and she was declared deceased, I went out to the ambulance loading bay and bawled my eyes out. We were all crying including the nurses and even some of the doctors. That innocent, little angel made quite an impact on many of us.
    “One nice nurse walked over to me while I was in the loading bay and asked if I was okay. I explained to her that I had a little girl the same age and with blond hair, too. Charlie, that night it was like carrying my own little girl into that hospital and watching her die,” sobbed the lieutenant again.
    He lit another cigarette and inhaled deeply, held it in for a while then slowly exhaled through his nose.
    “The agony of that Easter Sunday will live with me forever,” he said quietly.
    “I learned about the details of the accident when I returned to the precinct at the end of my tour and, believe it or not, there was only one car involved in that awful, bloody accident. A black woman was learning to drive. Can you believe that? She was learning how to drive on fucking Easter Sunday morning! She just had to have lessons on Easter Sunday! Damn, she didn’t even have a learners permit! The fucking car was unregistered and she had no insurance. The fucking schmuck teaching her didn’t have a license, either. He’d also been drinking and was as high as a kite.
     
    “The driver had come down Clove Road, headed for Castleton Avenue. A beautiful, innocent family with a mother, father and seven children, all dressed in their Easter finery, were walking to church along the sidewalk adjacent to the B.F. Goodrich tire store. According to eye witnesses, the woman had a red light but must have stepped on the gas instead of the brake pedal because she shot across the intersection, pinning the father and three of his kids up against the side of the building.
    “Both the father and one of his innocent little boys died. They were the two that were rushed first to the hospital. Three more people died that Easter Sunday morning, including my little angel. I absolutely hate Easter Sundays in this fucking precinct and I’ll tell you why someday.
    “When I got home from that Easter Sunday shift the first thing I did was grab my daughter and give her such a big hug and a kiss. In fact, I held onto my baby girl so tight that my wife thought I was going to crush her. Her little mouth was so sticky from eating chocolate the Easter Bunny had delivered the night before in so many beautifully wrapped baskets. I cried and thanked God for that moment and, believe it or not, I never told my wife about the accident,” admitted Lt. A. as his story concluded.
    The remainder of the tour was fairly busy but the lieutenant remained quiet after reliving his Easter Sunday tragedy. He seemed to smoke more than his usual amount, especially once his story was