by Brenda Obert

Created on: July 16, 2008

The Subway

The phone rang on Mel's desk. With a look, he dared anyone in the office to answer it. Sam just shook his head. Mel knew Lee Ann was on the other end. The last thing he wanted was to continue their argument. She griped at him about his work, pouting and asking why didn't he want to spend more time at home. Her constant nagging meant he was less likely to come home on time. After twenty years together, you would think they could work this out.

After pulling on his coat and nodding a farewell to Sam, Mel left the office to face the inevitable and headed to the subway. He arrived on the platform just as the commuters were gathering, waiting for the next train. Today was no different than any other day. The noise, the odors, the people aroused no interest for Mel. His only concern was being on time.
Behind him, on the stairs leading down from the street, Mel heard a commotion. Someone screamed. A man shouted, "He's got a gun!" As if in slow motion Mel turned as the man raised the gun pointing it at the woman to Mel's right. The man screamed something unintelligible. Without thinking Mel stepped between the man and the woman with his hands up, thinking to talk the man down. Mel saw the muzzle flash, felt the impact, and paused, stunned by disbelief then collapsed in a heap on the platform. From far away, as if down a tunnel, Mel heard voices, muffled, shouting. Darkness closed in.

When Mel was about five, he developed a fear of subways. The smell and the trash, even the people frightened him. In spite of his screams and cries his mother dragged him onto the subway. "No-o-o," he would wail. "I'll die, I'll be dead." His mother never seemed affected by his pleas. Eventually, Mel got over his fears, and riding on the subway became part of the ordinary. Until today.

A voice close to his ear whispered, "Hang on. Hang on. Please don't diedon't die!"

Mel tried to reply, but he couldn't muster the strength to utter a word. He tried to open his eyes. "He's alive!" the woman shouted. "Call 911, somebody, please!"

Mel felt something like a smile tug at the corner of his mouth. He fought to remain conscious, but it was losing the battle. Just as he faded he heard a voice breathe, "Oh my God! It's Mel."

Mel had been on the force only a few years longer than his partner Sam. They had recently been assigned to burglary investigation. They'd seen a lot over the years on their beat, riots, motorcades,even a couple of drug busts. In all that time Mel had never fired his weapon except on the range. He was a good marksman, had even won a couple of competitions on the force. His gun was always strapped under his left arm. Just in case. He often wondered if he really needed it.

Struggling up out of the darkness once more, Mel's eyes fluttered and he recognized Sam bent over him, brows creased in concern.

"Hold on, Buddy just hold on," ordered Sam in a hoarse whisper. "You can't duck out on me now. What the hell would I tell Lee Ann?"

Mel struggled to say something to his partner. With what felt like a tremendous effort, he gasped, "Tell herI...lo." The effort was too much.

"Just lay still, Mel. I know; I'll tell her don't worry. Help is on the way."

Mel felt his life trickle away like the blood that was seeping from the bullet wound. He let Sam down, dying there on the platform. His last thought: Lee Ann would be mad that he was late.

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