The Collymore Family

Chapter 9

TEN YEAR OLD GIRL HIT BY TRUCK IN NIGHTINGALE AVENUE

Irene read the words carefully, her fingers tracing under each bolded letter. Her eyes were tired and still adjusting to the light, having just woken up from her evening nap. It was a gloomy evening outside, the clouds being dark and raindrops splattering onto the ground each second. She'd planned on reading the newspapers the day before, however, she couldn't help but feel extremely nervous each time she touched the papers. So, she left it on her kitchen counter and promised herself she would read it the next morning. But when that came by, so had sudden assignments, and Irene found herself working on them until 2PM, which by then, she was just too tired to do anything else. 

 Her eyes scanned down to the article of writing, noticing that most of it had faded away. However, the first paragraph seemed to have been in nearly perfect condition; besides a few scratched out words. Irene could make note of what was being said. Quietly, she whispered the words through her teeth.

"At 3PM on November 6th, 1988, a ten year old girl, who happened to be riding her bicycle along the road, was fatally hit by an incoming truck. This would strike her in the back and push her face first into the pavement."

Irene paused, making a mental note of the date. "November 6th, 1988." Twenty two years ago, two years before Irene was born, and fifteen years before she'd moved into Nightingale Avenue. Irene did the math just in case, confirming to herself that the girl had died ten years before the Collymore's moved into the neighbourhood in 1998, before beginning to read again.

"Because there wasn't anyone around, The truck was able to flee the scene, before the girl was found by a bystander a few minutes after. She was rushed to the hospital, where she gave details on the truck. The small, black truck had apparently gotten close behind her, however she hadn't noticed until she was hit. Ten year old Angeline had sustained extreme injuries to her back and head, which she succumbed to at 9:32PM."

Irene paused again, her eyes going back to the name that was given.

"Angeline."

The name she had gotten on the notes had started with 'Angel.' Could it really be that the person who was sending in these notes was that girl? The thought scared Irene the more she processed it, seeing that the young girl was deceased. Questions filled her mind, overwhelming her. How was she sending in those notes if she was dead? Could she be a spirit? How is that even possible? Why was she sending in those notes? What was she trying to tell Irene?

Irene shook her head and rubbed her eyes, trying to get the thoughts out of her head. She brought the newspaper slightly closer, scanning the paper one last time. The rest of the writing had faded away, and only bits remained, making it impossible for Irene to dictate what was being said.

Irene put the newspaper down, picking up the second one as she did so. This one had the title scratched out, so Irene couldn't tell what it was titled. However, the first and second paragraph were clear enough to make out.

"Ten year old Angeline's mother and father were informed just after she was discovered, but unfortunately, due to 'long working distances,' the mother and father weren't able to arrive until 8:35 PM, an hour before the young girl passed away." Irene stopped reading, her index finger sliding off the paper as a familiar memory entered her head.

Nine year old Irene on the floor of her parent's bedroom, her leg aching in pain as hot tears streamed down her face. Her screaming was enough to alert her nanny in the laundry room, who'd came in with the laundry basket on her hip and a purple shirt in her hand. Her nanny knelt down and wiped Irene's tears away, telling her that she would be okay. But the pain in her leg made her want to throw up. "I'm here, it's okay." Her nanny hushed her. But it wasn't okay. She wanted her mom. She wanted her dad. She needed her parents with her. She yelled and cried through her tears for her mother or father. But neither of them came. 

When her nanny brought her to the hospital and they figured out that her leg was broken, it'd taken her parents until eleven the next morning to come. Sixteen whole hours, because her parents didn't want to take time off work to check on their daughter. For those sixteen hours, her nanny stayed with her, keeping her company and singing her songs. But it didn't matter whether she did or didn't. No matter how many doctors were in the room with her or however many songs her nanny sang, Irene felt alone. She wanted her mom and dad with her. She wanted them to hold her close and tell her everything would be okay. But they didn't. Their work was more important to them.

Irene felt her eyes begin to water, snapping her out of her daze. She brought her hands up to her eyes and furiously wiped them. She couldn't believe she was crying over this. It was something that had happened years ago, yet every time she thought about it, she felt her head ache and tightness in the pit of her stomach. She wanted to get over it, but a part of her knew how hurt she felt. She was nine. The experience made her want to scream at them and ask them over and over questions that filled her head. Why did you leave me? Why didn't you come for me? Why is your work more important to you? Why don't you care about your own daughter? Why does my nanny care more about me than my own parents?

Irene felt her hands begin to tremble as she remembered the experience once more. How scared, angry and pained she'd felt in that moment. Irene loved her parents, but there were times when she felt they didn't love her just as much, even as an adult now. They never ever visited her apartment and they rarely ever gave her phone calls. They never asked how she was doing, how school was, how her day was. She wished they did. It seemed to Irene that she didn't even have parents. She tried to block out the thoughts, but every so often, she found herself thinking the same things. What if it was my fault? What if I did something wrong?

Irene clenched the newspaper tightly, drawing in a shallow breath. Her fingers continued to tremble beneath the paper. Irene badly wanted to stop reading, but she knew now wasn't the time. Her eyes scanned over to her phone, which she turned on with her shaky fingers. The time was 5:30 PM. She would have to head to the Collymore's in just under an hour to babysit Noella, and she would need to communicate with the 'Angel' person from under the door again. She needed to continue reading the newspaper to find out more evidence. She wouldn't let a memory stop her.

"Ten year old Angeline suffered from internal bleeding, broken ribs and injuries to her spinal cord. She cried to nurses constantly that her body hurt and that she wanted her mother and father. Angeline was able to have a short conversation with her parents when they arrived, before she started to breathe shallowly once more, and eventually passed due to her injuries. The parents of the ten year old have planned a funeral in the next two to three weeks. It was reported by nurses that young Angeline was murmuring over and over "I don't want to die." Making the nurses tear up due to her words."

Irene paused, taking in another deep breath to calm herself down, before continuing to read once more.

"House owners in Nightingale Avenue have said this was "The worst accident they'd seen here." The calm and beautiful neighbourhood hadn't experienced an accident so bad in many, many years. Some neighbours are willing to come to the funeral being held for Angeline to show their respect, while others express their anger and disgust towards the truck driver in the situation. Again, the truck was never found, nor was the truck driver, who fled the scene the second after the accident. The truck, which police speculate is a compact pickup, was painted all black with tinted windows."

Irene's eyes scanned down the last part of the second paragraph, which was the last thing written that Irene could make out clearly, as every other writing was either scratched out or had faded away.

"Angeline's last words before she'd passed were heartbreaking and directed straight at her parents. Her words shocked not only who they were meant for, but the doctors and nurses there as well. "You don't care about me. You never did." Were the words whispered by the young girl, before she went completely silent."

Once again tears appeared in Irene's eyes, this time with a small droplet landing on the newspaper, to which she quickly wiped away. It felt weird to be crying over a newspaper story, a death that happened over twenty years ago, but she couldn't help it. She couldn't help but feel terrible for this girl. She'd spent the last moments of her life angered and deeply upset by her parents. This ten year old felt betrayed during her last moments on earth. Irene felt silly thinking this way about something that happened years ago, but her heart ached for this girl. Irene knew how it felt. She could see herself in Angeline, and that's what resonated with her the most.