Someone's In My Head (WATTYS AWARD WINNER 2015)

Chapter Nineteen (Pt. 1)

When I came to my senses once again, I'm very sad to announce that despite the brief moment of me (and probably Phil) losing consciousness, I was unable to reinstate my position as the rightful 'Governor and Controller of Jarod Wickernham's Body'. Never mind. I'll deal with that later. There were more important issues at the meantime.

At first, I was completely befuddled by the fact that I was sitting on the steering wheel. Then I realized that the cushion that accommodated my butt had been replaced by something hard and leathery, which I later recognized as the cloth roof of the Mustang. Well, the soft, plush cushions had apparently switched places with the roof, so technically the entire car was upside down. That was just Issue #1.

Then came the noise. It was dull and muted at first, like the distant but searing whirring sound you hear in your head when you're having a terrible migraine. Then the initial effects of the concussion began to clear, and I registered the other noises in the background.

Issue #3 was the unyielding beep of the horn, and I was once again perplexed as the sound seemed to be coming out of the Mustang itself. I mean, it's highly unlikely for the horn to still be alive and kicking when the steering wheel is acting as my butt cushion, isn't it?

And, damn, is it really that necessary for there to be car horns bleating irritably in every car crash?

Phil checked himself (a.k.a. myself, I'm still trying to get used to this) for any injuries. Surprisingly, I still had all my limbs, and even more miraculously, nothing inside me was broken. Not that I'm not happy about it though. I was the only one without a safety belt on when the crash happened, so God must have been painstakingly magnanimous when dealing with my traffic offence, unlike what a normal street cop would do. To get off with just a few scratches and bruises for the terrible sin I've just committed must be one hell (no pun intended) of a leeway God could possibly give me throughout my entire lifetime.

Phil heard a groan. Still half-disoriented, Phil had to swivel my head a couple of times to find the source of the sound. It was Tanya, who was dangling upside down from the car seat (now the roof), where she was strapped in securely by the safety belts. Her head was lolling while her hair dangled lifelessly like the cotton strands of a hanged mop.

The sight of Tanya invigorated Phil's blurry mind. Scrambling up from where he was slumped, Phil crawled over to Tanya side and, cautiously, in fear of frightening Tanya, he touched her gently on her shoulder.

As if on cue, Tanya gasped, and her eyes flew open. I could see that she was afraid; the horror was practically bursting from her eyes like the tears that threatened to follow suit. As her eyes darted nervously around, Phil gave her hands (which were also dangling) a tight but comforting squeeze.

Military first-aid training kicked in. Carefully running his hands around the exposed nape of Tanya's neck, Phil felt for any swelling or deformities that might indicate a neck fracture. He found none. He then did the same with her back, and was relieved to find nothing out of the blue as well.

"I'm gonna get you out of here," Phil promised her with a quiet whisper.

As carefully as he could, Phil undid the safety belt that had her immobilized in the upside-down car seat. Then, whispering "steady, now" into Tanya's ear, he slowly dragged Tanya from the clutches of the seat, all the while supporting her with his forearms to prevent her from crashing unfashionably to the ground.

"Are you okay?" Phil finally asked the million-dollar question when Tanya's feet alighted safely on the ground. Wordlessly, she checked herself for any missing limbs. Based on what my eyes provided me with, despite the soot-blackened complexion and some minor grazes on her limbs, Tanya looked safe and sound, at least on the outside. She might have a multitude of internal fractures―