Thank God for Irish Women Ch. 01

Author's Note: This is a novel-length story I wrote in 2015. I'm now adding it here for you to enjoy. It has some erotic content but the focus is on the exciting narrative and character development. I think you will find it a fascinating story with many twists and turns and a surprise ending.

Introduction

A lovely teenager, Emily, is abandoned one evening at a gas station in Atlanta, 2,500 miles from her home. While she is inside, her boyfriend is kidnapped and their car stolen. With only the clothes on her back, she waits all night for him to return.

Matt stops for gas early the next morning. Emily approaches him for help, which he gives. When the boyfriend is found murdered, Emily believes she has lost everything and decides to end her life. In her darkest hour, Matt becomes her ray of sunlight. A recent engineering graduate, Matt agrees to take her home to San Francisco where he has a new job waiting.

Emily's boyfriend continues to haunt her. His previously unknown criminal past mysteriously catches up with her, and only a miracle can save her. What happens will astonish you.

Chapter One

Wednesday, May 5, 2010

"Excuse me, sir."

I turned from the gas pump and saw a pretty young woman standing behind me. My immediate thought - she was a prostitute. This had happened to me before at this same station. But this time, it was early morning, not yet daylight. She must have been desperate for business.

I responded, "Hi." I smiled as I wondered how best to refuse her offer.

"Sir, I'm in a terrible situation and need help." She had a lovely soft Irish accent, the hint of a brogue that could melt a guy's resolve. However, I cut to the chase.

"Are you a prostitute?"

"No!" she exclaimed. "I just need a little help."

"What help do you need?" I studied her face and could see fluorescent light reflecting off a tear running down her cheek. She was fairly tall, maybe 5'7" with dark auburn hair in a ponytail. She was wearing a t-shirt and jeans.

"I've been stuck here overnight and I'm very hungry. Could you spare a couple of dollars?"

She was nervous... maybe shivering because of the cool morning air. I could see she was desperate. There was deep sadness in her expression.

"I don't like to give money as a handout, but if you'll let me, I'll buy you breakfast."

"Oh, that'd be wonderful! Thank you, sir."

"Let me fill the tank and I'll pull over there in front of the diner." I pointed to the waffle place next door.

While waiting, I asked, "Why are you stuck here?"

She looked down and seemed hesitant to answer. After a moment, she replied, "My boyfriend left me here. We stopped for gasoline and while I was in the restroom, he left."

"How long ago was that?"

"Last night, about 8:00."

I was dumbfounded.

"What? You've been here for ten hours?"

"I kept expecting him to return, but he never did. I sat over there on the curb and waited all night, but he never came. I'm very worried."

"Didn't anyone offer to help? It's very cool to only be wearing a t-shirt."

"Someone must have called the Atlanta police. A car with two patrolmen came. I told them I was waiting for my boyfriend. While we were talking, they were dispatched for an emergency and said they'd check back with me. They never did."

"You sat here all night. I'm shocked. This isn't a safe area."

"I didn't have a choice. My purse, cell phone, credit cards, all my money, and all my clothes are in his car. I only have what you see."

"Didn't they let you wait inside the store?"

"I did for an hour, but the manager asked me to leave. He said it was store policy."

"That's ridiculous. He could've helped you. Here, put my jacket on and walk over to the diner."

"No, I'm okay." She turned to start walking.

"Hey, wait a minute!" I exclaimed. She stopped and looked at me.

As I slipped the jacket off, I said, "No, you're not okay. I can see you're cold. Here, take it."

She reluctantly slipped it on; it engulfed her body. "This feels good. Thank you, sir." She turned and started walking.

The pump nozzle clicked, signaling the tank was full, and I drove next door to park.

As we walked through the door together, an elderly waitress directed us to a window booth. She slipped off the jacket, laid it on the seat and sat opposite me so she could watch the gas station.

I could then see how lovely she actually was. "Stunning" would be an appropriate adjective. She had a beautiful face, slight dimples, a perfectly clear complexion, and amazing green eyes. She had the beauty that turned many guys into tongue-tied or babbling idiots. She was fit, and her t-shirt showed the outline of impressive breasts that were reacting to the cold.

"I'm Matt Anderson. What's your name?"

"Emily Ryan."

"Where's your home Emily? You sound Irish."

"San Francisco. My mom was from Ireland, but I was born in California."

"That's a long way from here. What are you doing in Atlanta?" The waitress returned and took our orders.

"We were driving to visit my boyfriend's parents in South Carolina."

I reached for my cell phone. "Let's call your boyfriend and see where he is." She took the phone and called. It went to voicemail after several rings, and she left a message.

"Do you have his parents' number? Maybe we can call them."

"I have their number in the cell phone in my purse. Their names are Patrick and Nancy Jones. However, I can't remember where they live. It's a small town near the coast."

"You've not been to their house?"

"No."

"But you have met them?"

"Oh yes. They were once my neighbors in California. We were driving to visit them for the summer. My boyfriend is Patrick Jr. His parents initially wanted us to fly to Myrtle Beach, so it's probably near there."

"It's none of my business, Emily, but were you two having a quarrel and he was mad at you? Maybe it's a lover's spat that he'll soon get over."

"Not yesterday. We're always going back and forth about something, but nothing I'd call a quarrel. I don't think he would leave me here no matter if we were quarreling or not. Something must have happened."

"Maybe I can call the police and see if they know anything about him or his car."

"Sir, please don't call the police," she begged.

"Emily, please call me Matt. Why don't you want me to call the police?" She looked down at the coffee cup for a moment before answering.

"My boyfriend may be in trouble. Please don't call them," she pleaded.

"I want to help you. Are you in trouble with the police."

"NO!" she exclaimed. "Only my boyfriend."

"I'm sorry Emily, but I need to know what I'm getting into by helping you. What trouble is Patrick in?"

She frowned and continued looking down for a few moments.

"Please don't tell anyone. He was involved in growing marijuana with another man. The other man was arrested a few days ago, and I think it's just a matter of time before they arrest Patrick. I begged him to stop and turn himself in."

"Is there marijuana in the car?"

"Not that I know."

"Shouldn't we at least call your parents to tell them what's going on?"

"NO!"

I was very concerned and asked, "Why don't you want to call your parents?" She looked down but didn't answer. I sensed there was a major problem and decided not to press her. None of this was my business.

The food arrived. Emily was obviously very hungry and consumed hers without hesitation. As we were finishing, I asked, "What are your plans for today?"

"Sir, I mean Matt, I've no idea. I'm afraid to leave here. He might come back any minute."

"I'll leave my phone number and some money with you. If he doesn't return by noon, please call me. There's a pay phone over in that corner. I'll pick you up, and we can decide what to do."

"Thank you, Matt. You don't have to be at work?"

"I recently finished at Georgia Tech. Finally, I have a master's in electrical engineering. I've a job starting June 1st near San Francisco, in fact."

"Oh, congratulations." She tried to smile, but that look of extreme sadness remained.

"Thanks," I replied.

I left her with a ten-dollar bill, quarters for the phone, and a slip of paper with my cell phone number before walking to the register to pay.

"Wait, you forgot your jacket."

"Call me when he comes and I'll drive here and get it. I live only a mile away. It's too cool for you to be outside without it."

"Thank you again. You've been a real help, and I'll pay you back. I promise."

I left her sitting in the booth, staring at the gas station and sipping coffee.

****

After my usual workout at the gym, I returned to the apartment and switched on the laptop. My first site was the Atlanta Journal-Constitution for the local news. There was a report of a bank robbery that morning in nearby Marietta. A Wells Fargo branch had been hit, and a teller was shot in the arm. Near the end of the article, I read that a witness reported the getaway car was an Impala with California plates.

My heart skipped. Surely that was not Patrick's car.

Instead of sitting and wondering, I drove over to see if Emily was still waiting. As I parked, I could see her sitting on the curb, looking down at the ground. I walked to her.

"Emily."

She looked up. Her eyes were red from crying. I sat on the curb beside her as she tried to wipe a few tears away with her fingers.

"He's not coming back, Matt." She tried to sniff back the tears. "I know it. Can you please help me?"

"I'll try. Let's go sit in the car."

She picked up the jacket from the curb beside her and handed it to me. "Thanks. It helped a lot."

I opened the car door for her and could tell she was totally exhausted and in mental anguish.

"What am I to do, Matt?" She again tried to wipe the tears away with the back of her hand. I gave her my handkerchief.

"Emily, if I can't call the police, and I can't call your parents and you don't have the number for his parents, we're down to very few choices. Are there any friends in California you can contact?"

"Sure, I have lots of friends but I don't have my phone or my computer. I don't remember any of their phone numbers."

She started to say something and then paused. After a deep sigh, she looked down and continued, "Maybe I need to share more with you. I don't have a family. Let me explain.

"My mom and dad were divorced when I was five. I don't remember much about him. I do remember being very upset when we kissed goodbye. Mom said he was a musician. She was devastated and worked very hard to provide for us.

"Mom remarried six years ago. He was very nice to me, and we were happy for three years. He adopted me and bought me a car and things were going well. A month before I turned 17, Mom was killed in an automobile accident." Tears continued to flow.

"Emily, you don't have to tell me this." She looked at me. "I can see it hurts. Let me guess - your stepdad wasn't as nice to you after her death."

She dropped her head again, and I could see tears dripping into her lap. She reached again for the handkerchief.

"Is that why you don't want to contact him?" She nodded her head.

"After your mom was killed, what did you do?"

"I had finished high school and began college, but my stepdad didn't want to pay for it after the first year. I worked waiting tables to earn what I could, but college in California is very expensive. I never could get enough to continue. I applied for every scholarship I could and finally got one for $2,000. That just wasn't enough."

"Why didn't your stepdad pay for your education?"

She looked down and quietly replied, "After Mom died, he insisted that I begin sleeping with him or else he wouldn't pay my expenses. I refused and had to make my own way after that. I continued to live at home for a while, but it was as if we were two strangers living under the same roof. Thankfully, he never tried to touch me but I grew to despise him."

"Did your friends try to help?"

"What could they do? He wasn't sexually abusing me; he wasn't paying my expenses or for my education. Since I could work and earn money, there was nothing anyone could do. The father of one of my friends tried to intervene, but my stepdad wouldn't talk to him."

"Tell me about your boyfriend."

"He was a neighbor. We went to school together from the time we were children. When his parents moved to South Carolina, Patrick remained behind to finish his senior year in high school. He lived with the parents of one of his buddies.

"We realized that we were in love with each other, and he decided to stay in San Francisco and go to Stanford so he could be close to me. His parents are very well off, and they rented an apartment for him. I moved in with him and worked while he went to school.

"His parents knew of our relationship, and they invited us to come and spend the summer. We decided to drive since we would need a car anyway, and we wanted to see places we would normally fly over."

"When did you leave San Francisco?"

"Five days ago."

"What make of car does he have?"

"It's a light blue Chevy Impala."

Fear shot through me, but I tried not to show it.

"Emily, we'll find out what happened to Patrick. I know you don't know anything about me, but I want to help, and I need you to trust me."

She nodded her head but didn't look at me.

"What I can do is try to help you find Patrick's parents and see if they know what happened. Do you mind staying at my apartment until we can figure this out? You can use my laptop for email and Facebook or whatever you need. I have a guest bedroom, so I'm not asking you to sleep with me. Understand?"

She nodded again and said, "Thank you."

"We need to buy clothing for you. There's a large store a few miles from here. We can go there now and buy what you need."

"I don't have any money or a credit card or anything."

"Don't worry about that."

She nodded again but continued to look down. "Matt, I can't believe you're so willing to help."

I smiled. "It's what I should do. We'll figure this out."

****

As we entered the store, she stopped and asked, "What can I get?"

"Please buy at least three sets of clothes and all the essentials you need."

People were walking by so she leaned in and whispered, "Can I buy underwear, socks and makeup?"

"Absolutely. Please get what you need. I have a washer and dryer, and we can keep everything clean for you." She slightly smiled.

"I'll sit over there and check emails. When you have everything let me know, and I'll follow you through checkout to pay."

Emily took a cart and disappeared for 30 minutes. I used that time to check the local news sites. I was particularly worried about a carjacking since one had happened at that station a month earlier. That crime was never solved, as far as I could remember. I didn't want to mention that.

The only major crime reported was the bank robbery. There was nothing more about the car involved.

"I'm ready, Matt."

I looked up and saw Emily with the half-full cart. "You found what you need?"

"Yes. I'm afraid I got too much. The total is a little over $165. Is that okay or should I put something back?"

"That's fine. I thought it would be more than that."

"Well, I could continue shopping, I suppose." She smiled before adding, "I'm kidding."

Her nice smile was good to see. We checked out and drove to the apartment. After carrying her purchases into the guest bedroom, Emily asked if she could lie down for a few hours.

"Certainly. Your room has a full bath, and I'll bring towels. When should I wake you?"

"Give me two or three hours."

"I'll wake you at 4:00 and we can have an early dinner. While you're asleep, I'll go on the Internet and see how many men I can find named Patrick Jones in South Carolina."

"Thanks. Could I check emails and Facebook before I take a nap?"

"Let me get the laptop."

For the next 15 minutes, she sent and replied to emails and postings. After closing the computer, she said, "I let my friends know what's happening and posted on Facebook for Patrick to let me know if he's okay. He's always checking Facebook. I also sent a note to his mom and asked for her phone number."

I nodded. She went to the bedroom and locked the door.

As expected, the bank robbery led the local news. The police had encountered and chased the suspected getaway car. During the pursuit, the car crashed over an embankment and three occupants were killed. The front and side of the car were demolished.

A police spokesperson was interviewed and said the incident was under investigation and there were unusual circumstances involved. He didn't elaborate.

The video showed a silver or light blue Chevy Impala. I prayed that it wasn't Patrick's and recorded the show to replay for Emily.

****

At 4:00, I softly knocked on her door. "Wait a minute," was the reply. When she opened the door, Emily was wearing one of the new t-shirts.

"Did you have a nap?"

"Maybe a short one. Although I was exhausted, I keep thinking about him." Tears again welled in her eyes.

"On the local news, there's a report of a bank robbery in Marietta this morning. I recorded the report for you to watch."

She sat on the sofa near me. When the mangled car was shown, she looked closer. I paused the recording when the rear end was shown. Emily screamed, "OH NO!" She collapsed to the floor and began to wail. All I could do was sit on the floor next to her and lay my hand on her heaving shoulder. I felt for her and tears came to my eyes.

After several long minutes, she grew silent and I asked, "Are you sure it's his car?" She nodded.

"How do you know? They blurred the license plate number."

She was in agony but stood and sat on the sofa. I sat beside her. She was shaking and gripping her hands together and rocking back and forth as the tears flowed. I reached for her, but she pulled away. After a pause, she explained, "I backed his car into a signpost about a year ago. The dent I put in the trunk was on that car. I know it's his."

"Emily, we must call the police."

"I know."

"Maybe he wasn't in the car when it crashed. Maybe they dropped him off somewhere and he's fine. We don't yet know the actual situation."

"I have a bad feeling about this... but I hope you're right. Can you call them now?"

I dialed the non-emergency number for the Atlanta Police Department and was eventually connected to Sergeant David Ramsey. I explained the chain of events and gave him my address and phone number. He said the lead investigator, Detective Robert Lindsay, would come as quickly as possible.

Emily was exhausted...both mentally and physically. She returned to her bedroom and closed the door. I could hear her crying.

****

Some 90 minutes later, the doorbell rang. Detective Lindsay and Sergeant Michael Stevens showed me their identification. I invited them in, and we sat at the dining table.

They recorded my personal information and asked for me to recount what had happened that morning. I told them the entire story and what Emily had told me, except the part about marijuana. They asked to speak with her.

I walked to the bedroom door and knocked. After a moment, I could hear her walking to the door. She opened it and saw the two police officers and began to weep again.

The officers stood and introduced themselves. After Emily sat, Detective Lindsay described their investigation and asked her to recount the events of the previous evening. After she gave them the same account she told me, they asked whether she had noticed anyone loitering nearby when she went to the restroom. She had not. The sergeant asked to be excused and walked outside to make a call.

The detective said that the car shown in the news report was involved in the bank robbery that morning and that three occupants were in the car when it crashed. However, one victim had been killed prior to the crash. The medical examiner said he had been dead for ten to twelve hours.