What do I do?
Holy shit.
Then a lightbulb flickered in the recesses of my mind. Detective Winter. He had given me his card yesterday. I had considered throwing it out but ultimately stashed it into a pocket. Suddenly no other plan of action seemed better or safer than calling him. He was already dealing with Mike’s case—he’d help. He’d know what to do.
I wiped my shaking hands on my Levi’s and fumbled through my pockets, eventually retrieving his card. I dialed and put the phone to my ear.
One ring. Two. Three.
Jesus. Please, please, pick up.
I was getting to my feet, feeling lightheaded and ready to vomit, when there was a gruff greeting on the other end.
“Detective Winter.”
“I-I need help,” I instantly said. Nothing like getting straight to the point.
“Who is this?” Winter’s tone was strong and concerned.
“Sebastian Snow.”
“Snow?”
“I—yesterday, you came—”
“I remember who you are. What’s wrong?”
How to explain this? I took a deep breath and, in a voice that may have come across as too calm, said, “There’s been an accident at Mike’s shop, Bond Antiques.”
I turned to the displays. Someone had been standing in there. Why hadn’t they come after me? They were the one who did that to Mike—right?
“What sort of accident?” Winter asked.
I didn’t respond, zoning out of the call as I warily approached the entrance of the T again. If I ran outside now, the killer would get away and no one would know what happened to poor goddamn Mike. I was shit scared but kept moving forward.
“Sebastian? Are you there? Sebastian!” he said more firmly.
“Shh,” I hissed.
“Are you okay?”
I was nearly at the turn. Something wasn’t right. This guy, or girl, should have come out by now. They should have heard my call, even heard Winter through the phone. I steeled myself and turned the corner.
The person was still standing there, wearing a heavy Victorian gown with a matching hat on their head.
Because it was a mannequin.
“Oh, fuck me,” I whispered, letting out a breath.
“Talk to me, now,” Winter ordered. “Are you hurt?”
“No,” I said quietly, feeling like a moron. “But, Mike is.”
“I’ll have an ambulance sent—”
“It’s too late for that.”
There was a brief pause on his end before he said, “I’m on my way. Don’t move.”
