“My—” His voice cracked.He cleared his throat, forcing the words through.“My friend.My business partner.I—I found her.She’s… she’s not breathing.I think she’s dead.”
“Okay, sir,” the dispatcher said, tone gentle but brisk.“I’m sorry to hear that.I’m going to ask you some questions.First, can you tell me your name?”
He had to think about it, absurdly.
“Michael Torres,” he managed.
“Thank you, Mr.Torres.And where are you right now?What’s the address?”
He rattled it off automatically; he’d used it on too many ride-share apps for it not to be burned into his brain.
“Fourteen Winthrop Lane, Cambridge.It’s a townhouse.I’m upstairs in the office.”
“All right.Units are being dispatched as we speak.”He heard the clatter of a keyboard in the background.“Is anyone else in the house with you?”
“I don’t—” He looked wildly around the room, suddenly acutely aware of the open doorway behind him, the hallway beyond.The house had that peculiar stillness again: the kind that could mean empty, or could mean someone holding their breath just out of sight.
“I don’t know,” he said honestly.“I didn’t see anyone.The door was locked but the chain was on, which is… that’s not normal.I used the spare key.I called out.No one answered.I haven’t checked everywhere.”
“Okay.For your safety, I’d like you to leave the house and wait for the officers outside, all right?Don’t touch anything else.”
He nodded, then realized she couldn’t see him.“Yeah.Okay.”
“Can you walk and stay on the line with me?”
He looked at Sarah one more time, committing the image to memory even though he knew it would never leave him now, no matter what he did.
“I can walk,” he said, though his legs weren’t completely convinced.
He backed toward the door.
The urge to apologize to her as he left — for leaving, for not being able to fix this, for not arriving ten minutes earlier — rose so sharply he almost swallowed it whole.
“Mr.Torres?”the dispatcher prompted gently.
“Yeah.Still here.”
He stepped into the hallway.
The carpet runner muffled his footsteps, making him feel like he was sneaking.Every doorway he passed felt like a mouth that might suddenly open, disgorging whatever monster had created the scene behind him.
He moved faster.
At the top of the stairs, he glanced back once.
From this angle he couldn’t see Sarah’s face, only the line of her back, the fall of hair, the square of the crow painting on the desk.
The bird’s painted eye seemed to catch the light in a way that made it look almost wet.
He tore his gaze away and went down.
“Officers are about three minutes out,” the dispatcher said in his ear.“EMS as well.You’re doing great.Are you experiencing any chest pain?Trouble breathing?”
He almost laughed.
“Yes,” he said.“But I think that’s just… being a human in this situation.”
“Understood,” she said, with the faintest hint of sympathy.“If anything changes, you let me know.”
