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The screech of tires reached my ears seconds after my car was already on the move. Although I was moving fast, it felt like the world had almost frozen around me, all my senses slightly numbed, the surrounding sights and sounds reaching me on a delay. I spun out of the driveway, my hands fumbling and shaking as I reached for my phone in the console.
I jammed my fingers onto my screen as I careened wildly down the road. Several other cars honked at me, but I didn’t pay them any attention as the dispatcher’s voice came across the line.
“Nine-one-one, what is your emergency?”
I breathed out through my mouth and inhaled through my nose. Say it, I thought. Just fucking say it.
“Nine-one-one, are you there? What is your emergency?”
“I-I need to report a crime,” I said shakily.
“What is the nature of the crime?”
Swallowing, I pressed down harder on the gas as I blew through a stop sign, turning the wheel and cutting across several lanes of traffic. I turned and looked back, half expecting someone to be following behind, only slowing when I realized no one was.
“Ma’am. I need to know the nature of the crime you wish to report? What is your location? Is someone hurt?”
“Yes,” I breathed.
“Is that person conscious?”
Shaking my head, I clutched the wheel as if it was my only chance at staying above the sea of fear threatening to drown me. It was when the dispatcher didn’t respond I realized she couldn’t see me.
“No, he’s not,” I said, realizing that I was crying—tears were pouring down my face. I opened my mouth again and I knew that as soon as I said it, there would be no going back. “He’s not conscious because he’s dead,” I continued, “and my father was the one who killed him. Jason Perelli. He killed someone, and I saw it.”
