Steven

“911, what is your emergency?” I ask, the words coming out automatically, just like they always do.

There’s a pause.. Then, a woman’s voice, shaky. “My husband…”

 “What is going on, ma’am?” I ask, trying to keep my voice calm, controlled. But she doesn’t answer right away. There’s another pause, and I can hear her breathing, like she’s barely holding it together.

“Please come over, right now,” she finally says.

She gives me the address, and as I send the information where to, my mind starts racing. Why didn’t she tell me more? Did something happen to him? Was she finally done with him? Or maybe he’s still there, and she’s trapped with him. I get into the patrol car, my partner silent beside me as we speed through the streets, sirens blaring. I can’t stop thinking about that voice on the phone, the fear in it. I’ve been on calls like this before, too many times to count, but there’s something about this one that worries me, something that feels off. My mind keeps spinning, replaying the call over and over. Is she hurt? Is he hurt? Is someone dead? I think of every scenario possible, each one worse than the last… We pull up to the house, and everything goes quiet for a moment. The lights are still on inside, but there’s no movement, no sign of life. I step out of the car, my gun in my hand, and approach the door. It’s unlocked. I push it open. She’s there, the woman from the call, sitting on the floor in the middle of the living room. Her eyes are wide, unseeing, and she’s shaking. There’s blood on her hands, on her clothes, all over the floor. Her husband is lying a few feet away. It’s clear he’s gone. But it’s not the blood or the body that gets to me, it’s her eyes. The sadness, like she’s already gone too, somewhere deep inside herself. It’s the sound of her voice when she finally speaks again, barely more than a whisper.

“I didn’t know what else to do,” she says, and her voice cracks, just like it did on the phone. I feel something inside me give way, something I’ve been holding onto for too long. All the other calls, all the other scenes like this one, they come rushing back, and it’s too much. I can’t keep it together this time.

My partner is already calling for backup, moving to secure the scene, but I’m frozen, staring at her, at the emptiness in her eyes. I hear her words screaming in my head, and all I can think is that I didn’t get here fast enough, that I should have done something, anything, to stop this from happening.

And then, without warning, I feel the weight of it all come crashing down on me, and I know I’m not going to be able to do this anymore. Not after this. Not after seeing what this woman became, what this job has turned me into.

I’m supposed to be the one who helps, the one who makes things better, but all I can feel is the overwhelming sense of failure. I was too late, and now, as I look at her, I realize I’m too late to save myself too.