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I look up at the man who has destroyed my world in a minute. “And the baby? Is she. . . ?” My voice cracks, unable to finish the rest of the sentence.
Goddamn it. No. Don’t let this be real. Please no. Not River.
Officer Reyes kneels, looking down at me intensely. “She’s fine. Not a scratch on her.”
I’m a paranoid person. And for a terrifying few hours, I convinced myself from Google, I was schizophrenic. This is scary to admit, but I have fears, or maybe visions of events going wrong. Every single detail plays out in my head before me as if it’s actually happening. Then I blink and realize it’s not real. Just my subconscious worrying about the things I can’t change in the world.
When I’m driving, I imagine the cars in front of me coming together, crashing, metal tangling with metal and then the spin, the roll, the bodies of the passengers being ejected because they weren’t wearing seatbelts. Like a scene out of thoseFinal Destinationmovies.
Then I see myself approaching the scene, their bodies lying motionless on the pavement and then me performing CPR on them. By the way, I don’t know CPR. I went to a class once, but just seeing the mannequins on the floor sent me into a full-on panic attack that I might have to use those skills on someone. Could I be responsible for saving someone’s life? I can’t even manage to pay rent on time. What makes me think I can save a life?
I blink.
And I blink again. This time. . . the paranoid parts of my brain. . . they’re not visions, the details of the accident, they’re reality. One I have no choice but to accept.
“Ma’am? Are you okay?” Officer Reyes reaches for my shoulder, his grasp on my skin anything but comforting. “Do you need some water or can I call someone for you?”
I need you to tell me it’s not true. I need you to tell me it’s not true. I need. . . I don’t know what I need.
My thoughts move quickly from one thought to the next, until they land on one. River. Their only daughter. My niece. My world. The fear of losing her too sits on me like a weight, and I find it hard to get out what I want to ask. Enough air passes by, allowing my body to function, but it’s still crippling as I get out the words, “Where’s the baby?”
Reyes clears his throat, eyebrows pulling down and his eyes narrow on mine. “She’s fine. She’s with child protective services. I can take you there.”
“Take me to her.” My words sound abnormal, like it’s not me speaking. I scramble, my throat constricting, tightening as the tears break free. My heart begins to shake. I don’t mean literally. I don’t think your heart can shake, or can it? Maybe it’s just that my entire body is shaking.
I take a breath and reach for my jacket that was beside the door next to my purse. The pizza sits, untouched. Holding my coat in my hand, I stare at it, gripping it tightly. It’s one Ava gave me. Said she didn’t use it anymore.“Babe, I can’t pull this color off. You’re beautiful so you try it.”
Ava knew me better than I knew myself. Is that a trait of all big sisters, or just Ava? Because Alexandra doesn’t know anything about me. Not like Ava.
The jacket. . . it’s bright yellow and obnoxious, but I love the way it makes my purple hair stand out, so I wear it.
My thoughts return to Alexandra, my other sister. “Have you gotten in touch with Alexandra?”
The sheriff swallows, hard, nodding to the door. “No. We attempted to make contact with your parents, Mr. and Mrs. Johnson which led us here.”
“They’re out of town this weekend. I’m house-sitting for my sister, Ava.”
How’d this happen? How’d I go from house-sitting with Kona, to this. . . getting notified my sister and her husband are dead?
“Can we call someone to go with you to the police station?”
There’s only one person who comes to mind. It’s not Alexandra. It’s the one guy who helps me out of everything. The one person I’m constantly falling back on. Tiller. Just like the thoughts of everyone I might have lost earlier, Tiller’s face flashes in my head. His Mohawk. His eyes.
Swallowing, I shake free from the hold he has on my mind and reach for my cell phone. “Where is Ava now?”
Reyes nods to the door. “She’s at Cedars-Sinai Medical Center with Mr. Taylor. We can take you there.”
“Is uh. . . Cullen died too?” I can’t believe I hadn’t thought to ask about Cullen.
The officer’s face is solemn. “Mr. Taylor died in transport.”
They tell me details. Like where it happened, that I can see her body if I want. . . ask me again who they should call to comfort me and all the while, Kona barks and my mind returns to the one person who can help me through this.
My shaking hands hold my cell phone up, the bright screen blurring with the tears in my eyes. Though it’s a Saturday night, it’s debatable whether or not he’s going to answer. He hasn’t answered yet, why would he now?
I call two people on my way to the police station where River is in the custody of child protective services.
One answers.