Page 185 of Stolen Voices

“Yes, it’s me.” He sighs. I forgot Eli was talking to him before the car hit us. “I’m still on the line. The police are on their way. Can you hear any sirens?”

Doing as he asked, I ignore the hiss and creaks of Eli’s totaled car and focus on sounds in the distance. I can faintly make out people shouting and sirens. My body relaxes at the sound of help arriving.

“I can hear the sirens,” I cry.

“Good. That’s good. Now, I need you to stay calm. Help will be there soon.”

“Mason…” There is so much I want to say but can’t because it feels like my heart is being ripped out of my chest.

Eli has to be okay. I can’t live without him.

I don’t have to say the words for Mason to understand. “I know, Callie. He’s going to be fine. E is tough as hell. He won’t give up. So, you can’t either.”

Mason is right. Eli is tough, and he needs me to stay strong so I can help him through this. It’s my turn to stand behind him and lift him up.

“Never.” I grip my necklace as tears stream down my face. “I love him so much.”

“He loves you too. Stay strong. We already called the family. I need you to find his phone and hold on to it, so we know where to find you. I’m on my way, okay?”

Even though he can’t see me, I nod. “Okay.”

“Find his phone and say you’re his wife. Stick to his side, Callie. That’s all you have to do.”

Clinging to the seatbelt, I hold on and focus my attention on Eli. His chest is still moving—a little too quickly—but the sirens are loud, ringing in my ear.

So close.

He is strong, I repeat the mantra over and over.

People in black uniforms materialize out of nowhere and surround the car. Police radios crackle as people speak into hand radios, describing the scene. My eyes never leave Eli as hands covered in blue gloves search for his pulse.

A man dressed in black, with the star of life on his chest, appears at my side. “Ma’am, are you okay?”

I ignore his question as the crunch of metal shrieks like nails on a chalkboard, making the hairs on my arms stand on end.

“What are they doing?” I ask, panicked, as Eli’s body jostles from the force.

“They are opening the door to get to the driver. Can you tell me if anything hurts?”

“No, I’m fine. Please help him.” Eli needs the help more than I do.

“My colleagues are working on your…” the paramedic trails off, searching for some answers.

“Husband,” I answer, remembering what Mason told me to say.

“Your husband is in excellent hands, I swear. Now, please let me help you.”

“O-okay,” I stammer. It physically hurts me to look away from Eli as someone slips a collar around his neck and places an oxygen mask over his face.

I let the paramedic do his job. He places a medical collar around my neck and flashes a penlight in my eyes before slicing the seatbelt with a knife. Another EMT comes over and helps pull me out of the car, forcing me onto a gurney.

My eyes scan the area, searching for Eli. He’s strapped onto a spinal board as they lift him onto a gurney. Wires and tubes connect him to machines.

Another EMT shouts, “His pulse is thready, pulse-oxygen levels are low. Probably a collapsed lung. We need to move now.”

“That’s bad, isn’t it?” I ask the EMT.

The grave face he gives me is all the answer I need.