The smell of old pennies. I know that smell. Every operator knows that smell. It’s blood. I move through the house, clearing rooms out of instinct. Living room clear, kitchen clear. But the dining room, the rug was gone. The hardwood floor was wet. Someone had scrubbed it, but in the moonlight coming through the window, I could see the dark stains that the bleach hadn’t quite lifted.
My phone buzzed in my pocket, shattering the silence. It was a number I didn’t know. Is this Hunter? A voice asked. It was deep, professional, and tired. Speaking, this is Detective Miller. You need to get to St. Jude’s medical center. Immediately, the drive to the hospital is a blur in my memory. I don’t remember the traffic lights. I don’t remember parking.
I only remember the cold air hitting my face as I sprinted toward the emergency room doors. I flashed my military ID at the nurse’s station. Tessa, my wife, where is she? The nurse looked at me with pity. That was the second warning. When the nurses look at you with pity, it means there is no good news. She is in the ICU, sir. Room 404.
