“Ms.Azlyn Williams?”a male voice asked, calm and professional.
“Yes, this is Azlyn,” she replied, sitting all the way up and rubbing the sleep from her eyes.Did iteven countas sleep if she’d only been unconscious for half an hour?
“Ms.Olivia Hister listed you as her point of contact in an emergency.”
Azlyn’s body went rigid.Olivia had a date tonight.She’d been excited, giddy even.They were going to some trendy new restaurant—Azlyn was pretty sure Olivia had texted her the name.
Her heart rate doubled.“What’s wrong with Olivia?Is she okay?Was she attacked?”
She was already mentally cataloging what her friend would need if she was in the hospital—clean underwear, a charger, maybe that ridiculous stuffed panda she always clung to when she was scared.
“I’m sorry to inform you that Ms.Hister was killed tonight in a car accident.She didn’t survive.”
Azlyn didn’t hear the rest.Blood thundered in her ears, drowning out the officer’s voice.No.No way.That couldn’t be right.
Olivia couldn’t bedead.
They’d both been getting those creepy notes and messages lately.This had to be connected.It had to be!
“No,” Azlyn said sharply, interrupting.“That can’t be right.She went on a date with some guy tonight!She’s probably still with him.She’s just—she’s on adate!You’re wrong.”
There was a long pause on the other end of the line.Azlyn held her breath, hoping—desperately—that this was a mistake.A prank.Something.
But the officer’s voice was unwavering.“I’m truly sorry, Ms.Williams.”
No laughter.No“Just kidding!”
Azlyn’s fingers went numb around the phone.
“If you could provide your email address,” the officer continued, “we’ll send instructions for claiming her remains once the autopsy is complete.”
Remains.
Burial options.
Autopsy schedules.
Confirming identity.
The words didn’t register.None of them felt real.
She was stuck in a surreal, backward dream.One where she just needed to wake up and Olivia would text her, asking if Griffin was still teething.
“Where did this happen?”Azlyn cut in, her voice raw, barely holding steady.
“In front of her home, is my understanding.”
Azlyn didn’t bother saying anything else.She ended the call and shoved her phone into the side pocket of her leggings.She hadn’t changed before collapsing into bed—changing would’ve eaten up precious sleep time, and she’d learned the hard way that with a newborn, sleep beat out vanity every single time.
She tossed extra supplies into Griffin’s diaper backpack, shoved her feet into the sneakers by the door, and gently slipped her son into the baby sling.The fabric wrapped over her shoulders and around her waist like second nature now, tying in a snug knot against her back.Griffin stirred slightly, then settled again with a tiny sigh, as if he too knew something was wrong.
Olivia’s townhouse was only two blocks away.
As soon as Azlyn stepped outside, the distant wail of sirens hit her ears.Her stomach clenched.She followed the flashes of red and blue slicing through the dark, rushing down the block.And then—there it was.
Police cruisers.At least six officers.Four news vans already parked with their telescopic cameras clicking into place.A coroner’s van idled at the curb.
And someone in a black jacket was wheeling a gurney toward it.A black body bag.
