The officer catches up with me, panting. “You. What the hell are you doing?”
“She lives here.” My words stumble over themselves. “In that apartment. He’s Arron Matthews, and he – he’s hurt her. Before. He’s her husband.”
I point, and they exchange glances. The officer looks up. “We knocked on all the doors. No answer from that one.”
I take off again, jumping up the last set of stairs and hammering on her door. “Em? Emmy!”
No answer.
I glance down at the floor as I back up. Time slows to a crawl. Reaching down, I brush my fingers against the dark stains, ignoring the officer talking next to me.
My fingers come away smeared with scarlet.
Silence.
My eyes jerk to the door.
And then my boot smashes into it, the wooden frame jolting. The officer grabs my arm. “You can’t just kick a door down!”
I thrust my fingers in his face before I turn back, showing him the blood. “You see this? Get thefuckout of my way before I add yours.”
I’m coming.
Another kick. A crack in her door.
Hold on for me, Em. I’m coming.
The door flies open, pieces of wood spraying as I push my way through it. My foot slips in the liquid pooling on her wooden floor, soaking into the edges of the rug. Across from me, her shelves are tipped, broken glass and porcelain scattered in every direction.
She’s so close to the door. Her phone is just out of reach.
Emilia.
She looks so small. My knees drop into the blood as I cradle her face. The blood on my fingers soaks into her skin. “Emmy?”
My voice breaks. Herface. Reddish-purple skin around her swollen eyes, her nose, her mouth, breaking up the bruisingthat’s starting to spread across her skin. The blood staining her lips is dry. “Get those EMTs up here!”
Don’t leave me.
“Fight, Em.” I’m crying, sobbing like a fucking baby. “You can’t give up.”
Not like this.
Not after everything.
Ben, please. Help her.
If you can hear me.
They pull me away, and I scramble back to give them space. Back pressed against the wall, I watch their faces turn expressionless, grim looks exchanged before they start working on her.
“I love you.” My own lungs aren’t working properly, as if the blue tinge to her lips is catching. “I love you, Emmy Marsters.”
It can’t end like this.
“Manual strangulation. Transporting now.” They strap her down into a board, and she doesn’t move. Doesn’t open her eyes.
Because what the fuck was all of this for, if she doesn’t live?
