6 – Sadie
SADIE
Back “then”…
O h my god. Oh my god. Oh my god…
My purse drops to the floor the moment I step into the living room, and time freezes.
I blink a few times, unsure if the scene ahead of me is real.
Three bloody bodies are awkwardly strewn around, and from the coppery scent hanging in the air, it’s clear there’s no life left.
They’re all dead…
Two of the men are slumped across the couch, their shirts soaked in deep, glistening red. Streaks of their blood cover the walls and carpet in violent, chaotic strokes.
It all looks intimate, intentional, and deserved …
The third man lies face down, a knife buried between his shoulder blades.
I inch toward him, holding my breath. With trembling fingers, I pull the blade from his back and set it gently on the coffee table—like I’m offering it back to the room. As if removing it will undo what I’ve walked into.
My shoes squish through blood as I step closer to the couch, toward the other two men.
I pull a blanket over them and smooth it down with care.
No one else should see them like this.
No one else should have to carry what I’ve already absorbed.
Panicking, I inhale and exhale deeply.
Repeatedly.
Then I dial 9-1-1.
“911, what’s the address of your emergency?” the operator answers right away.
“Yeah, uh—” My voice shakes. “I was… coming to meet an old classmate, and…”
“Ma’am? Ma’am, what’s happening? What’s the address of your emergency?”
“There are three men,” I say quietly. “They’re not breathing.”
“Are you able to perform CPR?”
“No.” My gaze drifts toward the kitchen. “They’ve been gone for a while.”
“Can you tell me what happened?”
“I don’t know.”
My eyes land on the counter. A box of my favorite pancake mix sits beside three crystal glasses, each filled with orange mimosas. Strawberries, sliced the way I like them, rest on the rim of each one.
“Miss?” the operator calls out to me. “I’m showing your location as 31290 Magnolia Estate Drive… That’s the Baylor Estate. Is that where you are?”
“Um, let me get back to you on that.” I end the call and drift into the kitchen.
It’s not like these men are waking up anytime soon.
I open the fridge and pull out eggs and milk. I whisk the batter and open all the cabinets in search of a skillet.
Turning on the stove, I pour three round and even pancakes, watching them bubble and rise.
When they’re golden, I plate them with care and sit at the bar.
I top them with strawberries and down two of the orange mimosas.
I’m halfway through my breakfast when sirens wail in the distance.
Took them long enough…