“Yes. Sunday night,” she says, almost casually.

“And how will forcing her to listen to the traumatic 9-1-1 call she made help?” Vera says, leaning forward on her elbows, her voice sharp and angry.

Detective Ward shrugs. Then she turns to me. “Do you remember making the call?” It was all a blur. My silence gives her all she needs. “Well, don’t you want to remember? Aren’t you at least curious?”

Vera doesn’t wait for me to respond. “This is a bad idea, Remy,” she warns me, turning her back to block Ward and give us some privacy. It’s one of the things I like about Vera, her protectiveness.

I hesitate. Detective Ward is referring to those unexplained fourteen minutes, the discrepancy in Jack’s arrival at the Pink Mansion and my 9-1-1 call. It hits me, what she’s been getting at—she thinks Elise and I murdered Jack, then called 9-1-1 only after we’d come up with a plan, a story to tell.

She’s wrong, of course. Though she is right about one thing—I am curious. Hearing my call won’t explain away the mystery of those fourteen minutes. Hearing my anguish won’t bring Jack back, won’t undo what’s already been done. Still, I want to know. I remember crying. I remember my voice and hands shaking. I remember a few words here and there, “Please hurry,” “There’s so much blood,” but not much more.

My eyes meet Vera’s. “I want to hear it.” Vera frowns at me in concern.

“I really don’t think it’s a good idea,” she says softly.

“No,” I say, more determined. “I want to hear it.”

“Are you sure?”

I nod.

She turns back to Detective Ward, says reluctantly, “Fine, but no camera.” Detective Ward acquiesces easily and soon it is just the three of us alone.

My voice, panicked and breathless, fills the small space.

“Hello?”

“9-1-1, what’s your emergency?”

“Oh God, oh God.” The sound of my short, sharp gasps ring out. “Oh God, Jack.” My tears fall one after the other, splattering against the metal table.

“Ma’am?”

“There’s so much blood.” I am crying, both now and in the recording. My sobs, past and present, collide into one another. The pain in my chest is unbearable and it feels like I’m dying. I am there again on the floor of the Pink Mansion. Jack is in my arms and he is bleeding out.

“Please.”

“Ma’am, can you give us a location? Where are you right now? Are you in any danger?”

“I’m at the Pink Mansion. Please hurry.”

“An ambulance is on the way.”

“Please, please, please,” my voice begs. “Stay with me, stay with me.” I remember the way his eyes looked, flickering wildly with no sign of recognition.

The recording ends but some time passes before I can stop shaking. Vera was right. This was a terrible idea and I am an idiot for thinking it would help. Even Detective Ward seems surprised by the intensity of my reaction. It takes everything for me to stay in the chair and in that room. The floor calls to me and I just want to lie down and curl into myself.