“What’s your name, honey?” I asked.
“Amy Lynn,” she said shakily. “What’s yours?
I assumed that was out of politeness that she asked, so, out of politeness, I answered her.
Typing in the information I was receiving I said, “My name’s Blake. Now, Amy Lynn, can you tell me what you hear?”
She didn’t answer, and I waited, hoping that what I thought was happening wasn’t actually happening.
“Amy Lynn?” I asked after another few long moments of silence.
“Nobody in here,” a deep male voice said gruffly. “Thought you said there was another girl.”
“There is,” a young man’s voice said. “She must be gone with the parents. Let’s just get the stuff and leave.”
“Hmm,” the gruff voice hugged. “Fill your bag.”
My fingers were typing away furiously, letting the responding officer know what was going on, such as the number of assailants, and what I would guess their ages being.
Since this was my first official call by myself, I’d been left alone with barely anyone in the room surrounding me.
We ran a two woman crew. Both Pauline and I worked swing shift. Eight p.m. to four a.m.
I’d been informed that, on holidays that were busy ‘run days’, we’d get one more person to work with us. Calls on our shift were the busiest. It was when the crazies came out to play.
Like now, for instance.
Two people breaking into a house while children were quivering under their beds. Utterly defenseless.
“Ohh,” a cooing voice said chillingly. “What do have here?”
“Amy Lynn,” I whispered. “Amy Lynn!”
Then, an ear piercing wail rent the air, making me wince as the sound pierced my eardrum.
“Get off me!” the girl shrieked. “Get your filthy hands off me!”
Then, as if in a movie, she started to describe them. Almost like the girl did in Taken, the movie. Except Amy Lynn’s detailed description was a lot more…colorful.
“You’re so fucking ugly, with your stupid black hair, and your ugly brown eyes. You’re ugly as fuck, and that green shirt is the worst I’ve ever seen. And where’d you get those stupid Khaki’s? They’re supposed to fit, not sag around your knees, you dumbass,” Amy Lynn screeched.
My heartbeat started to pound in time with my fingers as I started freaking out.
On the inside, that is. On the outside, I was cool, calm, and collected. Mostly.
I switched my mic over to the police band, immediately letting the officers know what was going on, knowing that the shaking of my fingers wouldn’t allow me to type right then.
“We need any available units to apartment 1B. Town Royal Apartments,” I said, voice quivering. “They’ve found the girl.”
Then I listened as the girl started to get beaten.
Slap after slap had me leaning forward and closing my eyes.
Each distinct smash of the perp’s fists hitting Amy’s body made my stomach roil, and tears push over the lids of my eyes.***Foster
“Dispatch, this is unit 4. I’m on scene. The front door’s wide open with no one in sight. I’m going to breach the property,” I said as I got out of my cruiser.
My gun was in my hand, held pointed at the ground, but at the ready, as I walked slowly towards the door.
The moment I entered the apartment, I knew the men who’d broken in were gone.
The boy who was suspected to be there, was on the couch.
His throat was slit from ear to ear.
Blood seeped into the couch as his hands clutched desperately at his throat.
“Dispatch, I have a 217. I need the FD. Priority one,” I said urgently, dropping down to my knees beside the boy and picking up a blanket that was on the floor by the couch.
Code 217 was an assault with intent to murder. If I’d ever seen anything, this was intent to murder. On a grand scale.
“Hold this on the wound,” I said. “I’m going to clear the house.”
Normally, I would’ve done that first, but the scared look in the boy’s eyes had me breaking protocol all over the place.
I touched his head and walked slowly to the back bedrooms.
The hallway from the living room had two ways I could choose. Left led to a single door on the very end that was closed, and right led to a bathroom that I could see straight into, and a bedroom with the door standing wide open.
I could see a girl’s legs, covered in bright pink princess socks on the floor, and bile rose in my throat.
Oh, Jesus.
I moved slowly, pieing the corner as came up to it.
The term ‘pieing’ was said when a person, such as myself, backed up until he could see around the corner, but the person on the other side could not. It was meant to offer protection as well as give you an idea what was on the other side without exposing your head or anything vital to the other side.
My eyes swept the room in a fast arc before I dropped down to one knee beside the little girl.
I was so relieved to find a heartbeat that I nearly dropped my gun.
The only thing that seemed wrong with her was the fact that she had a large goose egg on her forehead.
That’s when I saw the other girl.
The teenager that must’ve been the one to call.
She was beaten to a pulp.
Her face, arms, and legs were a mass of bruising, standing out starkly against the white nightgown that was covering her body.
A nightgown that had been shucked up to her waist.
Luckily, though, it looked like the act had been interrupted, because the girl’s panties were still in place.
After checking the teen for a pulse, I took a blanket from the bed, and gathered the little girl off the floor before placing her in the very corner of the room beside her sister. Then covered both of them with the blanket.
Then I went to the last bedroom.
Luckily, that room was clear.
I went back to the front room, checked the boy who was still amazingly awake.
“They’re all right, boy,” I said to him.
“Dispatch, the scene is secure. Send in the medics. Gonna need three,” I said.