Look Again - Lisa Scottoline [100]
“What is your emergency?” the dispatcher asked, and Ellen collected herself, composing a lead paragraph on the spot.
“An armed intruder broke into my house tonight. He tried to kill me and my son, and I killed him in self-defense.” Ellen felt her throat catch. She couldn’t believe her own words. She had never harmed another human being, much less killed one. “He shot and killed a woman named Carol Braverman. He also injured my son, who’s three, and he’s bleeding from behind his ear. I need an ambulance right away, and the police.”
“You say there were two people killed?”
“Yes. Listen, I need an ambulance for my son. His head was . . . stepped on and it’s bleeding. He’s crying, and I’m worried.”
“Mommy!” Will cried harder, and Ellen struggled to hear the dispatcher.
“Keep him awake, and the ambulance will be there right away. You can stay on the line until they get there.”
“Mommy! Mommy!” Will cried, louder.
“No, that’s okay. I’d rather take care of him. Just hurry, please, hurry!” Ellen hung up, hugged Will close, and rocked him a little like the old days until his tears finally slowed. She grabbed a few more Kleenex and cleaned him up, then got a fresh one for the wound behind his ear. “What hurts, honey? Tell me.”
“My head!”
Please, God, no. “That’s why we’re going to the doctor, so he can fix it.”
“Dr. Chodoff?”
“No, a special doctor.”
“I want Dr. Chodoff!” Will sobbed.
“Let’s get your coat,” Ellen said, narrating her actions to calm them both as she walked to the closet, took his corduroy hoodie from a hook, and sat back down on the couch with him, slipping his arms into the puffy sleeves, getting him ready. His sneakers reeked of gasoline, so she took them off.
“Stinky shoes, huh?” Ellen asked, as part of the narration, and Will nodded, his small chest shuddering from his final sobs. She touched lightly behind his ear, and in the lamplight she could see a large cut on his scalp, bleeding. She prayed there wasn’t a skull fracture and reached for another tissue, pressing it over the wound.
“Mommy, what?”
“You have a boo-boo behind your ear. We’re going to take a ride to the doctor. We have to get you looked at.”
“Who was that man?”
“In the kitchen? A very bad man. A terrible man, but he’s not going to hurt you anymore.”
“Did he hurt you, Mommy?”
“No, I’m okay. So are you. You’re going to be fine after we see the doctor.” Ellen cuddled him, and Will rubbed his eye with a balled-up fist.
“My head hurts.”
“Stay awake, okay, honey?” Ellen jiggled him a little and talked to him about nothing, even as the bright red blood from his cut soaked Kleenex after Kleenex until they looked like the tissue-paper poppies he made in school. She hid them from his view until the bleeding finally slowed, which only worried her more. Oreo Figaro wandered in, sat down in front of the couch, and tucked his legs underneath him.
Will sniffled. “You hurt Oreo Figaro, Mommy.”
“No, I didn’t. I knew he’d be okay.”
“You throwed him.”
“I know.” Ellen didn’t correct his English. He could make all the grammar mistakes he wanted, from here on out.
“That wasn’t nice.”
“You’re right.” Ellen turned to Oreo Figaro. “I’m sorry, Oreo Figaro.”
The cat signified his forgiveness by looking up and blinking, and he kept watch over them both until the police cruisers arrived, their red lights slashing the cozy living room with bloodred splotches, spattering the stenciled cows and country hearts.
“What is that, Mommy?” Will asked, twisting to see.
“It’s the police, here to help us, buddy.” Ellen rose and looked out the windows to the street, which had been transformed to a staging area. Police cruisers were parking out front, their exhausts billowing into the snowy