The Call Came At 3:03 A.M.

I was lying in bed tossing and turning when the phone rang. It was 3:03 a.m.

My husband answered. “Hello?”

“Dad! Dad, help!”

James put the call on speaker. “What’s wrong, Hannah? Are you ok?”

“No! It’s Matt! I don’t know how, but he found me!”

“Have you called 911?” my husband asked.

“I tried, but I couldn’t get through! I’m scared!”

“Where are you now?”

“I'm at home in the bathroom - I locked the door but that won’t keep him out forever! Please, help!”

“I’m on my way!” James threw on some clothes and grabbed his 9mm. I started to dress, as well.

“No, honey,” he said. “I need you to stay here.”

“She’s my daughter,” I said angrily.

“I know,” he said. “But I don’t know what I’m walking into; it may not be safe. I’ve got to be able to focus on protecting Hannah without worrying about you, too.”

“I’ll call you as soon as I can,” he said as he raced out the door. I watched his taillights disappear into the night.

Remembering Hannah’s words, I called 911 myself. After giving them my daughters address, I hung up so the phone would be free.

Moments later, it rang.

“James?” I answered.

“Helen...” he said, but he sounded breathy, tired. Something was wrong.

“What’s going on? Are you ok? Is Hannah?”

There was a pause…

“Helen…”

“James, talk to me!”

Silence.

Panicking, I threw on a dress and drove frantically to Hannah’s house. I arrived to a cascade of colors - blue and red police lights, a white ambulance, yellow crime scene tape. I ran past the police into the house and saw an image that would stay with me forever.

No.

My daughter Hannah lay on the bathroom floor, blood pooling beneath her body. Next to her lay her boyfriend, red coating the floor from a hole in his skull and a gun in his hand. And just outside the bathroom door on the ground was James, surrounded by paramedics. Through the crowd, I could see lots of blood and a hole in his chest.

“James!” I screamed, reaching for his hand. “James, I’m here!” With barely any strength left, he used what little he had to turn his head toward me and squeeze my hand. His lips moved, but I couldn’t hear anything. I leaned down close.

“Why…”

“Yes, my love?”

“Why did you kill us?”

What? No! This wasn’t the way it happened. James never said anything that night.

It wasn’t my fault that I’d accidentally revealed Hannah’s address on Facebook.

Or that I’d taken the bullets out of James’ gun without telling him because I was afraid of keeping it loaded in the house.

I didn’t kill them! I didn’t!

I looked at James as he stared at me, accusingly. Then the scene in front of me faded away, and I was back in my bedroom. It was over.

For now.

But the call would come again. It always came at 3:03.