SEE HIM DIE by Debra Webb

move.
    Why didn’t he breathe?
    “Ma’am? Ma’am, I need your location.”
    The words tumbled past Julie’s lips as if her roiling stomach had hurled them forth.
    “I’ve got your location, Mrs. Barton. Help is on the way. The police and the paramedics are en route. I need you to work with me until they arrive.”
    “Okay,” she whispered. Julie felt suddenly and utterly numb.
    “Mrs. Barton, tell me the nature of your husband’s injuries.”
    Julie knelt over his motionless body and stared at his bloody chest. “I... I think he’s been shot.” A wave of dizziness took her breath and she had to brace her free hand against his body. There was an angry hole in the center of his chest. Then another just a little lower. The smell of coagulated blood was suddenly stifling.
    “I need you to check for a pulse, Mrs. Barton.”
    She shook her head then remembered that the woman couldn’t see her. “There is no pulse. He isn’t breathing. He’s... cold.”
    “Where is the bullet wound?”
    “His chest... there’s...” Julie swallowed back the bile rising in her throat. “Two of them. There’s a lot of blood.”
    “Mrs. Barton, I need you to attempt CPR. Do you know how to perform CPR?”
    “Yes,” strangled out of her.
    “Listen to me carefully, ma’am. Don’t hang up. Lay the phone down nearby and do what you can until the paramedics arrive. You’re sure you understand the steps?”
    “I... I know what to do...”
    Julie laid the phone on the bed and hesitated a moment. Should she drag him to the floor? No need. The bed was as hard as a damned rock.
    He’s dead! What difference does it make? Just do it!
    She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, and then focused on the steps. She’d taken a CPR course forever ago. Still no pulse. Check the airway. Tilt the head back. Compressions.
    No response.
    Oh God! He’s dead!
    “Don’t think,” she murmured.” She started chest compressions again, counting as she’d been trained.
    She repeated the cycle four times.
    Nothing.
    No pulse. Skin gray and cold. Sticky blood… everywhere. She grabbed the phone. “It’s no use,” she whimpered, the tears blurring her vision. “He’s dead. I know he’s dead.”
    “Ma’am, help should be there--”
    The rest of her words were cut off by pounding on the front door. Julie dropped the phone and rushed out of the room, slipping as she went. She braced against the wall in the hall twice to right herself when dizziness overwhelmed her. She had to keep it together. Had to make it to the door. Finally she reached it, disengaged the lock, and jerked the door open.
    “Help me!” she cried, her throat closing with the effort.
    Two uniformed police officers poured into the room. Two paramedics filed in after them.
    “He’s in the bedroom!” Julie grabbed her middle and doubled over, unable to hold herself upright any longer. Nausea gripped her, sent spasms wrenching her throat.
    She heard the rush of their steps as help moved down the hall and into the bedroom.
    Too late.
    He was dead.
    She knew it. She knew it
.
    “Ma’am, come sit down.”
    One of the officers had stayed with her. She hadn’t noticed. He led her to the sofa and ushered her down onto it.
    “He’s dead,” she murmured over and over. How could he be dead? How could this have happened? Her hands were covered in his blood.
Austin’s blood
. Her body quaked uncontrollably.
    “Ma’am, I’m going to need to ask you a few questions. Do you think you can answer them for me?
    Julie wiped her eyes with the backs of her bloody hands and tried to focus on the officer. He was tall, thin, and young. His crisp blue uniform was reassuring. She was so cold.
    “It’s so cold,” she echoed the thought aloud.
    Before she knew he’d moved, he had draped the throw lying across the chair around her. “Why don’t we start at the beginning, Mrs. Barton, and you tell me what happened.”
    She nodded stiffly.
    He asked her so many questions. Sometimes she