This is my entry for the Constrained Writing Contest hosted by @svashta. You can find out more here.

The Last Call

The room sits cool and dark as my heavy eyes strain to open to the constant buzzing on the partially naked nightstand. I feel it's smoothness as I search around for my phone. “Hello?”

“Is this Mrs. Higgins?” a deep, masculine voice on the other end asks.

“Yes, this is she,” I groggily say in response.

“This is Officer Bailor, I'm calling in regards to your son Jeremy.” There is a sort of regret in his voice that causes a catch in my throat.

“What? Has he done something wrong? Is he alright?”

“Well, no ma’am. I'm sorry to say he has been in an accident.” The words slip through the phone like a grain of sand that is too large for an hourglass.

“Is he okay? Where is he? I'll get clothes on and come there.” My panicked voice demands before he can answer my questions.

“Unfortunately ma’am,” he takes a deep breath, “I’m sorry to say, he didn't make it.”

The lump in my throat is choking me causing the words to trickle slowly from my lips. “Are you sure? How do you know it's him? It just can't be! I spoke with him earlier this evening.”

“We found his wallet and phone in the vehicle. I used his phone to get your number. I'm sorry to have to do this, but we would like for you to come down and identify him as soon as possible.”

My husband places his hand on my shoulder to comfort me as the tears start erupting from my eyes. In between sobs, I am finally able to get out my response, “Okay, we will be there as soon as possible.” The phone, that now feels as heavy as a brick, falls lifelessly from my hand. My husband holds me in the bed pulling me close. I can smell his sweet skin as his hairy chest is pressed up against me. I breathe him in trying to hold back the pain, the tears. He pretends to be strong, but I know his heart aches for our only child. He doesn't think I can feel it, but his chest quivers with each breath.

We both crawl out of bed and pull on our clothes. I am hoping the phone rings in the meantime, hoping I get a call from my son.

I look like a zombie as I crawl into the car. The color is completely absent from my face. My eyes are red, bloodshot and an endless shiver takes over my body eliminating some of my abilities. My jaw clenches not knowing what to expect when we arrive at the hospital.

As we drive towards our destination, I pray to God. I pray out loud, “Lord, I am so sorry. This is all my fault! Why did you have to take him? This is all of my fault! I shouldn't have yelled at him. I always do that. Why do I always do that? If by some miracle you give him back to us, I won't ever yell at him again. I will be the best mom I can, just pl-please don't take my baby!”

“Honey this isn't your fault. You had no idea this was going to happen. It could have happened to anyone.”

“It didn't happen to anyone, it happened to us! I'm a horrible mom! I yelled at him and now he's dead and I can't apologize. He's dead and I can't apologize. I'm so sorry Jeremy. What have I done?”

“He knows you love him regardless of what you last said to each other. You can't blame yourself for this and you can't blame God.”

“I told him he was a bad person and a bad son! That’s not something I can just take back Robert!” The exhaustion was beginning to make me even more irritable. We sat in silence the rest of the way to the hospital, with the exception of my sobbing. When I started to get out of the car, I wasn’t sure my legs would carry me. They were weak and shaky as we headed through the automatic sliding doors. Officer Bailor was standing just inside the entrance waiting on us.

“I’m sorry you had to come out here this late,” he said to me.

“Let’s just get this over with. Let me see my son.” I tried to brace myself for what I was about to see, but I wasn’t prepared for what came next.

“He’s right in here.” The officer said as he pointed towards a partially closed door.

I step into the room first. The bitter smell of blood sits thick in the air and the blanket covering the body is stained with dark red circular patterns. I slowly approach until I am standing at the head of the corpse. There is an officer, that I haven't met, standing on the other side of the table. He gently lifts the white stained sheet up and over the head of the body. The face sits in front of me a bloody mangled mess. The eyes are closed, the corner of the mouth is parted to the ear, and there is a long gash running from the bridge of the nose to the hairline. I want to vomit, but my knees are too weak at the sight and I hit the floor. I pound the floor with both fists as I sit in a rage I am unfamiliar with. My husband kneels next to me pulling me close. He too, is sobbing uncontrollably.

The officer helps my husband stand me to my feet. By the time I get off the floor, the body is covered again. It takes many moments, but at last I am able to speak, “It’s not him. It's not my son.” My husband breaks down crying again.

The door to the room opens and another officer pokes his head in. “Bailor, dispatch has a guy on the phone that claims to be Jeremy Higgins. He says his car was stolen earlier this evening while visiting his girlfriend. We have another officer headed over there to take the report.”

Regardless of the mysterious dead man on the table, Officer Bailor’s face unclenches with ease. “Mr. and Mrs. Higgins, I am so sorry we brought you down here like this. Due to the injuries to the body and the evidence at the scene, we had no reason to believe this was anyone else.” The officer’s eyes grow glassy from the tears forming. “I'm a father and I can't imagine what the car ride here was like. Please forgive us for our mistake.”

“No, I want to thank you Officer Bailor. Earlier this evening I had an argument with my son and I felt horrible for the words I said to him. I thought I would never be able to apologize to him or tell him I love him ever again. I have learned my lesson in all of this.” I said to him as I took his rough hands in mine and squeezed them tight.