Rip walked into the room, his face lined with concern.
Somehow I managed to keep standing as I whispered, “Yes, I’m the emergency contact for Monica. Can you please tell me—” My voice cracked. “What is this about?”
“I’m so sorry to be the one to tell you this—there was an accident, the rain made it slippery this morning, an elderly gentleman sideswiped a car, forcing it into another lane. It collided with a semi.”
Tears slid down my cheeks. “Was Monica in the car?”
“Yes, ma’am, Monica and her husband, we’re trying to get in touch with his emergency contact right now.”
Just then Rip’s phone rang, and he pulled it out of his pocket and answered.
I knew what they would say.
I knew who was calling him.
I whispered in a gutted voice, “Were there any survivors?”
“I’m sorry, Colby, but no. We need you to come down and identify the bodies—”
The phone slipped from my hand, and then I saw nothing but darkness.