Tyler
I tiptoe down the stairs, gun in hand, c****d and ready. Hailey is staring at her phone; she has a 9-1-1 dispatcher on speakerphone, but she"s watching the camera. She looks up at me. "I don"t see anything."
"How long till they get here?" I ask, moving into the kitchen. I peer out the window, trying to get a glimpse of the yard. The hairs on my arms are standing on end. I can feel them tingle under my skin. I"ve learned to trust my instincts.
"Three minutes," the dispatcher says.
“Three minutes,” Hailey repeats. She gives me a look, and I know what she"s thinking. A lot can happen in three minutes.
I go to the dining room so I can get a better view of the door. I"m not expecting what I see: a little girl with her knees to her chest, curled in a ball, her back against the door. "
