Elijah's Point of View
I am sitting on a bench in the park, my eyes wandering over the parents and the children. I glance at the entrance again and check the time on my watch. I frown. Kathryn is never this late, not without letting me know.
I check my phone for the fifth time. Still no messages. No missed calls. I try calling her again, but it just keeps ringing until it goes to voicemail.
Just as the uneasy flutter in my chest begins to spiral into panic, my phone rings. I answer, without looking who it is, hoping that it is Kathryn, finally calling me back.
“Hello? Kat?”
“Is this Elijah Black?”
A woman’s voice comes over the phone, tight and clinical.
“Yes—what's going on?”
“This is Nurse Daniels. I'm calling you from the hospital. There was a shooting at your son's preschool.
