A police radio crackles to life as the paramedic dabs antiseptic on my bloody forehead. Lights from the cruiser outside flash through my living room.
I squeeze my eyes shut. “Tell me again how you knew the man was here?”
The officer is young, his face stoic as he scribbles in his little pad. “Neighbor. Across the street. Saw the attacker, called 9-1-1.”
Pain laces down my neck. My shoulders tense. I see images of a man in black, his knife. That punch.
I shiver. “Who?”
“The little boy.”
Ice fills my blood. I swallow. “That’s impossible,” I whisper. “He’s blind.”
©Laura L. Zimmerman 2017