Zara clutched the phone with trembling fingers, chest hitching as she tried to inhale.
The operator's voice crackled through the speaker, but it felt miles away—like she was underwater, drowning in panic.
"Ms. Please take a deep breath and tell us your name." The lady said over the phone.
Zara did.
"Zara, please try to calm down and tell us what we need to know about the patient to help." She suggested.
"I— I don't know," she stammered. "We were talking. Then he screamed. Loud. It—it sounded like something snapped, and then… silence."
"I came to check on him and he is just laying face down on the floor." she added.
"How old is the patient?"
"No. He's 33! His body is burning up. Please send the paramedics."
"Sure. Give us the address." the operative urged.
Zara looked around, clueless, "Umm, Park Avenue…"
She walked towards the door and saw the house number on the Intercom Panel. "1258, Park Avenue."
