He turned to see Sabrina and the cameraman start running toward the police blockade. He glanced back at John, who had his head poked out the driver's-side window, and as if making a decision between his source and the action, he yelled, "Gunshots!" and turned to chase the action, running fast to catch up with Sabrina. John opened the door and stepped out, but he held onto the door. It was gunshots. He had heard them too. Two of them. A more distant, muffled version of the sound he heard up close weeks before in his car. He looked down and saw his hands shaking, barely able to hold on to the car door. He couldn't do it. He stepped around the door and sat back down, closing the door. John held the steering wheel taking deep breaths, trying to get his heart rate to slow down. Ten seconds later he was doing better, his breathing was steady, then he thought—Megan. Maybe that was Megan. The shots. John flipped on the overhead light, reached into his pocket, and pulled out his cell phone, tapping the buttons, typing out the beginning of a message.
