[ IP ] Call it in .

It's weird how it happens. 
 
 How you wake up and assume the worst part of your day is going to be that you spilled coffee on your shirt and have to change out of it for your white one and then you find yourself slumped outside of your car, blood staining the new shirt worse than the old one had been. 
 
 I do n't know how I'm noticing this, because I understand that I'm dead. There's the bullet hole and the blood, but more than that, the overwhelming realization that my heart has simply stopped beating. 
 
 The detectives are regarding me with the kind of grim stare I used to get when I was called into the boss' office about something I should n't be taking the blame for. They were maybe hoping for a quieter day. Maybe it's someone's birthday down at the precinct and they're worried all the cake is going to be gone by the time they finish with me. I do n't know. If I possessed the ability, I'd laugh. 
 
 The detective squatting near my trunk tells his partner to `` call it in.'' His voice sounds like he's inside a fun house. Next to my hand, a pool of blood mixes with the concrete.
