Hello, 911 – My Roommate is Murdered!

My roommate Akira was a fitness enthusiast who often went jogging or for long walks every evening. Typically, I returned home from work around 6 pm, but on this particular day, I found Akira sound asleep in her bed, fully covered under the blanket. It was unusual for her to be sleeping at this time.

“Maybe she’s home early from her jogging session and must be tired,” I thought, deciding not to disturb her. I quietly settled down with my laptop, trying my best not to make any noise.

An hour passed, and she was still deep in slumber. This began to concern me, so I called out to her.

“Akira, wake up! It’s 7 pm already,” I called out louder.

No response.

I waited another hour before trying again.

“Akira, come on, girl… wake up already!” I yelled again.

Still, there was no movement or response from her.

I was now genuinely concerned.

I carefully approached her bed and observed the blanket closely. It lay perfectly still, without the slightest hint of movement. My anxiety skyrocketed.

“Is she… is she okay?” I feared the worst.

 “Is she dead?” I dreaded.

I reached for my phone and dialed her number, hoping to hear the familiar ringtone indicating her phone was nearby. It rang persistently, but there was no sound of it in the room.

“Oh my God! Someone probably broke into the house, murdered her, and stole all her belongings, including the phone. That’s why nobody is picking up!” I panicked, convinced of the worst. My imagination ran wild with horrifying scenarios. I lacked the courage to go closer and remove the blanket, fearing I’d faint at the sight of blood.

I didn’t know anything about her family or friends, so I was left with only one option: call 911.

This was my first-ever call to 911. It didn’t even complete the first ring before I heard a woman’s voice on the other side.

“911. What’s your emergency?”

“I think my roommate has been murdered!” I said in a trembling voice, my distress obvious as I explained the scene to her.

To my surprise, the woman remained calm, though she sounded alarmed. I guess dispatchers are trained to stay composed to avoid escalating panic in such situations.

“What’s your address, sir?” she asked.

I gave her my address.

“Can you remove the blanket and check if she is breathing?” she asked.

“I’m sorry, ma’am, but I’m too scared to go near the body.”

“Okay. Please stay where you are. Help is on the way,” she said in a comforting voice. “Don’t panic. Stay with me on the phone.”

I stood right at the entrance of the apartment, waiting for the cops to arrive, while I described the entire ordeal to her over the phone.

About three minutes later, I heard loud sirens and saw flashing lights increasing in intensity as the vehicles rushed towards my apartment. The entire vicinity was illuminated with red and blue emergency lights. I was overwhelmed by the sight, which looked like something straight out of a Hollywood movie.

Two cop cars, an ambulance, and a fire engine came to a screeching halt just a few feet away from me. The cops rushed towards me, their hands firm on their gun holsters, accompanied by paramedics and detectives.

“Where is the body?” one of the cops asked.

“There!” I pointed inside the room from where I was standing.

They entered the room at once. The paramedics opened their medical equipment, detectives snapped on white gloves and pulled out a camera to take pictures, while the cops provided cover. I watched the drama unfold, standing at the door, feeling like I was part of a surreal scene.

My breath almost stopped when the detective pulled the blanket away in the snap of a finger. Everyone froze for a few moments.

“Pillows!” one of them yelled.

Everyone turned around, all eyes staring at me.

“Thank God!” I fell to my knees and almost cried in joy and relief, yet feeling embarrassed and stupid at the same time, a topsy-turvy spectrum of emotions.

The detective sensed from my reaction that it was a legitimate misunderstanding.

“It’s okay, it happens!” he said, taking his gloves off.

I thanked them, and when they left, I called my roommate again. This time she picked up the phone.

“Where are you? I called you earlier, but you didn’t pick up. I was so worried that I called 911 thinking you were dead!” I told her in one breath.

“You called 911??? Why the hell would you do that? I was just taking a walk!” she was furious.

No amount of explanation helped to calm her down. To this day, I am unsure why she was mad at me rather than being grateful for my concern. She didn’t speak to me for days after the incident.