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Darcy, the receptionist in the office suite she shared with eight other lawyers. 
    The message light on her phone was blinking, as it usually was in the morning.  Monday mornings were the worst.  People would fight with their spouses over the weekend, and in the wee hours of Monday morning they would leave long messages on her voicemail.  Some would keep talking until the voicemail system hung up on them. As this was the middle of the week, there were usually not as many messages in the morning.
    On this morning there was one message.  The call had been placed at 3:11 am.  The person on the message was hard to hear, as the woman was whispering.  “Theia, it’s Rose.  I know you’re not there, but I had to call and let you know what happened.  The dispatcher said the police are on the way, but I’ll believe that when I see it.  And I called my sister but she didn’t answer.  Donald’s in the bathroom now, so I took a chance and called you. He beat me. It’s bad. I should have listened to you and gone to a shelter.  He is pissed off that I made him go to court.  He’s mad at you, too, for trying to help me.  He beat me so hard.  This is the worst ever.  He knocked out a couple teeth and I can’t see out of my left eye.  I don’t know what to do.  I can’t take this anymore.  Oh no!”  she cried out.
    Theia heard a man’s voice.  “Bitch!  Give me that phone.  I told you not to call anyone!” 
    A clattering sound, as if the phone had been dropped to the floor.  Thud – the sound of a fist making contact.  A soft groan.  Another thud, and another.  Then the snap of leather, and a sharp crack.  The woman wailed in pain.  Another sharp crack, another, another.  The cries stopped, but the beating did not.
    There was a high-pitched dinging sound.  “Time to take the banana bread out,” the man said.  During the next few minutes, the woman sniffled and cried with little energy.  “Now where was I?” the man asked.  A sharp crack.  A cry of pain.  Another crack.  Another.
    Theia’s heart raced.  She forced herself to hear the entire message, to get as much information as possible to help her client.  The beating continued until the voicemail system hung up on the call.  Theia saved the message and, fighting her churning stomach, called 911.
    “911, what is your emergency?” the robotic voice asked. 
    “A client of mine, Rose Catalino, has been beaten.  I need to send the police to her house.”
    “Are you at her house?”
    “No, I’m at my office,” Theia replied.
    “What is your address?”
    “That’s not important.  You need to send someone to her immediately!”
    “Ma’am, what is your name?”
    “Theia.  Theia Pearson.”
    “What is your relationship to the person in question?”
    “I’m her lawyer.  Listen, I just listened to a voice message from her in which she was horribly beaten.  Can you just send someone to her house to help her and get my life story later?”
    “What is her address?”
    “Oh, hell.  Let me grab her file.”  Theia stooped down to grab the file from her briefcase, and read off Rose’s address.
    “And what is your address?” the emotionless voice continued.
    Theia was standing at her desk.  She blew her bangs away from her face and recited her office address. 
    “Play the message for me, please,” the voice commanded, more than requested.
    “I can’t do that,” Theia began.
    “This would be a lot easier if you would be more cooperative, ma’am.”
    “I’m not being uncooperative.  There are two good reasons I am not going to stand here and play the voice message for you.  One is because I am calling you from my office telephone, the one on which the message was placed.  It is not possible for me to be on the telephone with you at the same time that I retrieve and play messages.  The second reason is that the message is very long, and this is an emergency.  This is 911, isn’t it? The place we are