Death of a Pedestrian

None of us should have seen this. None of us except me.
I had invited them out to the porch early this Saturday morning. No. I had insisted.
S. was the first to react. He had jumped our street level balcony and rushed over. The moments passed and Lara tripped over the railing to help as well. My own heart had stopped, my lungs had stopped, but it seemed from the outside that I was not doing anything at all. People were screaming and our neighbour's dogs howled at the noised.
My watch told me it was now ten and a half, so I went inside for my brunch drink.
Some things just do not break my routine.
I only realised the sirens had gone when Lara had walked in the front door silently, and dropped off in her room. I just kept watching TV.
"Where the hell were you?" S. shouted at me. "Right here," was my brisk reply. His shirt was stained with blood, and he had an overwhelming stench of sterilizers.
"Did you not see what happened?" he demanded, "You let nothing concern you, you may seem just spiteful, but you are truly a selfish bastard as well!"
I knew what I could say, and what I wanted to say. I don't care, people die. People should die, I should die, he should die. Who did not truly believe this?
"Lara was there to help."
"Well she didn't."
Then he sat down, still covered in someone's blood, and stared out the window.
Until dinner, the silence between us was only broken once.
"She died, huh?"
"What?" He blinked blindly around.
"Oh. Yeah. She did."