Witnessing a shooting: What I saw at Vine & Mercer

I went to work early this morning. It was a typical day – I was going to grab a few photos in Over-the-Rhine for a story I was working on and head back to the office.

Instead, I saw a man shot to death.

As a reporter, I have been to dozens of crime scenes, so presumably, this wouldn't be a big deal. But nearly three hours later, I was still shaking. My thoughts were racing and it was hard to wrap my head around the fact that a man just died and I witnessed it.

It's also hard to believe that I could have been a victim too. A stray bullet could have easily missed the victim and hit me. The gunman could have come around the corner for me. I'm lucky to be writing this story right now.

To be honest, it all feels like an ultra vivid dream. I was standing on Vine Street near Pontiac BBQ and taking photos. I was facing south – toward Downtown – when I heard shots ring through the air.

Pop pop pop.

At first, I didn't even think the sound was gunshots. I have been to a shooting range before and heard shots. But these shots weren't loud and booming, like what you see in the movies. They were short and high-pitched, a popping noise.

My split second reaction was that it was fireworks or someone playing with a fake gun. But then I turned around and saw a man with his arm outstretched and a gun in his hand. Another man was doubled over running across the street toward The Eagle and the Mercer Apartments.

I was still so confused. Did the man actually get shot? Was this man holding a real gun? Was this all just some big joke?

My body immediately went into survival mode. I ducked into a small entryway that was protected from the street. I flattened my back to the glass of the storefront, hoping the man wouldn't see me. At this point, I finally began to register what had happened and my thoughts began racing.

"Did the shooter see me?"

"Will he try to shoot me?"

"I'm trapped in this entryway. What if he comes around the corner?"

"I left my phone in the car – how do I call 911?"

"I want to call my mom."

I stood there paralyzed for what seemed like eternity, but in reality it was probably only a few seconds. I don't exactly remember what happened next – I was still in survival mode – but I must have peeked around the corner because I saw the shooter get in his car and U-turn, heading North on Vine Street.

I moved away from the wall, but I stayed hidden in the entryway. A worker at Happy Belly on Vine had stepped out of the store and onto the street. We stared at each other, both confused and shocked. I half waved, trying to acknowledge what we had both seen and heard. In reality, I probably looked like a zombie.

I walked across the street and began talking to the Happy Belly worker. Neither of us knew if the man had been hit by the bullets or where he had gone. After stuttering a few incoherent sentences, I decided I should go to my car and call The Enquirer.

I called the breaking news reporter.

"Hey Becky?" I said. "It's Emilie. I was in OTR reporting on a story and some shots were fired. I don't know what happened. I don't even think the guy was hit -- he went running. But maybe you should call police?"

After I finished speaking to Becky, I finally managed to regain my composure.

I hopped out of the car and saw that a police car had arrived on scene. A small crowd was forming about a block away from where the shooting happened near the Mercer Apartments. I headed toward the commotion and looked across the street.

Around four emergency workers were huddled around a man who was lying on the ground. They were performing CPR. I thought to myself, "Oh my gosh, he was actually hit."

I grabbed my camera and started taking photos. It was a welcome distraction.

The emergency workers put the man on a gurney and wheeled him toward the ambulance. I knew how to handle this. Just keep shooting photos. Keep asking questions. Do my job.

I decided to go up to police and get more details. I explained that I was a reporter covering the scene, but that I had also seen what happened and would be happy to help if I could.

Usually when you identify yourself as a reporter, police aren't very enthusiastic. They tell you to hang tight and wait for a public information officer to arrive on scene. But Lt. Joe Richardson got really excited and said yes, he would love to talk to me. What did I see?

I spent the next hour talking to four or five police officers and detectives. For much of that time, I stood aimlessly trying to figure out what I should do next. Sometimes I would put on my reporter cap. Other times I would try to help detectives.

Today was truly horrific. A man was killed. I don't think the severity of what I saw has sunk in, and I don't imagine it will for awhile.

But I'm also incredibly grateful.

I'm grateful that I'm alive. I'm grateful that I will be able to hear my mom's voice again. I'm grateful I'll be able to travel, meet new people and continue doing a job I'm incredibly passionate about.

I'm also grateful that I got to experience two different worlds today, and that I made a small contribution to the city of Cincinnati in two different ways, as a reporter and as a citizen.

I think many times the public sees journalists as pesky and troublesome. But at the heart of our endless questions, what we really want is to make a difference. We want to let the world know what's going on, and if they are so inclined, they can do something about it.

Today, I got to tell the world what was going on. Hopefully the information I reported from the scene was helpful.

But more important, I was a citizen. I'm proud of that.

Now I'm going to go call my mom.