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Rookie Mistake
The cool air rolled through the open windows accompanied by the robust hum of the Crown Vic?s engine. The streets were nearly empty at this hour as they were most every other Wednesday night. My beat is located in neighborhood build up around an old port for fishermen. I pass bar after bar as I patrol one of my main streets. The buildings are mostly empty with small groups of smiling people conversing inside. The scene is idyllic, peaceful and a stark contrast to every Friday and Saturday night. Major Cities divide themselves into districts based on crime statistics. Creating borders and assigning officers in proportion to the number of 911 calls received. Most new guys dread being assigned to a sprawling district, making up for its lack of criminal activity by its size alone. Those large boring beats earn names like ?Sleepy Hollow? and ?The Graveyard.? Younger officers crave the busier areas and a chance to face some real danger. I was assigned to David Sector and David Sector was a beast. Weekend nights meant a flood of thousands of people from all over the city would be headed to our bars. Most people are just looking for a fun night, a chance to make some memories, hoping to meet a girl or celebrating the end to another long work week. Of course this innocent plan for good times has to go south; otherwise I wouldn?t have a job. My fellow officers and I sit in our cruisers watching the tension build as the crowds drink. We message bets over our computers guessing which bar is about to blow up first. ?It?s Hip-Hop Night at the Amber,? types a David Sector officer, ?I bet we?ll have another gang fight.? Every weekend you could bet on a stabbing or at least a brawl. Anyone living in David Sector would spend midnight till around 3:00 AM listening to the sounds of sirens and engines revving as we rushed from call to call. I?m not even going to get into the paperwork a night like that entails. But tonight wasn?t Friday. It was 0130 hours on a Wednesday, a much needed reprieve before we had to charge into another weekend. Since we saw most of our action on two days of the week the idea of creating borders based on crime statistics didn?t work very well for David Sector. We were left with little to do on the weekdays and this was the case tonight. I drove past the bars and begin my nightly check-in on the convenience store clerks. I?m interrupted by the radio. ?3 David 21 and 3 David 32,? calls out the Dispatcher. My coworker is to respond first, he does, ?3 David 21.? I drive with one hand as I hold down the transmission key and answer up, ?3 David 32.? For a moment I get a light rush deep in my gut, this happens to me every time while I standby to hear what emergency I?ll be sent to. I anxiously wait for the Dispatcher to respond. The radio sounds again and the Dispatcher continues, ?3 David 32 I need you to back 3 David 21 on a disturbance, break.? ?4-2-6-5 Winston Ave N Apartment 1, a mother called 911 stating she received a frantic phone call from her daughter who is at a party at this address, break.? ?The mother is enroute from home with an ETA of 25 minutes.? The other officer keys his mic, ?3 David 21 enroute.? Then me, ?3 David 32 copy, enroute.? As I finish my robotic exchange with the radio and the call information pops onto my in-car computer screen. There isn?t much more information on the computer than the Dispatcher had to broadcast. This was usually the case as people in serious situations grow quickly impatient with the barrage of questions from the 911 call-takers. It wasn?t uncommon to be sent to an ?unknown disturbance? ?in the area of.? The lack of knowledge about what I was about to get myself into was rarely frustrating and usually just contributed to the excitement of the job. I?m close to the location. I arrive quickly, park a block away and update radio, ?3 David 32 arrived, standing by to the east.? Headlights distinctly belonging to a police car momentary beam through my rear window and then go dim, the other officer has arrived. We exit our cars and exchange a quick look and began to walk towards the address. We work together often and don?t need to say much to one another on calls. As we approach the building I notice beer cans littered around outside the porch along with several heaping ash trays. For a moment I think this is just a regular old party and this girl must have ?butt dialed? her paranoid mother but then I notice something is wrong. It?s quiet. It wasn?t the ?Oh-shit-The-cops-are-here-so-I?m-going-to-whisper-incredibly-loud-for-everyone-to-shut-up quiet.? This felt almost sick, deeply unnatural. Before the other officer could knock on the door it began to open. A lanky young man, not much older than 23, answered the door. The first thing any cop looks at is the hands, waistbands, pockets and then a face. His hands were empty and his clothing clung tight enough to his slender frame that I could see he was unarmed. As my eyes reached his face I immediately knew my suspicions had been confirmed. With the blank look of a child that has been simultaneously confused and terrified the young man opened the door and took one step back into the apartment. The officer in front turns back to look at me, he walks in and I follow behind him. The head of the officer is blocking my view of the apartment. He moves to my left and I can see the whole room. There are seven people in their early 20s gathered inside the living area of this small 1 bedroom apartment. The television is illuminated with a lively glow but is silent. They share the same look as the man who answered the door. Something else begins to disturb me but I don?t know what it is. I continue looking around the room at smaller and smaller details determined to find what is causing this unease. It hits me. It?s not a small detail, it?s huge. Six of these people have their backs to the walls and they are all fixated on a 20 year old girl. The girl sat on a large leather Lazyboy chair, hugging her knees tightly into her chest and looking just as afraid as everybody else in the room. None of the others are near her at all. They appear to be keeping their distance, afraid to get closer. I walk towards her, looking for an injury, for heroin tracks on her arm, burns from a crack pipe on her lips, maybe a loose sandwich bag filled with some mushrooms. I look for anything to explain the behavior of these people. As I near the girl in the chair I become aware that I am being intently watched by everyone in the room, even the other cop. They look at me like they are watching a horror flick and I?m the bimbo wandering around a creepy mansion to inspect a strange noise. There is a slight flicker of relief in their faces as I reach the girl and stand next to her without any shocking development. No words have been spoken yet. I break the silence, ?What happen?? Just as soon as the silence was broken it was shattered. Everyone aside from the girl in the chair begin yelling at me and my partner all at once. I can pick out a few words from the shouting. I hear the words ?voice? ?her.? Then the girl in the chair yells, ?STOP!? ?STOP TALKING ABOUT ME!? Everyone is silent again. Then the boy that had let us in looked over to her and said, ?You did it. You?? I could tell he was only upsetting her so I interrupt him. I walk over to him as I ask, ?What did she do?? I can tell he knows he?s frantic, he knows it too. The boy takes in a deep breath as if he had been coached to do so. Then he says, ?We were all watching a movie and drinking some beers. Then she sat up straight in the chair and started talking.? I give the boy an inquiring look and say ?Okay?? He looks at me frustrated and continues, ?The voice she was talking in wasn?t hers. I couldn?t understand what she was saying? I look over at the girl, she cups her hands over her face, pouring tears into her palms. ?She doesn?t remember doing it,? the boy says. I was assigned as the backing officer to this call. I look over to 3 David 21 to see how he wants to handle this. As I stare at him I realize he isn?t going to be making any decisions. He is deeply religious and is probably entertaining all kinds of paranormal notions. The rest of the regular routine world suddenly falls back into me, this is the reality, something that can be explained is wrong and it?s my job to fix it. I look again at the coffee table covered in the cheap beer young people drink with an ironic sense of pride. Next to an empty can there is a glass pot pipe. I feel like I?ve found a solution but wait, weed doesn?t cause hallucinations. Turning around I walk back over towards the girl in the chair. If she?s on a hallucinogen her pupils should be dilated. She looks up as I shine my flashlight just under her eyes. Her pupils are normal and they constrict, it?s not drugs. The room continues to stare at me. I think to myself, ?Medical! This has to be medical.? Keying my mic I transmit, ?3 David 32, I need Fire for a 20 year old female suffering from memory loss.? The Dispatcher responds ?3 David 32 copy.? The other officer quickly volunteers to leave the apartment to flag down the fire engine. I stand there alone, trying to be a rock of logic and control. While waiting for the fire department to arrive I realize that I have made a rookie officer safety mistake. The first thing we are taught to do at any scene is make it safe, then investigate. Any call inside any building starts with a sweep for other people who may be hiding for whatever reason. It?s not uncommon to find a warrant suspect in the back of a closet. I had waited this long to bother looking around so it didn?t make much sense to check now but it gave me something to do while I waited and an excuse to leave that tension-flooded room. The apartment isn?t big so my sweep won?t take long. I walk back towards the front door and turn right looking down a dark hallway opening up to the bedroom, kitchen and bathroom. Walking down the hallway I am overwhelmed by the deepest of gut feelings. My stomach feels as hollow as a cavern, the hairs on my arms are filled with so much sensation they almost seem numb. I look up from the carpet, past a halfway open bathroom door and into the mirror. Eyes. Eyes brimming with hate are staring at me. They sit recessed in the face of a pale middle-aged woman with long, dark, wildly curled hair. She does not move and says nothing but her expression speaks volumes. I can tell my presence has filled her disgust and anger. Every part of my body becomes very warm as if I had woken from a summer night?s sleep with too many blankets on. She?s still staring at me, seething with hate. One singular emotion overcomes my entire self, rage. I become bent on engaging this threat. The makings of tears pool in the corners of my eyes. Locked in a gaze with this woman I close the distance with a determined stride. Tears break from my eyelids and steam down my cheeks as I move. I?m not thinking anything, I?m just feeling red. I?m getting closer and closer. The bathroom wasn?t more than 20 feet away but it seems to take hours to reach it. As I neared the woman she began to fade. I moved quicker and she faded faster until I reach a dark empty room. I had watched her vanish but I still checked the rest of the bathroom. Behind the door, empty? the shower, nothing. I even checked the cabinets under the sink. The siren of the fire engine screamed from the streets. Wiping the tears from my cheeks on my shoulder I returned to the living room and helped the girl from the chair to the sidewalk to meet the firemen. I told the Fire Lt. the girl had most likely been drinking, smoking Marijuana and there was a chance she had experienced a stroke or seizure resulting in some odd vocalizations and memory loss. A car erratically drove towards the fire engine and then parked just as recklessly. A panicked woman stepped from the vehicle and ran towards the fireman. ?This must be the mother? I thought. She ran up to her daughter collapsing her arms around her. The firemen told the mother her daughter seemed fine but they would be calling for an ambulance to take her up to the hospital for an evaluation. The rest of the people at the party had heard what I told the firemen. They looked disappointed. I told them their friend would be okay and I left. The other officer and I didn?t talk about it. I typed a message to the Dispatcher?s screen, clearing the call with a disposition of ?Sick/Injured Person, assistance rendered, no report written.? more