A sergeant is barking orders at his dog, beating it with a club as it whines. No, it's not a dog, it's a person curled in protection, taking blows to the ribs. The shouting continues; I hear moaning now. Fight. Somebody is taking a beating.
"And stay the f*** out of my house!" Anger splits the darkness. I'm half conscious as I leap from my warm bed to the window, peeking through blinds, searching the darkness with my blurry eyes. A
figure lays motionless in a driveway.
"What's happening?" my wife whispers, her head up from the pillow and eyes squinting to see me. "Somebody's been beat hard." I slip on jeans and silently flit downstairs. Through the blinds I can see more clearly the figure sprawled out in a driveway, absolutely alone. He reaches a dizzy hand upward into the cold night, as if to orient himself, but it falls. He moans. I reach for my phone.
It is with unexpectedly clear thoughts that I recall the situation to the woman on the emergency line. Police and ambulance are on their way. I watch as the man slowly flops over, brings his knees beneath his body, cries out and clutches his head between his palms. He is rocking back and forth in pain with nobody to help him.
Headlights flash my window and I duck. I listen as a car slows, a door opens and then shuts. The man is gone.
More headlights and the officers have arrived. They walk about, flashlights dancing over the empty scene. Mumbled conversations drift through my door as they open the door to which the driveway belongs. More mumbles, more flashlights. Engines and headlights burn up the night. A knock on my door and I tell my story to officers in black armor, fitted with weapons for my protection.
Finally I make my way upstairs and crawl back under the covers. I have trouble falling asleep, up and darting to the blinds with every noise. Cars come and go. At last I am dreaming. Strangers and nightmares flood my sleep.
God have mercy.
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