Dispatch, come in.
This is Dispatch, over.
Yeah, any updates from the queen bitch? Or are we good to come back after this?
Confirmed, patrol car 112. Just wrap up the list and we’ll be good to go.
Great. Copy that. Be good to finally get the fuck home after this waste of a night. Don’t know why we even-
~Recorded radio chatter from Hollow Springs PD database.
___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
I get to my room in time to dose myself with a fresh batch of hand sanitizer, change shirts and shorts, and lock it shut behind me before the second set of knocks comes, but that has a lot more to do with my panic than their patience. The second knock is even louder than the first, thudding hard against the door.
In theory, I should just leave them out of it. Sarah is out for night shift, and my other roommates (who I really should know the names of off the top of my head) are out too. At least… I think they are. I heard the door shut on their way out?
Jane and Kylie, that’s their names. Even for a small town like this, renters really come and go. I’m pretty sure both of them are college students, both of them like six years younger than me, and both of them doing long-distance college courses. I don’t really know their story.
Shit. Doesn’t matter- they’re young, white, shorter than me, and they live here. Chances are they’d let the cops in, no questions asked, on pure intimidation factor alone, nevermind a naive belief that the cops actually help.
I don’t hear any doors open on my way to the front door… so I guess they are out.
He knocks a third time, pounding on the wood like it’s insulted him.
“SHERIFF’S DEPARTMENT! ANYONE HOME!”
Fucker. He saw my light was on, he can probably hear me moving around. I’m sure I’ve heard his name around town somewhere, but frankly, I don’t give a fuck.
I make it to the door.
I take in a long, steadying breath.
Small town america. Trans woman alone at home. Cops at the front door.
There’s really no way this goes well, is there?
Fuck.
Damage mitigation. Get behind the glass. If they say something, deal with it. If they make demands, be polite.
Do not let them into the house.
I lean right up to the door and look through the peephole.
He looks… like every joke about a small-town cop I can imagine. Fat, though not obese, hairy but not furry, with a mustache that I’m pretty sure he thinks looks acceptable. He’s got a wide-brimmed sheriff’s hat, a shiny star on his shirt, and, as ostentatious as it is practical, a thick black belt around his hips, festooned with pouches for a radio, a taser, and there, in easy reach of his hands, a handgun.
There’s another guy there, too, someone else in the same beige-colored shirt, but I can’t make out any details, not with this asshole taking up the whole viewpoint. I see him move, raising his hand as if to knock again-
“How can I help you, officers?”
He pauses, and grunts loud enough I can hear him through the door.
“Yes, ma’am, we, uh, stopped by for a quick check-in, just a little follow-up,” he says, enunciating awkwardly. “We’re looking for someone who is at this address. Just a wellness check sort of thing, dotting the i’s, crossing the t’s, you understand.”
“Well thank you for the consideration, officer. Who might this wellness check be for?”
“Excuse me?”
Deep breaths. Be careful. Be calm.
“Pardon, sir. Seeing as this is a wellness check visit, I appreciate your kindness, coming out at this hour. Who is it you’re here to check up on?”
I see him glance down at his watch, and then up at the night sky. Shit, I really have no idea what time it is, do I? Fuck it, it’s dark out, it works enough.
“Ma’am, could you open the door so we can have a proper conversation?”
Alright. Deeep breath. Make or break time.
Either I open the door, and he’s gotten a little victory, and I have to hope I can play around him and the little satisfaction he gets from that-
Or. Or. I keep the door shut, and the chances for this to escalate increase.
No good options, really, but at least one way, I can keep a door between me and him.
“I’m sorry, but I really don’t feel comfortable opening the door this late, and while I appreciate you doing your job, officer, I’d rather just get back to work. I was… cooking, you see, and I left a pot on the stove just to check over here.”
“Cooking”. Don’t know if that was me over-exaggerating the “southern belle” persona or making a joke about what I’ve been working on, but either way, get it together.
“Well ma’am, if you’d just open the door, we can resolve this whole matter in no time flat.”
Ok. Hasn’t escalated, hasn’t backed down. Trouble is, the more I “escalate” (by not opening the door to armed strangers, to be clear), the worse it’ll be if I end up backing down in turn. Better to commit to the bit, stick to the letter of the law (the obvious parts, the one’s I can be at least sort-of sure the pig’s read), and not let him in.
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Huh. I just felt a little light pop on at that thought. I almost forgot the number one most important rule of dealing with the police other than not letting them into your home.
Don’t talk to the fucking pigs.
“Sorry officer, but like I said, I’m just not comfortable opening my door for anyone at this hour. Thank you for your due diligence, your wellness check is completed, everyone at this address is fine. Have a nice night.”
And I walk away from the door.
5th amendment- right to not self incriminate.
Common sense- don’t talk to the fucking bad guys.
Combined together with the fact that cops can lie, do lie, and will absolutely fucking make up some shit out of anything I say, no matter how theoretically safe, reasonable, or legal it may be, and the solution is simple.
Don’t talk to them.
This is, of course, complicated by the nature of the police, which is in turn complicated by the nature of a sheriff’s office of policing, which is in turn complicated yet again by the fact that Hollow Springs is a town in midwestern America with less than six-thousand people in it. A brave enough cop will break down a door and shoot an unarmed civilian in broad daylight, in a crowded neighborhood, while on camera in a major metropolitan area.
Here? At night? In a town this small? These fuckers could be serial killers and I’d never hear about it, and neither would the FBI or anyone else who didn’t already have a vested interest. And even if they’re in the miniscule percentage of cops that get in trouble, I’d be dead, so who gives a shit?
The sheriff (who never actually mentioned his name, funny that) slams his meaty fist on the door again, BANG BANG BANG.
“Excuse me! Ma’am? I need you to open up the door right now.”
Again, the question. If I say nothing, does he have an “excuse” to break down the door and enter, claiming that he had a “justified suspicion” or whatever it’s called?
Then again… I guess he could technically do that anyways.
And it’s always a good idea not to talk to the cops.
They are not my friends. They are not anyone’s friend but each other’s, and they do not have my best interests at heart.
BANG BANG BANG.
I’m worried he might just break the door off of its frame.
All the fear of harm I get from Chuck and his friends with twice the ability to enact it.
I don’t answer.
All of the blinds are closed anyways, but I double check each one. I leave the lights off in the kitchen- they can infer that I was lying or cooking in the dark, I don’t give a shit.
BANG BANG BANG.
“MA’AM! OPEN THE DOOR!”
I keep my breathing steady. I keep my footing secure. I keep my heartbeat quiet. I do not need adrenaline muddying my thoughts.
I am behind the glass. I’m going to be fine.
I don’t want to die.
My arm pulses at the thought, and faint seams of red and white briefly flare up along the skin.
Breathe. Focus. No panic. Not now.
Either he and his buddy are going to break in, or they aren’t. I’m not going to facilitate that at this point. I should go and hide, find a way to-
No. That’s the adrenaline. I’m behind the glass.
I need to see what I’m dealing with.
He mentioned he was coming in to check about something. Sirens and lights weren’t on, and they aren’t on now- this isn’t a call, and they haven’t radioed anyone else in. What the fuck could they be here about? It’s not a wellness check, that’s for sure. A wellness check would mean that someone called them and told them that someone hadn’t let the house in days, that mail was piling up, that there was a funny smell, etc. The smell would be plausible, if not for the plastic wrap and my other precautions- the meat has yet to actually rot (though it… kind of should have by now?), and I can’t smell my little experiments in the hallway to my room, nevermind a different building. And besides- who doesn’t call first on a wellness check? When it’s on the lease that I have three roommates?
There is a chance, however slight, that they’re not even here for me, but in that case, that’s almost more of a reason not to let them in. I ain’t no snitch.
No. He mentioned he was looking for someone at this address, and then, after, he brought up a wellness check. Something to put me at ease? Cop mumbo-jumbo, something he said without even meaning it?
Doesn’t matter. Here’s where the adrenaline is most useful, where instinct is most applicable- assume danger, be precise, adjust accordingly. I have died too many fucking times to do otherwise.
They’re here looking for me. They didn’t break the door down, and they didn’t come when I’m not home. I know Jonah’s friends with the sheriff, so they have access to my work schedule, easily. Ergo, they came here at a time when they knew I’d be home, and didn’t proceed to immediately attack- and they don’t know what my voice sounds like.
It could be that they’re just worried about harming my roommates, but let’s not give the pigs any undue credit. I’ll give them the benefit of the doubt when they’ve good and earned it.
BANG BANG BANG.
I still don’t answer. Instead, I try to shift one of the curtains as carefully as I can, peeking out of the far side of the blinds and the barest sliver of space I can make.
Two men, one in his mid forties, early fifties, the other in his thirties, maybe. Both armed, both in sheriff’s uniform and jackets, both with the big hats- and both still staring at my door.
The larger one, the one I’ve been speaking to, has a mustache, a pot-belly, and stands nearly my height, a little under six foot, while his partner, Slim, looks damn near underfed, and has a full beard.
Slim and Wide, I’ll call them.
Sheriff Wide and Deputy Slim stand there a little longer- I catch sight of one of them looking up at my window, where the light is still on, though the curtain’s drawn. He says something to his partner, his voice loud enough that I can almost make it out, though not quite. He sounds frustrated, but not outright angry- that’s good. Angry means he starts acting more aggressive, while frustrated just means he’ll probably come back later.
Fuck. Why are the cops after me? It’s not like I’ve done anything to-
Oh.
Oooooh.
I did die recently.
In a major destructive incident.
At the nearby construction site.
Where I parked my car.
Which I did drive straight there, past any convenient cameras across town, or in the construction site itself, at around the time that the events took place.
I can’t really know anything for certain- but then again, neither do they. If they actually suspected me, I’d be under arrest by now, what with all the pressure I imagine they’ve been getting about the incident. Chances are, the fact that I came home around the time that the destruction took place just makes me a potential witness, not a potential suspect.
Which would be a relief. Cause then it’ll be even easier to not talk to the cops. In theory.
But they haven’t left yet.
I stand very still, and I ignore the way that my arm is squirming, reacting to my elevated heartbeat, and I watch.
Deputy Slim says something back, and Sheriff Wide grunts out something that might qualify as a laugh. He says something, and I strain everything I have to hear it.
“Don’t even …… fucking waste of… fuckin fed… pushy bitch…”
Fuck.
Fuck, what a relief.
A waste of time. Probably. Waste of something, anyways. Heart’s not in it.
That’s… well, it’s not all I needed, but fuck me if it isn’t a relief to hear. An unmotivated pig is a safer pig.
He tries one more time, making me jump.
BANG BANG BANG.
I do and say nothing.
I can hear him sigh, and then he turns around and walks away, Deputy Slim right behind.
They get in their car… and they leave.
I can breathe again.
Now what the fuck was that about a fed?