Once inside the door, I could hear what sounded like someone rummaging through dresser drawers. I quickly made my way towards the sounds. The darkness still blinded me, but somehow I knew exactly where I was going. I padded down the hallway, making sure to be stealthy and quiet.
As I got closer to the bedroom door, the sounds got louder. The door was open, and I could see faint flashes of light coming from inside. I made it to the door and peeked inside the room. I saw a shadowy figure, emerging from behind a closet door. He was carrying a backpack filled with items. He had a small flashlight that he was using to find his way around.
I pointed my gun at the figure, as my flashlight beam illuminated him.
“Police Department! Get your hands up!” I yelled, leveling my sights on the figure’s midsection.
The figure just stood there motionless.
He was dressed in all black, and had a hood draped over his head. I looked into the darkness of the hood, but I couldn’t see his face. It was like it wasn’t there. All I could see was a pair of eyes. Blood piercing eyes that stared right into my soul. Fear rained down on me, frightening me to my core. My legs were paralyzed, as I stood there trembling.
In a flash, the figure dropped the backpack and pulled a large butcher knife from his backside. Time seemed to stand still, as everything turned into slow motion. The figure charged towards me, raising the knife above his head.
I fired my Glock rapidly, as he closed the distance. I saw the bullets bounce off of the figure, falling worthlessly to the ground. Horrified, I fired several more shots with the same results. He was almost on top of me at this point. I continued to pull the trigger until my gun ran dry. Not a single bullet penetrated the figure.
I stood there trembling, unable to move. He was right in front of me now, ready to strike. I saw the shine of the knife blade as it came slashing towards my throat.
I shot up from the cot, soaked in sweat and gasping for air. My heart was pounding in my chest like it was going to bust through. I quickly looked around in all directions, trying to figure out where I was. After a few seconds of horror, I realized I was in my office. It was only a nightmare. A horrible recurring nightmare that had haunted my sleep for the past several years.
I struggled to catch my breath, as I tried to get my bearings. My ears were ringing loudly and my heart was still slamming against the wall of my chest. I stood up and walked over to my desk. I opened the drawer and took out my prescription bottle. I swallowed a pill and took a few deep breaths. I knew it was going to take a little time for the medicine to kick in. Until then, I needed to calm down, or I was going to have a full blown anxiety attack.
I sat back down and tried to focus on slowing my heart rate. I hated this feeling more than anything in the world. It made me feel so helpless and weak. I concentrated on my breathing, telling myself everything was alright.
A couple of years ago, after catching a gruesome case, I began developing symptoms. I became severely anxious at times, followed by extreme bouts of depression. I had a hard time concentrating. My mind would constantly take me back to all the evil I had seen on the job. All of the horrific sights, smells and sounds, consumed my every moment.
At first, I tried to deal with it on my own. But I quickly realized it was more than I could handle. The anxiety got to the point that I couldn’t see the good in life anymore. As far as I was concerned, there was nothing but evil and darkness. Even Allie and the girls, couldn’t bring me peace. I was so worried about what kind of world it had become, that I lost my faith in God.
How could God allow such horrible things to happen to people? Why would God make innocent children suffer? How could he let innocent victims, succumb to such evilness? My mind constantly raced, overwhelmed with thoughts like these. It got so bad that I stopped sleeping altogether.
After a while, the anxiety turned into anger. I started getting mad about everything. I would be driving home from work and start yelling at myself. Upset that I didn't do more for the victims. I thought about cases that I could have tried harder on. The thoughts were followed by uncontrollable bouts of sadness. I felt like I was losing my mind. Like I was in a locked room watching a horror movie. Except the movie contained clips of every horrible thing I had ever seen or experienced.
It got to the point where I was so miserable, that I just wanted it to stop. I wanted to make my mind stop, but I didn't know how. I thought about eating my gun, just to make it stop.
I felt so alone and was in so much pain. An indescribable pain that no person should have to go through. That was when I knew it was out of my control. I needed professional help.
After a few sessions with a highly recommended shrink, I was diagnosed with PTSD and depression. It was one of those things that I never thought would happen to me. I always considered myself to be tough and unphased by the things I dealt with. The years on the job had apparently taken a toll on me.
With a little time and help, I learned how to deal with it. I never let it get in the way of my work, but deep down I always worried about it. A few of my closest partners knew about my condition. Luckily, they helped me out when I needed it. Without them and the help from my family and friends, who knows what I would have done.Every day I remind myself that I got lucky. Lucky enough to realize I needed help.
There were a few of my former partners that weren't so lucky. They suffered from their condition, keeping it a secret from everyone. They dealt with the relentless pain and fear all alone. It obviously got to the point that they couldn't deal with it anymore. It still breaks my heart to think about how they ended things. To know what kind of pain they were in; to know it can be fixed.
Ever since I was diagnosed with my condition, Allie has been trying to get me to change professions. She has encouraged me to relax on my days off, or to go do something fun. She constantly talks about positive things in life and has helped me restore my faith.
We have had lengthy conversations about me retiring from law enforcement, but I just can't bring myself to do it. It is all I have ever wanted to do. I have worked so hard to get where I am in my career. The thought of giving it all up for the unknown scares me to death.
On the other hand, I try to look at it with an open mind. I have done so much, more than most cops could ever imagine. I have had so many intense experiences and adrenaline rushing moments. In fact, I'm not sure how many more my body can actually take. I feel like I have gotten to do everything I signed up for, and a whole lot more.
I've thought about promoting and taking a desk job. Every time I think about it, I know I couldn't do it. It wouldn't bring me any satisfaction, plus I would go crazy. I see what the brass does and how they use their time during a shift. It is spent reviewing reports, working on the shift schedules, dealing with citizen complaints and other boring tasks. The only time they leave the office is when a hot call comes over the radio. Even then, all they do is stand in the background and make sure everything is done according to policy. I'm not saying it isn't a necessary job, but it is definitely not for me. If I can't be out there making cases, what's the point.
I think of all the time I would have to focus on Allie and the girls. I think about never having to see or deal with anything evil ever again. I think about putting the horrible things out of my mind. I know that once I got out, I would feel normal again. I know I would be a different person, both physically and mentally. I know I would be happy and could get another job. My only concern would be whether or not I could stay away from this job.
The idea of retiring comes and goes over time. But when I catch bad cases like this one, the idea jumps back into my head. I tell myself I have nothing left to prove, but my inner me doesn't listen. I tell myself that I will know when to walk away, but I doubt I will. I just pray my mind makes a decision before it's too late.
The medicine had finally kicked in, and my heart rate had slowed down. My breathing was back to normal and I started feeling like myself again. The ringing in my ears had subsided and I was
no longer sweating. Beta-blockers to the rescue again.
I sat for a couple more minutes and then got up.
I looked at my watch and saw that it was early morning. I had obviously been more tired than I initially thought. I had almost gotten a full night's sleep. I was mad at myself, realizing that I should've driven home and slept in my own bed. I put on my boots and headed down to the locker room.
I opened my locker and began getting my clothes in order. I grabbed my shaving bag and toothbrush, and made my way to the showers. When I was finished, I went back to my locker and started getting dressed.
As I stood there, I could hear the younger officers, a few locker rows over. They were getting ready for their shifts. The room was full of loud voices and laughter. I heard them telling stories of the calls they handled the day before. There was talk of foot chases, fights, and pursuits. I could hear the excitement in their voices as they told their tales. I smiled to myself, remembering what it was like when I was a younger officer. I couldn't help but think that the days of getting excited about work were over for me.
On the other side of the lockers, I heard some of the senior officers getting ready. Their conversations were much less exciting. Their words consisted of complaints and talked about getting screwed over by the city. How their portions for their benefits and retirement had increased. I listened to them complain, thinking about how jaded they sounded. Miserable. Angry. It was obvious their passion for the job was gone.
As I stood there, several questions ran through my head. If they were so miserable, why didn’t they just retire? If it was such a drag to come to work, why didn’t they do something else? If this job made them so jaded, why don't they find a new career? I shook my head in disgust, as I got tired of hearing them bitch and moan.
Then I realized something. It was like I was hearing myself in a way. Not about all of the complaining, but about being angry and jaded. Was that how I felt at this point in my career? Did I sound that miserable when I talked about my job? I hope I don't sound like that, I thought.
I finished getting ready and put my items back in my locker. I checked my gig line and the shine on my boots. I put my holster on my belt and press checked my gun. I practiced drawing my Glock and getting on target. When I was ready, I started to close my locker. Before it shut, I grabbed the door.
I suddenly remembered a daily ritual I use to do, back when I when I was on patrol. I would recite a daily prayer, specifically for police officers.
When I graduated from the academy, my grandmother had given me a present; a necklace dawning a St. Michael pendant, and a newspaper clipping. The clipping was of a poem. One that a local newspaper published in the editorial section. I had hung the clipping on the inside of my locker door. I would read it before every shift. I had read it so many times that I could recite it by heart.
I pushed open my locker door and saw the clipping still taped in place. I ran my fingers across the old faded tape, which still held it tight. I stared at the clipping, remembering how much it meant to me. I cleared my throat and then reciting it out loud.
FINAL INSPECTION
The policeman stood and faced his God,
Which must always come to pass.
He hoped his shoes were shining,
Just as brightly as his brass.
“Step forward now, policeman.
How shall I deal with you?
Have you always turned the other cheek?
To my church have you been true?”
The policeman squared his shoulders
and said, "No Lord, I guess I ain't,
because those of us who carry badges
can’t always be a saint.
I’ve had to work most Sundays,
and at times my talk was rough.
And sometimes I've been violent
because the streets are awfully tough.
But I never took a penny,
that wasn’t mine to keep.
Though I worked a lot of overtime,
when the bills just got too steep.
And I never passed a cry for help,
though at times I shook with fear.
And sometimes, God forgive me,
I’ve wept unmanly tears.
I know I don't deserve a place,
among the people here.
They never wanted me around,
except to calm their fears.
If you have a place for me here, Lord,
it needn’t be so grand.
I never expected or had too much,
but if you don’t...I’ll understand.”
There was silence all around the throne,
where the saints had often trod.
As the policeman waited quietly,
for the judgment of his God.
“Step forward now, policeman.
You’ve borne your burdens well.
Come walk a beat on Heaven’s streets,
you’ve done your time in hell”
-Unknown Author-
I let the words penetrate deep into my heart, as I stood there full of emotions. I stared at the clipping, pondering the words for several minutes. I said Amen and then closed my locker.
CHAPTER 7
A New Angel
Days went by without any new leads on the case. Other detectives caught new cases, and I slowly started losing my team. It was a harsh reality about the job. How resources shrink and priorities change on any given day.
I hadn’t given up on Sera, but it had been over two days since the call center had received a tip. It felt like the world had forgotten about her. Officers were busy handling other calls, and the city of Clarksville carried on with business as usual. People were in a hurry, rushing around doing whatever it was they do. Just like the saying goes, life goes on.
It's always hard to realize that sometimes cases just don't get solved. Over the years, I've had a few cases that have turned cold. But none of them were like this one.
I had kept in contact with Marsha and Erica, but neither one had heard anything about Sera. There wasn’t a ransom demand. There weren’t any rumors about who took her. There was just silence, and it was deafening.
It was obvious that Cook wasn't responsible for kidnapping Sera. The team still had him under surveillance and he was still staying at the motel. He hadn't been back to the park since the day we arrested Patricia. Maybe my talk with him had scared him enough to stay away. To be honest, I didn't care about Cook anymore. I only cared about this case and trying to solve it.
When the case was hot, I had called my friend, Frank Barrett. Frank worked for the FBI as a criminal profiler. Frank was a good agent and sharp as a tack. We were partners for a few years, both working on a joint task force. During our time together we did a couple of good cases involving human trafficking and child pornography. He was a down to earth guy, who understood how the criminal mind worked.
Over the years Frank had helped me out on numerous cases. He had never steered me wrong, and I trusted him. Earlier in the week, I had sent Frank an email, along with copies of everything I had on this case. I sent photographs of Sera’s room, a list of what I found during my search, a list of classmates, and so on. Together we dissected the case several times over. I still didn't have the forensic report on the laptop and cell phone, but we evaluated everything else. Frank said he would work up a profile and email me his report.
When I checked my emails today, I found one from him. It was a long message, containing several attachments. The message instructed me to review his report and call him if I had any questions. I opened the document and read over his report.
In summary, Frank believed the suspect was a white male adult, about 40-45 years old. The suspect was uneducated and had a criminal record. The suspect was most likely involved with drugs, possibly manufacturing them. During his childhood, the suspect was a victim of physical and sexual abuse. He would do things to Sera, that he had experienced as a boy. Frank believed that the suspect had kidnapped Sera
as a form of revenge. Revenge against a close friend or boyfriend of Sera's.
He believed the suspect was a dominant male, who was very aggressive with people. He was street smart and was methodical. He had studied Sera’s routine and planned out the abduction. He had definitely done this sort of thing before and will most likely do it again. Frank felt the suspect would sexually assault Sera and then murder her.
Frank had also compiled a profile on Sera as well. He believed that Sera had a secret side to her that very few people knew about. Certain articles of clothing and the ATM receipts indicated that she was into the nightlife.
He felt that Sera liked to party at clubs and was most likely a drug user. He believed she had a boyfriend and was sexually active. He noted multiple scuff marks on the window sill in her bedroom, circling them in the photographs. He believed Sera used the window to sneak in and out of her room. This was done most likely at night, while Marsha was sleeping.
As I read through his report, I was shocked. I would have never guessed that Sera was anything, but a good girl. Based on the way Erica and Marsha described Sera, she was the perfect child. She had never been in trouble; didn't have a boyfriend; worked and did well in school.
I had a hard time believing Frank’s profile, but what else did I have to go on. I decided to call Frank and talk to him about his report.
During our conversation, Frank justified his findings. He cited certain characteristics and the meanings behind them. Frank had been doing this for over 20 years. He had written books, taught seminars for law enforcement and solved more cases than I could count. Who was I to doubt him?
Frank suggested I interview Erica again. This time he wanted me to do it in a formal setting. He wanted me to lean on her about secrets Sera might have shared with her. After all, they were best friends, and he believed Erica could lead me down the right path.
◆◆◆
Later that afternoon I called Erica. I asked her to come to the station for another interview. She agreed, but told me she was out of town for the day. We arranged to meet at the station at 9:00 a.m. the following morning. Erica asked if there was any news on the case. I told her I would talk to her about it tomorrow.
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