15 March 2004
Two doors down
I'd been half-asleep for half an hour when the lights began to play high on the walls. I ignored them and rolled over; it's not like nobody ever got a traffic ticket on this street before.
A few minutes later, I looked up again, and still they were there. World's slowest cop? Maybe, but I didn't think so. And as the pattern started to seem less random, I figured it out: two light bars, minimum.
Something was going on.
I pulled myself up out of bed, fumbled for some semblance of clothing, and ambled outside, trying to look like I did this sort of thing every night about this time. Two ambulances: paramedics from the fire station around the corner in front, the usual emergency-services vehicle behind. No police; no fire engine. I thought I saw some activity behind some living-room windows. Gawkers, I thought, then realized I'd come out to do exactly that.
Four emergency personnel brought the gurney from the house. Its occupant wasn't moving, so far as I could tell, but did seem to be sitting up; I couldn't determine much of anything else. They loaded the gurney into the truck, and I started back inside, satisfied that I'd seen nothing more than some poor soul taken very, very ill.
And as I got to my door, the helicopter passed overhead, a beam of light scanning the ground below it.
Something had been going on.
But with midnight approaching, I decided that maybe I didn't want to know.
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