This Is Not A Drill

It started out like any other day at the office. You know when you have kids you always get distracted by telling them goodbye and you walk out the door without something. I knew that I had brought my briefcase in with me — or did I?

 I sometimes leave it in the trunk of my car. I took the elevator to the garage, and I unlocked my car. I must’ve been having a senior citizen moment because it was in the backseat. I was just locking my door when I heard something that sounded like a megaphone.

 “Attention! Attention! Please take your positions. This is not a drill! There is an intruder in the building.” The electric voice repeated itself several times. 

I looked at my surroundings. Trash receptacles were knocked over and the ticket booth that I passed through every morning had a piece of glass blown out, leaving it in disarray. Felix, the security guard, was probably using the bathroom. He had a problem with his bladder, but this was a bad time to abandon his post.

 The bad guy was so sneaky and quiet. I had to get up to the second floor where my office was. The elevator probably wasn’t working. The doors to the lobby in the parking garage didn’t open. The motion sensors were broken. 

I wondered how much time went by. Suddenly I saw a guy wearing a mask over his face and wearing dreadlocks. He was wearing a Bob Marley shirt. He got into a pickup truck. He was probably not aware that he had an audience waiting for him. 

Felix still had not returned. I really needed to return to my office to start working on a case regarding a girl who was pressing charges against her boyfriend/baby daddy. The baby daddy was not happy with the idea of having a child with a disability. He didn’t understand why that his child couldn’t walk.

 I was a lawyer in training. This was a second career for me, but violence was familiar to me. I was a foster child and with the help from my foster parents I became a police officer, but I got injured. I had a black belt in karate. I never had to use it but there is first time for everything.

 I tried to find a way to get to my office. I saw a rock to pry the door open. I crossed my fingers. The doors opened slightly. A rusty staircase was located by the elevator. I was going up the stairs when I saw another guy walking down the stairs. We rubbed shoulders. When I tried to move up the stairs, I accidentally knocked down the man. As he fell down the sound of a gun rang out. I covered my ears. 

The guy in the truck saw me and jumped out after me. I had my hands on the man on the stairs, who I assumed was a friend of the suspect. The guy from the truck bent down on the man and he shook his fist in anger. “Careful, he’s got asthma,” said the other guy. “He came here to speak to his attorney, but he was denied access. His lawyer pulled the plug because he missed too many appointments. He’s my brother. I tried to stop him from going to Vanessa’s house.” 

“Come with me,” I said. The man broke down in tears. 

“I live with my grandmother, and she kicked us out. My grandmother is all I have,” he said. He was seventeen and he would be eighteen soon. 

“Do you need a second home, because I would be happy to take you in,” I offered. I had kids of my own, but someone told me it’s not the color of your skin that matters. It is about giving someone a home who doesn’t have one and getting the background story. 

I was going to do just that but first I wanted to put this nightmare on the back burner once and for all. Good thing that the young man had a cell phone so we could call the police and let them know everything was okay.

What if I didn’t come out to get my briefcase? This whole thing would have been a completely different story.

Shortly after I took Omar in, I received a letter saying that Zeke was thankful for his brother’s safety. I wondered if that was really true. But it didn’t matter because I got to meet a new friend and help someone in return.