That Time My House Got Robbed

When I rolled out of bed at 8:00 that Wednesday morning, I thought it was just going to be a typical day. I had no reason to believe otherwise. The morning was regular enough –fighting with the snooze button on the alarm clock, brushing my teeth, throwing on some sweats before going to class. My dogs, Jenny and Joey, greeted me with a happy hello as I trudged downstairs for a much needed cup of coffee.  I knew exactly what I’d do with my day: I’d drag myself to communications class, (maybe catch a nap during the lecture) and then I’d hit the gym for an upper body work out with my trainer. Maybe I’d visit my best friend, Kat, after working out, and then I’d dedicate some time to studying for the biology exam in the morning. I needed to study – the class was killing me.

When I finished my coffee, I closed up the house, just like I did every morning – the very definition of “routine.” Dogs outside? Check. Doggy door blocked? Check. Arcadia door locked? Check. Front door locked? Check. Lights off? Check. Grab the keys, shut the garage, and off I went.

The morning went exactly as predicted. Class, gym, and a visit with Kat. I’d resigned to going home to study around 1 in the afternoon. Pulling up to my house I remember thinking how pretty it was outside and desperately wishing I could spend the afternoon outside. But, wanting to be a responsible student, I went inside to buckle down. I expected to find everything as I’d left it. I expected to find the slide in the doggy door, the furniture in order, the house quiet and calm.

You know how sometimes you expect one thing…and find yourself in the face of something completely different?

This was one of those times.

The dogs were inside, and the back door was open. Things were overturned, and my head kept screaming “THIS ISN’T HOW YOU LEFT THE HOUSE.” I almost yelled out, completely out of instinct…then I heard the footsteps upstairs. They were not delicate footsteps…more like careless stomping, and it confirmed what I didn’t want to know: I was not alone in my house.

I should have just turned around and left. I should have walked out, driven far away, and then called the police. Should have, should have, should have…

I locked myself in the bathroom with my little dog instead.

I should have grabbed a butcher knife, a blunt object, anything to defend myself if my intruders discovered me. Should have, should have, should have…

All I had on my persons was my cell phone and my single, lonesome car key…the one I should have used to drive away to safety.

My mind blanked with the rising panic…who was I suppose to call? My dad? He’d know what to do…but he was working…there was no guarantee I’d even be able to reach him. My mom? Again, with the whole “working parents” thing…who the hell was I suppose to call?

9-1-1. That was it! They’d send help! I should call them!

With trembling fingers I dialed the number, fumbling twice in my blind panic. After the longest 3 seconds of my life (up to that point) a voice answered.

“9-1-1, What is your emergency?”

“Please send help,” I whispered as calmly as I could. “There are people in my house…someone is in my house.”

“OK, ma’am, what’s your name and address?”

I gave her my name and recited my address, vaguely aware that my teeth were audibly chattering from the rising adrenaline.

“Kara, are you alone? Is your husband with you?”

“I live with my parents,” I whispered, a little confused at the assumption that I was married.

“You and your husband live with your parents?”

I gotta tell you, there’s nothing more weirdly humiliating than having to admit to my singleness to a total stranger while in the middle of my house being ransacked. Kind of surreal.

“No! I’m not married, I am nineteen, and I live with my parents! Are you sending help?”

“Yes, ma’am. Stay calm; we’re dispatching a unit now. Stay with me.”

At this point I was crying, standing in front of the door, and I heard the voices. I don’t know why that made the situation more terrifying…but hearing their voices changed everything. I went from mildly panicked to utterly hysterical in no time flat. They were men, and they were shouting to each other in words I couldn’t make out through the sound of my own blood roaring in my ears.

“Kara, it’s going to be ok. If you can, I need you to tell me what you hear.”

“Voices,” I trembled.

“How many, Kara? How many voices?”

“I hear them…two maybe three…I…I don’t know!” My body shook with silent sobs, my knees shaking so hard, I thought I might collapse. That would be a problem. The bathroom I locked in was about the size of a shoe box, and if I fainted, it would make noise. Noise was bad.

“Kara? What’s happening now?” 

“Uh…they’re stomping. I hear them stomping. Oh, God…I can’t hear my other dog…I hope they didn’t kill my dog!” The possibility that the dog I hadn’t dragged into the bathroom with me was dead threw me into a completely new fit of hysterics. Sobbing, I scooped my little dog up with shaking hands. He hadn’t made a sound, but he was shaking just as violently as I was. Poor thing, I thought a little numbly, sitting down on the toilet and holding him tighter.

That’s when I heard Him come downstairs – and that’s when I realized the biggest mistake I’d ever made in my life…I’d turned the bathroom light on.

IDIOT, IDIOT, IDIOT! I screamed in my head. HOW COULD YOU HAVE TURNED THE LIGHT ON?! ARE YOU SERIOUSLY THAT STUPID? Yes…I admitted to myself in terrified shame…I am, apparently, just that stupid.

“I can hear him…he’s in my kitchen.” I sobbed silently, not sure if I’d even said the words out loud.

“Don’t make a sound, Kara. Breathe as little as possible, ok?”

I held my breath as he approached. I could hear his sneakers scuffing on the hard wood floor…the second most disgusting sound my ears had ever heard.

He jiggled the door knob…the first most disgusting sound my ears had ever heard.

Oh…God, Oh, God, Oh, God, Oh, God…

When He began to pound on the bathroom door, I very nearly lost it.

You know how when people brush with death, and they talk about their lives flashing before their eyes? It’s nothing like I thought it would be…I didn’t see myself as a child, I didn’t remember every moment I’d ever experienced…no, a completely different life played itself across the screen of my mind – the life I hadn’t had the chance to live yet. I thought of all the things I’d never get to do – I’d never teach the children at my church; tonight would have been my first night teaching the children, and I’d never see that moment. I’d never worship Jesus on a Sunday morning again. I’d never hug my mother again, or sing with my father at our piano in the den. I’d never be silly with my sister again, or see my brother get his drivers’ license. I’d never see my best friend marry. I’d never dance at my own wedding, bear my own children and watch them grow…

This is it, Jesus, isn’t it? I prayed, still holding my breath. Is this what you wanted for me? Is this how you’ll call me home? Lord, I’m not ready…please God, I’m not ready. Please…please…please, Lord…

In an instant, I was furious. Red, flame-throwing furious. Where the hell was help?! How long had I been locked in my bathroom, terrified? Hours? Days? A century? Wasn’t police response suppose to take mere MINUTES? Where was help?? Now, Lord. Right now! Lord, send help!

He pounded once…twice…a third time…

For a second, the whole world stopped…everything stopped. One moment of silence before my world was over…

And then…chaos.

Somebody shouted, one word, one curt word that I didn’t have time to understand before a thunderous roar came from the stairs. It was like a stampede, like the running of the bulls. The blinds shattered, furniture scuffed, yelling, screaming…so much noise…

And then silence.

I was afraid to exhale, afraid to answer the urgent voice on the other line.

“Kara? Kara, what’s happening? Can you speak yet? Kara!”

“They’re gone…I…I think they’re gone…I don’t know!” The words whooshed out in a gust – it might have been the world record for anyone holding their breath…I can’t be sure though.

“Ok, Kara. I want you to stay where you are until you hear the police.”

“Where are they?”

“They’re coming, just hold on.”

I sat, rocking myself rapidly, a failed attempt at calming my insides. I still couldn’t hear my dog…the blinds shifted, and I thought for sure they were back to finish me off…I rocked myself back and forth, back and forth.

“Kara, they’re close. They’re going to shine a light under your door to let you know it’s them, ok?”

“No. Tell them no.” I stammered.

“Why not, Kara?”

“Because my bathroom light is on,” I agonized. “They know I’m here, my bathroom light is on.”

“Kara, it’s ok. They’re going to come in and make a big noise, ok? They’re going to be yelling ‘Phoenix P.D.’ That’s when you can come out, ok?”

I nodded, swallowing, unaware that she couldn’t hear my answer. It didn’t seem to matter. I waited, waited for the noise, for my heroes to come and save me, waited for the men to come back and kill me – whichever came first. Waiting is the worst part. Rescue me; destroy me, it made no difference to me at that point, as long as the wait was over. I’d been waiting forever in that tiny little bathroom, wanting to scream, needing to pee, unable to do either because I wasn’t allowed to do anything but wait and wait and wait.

“PHOENIX P.D.! PHOENIX P.D.! WE’RE HERE, WE’RE HERE! PHOENIX P.D.!”

“Oh, thank the sweet Lord, they’re here!”I sobbed. “They’re here, thank you so much!” I wasn’t sure who I was thanking at that point – I’m pretty sure I have it narrowed down to either the operator or God. I unlocked the door, turned out the light, and opened the door to my saviors and my dog (who hadn’t been killed, by the way.)  and dissolved.

“Ma’am, did you see them?”
“Ma’am, what did they take?”
“Ma’am? Ma’am? Ma’am?”

I was sobbing…couldn’t they see I was sobbing? I held up one hand to them and mumbled, “fellas, I need a second” and before I knew it I was on my knees. I called my dad and told him to come home, because we’d been burglarized. I didn’t need to say that I’d been there while the intruders were – it was in my voice. He tore into the driveway at about 60 miles per hour – a pretty ballsy move, considering the cul-de-sac was saturated with policemen. Jenny walked around and showed every police officer her squeaky toy, so proud of how she’d contributed to my rescue, and so eager to make friends with the cops. I generally cried a lot.

They were able to recover every piece of property that had been taken – as it turns out, the house next door was vacant, and they’d been stashing the booty in the back yard in the hopes of picking it up later. Suckers. The police even nabbed a guy and brought him into custody – apparently the look-out was too dumb to make a break for it when the police showed up. I’m still, to this day, unable to be upset with that guy – it was the only moment of laughter I could squeeze from the whole situation. Poor, dumb look-out…

It’s been 2 years since the break in, and I still have trouble being at home by myself – simple house noises have been known to send me into an anxiety attack…not something I’m proud of. I invested in some pepper spray, and I can’t walk into my house without yelling obscenities and threatening to call the cops – just for good measure. And since that day, I have never dared to expect just another normal day.