Home Security

“Where I come from…Well, it’s not safe anymore, my building. All the families with kids, except for the Claytons moved out within a year of me getting there. That’s when the neighborhood started to go bad.”

Sebastian paused and scanned the crowded circle, trying to recognize a friend in the mass of addicts and recovering addicts. Everyone was new and looked so young these days. None of his old buddies were really around to attend these meetings with him anymore.

“I’m sorry to hear that, Seb. It must be difficult to not feel safe and secure in your home.” This woman was new, too. She was nice enough, using her social worker voice to perfectly reflect and mirror his expressed feelings back at him. If he had to guess, this woman was brand new and had never attended a meeting prior to landing this job. She felt a little like sterilized cold air, like someone who hadn’t quite figured out how to be herself within the system, yet.

“I still know all my neighbors and they know me. We try to keep each other safe. I worked security before I retired and before my knee went out, so I keep track of the place as best I can. I notice when things need fixing in the building or when someone needs help. Been there in that building for over 40 years now.” Seb loved taking care of his building, loved guarding it and keeping it safe.

“What impact does such a large responsibility like that have on your sobriety journey?” Seb glanced at the woman, reevaluating her. This question had teeth, and he had not expected that from her. He watched other members shift in their seats. Bored? Interested? It was impossible to tell with this generation, always glued to their phones. Their faces looked ghostly and detached whenever they were separated from the screen so you could no longer read people.

“It gives me a purpose.” Seb said quietly. “They’re my family now.”

Seb’s caseworker met him outside afterwards, and Seb wondered if John had heard his testimony. They’d been working together for almost a decade now, and Seb found he liked John better than the other caseworkers he’d had in the past. John was smart, if not a little overwhelmed typically, but he found ways to personalize relationships with his clients despite what must be a bulging caseload in New York. He did not usually have the time to stop by to see if Seb was attending meetings.

“John, it’s great to see you! How’s the family?” It amazed Seb that he and John could be brought together by the universe in this very moment, despite having such different journeys. 

“Seb,” John said, sticking his hand out. “The girls are great, Shali’s wonderful, even the dog is doing fine.”

Seb laughed, shaking John’s hand. “I still can’t believe you’ve got a criminal dog. Didn’t you raise him better?”

John chuckled, too. This was a familiar song and dance to the both of them. “Maybe his grand larceny days are behind us. The neighbor hasn’t come to yell at us in weeks,” John said. “Hey, can I walk you home, Seb?”

This was one of the many reasons Seb liked John. John had places to be at six o’clock on a Tuesday evening, like with his daughters and wife or keeping an eye on his dog. Seb never felt like he was part of John’s agenda, however; never felt rushed or ushered from one task to another. Other workers worshiped the system and its many chilly, protecting rules, letting it govern their every interaction. John formed friendships.

“Sure, John. The company would be nice.” The two walked a few blocks in amicable conversation, talking about the Yankees’ draft prospects and the reports of a catastrophic winter storm about to blow in before Seb made to turn a corner and head north.

“Seb, your new place is down this way, remember?” John said in a slow, firm tone, gesturing south.

“Oh. Yes,” Seb breathed thoughtfully, cold air puffing from his mouth. Then he smiled mischievously. “John, these old legs are just used to heading in the same direction after all these years.”

John chuckled again, but didn’t look convinced as the two headed south for a few more blocks, stopping in front of a Public Housing complex. The building was nice enough, with a brick facade and tiny air conditioner units jutting from random windows, forming a pattern as they snaked their way to the 14th floor. Someone had even put hearts around the glass door for Valentine’s Day.

“Seb, I need to talk to you about something.” John fidgeted slightly, which was odd for him. “It’s about your old place.”

“What about it, John? I’ve not lived there now since… well about a year now.”

“Seb, they’ve been getting the calls again.” John looked Seb directly in the eyes as he said this, watching him carefully.

Seb looked outraged. “I hate what’s been happening to that old building. We used to take care of each other, look out for each other. The violence goes up when you don’t know your neighbors.”

“That’s not it, Seb. None of it is true. Your old building…it’s gone. It was torn down, remember? It was falling down and they needed to demolish it.”

“Oh yes,” Seb said. His face had changed, his skin leathering in the cold air and deep grooves of frown lines appeared. His expression contorted and he mumbled incoherently to himself, something about changing neighborhoods, no longer paying any attention to John.

“Seb,” John said, trying to get Seb’s attention again. “Seb. The building next door to your old place hired a new security guard in light of all the police calls they’re getting. The guard’s seen you a couple times now, and they’re going to start taking these fake calls more seriously.”

“John, you don’t have to worry about me,” Seb said distractedly. John had upset him, and Seb was now only interested in getting up to his apartment.

“That’s the thing, Seb. I do worry about you. You’re so good at taking care of other people, but your old building is not there anymore. You need to take care of yourself now. You gotta let it go.”

“John, I appreciate the concern, but I’m OK. I told you, I’m finished with that.”

“Seb, they said they had over a hundred police calls in the last two weeks. We can’t keep doing this.” John hesitated for a second, his phone humming in his winter jacket. He lifted his sleeve, glancing at his smart watch.

“Look, Seb. When it was just the calls, the judge could overlook some of the mayhem caused because there’s no actual building there. But now, one of the new residents next door has reported that you’re stalking her and wants a restraining order put on you. You could end up back in jail. What would Cleo do if you went back to jail?”

“John, I have been on this planet for eighty-seven years now. I’m no more a stalker than you are, following me to meetings like you do.”

“Yes, but, Seb…”

“John, I’m so sorry for the trouble the calls have caused. I’ve told you, I’m done with that. I know they… I’ve sworn off calling now. I even have reminders around my kitchen. Cleo’s helping me. I’m good.”

“Seb, I need you to stay away from that place, OK? Don’t call and don’t go over there.” John looked at his watch again and started positioning himself to walk back the way they had come. “Promise me, Seb. I need to go pick up Lucy from ballet, but promise you’ll stop going over there. And stop the calling.”

“Of course, John. I promise.” Seb was already buzzing through the front door to his building.

“I mean it, Seb,” John called after him.

“John, I promised already! Go see Lucy and leave an old man in peace!” Seb shut the heart framed door, waving at John through the glass as he started the climb to the elevator. These days, even the six stairs to the main floor elevators were difficult on his knees. The cold made it worse.

Seb unlocked his door, hanging his coat on the wall hook, and scratched Cleo behind the ears. He pulled out a large bag of food, pouring it into Cleo’s bowl, and moved about his other chores. When he’d finished his tasks, Seb sat on his bed, turning on the television on the opposite wall.

“Police arrived on scene once again to the 470 Starmcrest building, this time for a bomb threat, only to find residents safe and unaware of any danger. Officials say crime reports for the area have skyrocketed in recent…”  

Hours later, Seb woke abruptly and could hear the wind of the storm cutting like knives against his building. His heart was racing, and terror punched at his chest. The window had frosted over some, but he could just make out an onslaught of snow slicing through the night air around the street lamp.  

Between heart-calming breaths, a shriek traveled down the hall, so disturbing Seb could feel tears spring to his eyes before he’d even registered what was happening. 

“No! Please! Somebody help me!” A woman’s shriek penetrated Seb’s walls, dripping down them in eerie echoes. It sounded like Ms. Emefo. 

Seb was immediately up and across the small room in a moment, digging his cell phone out of his coat pocket. Cleo didn’t stir from her ball on the table as he made to dial the familiar number.

“Please. He’s got a knife.” The woman was sobbing now, her shrieks quieter and a bit more resigned, but no less blood chilling. “Please. Please.” Seb could hear the woman crying over and over.

“9-1-1, do you need police, fire, or medical?”

“Police. They’re hurting this old woman in my building. She says someone has a knife and they’re hurting her.”

“OK, sir. Where are you located right now?”

Seb gave the address as he pulled on his coat and boots and headed out into the storm.