I haven’t been blogging much lately. There has been a lot going on in my life. My husband is battling cancer and it takes every ounce of energy I have to write. The motivation just isn’t there, but I’m trying.
I was recently involved in a true-crime story of my own, though. I’d been dying to share it with you, but I couldn’t at the time because it was sensitive information.
On February 1, we had a new neighbor move into the apartment beside us. He seemed like a nice enough guy. He kept to himself and was very soft-spoken, but he was friendly and he helped me dig my car out of the snow and ice on two separate occasions. He was also living with his girlfriend and their very cute four-year-old daughter.
I was happy and relieved to have nice neighbors. You never know what you’re going to get.
The guy was a pot smoker, which is something else I don’t care about. The problem is that he smoked non-stop in his living room and the hallway always reeked of weed. I warned him that my husband and I didn’t care, but if the landlord’s brother, who is also a neighbor, smelled it, he would get in trouble.
That was, as far as I knew, his biggest “sin.” (My husband uses medicinal cannabis. I am not judging my neighbor for smoking weed, so don’t leave me angry comments.)
Then, in mid-March, my neighbor, his girlfriend, and their daughter just disappeared. One day, I saw them walking through the door and then…nothing. They were just gone. I didn’t think much of it. The last time I saw my neighbor (let’s call him Dave), he had some sort of boot on his ankle and was using crutches. It’s a hike from our apartment to the parking lot, so I figured he was staying somewhere more accessible for the time being.
Until a SWAT team showed up.
It was maybe a week-and-a-half after I last saw Dave that I got a text from the landlord’s brother, telling me that a bunch of cops in full tactical gear had come running up the side of the building, hunched down and with guns drawn, and had turned his house into a stakeout. He said they were looking for Dave, that Dave was “strapped” and dangerous, and that my husband and I should leave because “bullets might start flying.”
I walked out to the porch just as a cop in a helmet and a microphone stuck his head out of my neighbor’s door. That was all I needed to see. I ran back to my place, told my husband to put his shoes on, and off…