The Intruder Good

In 1987, I managed a group home where ten adults with developmental disabilities reside. Another staff member and I were on duty one night when I heard a thumping on the wall of the western side of the ranch-style building around three o’clock in the morning. I looked through the glass sliding door and saw a man sitting on the pavement with his back against the wall, banging both arms simultaneously on the wall.

I shouted to my coworker to call 911.

She shouted back for the man’s description, but he was gone. Relieved, I told her, “It’s OK; never mind, he’s gone.” Suddenly, a loud crash and shattering glass from the back of the house startled us. We ran to the front office and listened for the next sound. Nothing. Holding hands, we cautiously walked toward the back.

As we entered the passageway, a man staggered toward us, holding a sharp, bloody piece of glass. We retreated to the front office and called 911 again only to discover that the operator was still holding and that the intruder was on the same line telling her that people were trying to kill him.

As we talked over each other, trying to tell her that he had broken into the group home, the operator seemed confused. I knew then that I had to find another way to get help. I told my coworker to stay on the line. Oh God, we need Your help, I thought, tiptoeing stealthily out the door. “Pull the fire alarm,” my mind told me.

The fire alarm was two steps away, and I remembered that it was linked to a nearby fire station. I pulled the fire alarm. In thirty seconds, the sirens approached. Two fire trucks and a police car arrived within a minute.

Drops of blood trailed from the back bedroom to the kitchen, and a bloody knife was on the kitchen floor. The police apprehended the intruder as he scaled the fence. The ten residents slept through the ordeal. No one in the house was harmed.

Thank God for giving me the good sense to pull the fire alarm.

Maureen Nembhard