This is from Derrick's Perspective
I spent the rest of the night sitting and staring out the windows observing the surrounding environment, and listening to the snores coming from the back seat. The darkness had enveloped everything, casting an eerie quiet over the town. Not a single cop car, ambulance, or fire truck had driven by within my field of vision or hearing distance. The stillness was unnerving.
I did hear a few dogs barking and a couple of distant gunshots, but that was not within a few miles. I was just very used to reacting to those sounds.
I had parked a fair distance away from any houses, so I couldn’t be sure, but I didn’t see the warm glow of any lights emanating from windows. There was no flickering of televisions, no hum of refrigerators, heaters, or coolers, nothing. It was as if the entire town was asleep, oblivious to the strange occurrence.
Also unsettling was the complete absence of people. No late-night dog walkers, no teenagers sneaking home after curfew, and no early-morning joggers. I mean, I wasn’t exactly in any specific neighborhood. I literally was on the off-ramp. But I would have expected at least someone the closer the time got to sunrise.
My hand stayed close to the gun in its holster throughout the night. However, I took some solace in the fact that, so far, I hadn’t needed to use it. The quiet was... disquieting, as the ambassadress I served under used to say. But entirely was still miles better than confrontation. I hoped that things would start to make sense with the dawn.
As the first rays of dawn began to pierce the night sky, I estimated the time to be somewhere between 6 and 7 in the morning. But this sunrise was different; it felt more intense and brighter, and the colors were deep red, like a bruised sky. I had only seen such a sunrise during a wildfire back home. The smoke from the distant flames had tinted the sky similarly.
It was a strange kind of beauty – hauntingly captivating yet ominous, as if the sky was an artist’s canvas showcasing a warning that nature was pissed. Just before the strike, it held a promise of terror, like an assassin’s grin. For some reason, I’m channeling my poetics. The sleep deprivation must be getting to me.
The sun must have hit Mr. Allen directly in the face because the next thing I knew, a loud yell resonated in the stillness of the dawn. The sudden noise scared me half to death, making my eardrum ring. I spun around to see Mr. Allen’s panicked face. His eyes darted around frantically, confusion and fear etched into his features.
Mr. Allen’s scream must have jolted his wife awake because the next thing I heard was Mrs. Allen unleashing the longest string of curses and expletives I’d encountered since my time in basic. It was a torrent of profanity that my old drill sergeant would have to take notes on for personal growth and improvement.
Strangely enough, her outburst seemed to have a calming effect on Mr. Allen. His eyes stopped darting around, and he gently touched her shoulder, asking her to lower her voice. She swung at him, presumably out of frustration and anger, but her hand got caught on the front seat’s headrest, narrowly missing my face.
Her eyes flashed angrily as she pulled her hand free, but then she seemed to remember I was there. She closed her eyes, took deep breaths, and appeared to regain some semblance of calm.
Turning to me, Mr. Allen resumed his stoic expression. “Derrick,” he began in his steady, measured voice, “please explain.” The calmness of his request was in stark contrast to the chaos that had just unfolded. You could get emotional whiplash if you were prone to such things.
I matched Mr. Allen’s calm demeanor and explained our situation, “We were on the highway exit to your house when the car died around 2 in the morning. The phones also seem to be dead, and it looks like there’s a power outage in the area. I couldn’t carry both of you, and you were far too drunk to be woken up. So, I pushed the car to the side of the road...and you know...waited till now.”
Mr. Allen looked at me, processing what I just said, before asking, “So, what’s the plan now?” His face was going a strange pale green.
“I believe our best bet would be to walk home,” I suggested. “It’s only a few miles away. I could probably jog it in about thirty minutes, but with you and Mrs. Allen, we should be able to walk it in under an hour or two.”
Mr. Allen sighed deeply and rubbed his temple, a clear sign of the hangover headache returning as the adrenaline wore off. After a few seconds, he finally responded, “Okay, Derrick. Let’s do it.” His tone was resigned.
I reached over to the bucket of sports drinks I had prepared beforehand, knowing from past experiences that the Allens would need rehydration after their usual bouts of overindulgence. The bucket was for the other side effect of drinking. Before I could pass a couple of bottles to the back seat, Mrs. Allen’s shrill voice echoed in the confined space of the car.
“No, we will not do that. Call a taxi! Run home and bring the other car. Do something!” she demanded, her tone sharp and biting.
I clenched my jaw, my patience wearing thin, but for the sake of Mr. Allen, I stayed calm. Maintaining politeness, I responded, “And would you be comfortable sitting in the car by yourself for several hours?”
Her eyes went wide with terror, and she vehemently shook her head. Panicked, she demanded her phone, which Mr. Allen handed her. However, it was as dead as mine. In anger with a scream she hurled the phone against the window, narrowly missing Mr. Allen’s head.
With a huff, she threw the car door open and stormed off in the wrong direction. As she stomped away, I handed a sports drink to Mr. Allen and exited the car, watching her in amusement walking away. With a chuckle, I walked over to the trunk and pulled out an emergency bag. In it, I found some card stock and a thick permanent marker. I wrote my information on thick paper and placed it on the front dash. I also wrote the exact details on the driver’s side window.
By the time I finished, Mrs. Allen had returned, her demeanor somewhat subdued. Meanwhile, Mr. Allen had managed to get out of the car, steadying himself against the vehicle as he stood. Mrs. Allen chugged the half-drunk sports drink bottle from Mr. Allen’s hand.
I reached back into the car and fished out a few more sports drinks, placing them into plastic bags I kept in the emergency bag. I offered the bags to Mrs. Allen first, but she simply turned her nose up and folded her arms, refusing to take them. Mr. Allen, ever the gentleman, took both bags, managing a wry smile as he did.
Rolling my eyes at Mrs. Allen’s petulance, I grabbed the to-go bags from last night’s dinner at the restaurant. Pointing in the direction we needed, I tried to keep pace with Mr. Allen. That was harder said than done as he stumbled into his fancy shoes. It didn’t help that he tried to keep pace with Mrs. Allen in heels.
With a sigh, I realized 1-2 hours was generous for the short walk we had to do.
I made a conscious effort to keep my right hand free. All of the training had conditioned me to always have my dominant hand ready, just in case. But the past few years of working for Mr. Allen have softened me up a bit. I repeatedly wanted to shift the to-go bags to my right hand.
Mrs. Allen continued complaining about the heat, the walk, and her phone, but I tuned her out. At some point, the nagging and complaining blended with the morning song of the birds.
As we reached the gated community, the smoke in the air seemed to grow denser. I was sure there were a few house fires in the surrounding neighborhoods. The familiar face of the security guard from last night greeted us at the gate. I asked him if his phone and electricity were working.
“No, and my damn car won’t start either. I’m stuck here, and my place is miles away,” he complained, frustrated.
I shrugged empathetically and shared our own predicament. A spark of realization dawned in the guard’s eyes. He muttered something about walking home once relief arrived, “It’s only about three miles anyway.” I turned away, barely containing an eye roll that could have potentially dislodged my eyeballs straight out of my head.
Mrs. Allen knew where to go inside the gated community and decided it was time to discard her high heels. Barefoot now, she started to speed up, gaining some new-found energy. Mr. Allen and I sped up to our comfortable pace and trailed behind.
She reached the front door of their mansion a few yards ahead of us and disappeared inside. As Mr. Allen and I made it to the front door, we heard the resounding slam of the master bedroom door echoing through the large foyer.
Mr. Allen shook his head and managed to regain some of his usual composure as he walked into the living room where Maria was with his kids. He thanked Maria for staying late and looking after his children. She said it was fine. He then excused himself, likely to tend to his wife, and retreated towards the master bedroom.
Maria looked puzzled as Mr. Allen left the room, clearly confused about the unusual appearance. I quickly filled her in on our predicament and the inexplicable power outage.
She responded in surprise, “I thought I’d overslept. But there’s no power here either.” After saying her goodbyes to the kids, she headed towards the door. I was about to breathe a sigh of relief when she returned, looking flustered, not a minute later.
“My car won’t start either,” she exclaimed, concern lining her features. She asked if she could leave her car there, to which I agreed, asking her to leave the keys just in case I needed to move it. She then casually mentioned that she would walk home, even though it was about eight to nine miles away.
That statement set alarm bells ringing in my mind. I quickly asked Maria to wait and suggested she stop by my guest house for a second. I had something in mind that could help her on her journey home.