Okay, so I was trying to put these posts in sequential order, but things have happened and everyone wants to know the story about the little girl. So, here goes:
Last Thursday, about 1am, I was just starting to doze off after Brian made it home from work when I heard a child's voice. Was it one of the girls? I listened closely but didn't hear anything. Then, I heard it again. Was Tierney talking in her sleep? Had Lena left one of her talking toys on? Nothing. I couldn't get back to sleep so I decided to talk with Him some more even though I had said my bedtime prayers already. I asked Him to use me someway. I mean, He had moved us up to Ohio, so I wanted to be put to use. Oh, when will I learn to be ready before I ask? He answers...always...and lately, it has been rather immediate. It definitely was on that Thursday night.
"Help! Someone help my mommy!"
I did not mistake that scream. I bolted up in bed and looked out the window. A little girl in a nightgown stood on the driveway across the street. I watched her go to her neighbor's door but no one answered. She screamed again and again. I climbed out of bed, and wearing my nightgown, grabbed a blanket out of the linen closet, put my jacket and snow boots on, shoved my cell phone in my pocket, and headed out the door.
"What's wrong, honey?" I remember asking her when I made it across the street. She told me that her mommy was on the kitchen floor and wouldn't wake up. She took me to the side door of the house, where a Boxer barked and growled. Yikes!
I am not a dog person. I did not want to be attacked by this dog. "Hey there, sweetie." I said in a comforting tone. The dog sat down immediately. The little girl opened the door, and the Boxer jumped up and licked my face. It nearly knocked me back outside. I grabbed his leash and began talking to him while stroking his back. He calmed down enough to make it inside the house and up the stairs to the hallway. The house was like walking into a museum. A museum for the preservation of 1963. The place reminded me of my great grandma's house back in Louisville. There was a rotary phone on the hall perch. The furniture was covered in plastic and on the wall hung a 11x13 photo of a lady with a beehive. No joke. The only place in the house that seemed to have been touched lately was the back room where a t.v. flickered with Carson Daly, and where clothes were scattered about in a nearby bedroom.
I followed the little girl into the kitchen. My eyes scanned the room and noticed some odd things. But my attention was quickly drawn to the lady laying near the sink on the floor. She was laying face down on the floor in a hoodie and boyshort underwear. I took the blanket I was holding and laid it over her legs. I shook her and called out to her, but she didn't respond. I checked her pulse. She was alive, but her heart seemed a bit fast.
I turned to the little girl then, and reassured her that her mommy was okay. I told her I was going to call for help. The girl seemed to relax a little then. I immediately dialed 9-1-1. I asked the little girl what her house number was but she didn't know. I ran outside, where Brian met me, and we scanned the house until we found a small placade in the yard with the street number on it. Help was on the way.
I headed back inside. Brian tried to follow, but the dog had a gleam in his eye and a ferocious growl waiting for him. I shooed Brian away and calmed the dog again so I could get inside. I told the little girl that help was on the way. I asked her if she knew a phone number of someone I could call for her. She wanted her grandma to come pick her up but didn't know the number. I decided to go next door to the neighbor's house. I had seen the older gentleman that lived there check on this house a few weeks before, so I thought that perhaps they might know whom to call. The little girl said they must not be home. I had seen her go over to their house for help but no one answered the door. I was going to try anyway.
The man answered and he had apparently been awake (surprise, surprise). He had a number on a little card. I looked at the card. At the top was a name & phone number in large print, and below that was another name & phone number in smaller print. The name of the grandmother was the smaller. It didn't take long for me to fit the pieces of this puzzle together. The name at the top of the card was their former neighbor--the great-grandmother. Apparently she had recently died and this granddaughter was crashing at her place now. That certainly explained the tribute to 1963 and the reason for the clothes stashed in the back room.
I called the grandma, who sighed when I told her that her daughter was nonresponsive on the kitchen floor. Okay, that wasn't the response I had expected. I asked her if she could come get the little girl. She asked if the neighbors were home. I ignored her. The neighbors obviously did not want to help. They were elderly and did not want to be bothered with the situation. I asked her again if she would come and pick up her granddaughter. She said she would be there as soon as she could. She asked me to stay there with the child. DUH!
When I got off the phone with her, the police had arrived followed by an ambulance.
Right about then, Brian pulled me aside to whisper in my ear that he had my gun shoved into the back waistband of his jeans. He had grabbed it on his way out the door. He didn't know what I was doing running across the street but he wanted to be ready for it. I thanked him for having my back. But having a gun on him right now! Lovely.
To be continued.......
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