The Sheriff's Deputy

SETH

“Unit four-one-three responding,” Seth said into the mike on his shoulder, switching on his lights as he made his way to the address given by the dispatcher.

He was glad for the temporary reprieve the call gave him from Miss Dawson’s words earlier in the day. “What the hell?”

He stared up at the two-story house in shock as he took in the amount of…he had no idea what.

The glass-paneled front door was opened about six inches and through the gap, he could see boxes and other items piled up to the ceiling.

Seth looked back over the front yard, which was covered in more things that were rusted and broken down.

There were bags of stuff lining the driveway, and Seth could see more boxes as he peered into the glass of the garage door.

“Deputy, over here,” one of the police officers called. Seth made his way to the front door, listening as the officer described the situation.

“The lady is seventy-five years old and lives alone. She probably has thirty years’ worth of sh—stuff hoarded in her place.

“The code enforcers are a ticket away from condemning the place, and she has nowhere else to go.”

Seth nodded. “So, why am I here?”

The officer shrugged as he shook his head. “I can’t answer that, deputy. It’s best to speak to the sergeant.”

Seth nodded again and tried to enter the front door. It barely opened a foot and he turned so that his wide shoulders could fit through.

He scooted sideways down the overpacked hallway, afraid of touching the boxes on either side out of fear of them falling on him.

Out of habit, he breathed through his mouth to minimize the smell attacking his senses, and he felt a shiver as he heard a squeak from somewhere near the door.

He could handle spiders, but mice or—heaven forbid—rats were his worst nightmare.

“Sergeant?” Seth called down the passage, trying to ignore the sound of scurrying feet.

“Kitchen, deputy!”

Kitchen? Seth followed the sound of murmuring coming from the back of the house and found the sergeant squeezed into a tight passage that wound its way through the kitchen.

Every counter space was covered in tins of food, torn boxes of cereal, and bags of food that were…moldy. Seth suppressed another shudder.

Every cupboard was open and spilling over with all kinds of bric-a-brac, including expensive porcelain figures and cheap lampshades.

There were containers of books and magazines strewn around every available space, and he could just see the sergeant’s balding head over the top.

Sergeant Willis looked over the crate and squinted at Seth. “You the one who speaks I-talian?”

“Yes, sir,” Seth replied with a confused frown.

“Good. Here we have Mrs. Bianchi, who speaks very little English, and nothing when she is upset. All she keeps saying is non.”

The sergeant shrugged as Seth peered around the containers to the corner where a frail gray-haired lady was cowering.

“Buongiorno, Signora Bianchi,”Seth said softly, blinking in surprise as a bead of sweat dripped into his eye.

It was warm and dark in the overfilled space because all the windows were blocked by boxes.

The only light in the space was a naked bulb swinging from the ceiling and the flashlight the sergeant had set on a container.

He lifted a corner of his Kevlar, then decisively pulled at the Velcro tags and loosened the vest to slip it over his head, his uniform shirt sticking to his body.

He ran a hand over his dark blond hair, ruffling it back to its usual spikes.

The sergeant moved to a part of the kitchen that had a bit of space, allowing Seth to move closer to the old lady.

He crouched in front of her, making himself smaller and less threatening while trying to make eye contact with her.

She asked him what the police were doing in her home. He translated for the sergeant.

“We got a call from one of her neighbors saying that they haven’t seen her in a few days and were worried.

“Our unit did a wellness check, and when she didn’t answer the door, they went around the back to find the yard and windows filled with—well—” he indicated the room.

“They entered through the front door and found her passed out on the floor in the kitchen. She’s very dehydrated and most likely malnourished.”

Seth turned to SignoraBianchi with a frown of concern, explaining what the sergeant had said, and asked about her family, which brought tears to her eyes.

“I only have a grandson in college in New York, Giovannetti,” she said in Italian. “His parents died when he was ten, and we took care of him.

“Then my son died in the war in Iran a few years ago, and my husband became sick. I couldn’t keep the house up as my husband did, and I let things slip.

“And then Alessandro left for college, and I lost my Tommaso. Alessandro is becoming a doctor, and I don’t want him to give that up or worry him.”

Seth took a deep breath as he felt his heart break at the lady’s story.

He straightened and patted SignoraBianchi gently on her frail shoulder as he turned to the sergeant, quietly relaying what he had heard.

“We need to get Adult Protective Services, deputy. She can’t stay here. It’s not safe, never mind hygienic.” The man’s eyes were black with concern.

SignoraBianchi shook her head violently as Seth told her that she needed to leave.

“No! ~No~! My children were born here! My husband worked two jobs to buy it…I can’t leave my home…”

She took Seth’s hand, and he patted her hand gently, not wanting to break any bones by accident. He looked at the sergeant. “What will happen to her?”

“She will most likely go to a nursing home. She can’t stay here alone.”

“I need to get out of here,” Seth said as he found himself slipping into care mode. He grabbed his vest and squeezed past the sergeant, needing to get out of the dank stuffiness of the house.

He bent over a dried-out shrub and took deep breaths, trying to get the stench out of his nose.

“You okay, man?” The sergeant put a hand on his shoulder.

Seth nodded as he looked at the officer over his shoulder. “I just can’t see this lady losing her home that she and her husband worked so hard to buy.”

“I’m sorry, deputy. APS needs to step in. I don’t think she’ll be able to clean this place up in a month.”

“I’ll help her. I’ll get the place cleaned,” Seth said, recognizing the impulsivity of his decision.

The surprise must have communicated to the sergeant because the older man squeezed Seth’s shoulder and nodded.

“Okay, son. You get her out now, and I’ll see about getting her situated until this place is habitable.”

“Thanks.” With a deep breath, Seth handed his vest to the police officer at the door and made his way back to the overflowing kitchen.