Know Thy Neighbor

After I had arrived in Old Town, and said goodbye to my Uber driver, Abdul. I got out of the car, grabbed my bags, and walked over to the wall to push the code to get into The Architect’s building. I rolled my suitcase through the foyer over to the elevator, and I pushed the button. The door opened immediately and I heard, “going up,” in a female voice in an English accent. I pushed the button to his floor, and when the door opened it was familiar. I let out a sigh. It was both a sigh of relief and nervousness. I never knew what it would be like when I saw him each time. I walked over to his apartment door, opened it, and I walked in. “Hello?” I asked. “Hellooooo,” he mimicked back from upstairs. He had gotten home early from work, yet he didn’t come to pick me up. I didn’t bother to think further about it. I walked up to see him. I hadn’t seen him for nearly two months. I missed him, but I could never bring myself to exactly tell him that. Occasionally I could text those three words to him, but it was rare and usually wine induced. He was the same way. I’d only get the ‘I miss you’ texts occasionally, late at night after he’d been drinking. We didn’t say anything to one another, nor did he get off of his bed to even hug me when I walked upstairs into his room. It didn’t bother me though, because that was just how we were. We clearly had affection for one another, but we were both emotionally closed off from previous relationships that had damaged us. I simply plopped down on his bed and laid next to him. He just nuzzled his face into the nook of my left shoulder, and we just remained still in the moment.

Not long after, The Architect and I went out and had a few drinks, had something to eat, said hello to some of our friends, and then we went back to his place. Everything was just within walking distance. It was a part of what made me fall in love with the Old Town, that, and everyone was always so welcoming. We went back upstairs to ‘nap,’ and in the middle of our ‘nap’ my phone rang. I usually had it on silent, but for one reason or another, that night it wasn’t. He stopped in the middle and gave it some thought. “I’ll just leave it,” I whispered to him. He kept going and then there was more noise that came from my phone. It was a voicemail followed by a text message. After the text message came through, he threw himself next to me on the bed, frustrated and silent. “I better go check,” I said apologetically. I put some clothes on and walked downstairs to where my phone was plugged in, and I picked it up. The number that called had a New Mexico area code, and I didn’t recognize the number apart from that. I looked at the voicemail. I didn’t bother to listen to it though. I looked down at my phone, and I read the transcription instead.

Transcription Beta

“Hi this message is for Margaret please

department I need you to call me back”

It didn’t make sense, so I decided to listen to it, “Hi this message is for Margaret. My name is Bruce. I’m from the Albuquerque Police department. I need you to call me back as soon as possible. You can reach me at….” He said his name again before he hung up, “…this is Bruce from the Albuquerque Police Department.” I stood there, slightly stunned. Then, I swiped over to another screen to see who was texting me.

Margaret, this is Bruce with the

Albuquerque police department. Are you

able to speak with me?

“Fuck!” I said loudly. “What’s wrong?” The Architect asked from upstairs. “The cops are calling me from home. I don’t know what they want,” I said in a slightly panicked voice. He didn’t say anything back. “I’m going to have to call them,” I declared. I couldn’t imagine what was happening, and I couldn’t figure out why they were calling me and had my phone number.

I hit the call back button while I stood there in his open living room. I stared at the wall as the phone began to ring. I was having a mini panic attack, and meanwhile, The Architect was upstairs just laying there. He didn’t bother to come down to try to console me. “This is Bruce,”a voice came through my phone. “Hi this is Margaret returning your call,” I said, trying to sound confident. “This is officer Bruce…” he introduced himself again, and then, he got straight to the point. “When is the last time you saw Juan?” He said a name that I didn’t quite recognize. “Who?” I asked. He said it again, sternly the second time. I still stood there puzzled. His voice came shooting back to me, “The guy who used to live upstairs, above you for a few years in your apartment complex.” “Oh, I called him Gus, short for guy upstairs,” I said, trying to confirm that we were talking about the same person. I think he thought I was trying to be funny, but I really wasn’t, “Well,” he said somewhat annoyed, “when was the last time you saw this guy that you call Gus?”

I stood there in disbelief, and I paused before I answered, “I haven’t seen or heard from him in about…” I thought about it for a moment, “two months. He came buy looking for money, so I gave him fifteen dollars and a jar of change one morning, and then he left. What is this all about?” I asked. “Ma’am, I can’t disclose this information to you,” he said again sternly. My phone started going off with text messages while I was on the phone with him, but I was too technologically disadvantaged to multitask and check them. “Where are you right now ma’am?” the officer interrupted my thoughts about trying to check my messages. “I’m out of state,” I told him. “Where are you?” he asked again. “I’m in California,” I said to him. “Okay ma’am. Then where is your dog?” he asked. My dog? How did he know about my dog? The situation was getting stranger by the second.

The officer kept talking, and he asked me things that made me wonder how he knew them, “What about your other neighbor? The one that lives behind you, Scott. You both seem to always be together. Where is he? Does he know where the person who you call Gus is?” “Yeah, he knows who Gus is, but we don’t associate with him since he moved out, really. I’ve told you everything that I know officer. Can you tell me what this is all about?” I asked again. “No ma’am, I can’t. Are you sure that is everything you know?” he asked, “Do you know where he may be residing?” “Well,” I paused, “when he left last year, the last I heard was that he was living on 6th street in some trailer park, and when he came over looking for money that day, he said he had moved back to southern New Mexico somewhere. I’m not from New Mexico, so I don’t remember the name of the town.” “Okay ma’am, thank you for your help,” he said concluding the conversation, and he hung up. I was left standing there, dumbfounded and then everything else started to happen. I hung up, and I looked down at my phone to check my texts.

O2: You okay? Cops got the road

blocked before the gym, that’s

near your house.

O2: The SWAT team is there at

your complex

Me: I’m in California

I wanted to say more, but I needed to figure out what was happening. I felt so helpless. There was only one other person that I knew in the complex, so I sent her a text.

Me: Hey

Me: You okay? I’m in California, but,

I heard SWAT is at the complex…

Wifey: Hey!!! Yes.

Wifey: The sniper is right next to

me!!

Wifey: How did you know?

Me: SWAT called me

Wifey: SHUT UP!!! Why?

That was a question that I wanted an answer to, but I couldn’t figure it out. And then more phone calls came in. The first was from the head of security from my campus. Campus was right next door to my complex. “Margaret, are you okay? What’s going on over there?” he asked. I told him what I knew. “There are snipers on my campus and we’re on lock down, and so is your complex,” he said. I told him I’d call him when I knew more, but before I could hang up, another call was coming in. It was my neighbor who I referred to as Gus’s Boyfriend in my phone, but really his name was Scott. He explained the situation, “They think Gus might be trying to hide out at your apartment.” I gave him strict instructions, “Go into my apartment, get my gun and put it some where safe. I don’t want anyone breaking in there and taking it.” “I can’t,” he said, “I can’t get into the apartment complex, nobody can. It’s blocked off. They even told us to find a place to stay for the night. But, I’ll go and get it as soon as I get in,” he said. “They said Gus is a murder suspect, that’s what he’s running,” he continued. I cut him off, “Call me when you get there, I’ll tell you where my gun is, and Scott, be very careful,” I warned before I hung up. Even though I wasn’t there, it was like living in an episode of Cops. SWAT team, snipers, and then I got another text from another security guard from my campus.

Officer: You have a tenant from your

apartments that barricaded himself.

Me: What a mess that is. I’m not

there. I’m in California.

Officer: Yes glad you weren’t in it.

I got off of the phone, and I decided to call the only police officer that I knew to try to find out what was going on. “Hey Margaret, what up?” he answered. “Do you know what is happening at my complex?” I asked without hesitation. I had unplugged my phone by then, and I walked across the living room to sit on one of the two long wooden benches that were new in The Architect’s apartment since I had been there last. “I don’t know what’s going on over there,” he said. “Is it normal for the police to call you on your cell phone and send a text message?” I asked. “Yeah, we do that now. It’s normal,” he told me. After he said that, we hung up, and I just sat there on the bench trying to process what was happening. I was worried, and I was scared. It didn’t matter if it was the cops, SWAT, or anyone else who had called me earlier. What it meant was that someone was watching me, or at least paying attention. Where is your dog? That question would stay with me for the rest of the night.

After I hung up, I just sat there on the bench and stared at the bookshelf against the wall in front of me in silence. I rested my elbows on my knees, and I didn’t move. What could I do? I thought. It all seemed a little bit dodgy. I didn’t think it was professional for the police to send me a text, despite being reassured that it was normal. I began to get upset with myself about disclosing information without getting a badge number or some other confirmation that it was in fact the police who called. I realized that I had offered information about someone who I wasn’t even sure was the same person. I never did know Gus’s last name, let alone his first name. I was worried that there was a mix up. I was worried that it wasn’t the police that I talked to. My mind was spiraling. Meanwhile, The Architect wasn’t even fazed at what was happening in my life, or that I was freaking out. “It’s okay…they call everyone in situations like that,” he said casually, blowing off my off my panic attack from upstairs while he was still in bed. Maybe he was right, but I couldn’t stop thinking about it.

Why were they calling me? I kept asking myself that question over and over. I didn’t have anything to do with Gus since he moved out. I called Scott back, “Did they call you?” “Who?” He asked. “The police. Did you give them my number?” I said in a slight panic. “No, they didn’t call me, and I wouldn’t give them your number. I swear,” he answered. The conversation was brief, but it didn’t comfort me. My mind kept running, and I was trying to figure out how they got my number, so I sent out another text.

Me: Did anyone call you about the SWAT issue?

Wifey: No.

I couldn’t stop thinking about what was happening. I couldn’t stop worrying about why the police had called me. I couldn’t stop wondering if it actually was the police that called me. I couldn’t stop worrying if I’d be implicated in whatever mess was happening at home. I stood up, walked to the counter, and I poured myself a cup of wine, not a glass. There wasn’t anything I could do, but to wait to find out what was going on. I walked upstairs into the bedroom, and I sat on the edge of the bed sipping my wine. In a sense of empathy, or compassion, The Architect sat up from bed and said, “Let’s go back out.” He either wanted to shift my attention away from the turmoil at home, or he was tired of listening to me freak out. Either way, he got dressed, I brushed my hair, and we headed downstairs. We got into the elevator and it said, “Going down,” in it’s English accent. Going down we were, the elevator knew it, but it would take a few days for us to realize it.

That was the first night of my vacation in California. I knew that The Architect wouldn’t be sympathetic to my cause, so I didn’t say anything more about it to him. But, I knew why Gus ran back to his old complex, and I started to piece together why the police called me. He was my neighbor for just over four years, until he got kicked out, and I was the only person left that he knew in the complex. My guess was that he headed for my apartment in the hopes that I would let him in. That night was just the beginning of an explosive 4th of July weekend, and the beginning of what would be one of the strangest, unnerving weeks of my life.