The Man on the Floor

I killed a man last night. I’m not sure how I feel about it- I’m still reeling. He snuck into my house in the dead of the night. To the best of my knowledge, I thought he was armed, but it was difficult to say, due to the darkness. I was scared, and felt like I had few choices.

The night it happened, we were having sporadic downpours of rain. I was not sleeping well, and decided to sit up in bed and try to collect the thoughts that were keeping me awake. I had just started to doze off, when I heard a noise in the living room. I have two cats and have grown use to the noises they make, but I immediately knew it did not come from them.

It sounded as if someone had bumped into the coffee table. I could hear the glass top rubbing against the metal base. I then heard a couple of cans hit the wood floor. I was petrified.

I listened closely for any noise that seemed out of the ordinary, but heard none. I was not sure whether my imagination was working overtime, or whether I should get up and investigate. I live in a crime-ridden neighborhood, and have one of the few houses whose windows weren’t barred. The latches on my windows do not work very well, and I began to wonder if someone had jimmied the front window.

I was frozen, unable to move or act. It was entirely possible someone had come in, and for all I knew, was still in the house. I keep a Taurus 9 MM under the pillow next to me. I kept it as a security blanket, never thinking I would need to use it. Pulling back on the slide, I deposited a bullet into its chamber.

I slowly got out of bed – still listening. The house was silent. I moved through the darkened bedroom not bothering to put on any clothes. I opened the bedroom door as quietly as possible. Then I heard it, the rustling of papers coming from the living room.

I crept down the hallway and distinctly heard somebody moving about. Heading toward the bathroom, I quickly ducked in. I did not know whether to continue moving forward, or try to make it back to the bedroom to call the police. I did not want to turn my back on him, and was concerned about back stepping in the dark.

I slowly made my way into the corner where the hallway connects to the living room. I crouched down to make myself less of a target, and angled myself so I had a good view of the living room. I saw him standing by the blinds. There was a small amount of light trickling in from the window, and I could just barely make him out. Raising my gun, I called out to him. He quickly turned toward me, and began to move forward. I thought I saw something in his hand.

He took another step forward, and I yelled at him to stop. He hesitated a moment, but then continued to move in my direction. I shot my first round and his left shoulder jerked, causing him to take a step back. I could see through the small amount of light coming in, that he was looking at me, trying to decide what his next move would be. He staggered forward, muttering something I could not understand. I shot again. This time it stopped him in his tracks. He stood there for a moment, and then fell to the floor.

I waited, crouched in the corner for a few minutes more. When I saw there was no movement, I reached up and turned on the light. There lay a man in tattered jeans and a greasy rumpled shirt, bleeding on my floor. I was just getting ready to call the police when I heard sirens in the distance. I was moving toward the phone in the kitchen when I heard a pounding on the door.

When I opened it, I saw two police officers standing on the doorstep. One of the officers was holding a gun at the height of my chest. The officer beside him said something about the neighbors hearing gunfire and calling it in. The first officer told me to drop the gun. I had forgotten that I was holding it. I dropped it immediately, and instinctively raised my hands. One of the officers threw me against the wall and handcuffed me. I looked down. I had also forgotten I was in my underwear.

The other cars were just arriving when an officer placed me in a chair, in the corner of the room. It gave me a straight on view of the man I had just killed. I did not see any weapons near his body. The officers asked me what had happened, and I mumbled something, unable to take my eyes off of the man on the floor. I spent the next two hours in relative silence. Every now and again, someone would ask me a question, but to be honest, I was too shaken to know what I said. Police were in and out of the house, but there was always someone watching me, making sure I did not move from the chair they had placed me in.

The homicide detectives arrived and immediately began a barrage of questions. I told them what happened, and they told me I needed to come down to the station with them. I nodded, and they took the handcuffs off and allowed me to dress.

Riding downtown with them, they talked among themselves, occasionally including me in the conversation. We parked in the garage at the station and took the elevator up to the seventh floor. We stepped off the elevator, went to the cubicle they shared, and they politely questioned me for the next couple of hours. I answered to the best of my ability. They told me that all of the questions were routine and that it looked like it was self-defense. They said that the officers on the scene had found a knife underneath the television stand. They also said that a lot of burglars worked under the cover of rain because there were fewer witnesses, and the noise of the rain made it difficult for the occupant to hear them.

They asked me if I would mind waiting for a few more hours, and if everything checked out, they would put me up in a motel a couple of blocks from the station until my house was no longer a crime scene. They told me they would be over in the morning and if all went well, I could be back in my house as early as tomorrow afternoon.

There has been no sleep for me. I am sitting in the motel room, waiting for the officers to arrive. I am jotting all of this down on a pad of paper supplied by the motel. I feel nothing but a void. I took a man’s life, and somehow I feel that act has taken a part of my life. When I get back home, I will transcribe this to the computer so I can share it with you. As I begin to understand this more, I will further relate how it feels, to kill a man.