As the social worker started toward the house, the police officer hurried to catch up with her. Walking beside the aging blue haired lady he wanted to prepare her for what she was going to encounter within the confines of the old Victorian house. He had found the young man quite by accident earlier that morning when a concerned citizen called the police station and reported that her neighbor had not been seen in three days. That was the reason he had gone to that address and found the elderly woman dead, and after looking around he was not only shocked, but appalled, at what he had found locked away in the basement of that old historical home.
He walked faster trying to keep up with the social worker so that he could tell her what he had found. He wanted to explain to her that he had been a cop in that city for 12 years and thought he had seen it all...until today. Today, however, would start a new
chapter in his book of life as he tried to make some of sense out of the cruelty he had stumbled onto. He wanted to explain to her that because of his brother being born with a disability he had first hand knowledge about the inhumane treatment of people in the nursing homes and state run institutions, but they were already on the front porch of the stately old house.
She turned toward him and asked, “Are you the officer that was first on the scene?”
“Yeah, and I would like ta talk to ya.”
“Latter...just keep everyone back...the last thing I need is for some bleeding heart to tell me how to do my job. When the men from the state facility get here show them where to find the subject and then don’t let anyone try to help them. I’m certain they will know how to handle this situation.”
The officer watched the social worker disappear through the door and then stood guard keeping everyone back as he had been instructed. He realized that professional courtesy was more than just a few words spoken at the proper time. It was a way of life and a way to keep his job. It no longer mattered that he had something to say; his job was the only security that his family had and he wouldn’t risk it for a person that he didn’t even know. Besides, the person that he had found might not know the difference anyway. Maybe he didn’t even have a whole brain. Maybe he would be better off living someplace
where all of his needs would be met and he would be among his own kind. Maybe he didn’t have the capability of making a choice and needed someone else to do his thinking for him. Maybe he had the mind of a two year old.
Then he remembered something he had heard someone ask; ‘Since when is it OK
to lock up two year olds?’