The neighborhood is quiet. The kids have come in for dinner, which starts at 5 o’clock when Mark is on the night shift, 6 PM to 6 AM. Twelve-hour shifts are a killer, but they help him get more done with his college coursework. He is studying to get his bachelor’s degree in Emergency and Disaster Management. With it, he should be able to get a job working for the Federal Emergency Management Agency or the Georgia Emergency Management Agency.
Even though they live in Georgia, they could move anywhere. Carrie homeschools the kids and that allows them to easily move around when needed. And move around, they have. To family members, it looks like they’re running from something, but Mark and Carrie feel like they’re trying to find something. They feel the economic situation in the nation is hurting them and that’s why Mark has been focused on government employment and advancement in the public safety sector. It seems to be the sector that gets funding cuts last. Before welfare anyway. They are avoiding that, but their full-time wages place them under the poverty line.
Spaghetti is on the menu tonight. The kids always enjoy it and the baby enjoys throwing it. Mark tries to be grateful for it. Carrie cooks it and cleans it up. Tonight there is an added piece to the spaghetti puzzle, ground deer meat. Carrie had gone hunting with her grandpa and shot a doe that he had processed and frozen. At about a dollar a pound, it was economical and quite tasty. But they still needed it to stretch. Mark had had a rough week at work and Carrie wanted to send him off with a satisfied belly.
Much of Mark’s time at this job had been rough. He is a patient person and can handle stress well, normally, but being a 911 operator is a different beast. He never knows what kind of situation he will be presented with and there is no way to train for all of the possibilities. So far, he has handled everything well.
“That was delicious,” says Mark as he wipes the corner of his mouth with a shared napkin. He knows that Carrie is aware he would rather have something different to eat and Carrie knows that he is trying to better their situation. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” she says. “I wish there was more of it.” He knows what she means and that it’s not a dig at him.
“I’m full anyway.” He puts his hands down on the table and pushes himself up. “I have to get going or I’m going to be late,” he says. Mark leans down across the table and gives Carrie a kiss on the forehead.
She looks up at him and smiles. Their want for more food and comfort has not left them wanting for more love. They are more in love now than their wedding day. “I love you,” she says.
“Love you too.” Mark walks around the table leaning down and kissing each child on the head from oldest to youngest, nine, five, one.
***
The parking lot is located inside a chain-link fence enclosure with no gate. That doesn’t mean that there is no security at the facility though. The building is underground with one door in and an escape hatch at the end of a tunnel big enough to crawl through. The facility had been built during the threat of nuclear war in the 1980s. It was constructed of poured concrete and covered with earth. The only wall visible to the outside world is the ten-foot space where the main door is located. The grounds above the facility hold a water tower, radio antennas, and an exhaust pipe for the emergency generator.
Mark approaches the door and is captured on the closed-circuit camera system which is monitored by the shift supervisor within the facility. He reaches for the door buzzer, presses and holds for a few seconds while looking into the camera so that the supervisor can recognize him. He releases and waits for the click of the door lock. Mark pulls the door toward him and walks in.
The operations director and assistant director have left for the day. Night shift has its benefits. Less politics is the biggest one. Mark passes their offices on his way into the dark dispatch room. Why the majority of the dispatchers prefer it to be dark in the dispatch room is beyond Mark’s comprehension. He does know that it messes with his vision and has caused him to have visual migraines on several occasions. As he turns the corner into the room, he is accosted.
“Hey, Mark,” says the shift supervisor, Phillip, who is an anxious type. If you ask him, everything is working against him or the world is coming to an end. 911 dispatcher is probably not the best occupation for a person like him. “You need to work the emergency line tonight because Katie called in again. I’m sorry, I know you don’t like working it more than usual, but there isn’t anybody else and I can’t have Cheryl do it because she’s not fully trained on it yet and if I do that, I could get in trouble-“
Mark lifted both his hands and motioned to him as if he were directing a car to stop and says, “Okay, I got it. It’s fine. I can handle it. Don’t worry about it.”
Phillip continues with his apology, afraid that Mark is going to hold this against him forever and he just can’t have someone not like him or be mad at him. He finally gets Phillip to stop and accept that he isn’t upset with him. He understands the situation.
Finally, he is able to move to his assigned spot for the night and says hello to the dispatcher he will be replacing for the night. He sets his bag down next to the desk. It’s heavier than usual tonight because it holds a few extra books on Operations-Based Exercises and Nongovernmental Organizations. Carrie had also packed him a lunch of beans and rice which adds some heft.
Mark asks the day shift dispatcher what is currently happening and what news Mark needs to know. At each change of duty, they exchange this information so the oncoming dispatcher will not be lost when a unit calls over the radio or phone for updates or with information to log into a call’s report. The only information to pass on is that ambulance unit 1800 North is en route code 1, no lights or siren, to the central hospital with a scheduled transport from the county’s long term care facility.
Mark sits in the large office chair that has seen better days. It’s a few years old and the maximum weight limit has been exceeded on a few occasions by other dispatchers. The fabric is stained, has an unpleasant odor and the backrest recline does not lock into place. It’s the best quality chair in the building aside from the two directors’. It squeaks as Mark rocks back and forth. He dons the headset, which is equally overused and odorous and settles in for this 12-hour shift. He holds out hope that there are no emergencies on this Tuesday night.
***
Four hours into the shift and Mark has not received a single 911 call. Not any of actual emergency anyway. A woman had called at 1941 hours and 17 seconds to ask for someone to come and jumpstart her van. Mark explained to her that she had called an emergency number and that jumpstarting her van was not an emergency and that she should call the non-emergency number. Mark knew that the non-emergency operator would have to field the call and explain that nobody would be coming to jumpstart her van. All of the operators were located in the same room and this ended up being some good entertainment for the crew.
The dullness of the night was about to come to a halt. The emergency line rings its unique ring and Phillip pauses the movie they are watching. Tonight, it’s a relaxing romantic comedy. On the nights when supervisor Rebekah is in charge and picks, they watch horrifying movies about zombies or true crime mysteries. Mark suffers through them, not watching, but trying to study. They still make the walk from the building to his car, at zero dark thirty, stressful. Mark spins around in his seat and picks up his line. Per protocol, Phillip picks up the same line to listen in and provide assistance when needed. Nine times out of ten when the emergency line rings there is not an emergency on the other end, but the dispatchers must treat each call as an emergency. An actual emergency would be quite exhilarating. The most exciting call they had in recent months had been a three-car accident in which one of the cars rolled onto its roof. Surprisingly, no injuries.
“Milton County 911, where is your emergency?” says Mark, sitting at the ready to type in the address. The standard operating procedures call for the dispatcher to ascertain the location of the emergency first so they can determine the best units to have respond.
“She shot herself in the neck!” yells the caller. Mark’s heartrate jumps from a semi-resting 82 to a pounding 163 beats per minute. He can feel it through his entire body. Although he has worked as a dispatcher for a little more than a year, this is his first shooting. Mark does his best to collect himself in an instant to help the caller calm down and provide accurate information that can be relayed to the responding units.
“Okay, sir, what is the address of the emergency?” Mark says loudly but only to get the caller’s attention.
“203 Corsica Road. Hurry! She’s bleeding, but I have some sheets on it.”
“Okay, sir, we have units on the way. Do you need instructions on how to perform CPR?”
“She’s breathing.”
Phillip dispatches medical and police units and advises them on what he knows.
“Okay, units are on the way,” says Mark. “Can you tell me what happened?”
“She just grabbed a pistol from under the pillow and put it to her neck and said ‘What if I pulled the trigger?’ and then she did.”
The scene in his mind interrupts Mark’s ability to process the information. “Okay, sir, do you need CPR instructions?”
“No, she’s breathing. I think she might be high. She’s laughing.”
Phillip yells to Mark from across the room, “Where’s the gun?”
“Does she still have the gun, sir?”
“No, it’s on the floor. You need to hurry up and get here!” Mark logs the update in the computer report and Phillip relays the info to the responding units who need to know what they are heading in to.
“Yes, sir, the ambulance and police are on the way. Did you see her take any drugs?
“No, I just got here and she was acting weird and she was mad about something.”
Mark tries to keep the caller calm by asking him questions. “What was she mad about?”
“She thinks I’m cheating on her. But, I’m not. I’m cheating on someone else with her.”
“I see.” He wants to change the subject but doesn’t know what to say. “Do you need instructions for CPR?”
“No, man, she’s breathing.”
“Okay, the ambulance will be there shortly. Is the front door unlocked?”
“I don’t know. Should I go make sure?”
“If you can, yes. It’ll make it easier for them to get in and help.”
“Okay, I’ll go check.” The caller talks to the victim, “Hold your hand here and press.” He returns to the phone and addresses Mark, “She’s holding the sheets on her neck. I’m gonna check the door, but I’ll stay on the phone.”
“Okay, sir.” Mark waits a moment for the caller to relay any new information.
“Okay, I unlocked it and turned on the porch light.”
“Very good. Are you going back to the room with her?”
“Yeah, it’s the room on the right off the living room.”
“Okay, thank you for that,” says Mark. Phillip updates the responding units.
“I’m back with her now. Her eyes are closed.”
“Is she still breathing?”
“Yes and she’s holding the sheets still, but I’ll take over. Are they almost here? Oh wait, I hear the siren.”
Click.
“Hello? Sir?” The man had disconnected. Mark stares at the screen for a moment, then types in some additional comments for the record. The EMT unit announces that they are on-scene and asks if it is clear to go in. Mark tells them that the caller disconnected when he heard the sirens and that Mark advises them to wait to go in until law enforcement arrives. They are two minutes out.
“10-4,” calls the EMT. Mark logs them on-scene and then turns around to face Phillip. His chair creaks as he spins and leans forward. Mark is exhausted. He is used to the chatter on the police channel, the traffic stops, the house alarm calls and the occasional domestic abuse call, but a call involving someone shooting themselves in the neck is beyond anything he has experienced. It shows on his face.
“What was that?” asks Mark.
“I know, out of the blue. There are some crazy things going on out there. But why did you keep asking him if he wanted to do CPR?”
“I was nervous. I just kept thinking that somebody who’s been shot in the neck is going to need CPR. I don’t know. Where’s the SOP for this? We have ‘head injury’ and ‘chest pain,’ ‘broken limb’ and ‘patient’s not breathing.’ Where’s ‘shot in the neck?’ Mark is visibly agitated at this. He feels he should have been better prepared and that it’s not his fault that he wasn’t. He turns back around and faces his computer screens when the EMT calls on the radio.
“Dispatch, we’re going in. Law enforcement is on scene and clearing the premises.”
“10-4.” Mark logs this into the report. He stares at the screens. This isn’t the first time he has messed up on a call. It happens to everyone, but he hates messing up. Mark hears a rolling chair approach him from behind. He turns to see Phillip there with a sad look on his face. Mark knows what is about to happen. It’s pointless, but it’s going to happen anyway and it will be in his personnel file for at least one year. I hope I’m not here in a year, he thinks.
“Mark, I hate to do this, but I have to give you an oral reprimand. I know you are aware that this reprimand is a warning to discontinue the behavior which led to your miscommunication during the call.” Mark thinks, What behavior? “If the behavior continues or the outcome of the call changes, this will be upgraded to a written reprimand which will be in your personnel file permanently. Do you understand?”
“Yeah, I understand. I understand that I’m being punished for misspeaking.” Mark doesn’t get mad. He doesn’t get angry. He does, however, get frustrated at idiotic policies written by bureaucrats who have never once answered an emergency call. In this instance, he is most frustrated with Phillip who should understand and have a little mercy. Mark has certainly heard Phillip goof on an emergency call. Nobody said anything, though, and Phillip did not get reprimanded.
“I don’t make the rules, Mark.” Phillip pushes his chair back and it rolls to his station. He spins around. He picks up his pen. He spins back around when Mark begins to speak.
“I know you don’t make the rules, but you interpret the rules and decide if your interpretation demands that I get reprimanded. And I happen to disagree with your interpretation. My misspeaking didn’t change the outcome of the call in a negative way and maybe it even helped to distract the guy.” Mark had never spoken this way to Phillip before or any supervisor for that matter, but he was tired and annoyed. He turns around in his chair. He has no interest in what Phillip has to say at this point and he would rather stare at his computer screens than see Phillip.
Phillip considers for a moment then speaks. “Irregardless,” That’s not even a word, thinks Mark. “I’ve made my decision. I’m filing the oral reprimand.”
“Whatever,” says Mark.
A few moments of silence passed. Nothing was heard from the EMTs or the officers on scene until, “Dispatch this is 1800 South.”
Mark presses the transmit pedal with his foot and places his hands on his keyboard, ready to log the information. “Go ahead, 1800 South.”
“Dispatch, show that the gunshot victim has expired after attempting resuscitation. Please call the coroner. Law enforcement is starting their investigation.”
He presses the pedal, “10-4.” The dispatchers rarely get closure on their calls. Normally, the call comes in. They dispatch the units who later arrive and handle the situation. The dispatchers close out the call when the units arrive at the hospital and the dispatchers move on. Mark would have rather had this call fall under those same circumstances. He logs the information into the report.
Mark puts his head down in his hands and rubs his face. He smells the seat on his hands. He had been sitting on them to keep them warm during the movie. The temperature is kept at 72 degrees in the dispatch room because of the need to keep the computer equipment cool. During the day this is fine and makes it quite comfortable, but at night, underground, something happens that brings the temperature down even lower in parts of the dispatch room. Some of the long-time dispatchers say it’s a presence that keeps it cool at night, a presence that comes and goes based on what kind of night it’s going to be. Nights with eerie calls are colder than run of the mill nights.
When Mark first started this job, he asked about the temperature shift and Ethel, the assistant director at the time, regaled him with a colorful tale about a dispatcher who had worked there when the building had first been converted from nuclear bomb shelter to the emergency operations center. ‘William had been working the night shift and was assigned to run the preventative maintenance test on the generator. He had left the dispatch room and after 20 minutes, the shift supervisor realized that he hadn’t returned so she went to check on him. She walked down the long hallway under the flickering fluorescent lights. She reached the generator room at the back of the building, beyond the emergency showers, the storage closets, and the main utility room.
‘She turned the handle on the generator room door and pushed, but something was holding it back. The door would go in some and then be pushed back. She was finally able to get the door open. She leaned her head in to see what was holding the door back, but there was nothing there. She pushed the door all the way in and called for William, but there was no answer. She stepped into the room and called his name again. There was no answer. She was a brave soul. She stepped further in and moved around the generator and the pipes that lead out of the ceiling. William was not there. She checked the maintenance log and saw that he had marked down a successful run on the sheet 15 minutes prior.
‘She quickly returned to the dispatch room to ask him where he had been hiding. He was not in the dispatch room. She asked the other dispatchers if he had been there, but they said he hadn’t. She then assumed he must be in the bathroom so she decided to sit back down and wait. But William never came back.’ Mark asked Ethel what happened to him and she simply said that nobody knows, but that none of the dispatchers who were on that shift came to work after that.
Normally a story like this would have kept Mark away from a place like this, but after searching for two months to find work, he planned on holding on to this job as long as he needed to. He carries a knife with him to the generator room each time he has to do the maintenance check. He’s never seen or heard anything while there that gives credence to the story of William’s disappearance.
***
The remaining hours of the shift passed with no excitement. No conversations. No 911 calls at all. Nothing to pass on to the oncoming dispatcher. Mark doesn’t even tell them about the gunshot call. Why relive it, he thinks. Mark gathers his bag, throws away his trash and leaves the dispatch room. It’s 6:10 AM and still dark outside. The moon is casting enough light on the otherwise dimly lit parking lot for Mark to see at least 100 feet in each direction. He thinks it would be nice if the county would spend some money on exterior lighting instead of new paint for the ladies’ bathroom. He’s not scared tonight because the last thing the dispatchers watched that morning was Inside Out, again. Phillip loves animated movies. Mark wishes he would expand his collection, but at least Inside Out is entertaining. The current showing in Mark and Carrie’s house is The Lego Batman Movie, on repeat. Mark is able to sleep through it now, but it took some time.
He unlocks his minivan with the keyfob and gets in. He decides to swing by Hardee’s and pick up a six-pack of cinnamon raisin biscuits. He’s had a hard night and five dollars isn’t going to break them, he assures himself. He checks the console and actually finds three dollar bills and some change that appears to be enough to make up the difference. Either way, he’s got a credit card.
At the drive-thru, he places his order and the total comes to $5.55. He has $4.78 in cash. He decides to use his credit card and also adds a large hash rounds to the order. Carrie loves the hash rounds, he thinks. “That’ll be $7.76,” says the drive-thru clerk. Mark hands her the credit card which she processes with speed, but no smile and hands it back to him. He put it back in his wallet and waits for the bag of food.
He sneaks a few hash rounds on the drive home, but he’ll leave the rest for Carrie and the kids if she wants to share with them. The garage is full of bikes, play kitchens, sandboxes, and Mark’s tool bench. He parks in the driveway. The sun is coming up. It’s just after 6:30. All the lights in the house are on. When the baby is awake, the other children and Carrie are awake too. He picks up the food and his bookbag and heads to the front door. It’s unlocked. Carrie always remembers to unlock it if she is awake and waiting for Mark to get home. He walks in and is greeted by the two oldest kids at the door.
“Daddy! Daddy! Daddy’s home!” He always welcomes this excitement, even when he is exhausted from his work and knows that his day’s sleep is not going to be enough to recharge him. Normally the children hug him when they reach him, but this morning they just grab the bag of food and run to the table where they already have plates of breakfast. Carrie is in the kitchen with the baby who is trying to open every drawer. When she sees the children run in with the Hardee’s bag she picks up the baby and walks around the corner to meet Mark.
“Good morning,” she says. Mark can sense that there is more to that than has been said. She’s not happy about something. Obviously, he thinks, it’s that she is getting no sleep because of the baby. He attempts to further decipher the situation in a matter of milliseconds, but he has learned he is normally wrong. “Good morning,” he says. “How was your night?”
“Long. This one didn’t sleep at all, I don’t think, so of course, I didn’t sleep.” She shifts the baby from one side to the other and adjusts her hips accordingly. Mark recognizes this move as a normal precaution against soreness overload on one side, but the face she’s making has nothing to do with that. He knows she’s mad about the food. They’re on a tight budget and she had already made breakfast for him and the kids. His is cold because he is ten minutes later than usual. He thinks carefully about how to proceed in this situation. But his thinking gets him nowhere.
Smiling he says, “I brought some hash rounds for you too. I know how much you like them.” He points over to the table where the hash rounds bag sits empty and crumpled up. All that remains is oily evidence of their existence on the children’s faces. “Kids, those were for Mommy.” He looks back to Carrie. “Sorry.”
“I don’t care about the hash rounds, Mark.” He’s surprised to hear this. He was hoping they would smooth over any objection to the biscuits. Mark pantomimes taking out a pad and paper from his pocket and begins writing while speaking out loud, “Carrie doesn’t like hash rounds anymore. Check.” He watches her face but sees no amusement. He knows she’s not happy that he spent the money. He goes straight to apologizing with a hint of trying to get pity.
“I know I shouldn’t have bought them, but I thought they would be a nice treat for all of us. I didn’t know you had already made breakfast. I had a rough night. I was just trying to do something nice.” He exhausts his library of excuses for this matter and waits for her response. He holds his breath.
She sets the squirming baby down and crosses her arms. The baby toddles its way to the kitchen table and pulls itself up onto a chair. Carrie moves to the couch and picks up a bed sheet that needs to be folded. Mark grabs a corner and they begin to fold. She does not raise her voice. “Where did you even get the money? Did Phillip pay you the ten dollars he’s owed you for months now?” They pause the sheet folding.
“No, there was some cash in the van, but it wasn’t enough.” He knows that everything he is saying is wrong and that what he has done goes against their financial plan. He treads carefully but is always honest. “So I used the credit card.”
Carrie is silent and this is worse than her saying anything. It means that she is beyond angry. They bring the ends together and finish folding the sheet. She takes it and a pile of folded laundry to their bedroom and closes the door behind her. He hears it lock. Mark knows that he has a long day ahead of him. He turns and faces the children who are finishing the last cinnamon raisin biscuit. Great, he thinks. With all of that and what is to come, he didn’t even get to have a biscuit. He walks over to the table to wipe off the baby’s face. Snot mixed with the glaze from one of the biscuits. He kneels down in front of the baby with a napkin in his hand. The baby sneezes and splatters Mark’s face with biscuit crumbs, a raisin, and some of the baby’s own supply.
After wiping off his face and the baby’s, he leans over to look at the bedroom door. Looking where the door meets the carpet, he can see that the light is off now and he hears the white noise machine. She is going to sleep. She deserves it, he thinks. And he deserves what he’s getting. He gathers the children and takes them into the back bedroom and has a talk with them about what he expects for the day. The nine-year-old gets it and will comply. He’ll be quiet and do his school work. The five-year-old is adamant that he will not be told what to do by someone who is not his mother. “But I am your father,” explains Mark.
With his schedule, the children rarely see him. He comes home at 6:20 AM, he goes to sleep and wakes up around 2:00 PM and he stays in the office doing his course work until it’s time to eat dinner. After this, he goes to work. He is doing all this in an effort to make a better life for his family. The cinnamon raisin biscuits and hash rounds were his way of trying to have a win for his family. That’s how he thought about it anyway. Mark is thankful for this time with the kids now, but it would not be very welcomed if he had to work tonight. Carrie wouldn’t make him go to work with no sleep.
Mark catnapped throughout the day. Carrie emerged from the room once at noon to get herself something to eat and to retrieve her thick bathrobe from the hall closet. She rarely had the opportunity to wear it, especially after a nice long hot shower. They didn’t speak when she came out even though Mark was sitting at the table with the kids. He had made them macaroni and cheese. She said hi to the children and that she loved them but that Mommy was having mommy time and that Daddy was in charge. The five-year-old was incredulous.
At 5:30, Carrie exits the bedroom followed by a billowing cloud of steam. She is wearing her robe. Her hair is wrapped in a towel. Her face is covered with relaxation. Mark likes this look on her. “What’s for dinner,” she asks. Mark knew that when she closed the bedroom door that morning, he would be responsible for dinner as well as for the children. He had gone through the freezer that morning to see what they had. He had hoped that what he came up with would be appropriate.
“I thought of making some roasted vegetables and rice with shrimp sauce. Is that okay?” This was something he had made before with some success. Rice is economical, he thinks. The vegetables are in the deep freezer, stored above the deer meat. They require about 40 minutes in the oven at 425 degrees. He set it to preheat about 20 minutes prior to this conversation just in case. The rice is cooked in the Instant Pot and takes only 20 minutes from start to finish. They could be eating by 6:15.
“That’s fine with me,” she says. Carrie walks to the back room where the children are playing. When Mark had last checked on them, the older two were building with Legos and the baby was in the playpen, tossing everything out of the playpen. Mark puts the vegetables in the oven and starts the rice. He uses the bathroom and then walks to the back room and joins the family. He leans against the doorframe and watches as Carrie simultaneously constructs a Lego playground and fills the playpen up with the items that had previously been ejected. She looks up at Mark.
“How was your night at work?” she asks. Mark knows she really does care about his time at work. He also knows that some of the things he hears about or has to deal with are too much for her to handle. He had wanted to share the “shot in the neck” call that morning and the reprimand to help explain why he had brought home the biscuits and hash rounds, but now he feels that that argument has ended. Lesson learned. He responds in the way that he thinks is best. “Same old, same old.”