I was on duty yesterday and something happened that I haven’t been able to shake — something unsettling, something evil. I keep thinking back to the mother and her kids, and how we left them there, in that house. Let me recount what happened, so you understand. I’ve been an officer for decades, and I haven’t felt this shaken in my entire career.

It was the early afternoon. Tim, my partner, and I were patrolling an area, scanning the streets while waiting for a call. As we were cruising, the dispatcher came through with a possible burglary, occupant home, only a few minutes away. I radioed back that we were responding code 3, hit the lights and siren, and we sped to the scene.

As we were nearing the scene, I killed the siren so as not to tip off the intruder, and pulled in front of the house, noticing its door wide open. A woman, distressed, was standing on the sidewalk, head in hands. We knew she must be the one who’d called it in. We got out of the vehicle, and as I took a look around the house, Tim went to talk to her.

As I was investigating the surroundings for clues, I was eavesdropping on their conversation. The woman told Tim that she was in the kitchen, preparing dinner for her children as they were to arrive shortly from school. Then her front door — which she always kept locked — suddenly burst open. A man in heavy boots — from what she heard — ran inside and up the stairs, dragging a trail of mud. Stupefied, she saw the dirtied floor and stairs, and ran out of the house and called the cops. She was terrified as her kids were coming home from school and she didn’t want them in any danger.

With that information, I peered into the house, and sure enough, I saw the large, muddy footprints running up the stairs. I took a few steps back, as Tim paused his conversation to assess the situation. I told him to call in the K9 unit to sniff him out and to prepare for a chase, as these situations normally end that way. Tim walked to the car to radio in the request as I glanced at the top window. That was when I saw a dark shadow of a man peeking through the narrow slit he created with the window curtains. We made eye contact, and the curtains stirred, and the man retreated.

I shouted to Tim that I’d spotted the suspect and was going in. I ordered the woman to stay away from the house, near the police car, and Tim to cover the back escape. Knowing that her kids were coming home soon and the man was clearly visible, I wanted to end the situation quickly. I entered the house and announced with my trained, loud, deep voice that reverberated through every room that I was a police officer, and ordered him to make himself known and come out with his hands visible. However, only silence answered. I crept closer to the stairs, waiting to hear something, but heard nothing. I yelled once more, ordering the man to come out, that I knew he was there and that I was the one who saw him. Then, I heard something — creaking floorboards as if he was attempting to hide or change location.

I continued to shout things in a cadence, telling him to stop, to come out with his hands up, and reconfirming I was a law enforcement officer. I carefully followed the muddy footprints, hand on my holster, as I reached the top floor. I was in the hallway, rooms on either side, with only silence other than the creak of my own footsteps. With every step, every creak, every calm breath I took, my heart pounded as I prepared myself for an encounter with this man. Looking into one of the rooms with the door ajar, I recognized the window — it was the room the man was in. I took a deep breath and swiftly entered the room, clearing my blind spots, but there was no one there.

I carefully checked areas of the room where he could have hidden, but the room was devoid of the man; he must have moved. I finished clearing the surroundings and turned around to continue to the other rooms. However, I was interrupted by the K9 squad’s arrival. I backed up to the staircase, monitoring activity as the new squad came in to take over. Once they were positioned, I headed outside towards Tim. He reported seeing nothing, which meant the man was still in the house.

Waiting, we anticipated commotion, expecting the dogs would easily find him, but nothing happened. Tim and I waited to be called for backup or a chase, but it never came. The K9 squad eventually walked out with confusion written all over their faces. We regrouped, and they reported they found nothing. They said the dogs first entered the house with a strong scent and immediately went for the room with the window. But upon entering, the dogs began to act strangely. Not only did they lose the scent suddenly, but they began circling, whining, and trying to leave, as if they were attempting to escape a dangerous situation.

Another cruiser arrived at the scene, as well as the woman’s children. I insisted the house was unsafe as I not only heard the man upon entering the house, but saw him as well. The dogs sniffed around the house, and there was no scent outside either — the man must still have been in the house. We agreed to do one more joint search, with officers positioned outside and inside, alongside the dogs. After an hour of searching every nook and cranny of the house, we gave up as there was no sign of this man.

I approached the woman, her kids beside her, to tell her that the house was empty and the man must be gone. Saying those words to her was hard as I wasn’t convinced, but had no other explanation. She wasn’t convinced either. She knew something was still wrong. Her face flooded with tears as she pleaded with us to do something to catch this man. But there was nothing left to do. I asked her if she had a husband or someone who could stay over for a while, but she had no one. I kept suggesting family or friends, but the look on her face held not only terror and defeat, but loneliness. She had no one to lean on.

We began to leave the scene, with my cruiser being last to go. As I drove off, in the rearview mirror, I have that image burned into my retinas — that woman, scared, sobbing, holding her kids, hesitant to bring them into their home. I became an officer to protect the people. But that day I failed, and when a woman needed us the most, we couldn’t help her. Now, I can only imagine how she suffered and how she still suffers. Whoever broke into her home violated the family’s sense of safety, their sense of home. It haunts me to think about who he was, what he wanted, and where he is now. I don’t pray often, but I find myself praying that that man isn’t still in that house and will leave that poor family alone.