I awoke this morning to the sound of gunfire.

Alan Schreier had gone to Miami to spend Father’s Day with his dad, who has been doing very poorly as of late and I stayed in Tampa. Last Sunday we had adopted two adorable Great Dane puppies, Zorro and Zoe under the auspices of acquiring protection, but fully knowing that we were succumbing to that instinctive need to raise a family with your mate of choice. They were nine weeks old then and already weighed 25 pounds and were gangly and difficult to move from house to house.

I have moved all of my things to the island but Alan Schreier is trying to sell his condo and things often show better when furnished, so he still resides in Carrollwood. I spend my days dragging the puppies between Easy Street and Riverwood and then at night take them “home” to Alan Schreier’s. With him out of town there was no reason to load them up in the overcrowded cab of my truck and drive across town again. I had paved the walkway from the carport to the house with 3500 pounds of huge stones and was too tired to care that I was sleeping alone. I went to bed around 10:30 and slept soundly until I awoke at midnight from the rush of adrenaline that was produced by being awakened by the sound of gunfire cutting through the night.

I awoke from what I thought at first must have been a dream. I dreamed that I had been awakened by the sound of a rifle exploding and that I heard the bullet go whizzing by the house, under the west porch which would be right behind the headboard of my bed. My heart was racing and I was short of breath as consciousness took hold. As I opened my eyes I thought to myself that it must have been just a bad dream. My overworked imagination had gotten the better of me and I was a victim of my own creativity.

Then I heard the second shot. In a motion that later amazed even me, I swept off the bed, to the floor, scooping up my handgun along the way. I was aware of the fish tank light that illuminated my form to anyone looking through the west porch door (which still had no curtain) and I dropped out of sight to the floor using the bed to disguise my form. The shot had come from the south side of the house and there were wooden shutters over all of the other windows in the room, including that one.

My only vulnerable position was behind me so staying low against the floor and in the shadows I quickly made my way to the south window. I wanted to open the shutters and look out, but knew the light behind me would reveal my presence at the window. If it were Don or Crazy Gary aiming at me, they would have a clear shot. I decided instead to barely crack the slats in a corner of the window and see if I could see anyone in the yard.

As I peered desperately into the darkness, heart pounding out of my chest, I saw the flash of light and heard the blast of the third shot being fired. It was directly across from me on the other side of the creek. I ducked, but even as I did, chided myself for thinking I could dodge a bullet. It’s funny how things happen in slow motion when you think you are going to die.

I wondered if God would give me the speed to dodge certain death? I wondered if He didn’t, why He had ever protected me so fiercely for so long, just to let me die alone here? I wondered if it was Don, would he then kill my daughter or had he already? I wondered if He would forgive me for the sin I live in, or if this was just a warning to me that you never know when you will meet your maker and I may not have the opportunity to make things right with Him? The first bullet could have killed me in my sleep if the person had been brave enough to step up onto the porch. I wondered now if the first impression I had, of a bullet whizzing by, had actually happened and if so, was it on the porch or through the room? I wondered if I would be able to kill my attacker and revenge my own death?

I remembered that Jamie had told me earlier that Crazy Gary didn’t come to Easy Street today because he knew I didn’t want him there and I wondered if his “fatal attraction” to me was going to be fatal to me? I wondered if he would get off as easy as when his room mate “committed suicide” with Crazy Gary’s shotgun? I wondered why his room mate had to die the day after he met me? What had he said that set Crazy Gary off? I wondered what kind of gun it was and what it would feel like to bleed to death? If it was Crazy Gary, why didn’t he use one of his silencers? I wondered if I had been hit and maybe just didn’t feel it yet? I wondered how I could turn off that blasted light in the fish tank so that I could have the cover of darkness on my side?

I slithered back to the bed and reached up and turned on the outside porch light, but knew it would not be enough light to see across Rocky Creek. I hoped the person would see that I was awake and alert and would run. Staying low on the cold tile floor I worked my way around the house, staying in the shadows until I got to the living room and the fish tank that seemed so weirdly bright. I closed the blinds on one side so that I could get closer to turn it off. I tried to close the blinds on the other side, but they were jammed. I couldn’t stay out in the open in front of these sliding glass doors. I couldn’t safely get to the light to turn it off and thinking it safer to stay hidden, again flipped on more outside lights, hoping to create more light outside than inside.

I had tinted the windows with a new product by 3M that will stop anything but a bullet and which is nearly impossible to see through in the daytime. I had also installed Brink’s security system, but hadn’t listened to the video yet and, not knowing how to use it yet, had not set the alarm. Was this a lesson in procrastination? I made my way back to the most secluded room, the master bedroom and hoped to see at least as far as the river to see if anyone was making their way to me. I picked up the portable phone along the way to call the police and to rally reinforcements. Who would I call into the line of fire? If I called the sheriff’s department would they send in my brother? Would he die tonight too?

My line of thought was broken by the sound of a helicopter hovering over my house. Peeking through the slats again, I could see that a huge police spot light was combing the area where I had seen the gun blast originate from. It would sweep away and down the creek a ways and then back. I didn’t know if they knew what was going on or how it was that they were here within just minutes of the first blast. Maybe this had been going on a long time and I was so tired that it just didn’t wake me until now? Maybe this had nothing to do with me? Could I be that lucky? Could this be that coincidental?

In my panic I dialed 411 (directory assistance) and the operator came on the line and said “City and listing please?” I was shell shocked and still didn’t realize what I had done. I said, “I live in Tampa… are you asking for my number?” The operator must have thought she had some drunk on the line as she spoke very slowly and condescendingly, “No. I need you to tell me whose number you want”. Then I realized my stupidity, apologized, hung up and dialed 911 emergency. When the operator came on the line I told her my name and address in case I would be shot here tonight and then said that shots had been fired and that the search helicopter was right over where I had seen the blast from. She asked if I was near Bay Court. I didn’t know. I described the location of our home, the supposed trajectory of the shots from across the creek, the location of the churches on Sheldon Road, and the fact that they were looking in the right place.

No more shots were fired and the helicopter gave up after 30 minutes or so of searching the area. I didn’t go outside in search of the prowler for fear of being mistaken as the shooter by the police. Without the searchlight illuminating the island, it was far too dark for me to see. I knew Crazy Gary had night vision goggles and that Don could have afforded them. I felt vulnerable, tired, and confused, like an animal that is being hunted by the unpredictable predator, man. I didn’t sleep any more that night.

The next morning I called my mother to ask her to be on the lookout for any article that might mention what had happened here last night. It would give me great peace of mind to know that it was some robbery gone bad, or a domestic violence issue or even someone getting busted for killing that 11 foot alligator. Any excuse for the shots would be better than my imagination gone wild. There was nothing in the papers, so she asked my brother, who said that there had been a complaint called in from Bay Street about the sound of shots being fired and it just so happened that the sheriff’s department had a chopper in the area. Only God’s good providence could arrange for a police chopper to be hovering over me at the same time that someone started shooting.

I couldn’t find a bullet hole any where in the house and wondered how anyone could miss at such close range. They must not have been aiming for me. I felt good about that theory, but my parents believed that the shots were fired only to lead me out into the open to investigate. I would have been a much easier target out on the deck. Had the police helicopter not been right there I may well have done that. I wouldn’t have been able to sit back and do nothing. As it was, I felt the police did much more than I ever could have done and surely they had scared the person off if nothing else.

Sunday my father spent the day checking out the land on the other side of the creek and found a trampled down area, deer tracks and not much else. My daughter discovered Sardine can tins that were fairly new in the shed at the Sheldon Road house we own, which is on this same creek. Don and I have lived in both of these homes and Don’s favorite staple was Sardines in oil and mustard. She found the lids from both, a few dirty blankets, a master lock (locked shut) and human feces in the shed. I’ll ask my brother if he can finger print the items.

I've been writing my story since I was able to write, but when the media goes to share it, they only choose the parts that fit their idea of what will generate views. If I'm going to share my story, it should be the whole story. The titles are the dates things happened. If you have any interest in who I really am please start at the beginning of this playlist: http://savethecats.org/

I know there will be people who take things out of context and try to use them to validate their own misconception, but you have access to the whole story. My hope is that others will recognize themselves in my words and have the strength to do what is right for themselves and our shared planet.

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Music (if any) from Epidemic Sound (http://www.epidemicsound.com) This video is for entertainment purposes only and is my opinion.