Mercer shook his head. "Which unit?"
Silence. Her hands trembled violently now. "I just take out the trash," she whispered.
"Ma'am, you're refusing to cooperate," Mercer’s voice rose, carrying across the quiet courtyard.
"I'm not," she said quickly, her eyes darting around like a trapped bird. "I'm not."
On the second floor, a door creaked open. A neighbor peeked out to see the commotion. Mercer noticed the movement and doubled down on his authority.
"Put the bag down," he ordered.
Evelyn didn't move. She couldn't understand the instruction. The bag was the anchor to her reality; it was the only reason she was standing there, the only task she knew how to complete.
"Put the bag down," he repeated, louder this time. Her grip only tightened.
"Ma'am, if you don't comply, you will be detained."
Detained. The word hit her like a physical blow. Her breathing became shallow and rapid. "No, no, no," she muttered, stepping back.
Mercer reached for his handcuffs. In an instant, the situation tipped from tragically wrong to imminently dangerous. A 76-year-old grandmother was seconds away from being taken to the ground.
Then, a voice cut through the tension.
"Officer! Officer, wait!"