Red and blue lights flashed in the apartment parking lot as Denise DeWalt pulled in and watched officers lead a handcuffed man to a squad car. A police car parked at an angle across the driveway forced her to stop. “What’s going on?” she muttered. She considered backing up, but a red Jeep Cherokee pulled in behind and blocked her. She had driven up to her complex still feeling the endorphins from two hours of playing basketball, but that high disintegrated as events played out before her.

Laura looked out the bus window at the rain, which grew worse every minute, and said yet another silent prayer that all would be well. She finished the text message to her sister on her cell phone. She listened to the hum of women chatting nearby, and more specifically, to the two women talking in the seats in front of her.