Hebrews 13:8

"Who's that?" Constable Morrissey asked moving his head with a hitch in the direction of Peter. There was no reply from his colleague police officers, creating an atmosphere of suspicion. "I better check him out" Constable Morrissey said, perhaps to himself. Peter was now halfway up the next block. Constable Morrissey walked swiftly after him. Peter either had a psychic sense or was remarkably familiar with police operations to predict what was imminent to occur next. For he turned his head to inspect behind himself, and eventually became fully aware of the blue police uniform, comprising of Constable Morrissey, closing in on him fast. Peter began to walk with greater speed. Constable Morrissey ran a little distance then slowed down. Peter turned his head around the other way and his suspicion was confirmed; the policeman was following him. Constable Morrissey made a conspicuous signal with his hand meaning 'stop and come to me', sufficiently proficient to make me wonder was it taught as examinable content in the police academy curriculum? It was ignored by Peter who turned the street corner, around the tall high-rise tower block. Fortunately for Constable Morrissey, at the cornerstone base of the concrete skyscraper building, there was a small, neglected garden, with elaborately decorated, but century old and rusted iron fence surrounding its perimeter. Through the abandoned vegetation growing there, Peter remained visible and still walking fast but unremittent, in his observation of Constable Morrissey's movements. There was only a few more steps until Peter would be clear of Constable Morrissey's line of sight and perhaps would escape. In a split second I saw Peter's head disappear from view, but his right foot was the last thing I saw. He must have leant forward when he began to run because his foot kicked out from behind him. If only he had prolonged the commencement of his run to one last step, Constable Morrissey may have presumed he was still walking, albeit fast. This one movement observed in my final gait assessment of Peter, indicated that I knew he had escalated his cadence to fast running, and so did Constable Morrissey, because I then saw him in rapid pursuit, changing from a brisk walk to a running sprint without cumulative force. I materialised back into reality. The final feeling of that observation was my cheek muscles operating because I had been smiling, even though I never felt the joy of the smile until Constable Morrissey and Peter had disappeared. It was all over. But when I did feel it, the smile seemed to dissolve from my face as though it was just a brilliant theoretical thought. “Get into the car” a policeman said to Mehar and me. I looked in the back seat and saw one of the girls on the passenger side. I don't want to sit next to her, I thought, she'll verbally and physically abuse me when we're driving along and start a vicious backseat brawl. I spontaneously and maybe by innate reflex pushed Mehar ahead of me, so she could sit in the middle seat. I thought, she won't hit you, Mehar. You're not her enemy, I am. You can protect me. You wanted to come! Mehar would not let me push her. She was not sitting next to the girl either. I realised Mehar also desired protection. I promptly considered the alternative, of sitting in the front seat next to the police officer, but then I started using my imagination to terrify myself with visions of the girl using her shoelace to strangle me from behind, around and against the headrest of the seat. This haunted my mind as I'd seen on television, how people hide out in the backseats of cars, waiting for the driver to enter the vehicle, totally unaware of the lurking intruder ready to attack at the opportune time. Before either of us could chuck a sophisticated teenage tantrum about not wanting to ride in that sedan, the perceptive young policeman said he would send another to collect us. Mehar and I were totally alone, standing on a street corner in the centre of Sydney city, in the early hours of Sunday morning. It wasn't at all long, if only seconds, before two men walked towards us. I felt Mehar grab my arm with great intensity and push against me in fear, hiding her face. I thought it was quite funny because I was not afraid. Considering the circumstances, if we were at risk of assault, all we had to do is run back to the sleepout which wasn't far. I would be prepared to do that if Mehar would let go of me. After all, it was just running. Mehar seemed to think all those lessons where she refused to jump the hurdles in physical education class were coming to haunt and punish her and she was petrified. “Let go Mehar!” I said as I shook my arm without success. “Who are you?” one of the men asked with a slurred accent. We ignored them. They seemed to be in their early twenties. One was thin and holding a half full beer bottle, rated in my mind safer than a hypodermic needle, knife or gun, and swaying from side to side with an amiable smile decorating his face. He was harmless. In fact, I thought this could be fun. The other man was rather large and most talkative. “I gueeeess that yooo are six … teen” he said and pointed very closely to my chest, assuredly invading my personal space, making Mehar and I immediately step backwards in unison, resulting in him automatically following, but not in the form of a threat. More so our rapid retreat had so confused his optic receptors connected to his body's lagging proprioceptive skills. His brain's spatial processing awareness and motion sensitivity recognition abilities were at an all-time low, making him partially fall and stumble forward in a highly uncoordinated fashion. “They're drunk” was Mehar's short summary and concise conclusion.