Mercer exhaled loudly, his patience fraying. "Ma'am, you need to answer my questions clearly. Do you live here?"
The tone had shifted. It was no longer a simple inquiry; it was an interrogation. "Yes," Evelyn stammered, then paused, then nodded rapidly.
"What apartment?"
She opened her mouth, but the number was gone. It had vanished into the fog that sometimes rolled over her memories. "I... upstairs," she finally said, gesturing vaguely toward the brick building behind her.
Mercer shook his head, his stance widening. "Which unit?"
Silence stretched between them, thick and heavy. Evelyn’s hands began to tremble. "I just take out the trash," she whispered, her voice cracking.
"Ma'am, you're refusing to cooperate," Mercer said, his voice rising, drawing the attention of the surrounding windows.
"I'm not," she pleaded quickly, her eyes darting around for a familiar face, an anchor in the sudden storm. "I'm not."
A door creaked open on the second floor. A face peeked out through the gap, drawn by the commotion. Mercer noticed the movement out of the corner of his eye, heightening his defensive instincts. He needed to control the situation.
"Put the bag down," Mercer ordered, his hand resting instinctively near his belt.
Evelyn didn't move. To put the bag down meant failing her task. It meant surrendering the one thing she knew how to do. She clung to it as if it were a life preserver.
"Put the bag down," he repeated, louder this time.
When her grip only tightened, Mercer made a decision. "Ma'am, if you don't comply, you will be detained."
Detained. The word hit Evelyn with the force of a physical blow. Her breathing became shallow and rapid. She didn't fully understand the legal implication, but she understood the threat. "No, no, no," she muttered, stepping back, her eyes wide with terror.
Mercer, misinterpreting her fear as resistance, reached for his handcuffs. The metallic clink sounded loud in the quiet courtyard. The situation was tipping rapidly from a misunderstanding into something irrevocable and dangerous.