I had not asked for an ambulance to come. What was on my mind was being able to show the police just how badly I had been attacked.
I also was worried that I might have gotten some of her body fluids on me. I had not hit her in any way that would cause her to bleed, but I had no idea who she was and what diseases someone in this neighborhood might have.
I lived near the Durham police station, so the police arrived quickly. Within about 20 or 30 minutes, the police arrived in response to my 911 call.
I heard sounds outside my room and realized that the police were entering from the front door to the building.
The first police officer held out his hand, said, "Don't come too close." I understood what he was concerned about. He didn't want my blood on him.
There were two police officers who arrived.
At this point, I was not considering how bizarre this event might seem to the police because, frankly the police showed no sense that they didn't believe what I had said.
The police officers started taking my statement about what happened to me. I did recall hearing a question by a police officer about why I let her inside. I could only say that it happened so fast, and I was taken by surprise.
Next, the police officers started taking witness statements. They were all consistent in stating that everything happened very fast. No, no one had any idea who this person was.
In my account of what happened, I said that I had been expecting someone who might not know which room I was in. I had heard the words "Where's Bruce?" and came out to see a stranger.
No, I did not know why anyone would do this to me.
I could hear the witnesses speaking to the police officers, and no one had suggested that they had any idea who this person was. While they didn't see what happened inside my room, at least one person noted she had left without a scratch.
I explained to the police that she had said something bizarre that made no sense. She had nearly yelled, "Why do you keep calling me?"
I explained that my immediate reaction was to ask her, "Who are you?" but she never answered that question.
I kept wondering why the police were not taking photographs of me and the room where this strange woman attacked me? When asked if I wanted an ambulance, I asked the police to photograph me while I was still bleeding and before I was cleaned up. I wanted my appearance to fully convey the brutality of my assault.
Before I knew it, the ambulance had arrived, and they were attending to my cuts and injuries before the police had taken photographs. The police had NEVER taken any photographs during the entire time they were there.
I had little hope for justice since we did not know who attacked me or how to find the person.
Then I heard a phone ringing in my room. I had not noticed previously that she was carrying a phone. She must have dropped it or accidentally thrown it while assaulting me. That was why she had been trying to get back into the room.
The phone was behind a pile of books on the floor. My phone was in my hand. This had to be the perpetrator's phone.
I gave the phone to the police officers, said, "This might help you find who did this to me."
Having given the police her phone there was hope that maybe I could get some justice. Maybe they would find her.
There would be nothing else with which to identify her! She was the attacker and left without a scratch. The only bloody markers in my apartment room were from me - it was my blood. It was my bloody thumbprint on the door frame. Nothing had happened for her blood to be anywhere in the room.
I felt a deep sense of confusion; this was beyond bizarre. I figured this was just another terrible experience in a dangerous neighborhood. The notion could explain the lack of curiosity by the police that they must have heard and seen people do crazy things in this part of town.
I didn't expect these police officers to answer a question like, "What woman locks herself inside a room with a guy and then attacks that person? Repeatedly punching the person?"
I could still feel the sting where her ring had split my skin, the memory of blood running down my face fresh in my mind. She’d looked strung out, her movements sharp and erratic, as if drugs fueled the sudden burst of violence. But why target me?
The detail wouldn’t leave me alone: women who came around high and desperate for cash didn’t wear rings like that. Not the kind that could slice a face open. Not the kind that suggested a life far removed from the streets.
The paramedics were able to get the bleeding to stop, and then they left at about the same time as the police left.