Personal Narrative: The Dyer Street Case

As a police detective, I see a lot of things ordinary men can’t even fathom—serial killers, rapists, drug lords—but nothing could have prepared me for the Dyer Street case. It started out like any other home invasion: a local woman went to bed with her family when all of a sudden she heard a scream coming from her son’s bedroom. When she entered the room she found her son on the floor, unresponsive. I started by asking Mr. and Mrs. Smith what they remembered about the night. The mother hesitantly replied saying her son had told her that he heard weird footsteps before he was attacked. She then started to weep from the realization that the footsteps were from the attacker. As her husband tried to comfort his grieving wife, I asked him what was taken from the house. He thought for a moment and then replied, “Nothing, not a God damn thing.” “Are you sure,” I asked surprised, “Think really hard about what might be missing.” He then thought for another moment—surveying the house around him—and said “No, nothing’s missing.”
This case was getting stranger by the second so I decided to investigate the victim’s bedroom, but I couldn’t find anything remotely connected to the crime scene. Both windows were locked from the inside and there was no sign of forced entry. “How could someone attack a 9-year-old kid and leave undetected without
There was junk scattered all over the floor. I guess one of these items was the source of my blackout. I ran upstairs, I needed to check on Berek. When I finally found him he was on the floor, dead. He wasn’t the only one either. Every officer that was stationed was found dead just like Berek. I was the only survivor. “How can someone do something like this?” I asked myself, “and why was I kept alive?” The investigation didn’t go on much longer after that. We ran out of resources and people lost interest but that didn’t mean anything to me. After Berek’s death I was determined to catch this