Red and blue strobes bathe the front of the house in an uneasy pulse, a jarring rhythm that mirrors the one still thrumming beneath Erica's ribs.
Erica stands just inside the doorway, backlit by the shattered light of the study, arms limp at her sides. The gun is long gone - bagged and tagged by the police, along with two spent brass casings and her attacker’s switchblade knife, all now sterile evidence in a pouch.
Outside, tires crunch against gravel.
The low growl of the ambulance fades into place behind the Scarsdale PD cruiser.
A paramedic team works without fanfare, wheeling out the man she shot - Julio Ramos - his torso swathed in gauze, his face slack and pale, lips parted as if about to speak but already unconscious.
One of the officers, a young guy with an almost gentle look in his eyes, jots notes on a pad as Erica talks.
There’s no need for her to remain silent.
Her voice is steady, mechanical.
She walks him through the past days - Doctor Parker’s call, the mysterious “brother” her neighbor had sighted, Steve’s and Antonia’s visit.
Every detail clicks into place like puzzle pieces she hadn’t known she’d been assembling.
He nods slowly. “You’ll have to come with us to the station, ma’am.”
She doesn’t flinch. Just watches as the gurney disappears into the flashing chaos.
“You stitched him good,” the officer murmurs, not unkindly.
Erica’s eyes remain fixed on the dark doorway to the basement.
A faint, acrid tang of Cordite still lingers in the air.
“I guess, the reason he was here is in the basement.”
The second officer heads down into the shadows. Minutes later, he reappears with a duffel bag clutched in gloved hands. Even zipped, the shape of the contents betrays itself: bricks, squared off and wrapped in plastic. Unmistakably, cocaine.
“His prints should be all over this.” the cop says. “Let’s go.”
Erica turns without a word, crosses her wrists behind her back in a fluid, almost automatic motion. But the younger cop shakes his head.
“No need to slap you in handcuffs, ma’am,” he says. “This looks like self-defense to me. Still… the Captain will want you to stay at the station until a detective can verify your story.”
She gives a small shrug, her shoulder twinging where the knife had nicked her jacket. “I know the drill.”
~~~
The new station house is sleek steel and glass, a modern upgrade from the aging relic Erica remembers from her childhood. But the scent - burnt coffee and old paper - clings to the place like it does to any other police station she’s ever seen.
At the station, she signs in, hands over her bag, and follows the officers to a gray, soulless interview room.
Detective Pete Flaherty greets her with a tired smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.
He records her statement while she repeats the events again, this time with sharper detail.
Every word she speaks tightens the noose around Julio Ramos’s neck.
“This will have to go to the DA,” Flaherty says as he turns off the recorder. “You’ll probably be formally charged with aggravated assault. But given the circumstances…”
Erica nods. “Castle Doctrine,” she says flatly.
Flaherty raises an eyebrow. “That’s the idea. We’re verifying it all now. It might take a few hours.”
She’s bracing for an invitation to a holding cell when Flaherty adds, “I don’t think you’ll want to spend the night in a cell. The Captain’s gone home for the night, but there’s a couch in his office.”
Erica feels a slow release of tension in her shoulders and manages the faintest smile. “That’s very kind, Detective.”
~~~
The couch is worn and sunken, the leather cool against her back. Erica curls onto it, pulling her jacket over herself. Only now does she see the tear at the shoulder - the blade must’ve sliced clean through but didn’t cut into her.
She realizes how lucky she’s been tonight.
This could have ended in a really bad way for her.
Her breath catches, a gasp of cold, stark realization.
She could have died.
Right there in the basement of the house that’s supposed to be her new start.
She stares at the ceiling panels, unblinking, listening to the midnight rhythms of the precinct: the clacking of keyboards, the occasional ring of a phone, a burst of laughter from somewhere down the hall. It's oddly comforting - this humming machine of people doing their jobs, keeping the world turning.
Eventually, exhaustion claims her.
~~~
I like the Conversation Erica has with Steve very much. At a different Time Steve could have been the Man for Erica. But Erica wasn´t ready at the Time for such a Commitment. We can tell from the Dialogue that Erica trusts him fully. 
