I was standing outside at the back of a house, in front of an aluminum screen door, holding a yellow part of a highly sophisticated cleaning device, perhaps a vacuum cleaner. A larger part of the cleaner, which resembled a lawn mower, was sitting to my side. The part I was holding was supposed to fit on the larger part. I had come to this house to sell the cleaner; apparently I had been there before, because the larger part had already been sitting there when I arrived.

As I knocked on the door, I thought I should keep in mind that most households had enough money to buy something like what I was selling – I shouldn't let the person who lived there convince me he didn't have the money.

After I had knocked and waited a short while, it occurred to me that this was the house where Carolina's parents lived, and that I had come there for an entirely different reason than selling cleaners.

I now recalled I had been appointed in a certain court as an attorney to represent Carolina, who was being held in custody for some reason. Carolina's parents had never visited her in custody, and therefore, since I had become particularly concerned about Carolina and her case, I had come there to visit her parents. I felt silly holding the cleaning device in my hand; I set it down atop the larger piece. I hoped no one would steal the device while I was inside, because it actually was quite expensive.

The door opened and a thin, frail-looking, black man (who looked a bit like Sammy Davis, Jr.) stood in front of me. I talked with him briefly and concluded he was Carolina's father. I tried to explain who I was and that I was an attorney representing Carolina, but he didn't quite seem to understand. As I was talking, he backed into the house, and without being asked, I followed. As we passed through some halls and rooms, I stole a look at the house. It was poorly furnished, but it seemed orderly and clean. A light blue color seemed to predominate.

As I followed the man, he continued talking and gradually became more and more incoherent. He seemed to be ranting and making no sense at all. Although the man was obviously severely mentally deranged, I nevertheless continued trying to talk with him. He walked into another room and turned on a television or radio, even though he continued to talk deliriously. I also was trying to talk to him even though he was obviously trying to shut me off.

When I thought I saw someone in another room at the end of the hall, I walked down there and found a woman (probably in her late 30s) sitting in the middle of the floor. She had black hair, was quite overweight, and was dressed in a blue print shirt and pants. I immediately concluded she was Carolina's mother.

By now I had become quite emotionally distraught. During the time I had known Carolina, I had come to care for her; it was disturbing to see that she had had to live under these conditions. Her father was obviously quite insane – perhaps even dangerous. I had the distinct feeling he might have hurt Carolina and might have abused her in some way. He certainly seemed capable of it. And this house was so bleak and dismal, I shuddered at the thought of Carolina's having to live there. Now I also saw Carolina's mother was a slovenly overweight woman probably incapable of providing Carolina any proper upbringing and guidance. When I began talking to the mother, I had tears in my eyes. I introduced myself as Carolina's lawyer and added, "I'm half in love with Carolina."

The mother also began crying; it quickly became evident that she at least was mentally competent. As I sat down on the floor and began talking with her, I noticed one of the cuffs of the blue long-sleeved shirt I was wearing had come off; I picked up the cuff in my hand.

After briefly talking with the mother, I quickly concluded she might indeed be able to somehow help Carolina. The problem was the father, whom I could see in the room at the end of the hall. He was lying on his back, talking and moaning to himself. Obviously he controlled this house with an iron hand; it was he who wouldn't allow the mother to visit Carolina in custody.

I doubted he would even want me back there talking with the mother. One thing was becoming certain to me: it would be highly dangerous for Carolina to return there. I would use all my power as her attorney to prevent her returning. I explained that to the mother; I said, "There's no way I will let her return to this home."

Suddenly the father looked in my direction and noticed I was with the mother. He was enraged; as he jumped to his feet, I quickly decided I was going to try to help the mother flee from him. I grabbed one of her hands; in a flash the two of us were outside running across the back yard.

The father followed; he walked to his car and pulled out a long silver rifle. I continued running – I heard him fire a shot. Something flew past me – he was shooting darts. He shot again – the dart missed. I fell down on my side, hoping to give him less target to aim at. I heard the next shot; something hit my back. I reached around and could feel that one of the darts had hit me right in the middle of my back and was embedded in me. But I didn't feel any pain. I began pulling the dart out and I finally had it all the way out. It had a blue head, and the point which was in me was about five centimeters long. Referring to the father's use of the gun, I said to the mother, "Damn, he's pretty good at it, too."

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