What Happened to the Woman Looking for Debbie?

Who the hell was outside my window?

The rain woke me up. It never rains in L.A.

Well, not never. Rarely. And not like this. It was pouring.

It was late. At least 3 am. The rain was coming sideways and making little tapping sounds on my very old window.

From my bed, I see a shadow move across my sightline and my body freezes. Who the hell was outside my window? I watch it move towards the steps to the porch and I know I am not just seeing things.

I slowly get up and go to the front window. Tentatively walking up the stairs is a woman wearing a short black skirt with knee-high boots, a high-waisted jacket, and carrying an oversized bag. Her hair was short. She was carefully walking to the door and rang the bell. She was drenched.

My heart is pounding loudly in my ears. I open my bedroom door and then out the hallway door. I stand about ten feet from the front door, which has two locks and a screen door that is latched from the inside. There are curtains so no one can see in.

She rings the bell again.

“Hello?” she says.

I slowly walk to the door and part the curtains.

“Yes?” I ask.

“Is Debbie here?” She looks a little freaked out. Her hair is stuck to her face from the rain.

“No,” I say, “Debbie doesn’t live here.”

“Are you sure?” She tries to open the screen door, which doesn’t budge. She seems annoyed.

“Yes, I’m sure.”

“But Debbie told me to meet her here. This is her house,” she insists.

“I assure you it’s not.”

“Can you open the screen door? It’s okay.” She tries to pull it again.

My gut lurches.

“Get off my porch and leave now,” I say firmly.

I start looking around. What the hell was this?

I suddenly remember being woken up around midnight to a male and female voice arguing. The acoustics in the neighborhood are very odd, but it sounded like they were behind me, where the driveway is. Creeeeeepy.

Was this the same woman? I didn’t get a look at them before. And who is Debbie? Maybe no one.

“Are you sure Debbie isn’t here?” she asks again. She’s getting a little aggressive now.

“Yes, I’m sure, please leave or I will have to call the police.”

The rain is almost deafening. Water is flowing rapidly down the street and pooling in the uneven sidewalks.

The woman seems to search for something to say. She looks up again.

“I’m so thirsty. Can I have some water?” she pleads.

“No, I’m not opening the door. Please go.”

There was tons of water falling from the sky. She’d be okay.

She gives me a pathetic look and slowly turns to go down the steps. She looks back a few times but keeps walking forward. I stand there until she disappears down the street.

A chill runs down my spine.

I lay in bed for a while, wondering if she would come back. For days I thought about it. It was eerie and scary and odd and frightening. Super creepy and random.

Who was that woman? Was she lost? Drunk? Being trafficked? Simply at the wrong house? I know the neighborhood pretty well and I had never seen her before.

And perhaps Debbie was real. Perhaps she needed her. Or, perhaps, that was a set-up for something terrible. My instinct told me to stay on guard.

There was no way I would have opened the door, but I do hope whoever that woman was, that she’s okay. I wonder where she went. I wonder why she was looking for Debbie. I wonder if it was her fighting with the male voice.

I wonder about a lot of things.