A man out walking his dogs runs up to us, says there's guy in trouble. Says the guy's unconscious, unresponsive.

He says to follow him, and we do.

We end up behind the train station kitty-corner from police headquarters.

The guy in trouble is a 19-year-old overdose victim. He is very clearly dying and I recognize him right away.

We spoke with him and his female friend 20 minutes prior and less than a block away.

My cohort rubs his sternum with her knuckles, trying to elicit a response.

Nothing.

I blast a dose of Narcan up his nose.

His friend flits around us in a panic.

We wait a beat...

As I unwrap another dose, his friend kneels beside him and briefly places her head on his chest, imploring him to wake up.

He doesn't stir.

I give him the second dose.

We wait another beat.

His friend's pleading voice recedes to the background.

Then...

He twitches, moves, brings his hand up to his face.

His eyes open.

He pulls himself to a seated position.

The ambulance arrives just as he stands up.

The paramedics want to take him to the hospital but he refuses further medical treatment.

Why?

I'm not sure.

Shame? Embarrassment? Anger?

He can't look at us, but he thanks us and tells us he needs to leave.

We let him go.

We have no other choice.

#VPD #patrol #addiction