‘I Owe That Dude An Apology’
It was the details about his neighbor that stuck with him. The neighbor he never met.
When Damian began choking his wife on the night of Jan. 18, 2005, his 6-year-old daughter and 5-year-old son ran to the neighbor’s house for help. For several minutes, the neighbor watched the Arguello home from an upstairs window. After seeing Damian drive away, the neighbor went downstairs, grabbed a jacket and stood outside to wait for police.
After 5 to 10 minutes had passed, the neighbor decided to check on the family inside the Arguello home.
“He expected to find the adult female crying and upset,” according to the affidavit.
The neighbor walked over to find the front door slightly ajar.
He announced his presence.
No response.
He went inside, first checking the south side of the Arguello home. Nothing.
Then he got to the northeast bedroom.
“He found what he believed were the bodies of a deceased adult female and a deceased child.”
The neighbor quickly left the Arguello home and called police a second time.
Damian came to know these details about a month ago — when he read the affidavit for the first time.
“I knew that my kids ran over there but I didn’t know the dude went into my house.”
He can only guess at the profound psychological effects his neighbor experienced after finding bloodied bodies inside the house next door.
“His life was probably changed that day for the worse. I owe that dude an apology. I can’t imagine what went on in his mind. Holy shit, I can’t imagine that,” he said, sounding tormented.
Reading the affidavit, Damian felt sorrow. Not for himself, but for the ones he hurt. The ramifications live on.
“Fuck, man. This dude was expecting just to find a distraught woman. I can’t imagine. That silence. You walk in,” he said before stopping. “There wasn’t a woman crying. There was silence. There was nothing.”
Damian’s case manager had warned him about the affidavit. It would not be a pleasant read, he cautioned. He was right. But Damian was glad he read it.
“I can think of that dude and pray for him and hold him in my heart,” he said of the neighbor. “I owe that dude somethin’. I don’t know what it is. That sucks.”
About the Author
Andréa Maria Cecil is a career editor and writer whose experience includes six years as Assistant Managing Editor and Head Writer at CrossFit Inc. headquarters. She spent the first 12 years of her professional life as a journalist — starting with The Associated Press in Detroit and Baltimore — before transitioning to content marketing with an emphasis on authentic storytelling. She is the editor of “Speal: A David and Goliath Story” by Chris Spealler that sold 10,000 copies worldwide.
