Our neighborhood has changed a lot in the past few years. The politicians and business-people would say it's all for the good, but I'm not so sure that's right. There's construction on 395 South, and the Fourth Street on-ramp has been closed forever. I doubt it would happen for this long in Georgetown. A lot of the old brownstones

I grew up with have been torn down.

Town houses are going up which look very Capitol Hill to me. There's also a flashy new gym called Results. Some houses sport hexagonal blue ADT security signs courtesy of the huge Tyco Corporation. Certain streets are becoming gentrified. But the drug dealers are still around, especially as you travel toward the Anacostia.

If you could put on HG Wells time machine glasses, you would see that the original city planners had some good ideas. Every couple of blocks there is a park with clearly delineated paths and patches of grass. Some day the parks will be reclaimed by the people, not just the drug dealers. Or so I like to think.

A Washington Post article the other day proclaimed that some people in the neighborhood actually protect the dealers. Well, some people think the dealers do more good things for the community than the politicians like throwing block parties and giving kids ice-cream money on hot summer days.

I've been here since I was ten and we'll probably stay in Southeast. I love the old neighborhood not just the memories, but the promise of things that could still happen here.

When I got home from my run the kitchen lights still weren't on. An alarm was sounding inside my head.

Pretty loud, too.

I went down the narrow hallway from the kitchen to check on Nana.

Alex Cross 8 - Four Blind Mice

Chapter Twenty-Two

I edged open the door and saw her lying in bed, so I quietly moved into the room. Rosie the cat was perched on the windowsill. She meowed softly. Some watch-cat.

I let my eyes roam. Saw a familiar framed poster depicting jazz musicians by Romare Bearden; it's called "Wrapping it up at the Lafayette'.

On top of her armoire were dozens of hat boxes. Nana's collection of hats for special occasions would be the envy of any milliner.

I realized I couldn't hear Nana's breathing.

My body tensed and suddenly there was a loud roaring sound inside my head. She hadn't gotten up to make breakfast only a handful of times since I was a kid. I felt the fears of a child as I stood perfectly still in her room.

Oh God, no. Don't let this happen.

When I got close to her bed, I heard shallow breaths. Then her eyes popped open.

“Alex?” she whispered. “What's happening? Why are you in here? What time is it?”

“Hi there, sweetheart. You okay?”I asked.

“I'm just kind of tired. Feeling a little under the weather this morning.” She squinted her eyes to look at the old Westclox on her night table. “Seven? Oh my. Half the morning's gone.”