The Cop Who Saw Through Me

20 Years Ago Today, A Police Officer Saw Something In Me I Couldn’t See In Myself.

If he had looked the other way, I’d be dead.

I didn’t know it at the time. I wasn’t thinking about life or death—I was thinking about my next delivery.

A Midnight Mission – 2/8/2005

My internet was down, and that wasn’t an inconvenience—it was a crisis.

When you’re running a multi-state online drug operation, losing connection means losing control.

I had dozens of doctors and dozens of pharmacies—none of them knew the others existed. I impersonated people I loved—anything to get my fix.

That night, I was tracking big shipments, waiting on my next drops. I was on the verge of leveling up the game—finding compounding pharmacies that could prescribe pure hydrocodone and oxycodone, free from the acetaminophen that wrecks your liver.

I was innovating the dope game. And I was slowly dying.

A Bad Omen

My apartment WiFi was dead. I needed a connection now.

So I grabbed my keys, my pills, and my desperation, jumped in my Toyota Corolla, and drove to Kinkos.

I parked crooked, nose in the bushes—a subtle attempt to avoid attention. Before getting out, I poured a dozen pills into my mouth. Dry-swallowed. Took another handful, just in case. I’d been drinking the night before, but that had surely worn off by now.

I needed something to drink. Found a half-empty can of grapefruit juice in the backseat. Drained it. Grapefruit juice intensifies opioids, but I wasn’t thinking about that.

I walked inside and logged into the overpriced Kinko internet terminal.

I pulled out my credit card. Started hunting.

New suppliers. New prescriptions. Bigger shipments.

Then… blackness.

The Moment Everything Changed

I blinked.

The screen had jumped from 10 minutes to 160 minutes.

I wasn’t in my chair anymore. It was flipped on its side.

I was on my knees.

People were staring. The sun was rising outside.

Someone was saying, “Sir? Sir?” but their voice sounded far away.

I tried to laugh it off, but my mouth didn’t work right. I felt the eyes on me, and I saw the cameras. I needed to leave.

Ejected my card. Stumbled toward the door.

I stepped outside, and the world started spinning.

And then… I heard it.

The unmistakable sound of a police car door shutting.

The Cop with Kind Eyes

I had always avoided cops.

But this one was walking toward me.

Buzzed head. Kind eyes.

“Are you alright?”

I nodded, playing the role. “Haven’t been feeling good.”

“Sit down, take a breath.”

I sat on the curb. I could feel the act coming together—be polite, be relatable, crack a joke if needed. Cops just wanna know you’re not about to do something stupid.

“Have you had anything to drink?”

I knew it had been hours since I downed those mini bottles, so I played the angle.

“I don’t drink. My dad’s an alcoholic.”

He smiled. “That’s a good reason not to drink.”

See? Nothing to worry about. I was a college kid with a likable face.

“Which car is yours?”

I pointed to the Corolla, still half-buried in the bushes.

“My dad works for Toyota.”

Another connection. Another way to seem harmless.

Then he looked at me. Really looked.

“Your eyes don’t look right. Have you taken any drugs?”

“I don’t do drugs.”

“Did you take any medication?”

I had an answer ready.

“Oh! I did take my prescription migraine meds. Woke up in the middle of the night with one.”

“Do you take it often?”

“Only when I really need it.”

Smooth. Believable.

He nodded. Didn’t push it.

“Mind if I check your car?”

I hesitated. Just for a split second.

Then I flashed a carefree smile.

“Go ahead, I have nothing to hide!”

The Sound That Almost Ended Me

I wasn’t worried.

I never kept more than one bottle of pills on me. That was Rule #1.

But then…

I heard it.

The pop of the trunk release.

I forgot about the trunk.

I watched as he pulled out a black garbage bag with yellow cinched handles.

Opened it.

Looked inside.

Then he looked at me.

And in that moment, I knew—I wasn’t invisible anymore.

The Call That Changed Everything

“I called an ambulance. I think you’re at risk of an overdose—even if it was accidental.”

I don’t remember passing out.

But I remember waking up in the ambulance.

I remember looking out the back window at the fading city lights.

And I remember thinking—I should be worried about my deliveries.

And for the first time, that scared me.

20 Years Later – Finding Officer Voyles

That officer’s efforts changed my life.

He could have let me go. He could have believed my story. He could have done the easy thing—sent me on my way, let me keep running my game, let me keep slowly dying, or just thrown me in jail.

Instead, he did the hard thing.

It took me 10 years to find that officer to thank him.

It took another 10 years for us to meet in person.

Many people have played a role in my recovery, but few stand as tall as Vance Voyles.

Sometimes, the difference between life and death isn’t a rehab or an intervention or a grand epiphany.

Sometimes, it’s just one person who refuses to look away.