A/N - Hello! Time for another simple romantic tale.
It's an unfortunate reality that, in the country I call home, we've had a decades long problem with DV (Domestic Violence). It's not just a problem in my country but it does receive a lot of media attention, focus groups, government intervention, that sort of thing. I've seen it happen in my family and I've seen it happen with friends. It's generally a topic many steer clear of. It's uncomfortable to think about. It's even worse if you see it happening. Whether things have improved from thirty, forty years ago is a matter of conjecture, but it is still an issue to this day.
This story is complete fiction (I hesitate to call it 'fantasy' due to some of the content), of course, and I've tried to keep my treatment of the topic respectful and serious.
Comments and feedback appreciated as always.
*****
It was a warm spring Saturday morning. While the youngsters in the neighbourhood were probably still fast asleep in bed, I was already up, breakfast eaten, house quickly cleaned up, before I headed out into the backyard to get the mowing done before the sun was too high and it was too hot to be pushing a lawnmower across the front and back lawns. It was one of those chores that I found therapeutic. Put on my headphones, metal music not blasting too loudly, cover the headphones with some ear defenders, then get to work.
First the edging and trimming. Then I'd push the mower up and down, ensuring the lines were even, the cut not too low, not too high. I looked after my lawn like it was almost another child of mine. Once I was content the backyard was done, I took everything out to the front yard and did the same thing. I was in the middle of completing the mowing of the front lawn when a removals truck pulled up outside the house, opposite side of the road, one house down.
It had been up for lease for a couple of months now. The family that had been renting had somehow managed to save up enough for a house deposit and moved to a different suburb. They'd kept in touch since moving as everyone on the street were close. There was an eclectic mix of families. A couple of older couples who had raised their children and seen them leave home. A few younger couples now raising children of their own. A couple of single mothers raising kids alone. Sometimes the father was involved, but I knew of two where the father had pretty much disappeared.
Then there was me. Late-thirties. A decent job that paid well but allowed me to usually work my own hours. My own house. And three daughters who were currently spending the weekend with their mother. I had custody of them most of the time, something unusual as, the majority of the time, the woman ended up with custody. The mother had cheated on me and walked out on our family. I was able to categorically prove I was the primary caregiver, and for once, the courts listened to the children. No chance our daughters would have tolerated living with their selfish, narcissistic mother, and I knew they utterly hated the man she was shacked up with now. I knew, as soon as they were old enough, they'd stop visiting her, but I'd do nothing to impact their relationship. It would be their choice whether to continue the relationship or not.
Back to the removals truck, a trio of men got out and opened up the back. I stopped mowing long enough to it wasn't exactly full of furniture. They'd only just started unloading when a beat-up car, an old Commodore at least fifteen years old and in need of a tune-up, turned up and parked in the driveway. A woman slid out of the driver's seat, a pair of children getting out of the backseats. A boy I reckoned around ten years old, the girl perhaps a couple of years younger. The woman glanced in my direction and I knew what she'd been through straight away.
I'd seen it far too many times while I worked the job.
*****
I'd been a cop in the New South Wales police force for well over a decade. I'd applied for the role as soon as I'd finished high school, graduating with a Higher School Certificate and top marks in the appropriate subjects. I'd found the job rewarding for the most part, but there were still scenes that, even after resigning and going to therapy, I knew I'd likely never shake off. One of the worst jobs was the last one and why I'd quit soon after.
I still remember receiving the call, driving alone to the residence in question in my patrol car. I arrived at the house in the western suburbs, a couple of colleagues having already arrived minutes beforehand. One of them walked out and I met his eyes. All it took was a look and I knew what I was going to find once I'd walked inside. It never got any easier. In fact, it usually got worse with each time I walked into something like this.
There was no missing the blood on the walls. Signs of a struggle. Signs someone had been hit more than once. The woman was being attended to by paramedics. I took one look at her to know she'd been beaten within an inch of her life. My colleague walked over and I knew the news wasn't going to be any better than what I could already see.
"Kids are upstairs," he whispered, "They saw the whole thing. Child services are on their way. We think he was doing something to the girl when their mother got home from work."
I hate men who beat up on women. I won't even describe what I think about men who would do such things to children. We're meant to be objective, working only on the evidence, but those of us who'd done the job long enough knew the truth when it was staring us back in the face. I turned to see him sitting on the lounge. His knuckles were still covered in blood. He met my eyes and the fucker smirked. I felt the blood in my veins turn to ice. Ever seen those movies where a cop hands his badge to a friend or colleague and says 'I'm not a cop tonight'?
I offered to take him down to the cop shop so he was booked in. No-one else wanted to take him so I cuffed him, told him what to expect, and led him outside towards my patrol car. Putting him in the back seat, I made sure I smacked his head against the side. He looked ready to hurl abuse at me when he met my eyes and he went quiet very quickly. In fact, he gulped and I knew he was already wondering what was going to happen next.
I drove away, reporting in that I was on my way back to the station. But I didn't head straight there. I turned off anything that could track the vehicle and headed further west, towards bushland I knew rather well. That's when he started to get nervous.
"Hey, mate. This isn't the way! This ain't right, mate! This ain't right..."
I glanced into the rearview mirror and met his eyes again. I could see the terror returned and I made sure I smiled at him. Pulling onto a dirt road, I drove us deeper into the bush before I brought us slowly to a stop. Meeting his eyes again, he was shouting and yelling as I stepped out of the car. Opening the back seat, he scampered backwards, thinking I couldn't reach him. I just grabbed his ankle and dragged him out, hearing him land with a thud before I easily picked him up by his collar.
Slamming him back against the car, he was begging me to stop, that he was sorry for beating up his wife. That he hadn't done anything to his kids. That he was a good man. I almost laughed, but kept my face blank as I led him further into the bush. Before he got any ideas, I slammed a fist into his gut and undid his cuffs, bending his arms back around a narrow tree trunk, cuffing his hands again.
Standing in front of him, I noticed the faint whiff of urine, glancing down to see he'd pissed his pants already. Most Australian cops are trained to operate firearms. I smiled as I undid the clip of my holster. He started begging for his life. I hit him in the gut again. Then I aimed for his kidneys, making sure he'd be pissing blood before too long. He was soon whimpering and crying, begging me to let him go.
"You know one thing though," I whispered, leaning down close to his ear, "No-one will believe you. I've been a good cop for over ten years now. Not broken a single rule, and I've seen pieces of shit like you get away with all sorts of crimes. Walked into one too many domestic violence situations. Guess you were just the unlucky bastard that finally caused me to snap. But seeing her on that gurney, her face black and blue. I saw the photos on the wall and situated around the room. A beautiful woman, eyes full of love, the joy of life... And your kids. You did that in front of them." I spat at him. "Call yourself a man. You're nothing but fucking vermin. Men like you should just be led out into the wilderness, forced to dig their own shallow grave and then be forced down to their knees and be put out of your fucking misery."
