The Lawsons Pt 1

Each character is at least 18 years of age or older. This is a work of fiction.

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It had been a long day at work. One wouldn't think that a university police department would be as busy as they had been that day, but it was just one call after another. It didn't help that the university also ran a Level 1 trauma center hospital and the security staff always seemed to find their fair share of shenanigans.

Despite what many people thought, dispatching was a very taxing job. Sure, dispatchers weren't expected to run after anyone or potentially have someone shoot at them, but some of the horrors they heard on the phone without actually being able to help or hearing the fear and panic from an officer over the radio that found themselves in a fight, took a toll that could haunt someone forever. Roger had suffered his fair share of trauma after twenty years in the US Marine Corps, but this was something different altogether.

After several deployments himself, and then training young Marines to go and do the same thing, Roger Lawson wanted something to do after retiring that he assumed would be a cakewalk compared to his former work. He couldn't just sit still at home after retiring, but he thought himself too old to start at the bottom rung of a police department and he sure as hell wasn't going to be a grocery store greeter or an underpaid, unarmed security guard. A friend turned his attention to this police department and their need for a dispatcher. It was a public safety position, but he wouldn't have to go through a long academy just to do it. And how hard could it be to answer some phones and send some officers to go talk to someone?

After eight months of training, Roger was finally a full-fledged dispatcher. Despite it being more difficult than he had imagined, he flourished in the position. A year later he was appointed supervisor. He learned quickly that customer service, compassion, and an immeasurable amount of patience was required when dealing with the public, and especially the faculty and students who worked or lived on campus. The students, some of whom were absolutely clueless to the ways of the world, and the university's faculty, who were old enough to know better but were equally clueless, always provided the most trouble with their questions and complaints. But dealing with them required kid gloves because if you didn't, it was too easy to be the target of an email plummeting down the chain of command from the university President's office, or the Dean's office, detailing complaints about your service.

Today had been a long day of placating callers, giving medical instructions, and sending officers all over the place, and Roger was ready to go home. Twelve hours is a long time, but it was nothing that a quick run, hot shower, and two fingers of whiskey couldn't cure. As a bonus, it was the start of his weekend which made it all the better.

It was a short walk across the street to get to his truck. He stopped, however, when he saw a young woman who had obviously been crying. Upon closer inspection, he saw what looked like a fresh impact wound on her face and she was clutching her chest.

"Miss?" he called out to her. "Miss, are you okay? Can I help you?" He was genuinely concerned for her, especially because she looked so frightened and seemed to be wandering aimlessly.

Need help

, she thought.

Have to get away

. Other than her feet being on autopilot, those thoughts were the best she could manage. She was shaking all over despite the hot August sun still being out. But she could hear a voice, a voice that sounded sincere and kind.

"Miss?" Roger repeated. "Please, let me help you."

She looked up at him, still frightened, but taking a look at his uniform a look of realization came to her. She looked at his face and saw genuine concern and kindness. He also looked like someone who could protect her if she needed it. She ran to him, wrapped her arms around him tightly, and began to sob.

"You're okay," he said in surprise as he dropped his backpack and put an arm around her. "Listen, I work for the police department. Can you tell me what happened? Do you need an ambulance?"

Across the large parking lot, he saw two young men, probably students, laughing and pointing in her direction. He couldn't hear what they were saying, but from their tone, they were obviously mocking her. When they saw her in the arms of Roger Lawson, however, they stopped and turned in the other direction.

Roger was a big man. He was six-one, one hundred and eighty pounds, and obviously still in fighting form. But the two young men decided to make a hasty retreat instead of calling more attention to themselves.

"Let's get you back to headquarters, okay?" he said, trying to turn her to begin walking back toward the police department. When he tried to lean down to pick up his bag the woman clung tighter to him. "I'm not going anywhere," he said gently. "I just need to grab my bag. I'll make sure you get somewhere safe."

She was scared and hadn't felt so helpless in ages, but she had an overwhelming feeling of trust in this man. Loosening her grip, he quickly grabbed the bag, slung it over his shoulder, and tightened his grip around her waist to start walking back across the street. It was difficult walking this way, but she was stuck to Roger like Velcro. He wondered what she would think if he scooped her up and just carried her. They would definitely have made better time.

Entering the lobby, he jabbed the button that rang a notification bell in the dispatch room and tried to seat the young lady in a chair but was pulled down with her, her grip having been relentless.

"Can I help--" the woman at the window started, then stopped when she saw who it was. "Sarge?"

"Get an officer up here for an assault report and call for an ambulance," he demanded.

"No."

Roger hadn't heard the girl speak yet and this took him by surprise. "You are injured," he said softly. "At least let them come and check you out. It looks like you took a pretty decent hit there," he said as he gestured toward the left side of her face but making sure not to actually touch it. "You could have a concussion."

"No. N-no, I'm okay," she replied softly. "Just don't leave me." She looked up at him with pleading eyes, her fingers clutching him again.

After a moment he nodded. He didn't know what had happened to her, but obviously it was traumatic. She likely hadn't had anything like this happen to her before, so processing it must have been difficult. Roger didn't have anything else to do and helping her get through this didn't cost him anything at all.

Soon after, an officer appeared in the lobby. Roger introduced him as Officer Miller and explained that he would be taking her statement. At first, she refused, wanting Roger to do the report. He had to explain that he was a dispatcher, not a police officer and that he couldn't write the report.

"...but...she said Sarge," came her reply.

Miller spoke up. "We call him that because he retired from the Marine Corps as a 1st Sergeant. Even the Chief calls him Sarge."

Roger shrugged. "I'm sorry for the confusion, but Miller here is a good officer. And I'll stick around as long as you need me."

She sighed, nodded, and then the whole story came out. Her name was Emma Butler, a 26-year-old senior getting her degree in management. She lived off-campus but had reluctantly decided to go with a girl from one of her classes, an acquaintance really, to a party at one of the fraternity houses after their class together. She thought it would be okay since it started in the afternoon and she would bow out before it got dark, but two young men took a liking to her, and their alcohol, and tried to corner her in one of their rooms. After some unwanted touching, she got up enough nerve to try to stand and leave. They kept pawing at her and one of them punched her in the face. She said she fell and was very dizzy and could feel them groping at her breasts as they tried to unfasten her pants. The only thing to save her was a couple who had come in to find a place to make out, but stopped to ask if she was okay.

Having recovered from the punch, and thankful for the interruption, Emma tried to stand again. When she did, one of the young men wound up scratching her chest as she forcefully pulled his hand from under her shirt. An argument between the couple who had come in and the two young men gave her a chance to leave the house. A few unclear moments later she ran into Roger.

While retelling her story, Emma started crying again. Roger grabbed a box of tissues from the table next to him and offered them to her. She actually smiled when she thanked him, and it was a beautiful smile. It was at that point when Roger noticed what she looked like. Despite the red and now bruising side of her face, Emma was an astonishingly beautiful woman. She was on the short side, slim, and about five feet, five inches tall with light blonde hair and beautiful, but currently saddened blue eyes. But he quickly pushed those thoughts right out the window. She was just sexually assaulted and the last thing she needed was another man leering at her.

"The buggy's here," Miller said as the ambulance pulled into the parking lot.

"I asked you not to call them," Emma said, slightly angry but more embarrassed, as she glanced out the window to see the flashing red lights.

"You did," Roger replied, "but after your story I'm glad we called them anyway. I think you were hit a bit harder than you realize." When she started to object, he added, "It won't take but a few moments. They'll shine some light in your eyes, take your vitals, and maybe look at the scratches to make--"

She pulled her shirt up in a tight bunch close to her. "No."

As the Fire/EMS crew walked in, thankfully being a crew having not one but two females, Roger replied, "It's your call, but I don't think it would hurt to have one of these medics check you out, do you?"

Because of her still delicate condition, Roger asked that only the two female medics remained in the lobby. Emma didn't need any fire department lookie-loos hanging around. She allowed one of the two female medics to take her vitals and check her face but still refused to allow anyone to see her chest. And to no one's surprise, she refused any treatment and definitely no transport.

As the fire crews departed, Miller spoke into Roger's ear then disappeared behind a card access door leaving Roger and Emma alone in the lobby. She didn't have the same death grip on him that she did initially, but she still clung to his arm. Her breathing had slowed, and she was no longer crying, which was a good thing. Maybe she was calm enough to relax a little?

"That wasn't so bad, was it?" he asked, hoping to get some kind of response from her. When none came, he continued. "We will do everything we can to catch these guys, Ms. Butler. I want you to know that."

She sat up more and sighed. "I guess I can let go of you now." She looked slightly embarrassed. "I'm sorry about that. You just sort of appeared right when I needed you."

He smiled. "There is nothing to apologize for. You needed help and I wasn't going to allow some little punks get away with doing anything else to you."

His words put her more at ease and she took time to really remember Roger's face. When she first saw him, the concern was written on his face as plain as can be. And when the two men were yelling at her across the parking lot, his face turned to one that wouldn't have batted an eye at squeezing their throats until their lives left them. But once again he was back to being soft and concerned, solely focused on her and her well-being. He was handsome, with sharp features that seemed to magnify his angry face but were just well-proportioned otherwise. His dark brown hair was trimmed short, probably a holdover from his time in the military. She remembered a flash of thought while holding tightly to him that he must have been a gym nut because he felt like pure muscle.

"I won't lie to you, Ms. Butler," he said, breaking her thoughts about what his chest might look like. "If you want to really get these guys, we'll need to take pictures. And that means the scratches."

Reflexively she grabbed his arm again, but only with one hand. He held up his opposite hand to stop any argument that may come.

"We have a female officer here who can do it," he continued. "She will take you to a private room and you only have to lower your shirt enough to see the scratches. And I can guarantee that any images will be kept in evidence and not shared with anyone."

She swallowed hard before speaking. "Will you come with me?"

He put his hand on hers. "That would be inappropriate. But if it will make you feel better, I'll stand just outside the door. But once we catch those thugs, and if they try to take this to trial, the images of your injuries will help immensely."

She reluctantly agreed and ten minutes later she was dressed again and standing less than a centimeter from Roger. Miller had arrived and was waiting for her. "Are you okay getting home?" Miller asked. "I would be happy to walk you to your vehicle."

Looking at Roger she asked, "Would you mind walking me?"

Miller nodded briefly so Roger agreed. "I would be happy to, Ms. Butler. When you're ready," he added, gesturing toward the exit doors.

They walked back across the street to the parking lot where they first met, and he noticed that she had wrapped her left arm around his right. He enjoyed it. Despite her fragile state, one that he would not dare take advantage of, she was a beautiful woman. It had been ages since a woman this stunning had been on his arm.

"So, Ms. Butler, which one--"

"Emma, please," she said. "Call me Emma."

He nodded as they continued walking. "Which vehicle is yours, Emma?"

She stopped walking and he turned to look at her. "I came with a classmate to the party after our lecture. I normally ride the bus." She looked up at him feeling embarrassed and now needing more help from him. "I'm sorry. My car isn't here. I-I completely forgot."

He blew through puffed out cheeks and turned to look around the darkening streets. It was late August and darkness came a bit earlier in the day. "This late, the buses through campus have stopped running. It's too hot and probably too far to walk." Turning to look around the lot again he came up with an option. "I may have a solution," he said hesitantly. "I won't put you into a situation that you're uncomfortable with, though." He paused for a moment before adding, "I would be happy to drive you home, but only if you felt safe. If not, I can have an officer here in a few minutes to take you instead."

"I would feel safer if you took me," she replied, "as long as it's not an imposition on you."

He smiled. She liked his smile. "It is not an imposition. I'm this way."

They walked another fifty feet or so and she saw lights on a four-door truck light up and heard the locks click. He walked her around to the passenger side. "If you would feel safer riding in the backseat I understand," he said as he rested his hand on the handle to the rear passenger door. "A little space between you and a perfect stranger, you know?"

"No," she said, smiling herself now. "I'm okay in the front."

With a nod he opened the front passenger door and helped her up to the running board and then into the tan leather seat. As she waited for him to circle and enter his own seat, she looked around the interior of his vehicle. It wasn't brand new, something she could tell from the fact that it still had a CD player in the dashboard, but it was immaculate. It smelled nice, and the leather seats were well taken care of.

He started the truck and immediately put the windows down to let out a bit of the heat that had accumulated throughout the day. The address she gave him was a twenty-minute drive depending on traffic. They rode in silence at first, but he felt like he needed to keep her talking, and not dwelling on what had happened in her own mind.

"Are you, ah...are you feeling better at all?" he asked, trying to break the ice.

She was still distressed by everything that had played out up to this point, but she had calmed significantly since she had been with Roger. "I am," she said with a nod. "Thank you for all of your help."

"I can honestly say that it has been my pleasure, Emma."

They chatted a bit more about his work, then how her classes were going, and before long they found themselves at her home. It was a townhouse in a nicer part of the town, which made him wonder how she could afford it. But it also hit him that she wasn't the standard teenage or young-adult college student. Emma was twenty-six. She could have been anything or anyone before she came here.

Roger jumped out of the truck and walked around to the passenger side again, opening her door. She chuckled lightly thinking he was going a bit overboard in caring for her, but she found it very gentlemanly. She was also feeling quite enamored with him.

"Home sweet home," he said as he waited for her hand.

She smiled at Roger's kind face and started to scoot, but when she locked her eyes on the front door she froze and started to pale a bit.

"Emma?" He stood closer to her, taking her hand which had gone a bit clammy. "What is it? Do I need to take you to a hospital?"

Her voice faltered a bit when she spoke. "I don't think I can stay here tonight." She looked back at him. "I just don't want to be alone." Shaking her head she sighed. "I sound so stupid right now."

"Stop," he said sharply. "You aren't stupid, and you don't sound it either. There's nothing wrong with wanting some friends or family around to help you get through this." He squeezed her hand gently. "You just point me in the right direction, and I'll deliver you wherever you want to go. Your parents, or maybe that friend from class?" Her breath was shaky, and he knew she was about to cry.

"My parents are gone, and I barely knew that girl from class," she said as she wiped the beginnings of a tear. "I don't even know her last name."

"Come on," he said as he wiped another tear from her face. "There's no need to cry. Let me help you. I can...well, let's see. I can, uh..."

He was worried about her. He didn't want to leave her alone lest she tumble down a rabbit hole of despair, but he didn't want to take her to a shelter either. He knew all the female officers at work, but would any of them want to spend time with a strange person?

"Oh!" he blurted out. "Well, you may not like this idea, but it's just an idea, okay?" He continued after she nodded. "I'm having some of my friends over tonight for a cookout, some pretty crusty, retired Marines. We do it twice a month and it's my turn to host. Now, normally I wouldn't think that would be a place you'd feel comfortable in, but Colonel Mueller will be there tonight, and he won't abide any disrespect toward women. Retired or not, he's still a Colonel, you know." She chuckled, which he took as a good sign. "And Major Ford said she was coming, a force to be reckoned with in her own right. And of course I'll be there."

He waited a moment to see what she thought of it. When no response came, he added, "You're probably hungry and I can personally guarantee that you'll eat well. And if you don't feel like hanging around the group, I can set you up in the den or the guest bedroom to just lay low. You know--watch some TV, stream something, or just take a nap. Either way, that will give you time to find somewhere to go tonight."

"Are you sure?" she asked quietly. She genuinely didn't want to impose, but she felt very connected to him. And staying at home by herself after being attacked just terrified her.

"Absolutely. And like I said, you don't have to engage with my friends any more than you want to." He gently squeezed her hand again and let go. "I don't mind waiting if you want to run in and get some clothes to change into." He nodded toward her shirt with his head. "Your shirt was probably not supposed to be as revealing as it is."