Chapter 10
Darren
I'm beyond thankful that I've been included in this meeting, but I want to rip someone from limb to limb when my grandfather says that they have video.
Most of all though, I want to see it. See the face of the man who thought he could touch this woman, the face of the man who thought he'd be able to get away with this because he probably figured she wouldn't have it in her to make a report.
My mind is running wild when I hear my dad begin to speak.
"Okay Macie, run me through the few hours leading up to the incident. Where did you see the man before?"
She's quiet for a few minutes, gathering her thoughts. I squeeze her hand again and she squeezes mine in return. I want to give her every bit of support I can. This is going to be difficult for the both of us.
"I've tried to think back to when I first saw him.
It was earlier in the day, like almost mid-morning.
At first, I was working in the ER, because there were a couple of walk-in Labor and Delivery patients.
Once those were either discharged, or had been transferred to the L&D floor, I got called up to work there.
Initially I was doing paperwork for shift change.
" She stops and takes a deep breath. "I was sitting there, and a man walked up to the nurse's station.
He introduced himself, and told me that his wife had been admitted, and was in labor. "
"Do you remember his name?" My dad asks her.
"Gerald Simmons," she says the words as if they leave a bad taste in her mouth.
Both the men in front of us write down the name, but I don't have to. That's committed to my memory, and I will never fucking forget it.
"Go ahead and continue," my grandfather encourages her.
"So when I looked at the chart, there was a note that said she didn't want others to know she was in the hospital. I told him to please have a seat in the waiting room, and someone would be with him."
Her voice gets much lower, and I have a feeling this is where I'm going to hear what's going to piss me off the most. It takes everything I have to get my shit under control. She doesn't need to manage my feelings when this shit happened to her.
"I went down the hallway and entered her room.
She had just given birth, and was doing skin to skin with her new baby.
Honestly, I felt like I was intruding on a special moment and I hated to bring this to her right at that time, but I was worried about keeping the man waiting for very long.
" She stops for a second, taking a drink of water, then forges on.
"I told her as quickly and delicately as possible that Gerald was out in the waiting room.
" She stops again, her face taking on a pained expression.
"You're doing good," I murmur to her. I don't miss the way both members of my family eyeball Macie and I's clasped hands.
"The look that came to her eyes sent chills down my spine.
That should've been my first clue that something was not right about that man.
She told me it was okay to let him know she was there, and the baby was born, but she didn't want to see him.
There was a restraining order and she'd given it to the registration clerk who had checked her in.
I went to the computer in the room, and verified that information.
Then I called security and waited for an officer to come before we went to the waiting area. "
I find myself nodding in approval. The woman at my side literally did everything correctly and the world at large failed her, because we let people like this out into that world.
If I find this guy, he is mine, for not only what he did to the mother of his child, but what he did to the woman I care about.
Truth be told, I absolutely do not want to hear what she's going to tell us, but I know that I want to be the man she needs.
Macie's hand trembles in mine, and I tighten my grip, letting her know that there are people here in this room, who give a damn.
"Security came," she continues. "Two officers, actually.
They had the police with them, because they told me to call them.
They asked him to step outside with them, told him there was a no-contact order on file and he needed to leave the premises.
" She swallows hard. "He didn't argue. That's the thing," she shrugs, trying to make sense of everything that happened.
"He was calm. But looking back, he was way too calm.
He just looked at me over their shoulders and said, he'd leave.
And then he smiled, like none of it mattered to him at all.
Like we were all just inconveniencing him. "
"Did he say anything else?" my dad asks, pen hovering.
"He said…" She stops, pressing her lips together. I watch her gather the words. "He said that everyone would be sorry about all of this.' Then he walked out like he didn't have a single care in the world."
The room goes quiet except for the tick of the clock on the wall, and the sound of the men in front of us writing out her statement.
My grandfather doesn't look up, but I see his jaw tighten, the same way mine does when shit people do piss me off.
Law enforcement learns to keep their faces impassive.
Or we're supposed to. But me? I never quite managed it, not when it's someone I care about sitting next to me with bruises blooming under her makeup.
"Macie." My dad's voice softens, just slightly. "I need you to tell us what happened after that. Take your time."
She nods, but her eyes turn distant. I've seen that look on victims before, in my line of work. The body's here, but the mind's back in the parking lot, replaying it whether it wants to or not.
"My shift ended around eleven," she says.
"I walked out to my car like I always do.
I wasn't thinking about him anymore, honestly.
I figured he'd left like security told him to.
I was halfway across the lot, looking down at the ground.
It had been a long shift, and I was tired.
I wasn't expecting anything, and then…" Her breath catches.
I feel it in her hand before I hear it in her voice, a tremor that runs straight up her arm into mine.
"I ran into him. He was just there. Out of nowhere.
I apologized about running into him, and he asked if I remembered him. "
I don't move. I don't make a sound. Every cell in my body wants to get up, wants to put my fist through the nearest wall, but I sit there, still as stone, because she needs that from me more than she needs my rage right now.
"Hand to God, at first I didn't remember him.
I try to not get personally involved with patients, so half the time I don't know who their family is.
I told him I was sorry," she continues. "That pissed him off.
He grabbed my wrist and hit me before I knew what was happening.
Closed fist, right here." She touches her cheekbone, the spot faintly purple beneath the concealer she layered on before we drove over here together.
"I went down. I remember the asphalt under my hands, how hard it was.
And then he kicked me. Twice, I think. Maybe three times.
I curled up — I don't even remember deciding to do that, my body just did it on its own — and I covered my head, and I just kept thinking, please don't let this be it, please don't let this be how it ends in a parking lot over a man I should never have had to deal with in the first place. "
My grandfather's pen stops moving. My dad's hand has gone flat against the table, fingers spread, like he's holding himself down by pressing into the wood.
"He said something before he left," Macie says, voice barely above a whisper now.
"He leaned down right next to my ear, like he wanted to make sure I heard every word of it clearly.
He said, leave families alone, and just do your damn job.
If you interfere again, you'll get even worse done to you.
Then he just walked away. Like he'd dropped a piece of trash, not a person. "
I can't breathe right. My lungs feel like they've forgotten the mechanics of pulling air in and pushing it back out.
I want to ask her why she didn't call 911 right there in the parking lot, why she didn't flag down security, but I already know the answer before I ask it, because I've seen this exact thing too many times on the job.
Fear doesn't follow logic. Fear tells you to run, to hide, to get somewhere that feels safe before you even think about reporting, about paperwork, about justice.
"How'd you get to my place?" I ask, my voice rougher than I mean it to come out.
"I drove myself." She finally looks at me, and the guilt in her eyes guts me.
"I shouldn't have. I know that now. But all I could think was that I needed to get somewhere safe, and your house was the only place that felt like that.
I don't even really remember the drive. I just remember pulling into your driveway and you opening the door, and then I don't remember much else until you were calling your parents. "
That part, I remember with painful clarity.
The headlights cutting across my living room window past midnight.
Opening my front door to find her standing on my porch.
The way my entire world tilted sideways when she finally showed me her face.
My training kicked in and I asked her all the right questions, like any other victim. I fucking hate that word. Victim.
Except she wasn't any other victim. She was Macie. The woman who, somewhere in the last few months, has become the person I think about before I fall asleep and the first person I want to text when something good happens to me.
And some piece of garbage with a God complex had put his hands on her like she was nothing.
"You did everything right," my grandfather says finally, breaking the silence. His voice carries the authority of the Chief of Police, and not just my grandfather. "Every step, from telling him about the restraining order to coming straight to Darren's. You hear me, Macie? Every single step."
"I keep thinking I should've fought back harder," she says. "I keep thinking…"
"Don't." The word comes out of me sharper than I intend, and she flinches, just slightly, and I hate myself for it, hate that any sharpness from me could make her flinch after what she's been through.
I gentle my voice immediately, but I don't take the word back.
"Don't you dare sit there and find ways to blame yourself for what he did.
You didn't do anything wrong. Not one single thing.
He's the one who put his hands on a woman and got himself into this mess.
Who told two security officers and police officers to their faces that he was leaving and then waited in a parking lot like a coward to ambush you. That's on him. All of it. Every ounce."
My dad clears his throat, glancing between Macie and me with an expression I can't quite read.
It's somewhere between concern and trying to figure out what's going on between us.
"We've got the security footage from the lot.
It's grainy, but it's enough. Combined with your statement and the hospital incident report, we've got more than enough to bring assault charges, on top of the restraining order violation. "
"And we will find him," my grandfather adds, leveling a look at me that tells me he already knows exactly what's running through my head. "Through proper channels, Darren."
I don't answer that. I can't promise him something I don't know if I can keep.
Because here's the truth I'm not saying out loud in this room: somewhere out there, Gerald Simmons is walking around free, breathing the same air as the rest of us, while Macie sits here with a bruised face and a fear in her eyes that wasn't there thirty-six hours ago.
And every protective instinct I have, every part of me that chose this job because I wanted to be someone who keeps people safe, is screaming that proper channels aren't going to be enough if that man comes near her again.
I squeeze her hand once more, and this time she looks at me, really looks at me, like she's trying to read what's happening behind my eyes.
"I'm not going anywhere," I tell her, low enough that it's just for her, even though I know my dad and grandfather can hear every word. "Not tonight. Not after this. Whatever you need, for as long as you need it. I promise I'm here."
Her eyes well up, and she nods, like she believes me. I need her to believe me, because I mean every single word of it down to my bones.
But underneath that promise, sits another one. This one much colder. One I make only to myself, in the silence of my own head, where my father and grandfather can't hear it and Macie doesn't need to carry the guilt of it.
I will find him. And when I do, he is going to understand exactly what it feels like to be afraid.