2. - – Marcus
CHAPTER TWO
-
MARCUS
“You going to sit there and eat all of those donuts? Or are you going to share some with the rest of us?” Andrew says from across the breakroom table.
I scoff. “There is plenty here for everyone. Don’t be an ass.” Shoving the last bite into my mouth, I raise my brows in challenge.
“Maybe if you didn’t just say you were going to sit there and eat every single one of them, then we’d believe you,” my dispatcher calls from the room right next to us, her voice echoing off the concrete walls.
“Fuck off, Milly,” I grumble, grabbing another donut.
A call comes in when it’s midway to my mouth, “Central to 756.”
I roll my eyes. I’m literally looking at her, and she is calling me on the radio. New protocols came out, and every call has to go over the air. No exceptions, even for our small department of two officers and one dispatcher.
I press my mic. “Go ahead.”
“Active domestic violence at 107 Viper Ln.”
My heart races as I stand, dropping the donut. I’m halfway out the door, before the rest rolls over the radio.
“Male suspect has a gun.”
Fuck. Cold morning air hits my face as I jog the rest of the way to my car. My adrenaline pumps as sweat beads on my forehead. Pressing my mic, I slide into the driver’s seat and turn on my blue lights. “En route. Code 3.”
The engine rumbles to life beneath me, vibrating through the steering wheel. There better not be any traffic this early in the morning.
Milly acknowledges me as I peel out of the precinct. The drive to the address doesn’t take long.
Every time the word “domestic” goes out over the radio, my stomach twists. I’ve been to too many where the victim almost didn’t make it. More where they didn’t make it.
Images of my last domestic call flash in my mind. The woman’s lifeless body on the ground as the man crouched over her, sobbing, Fucking sobbing, like he would miss the woman he just killed with his bare hands.
Please let me make it in time. Don’t let this one be dead. Pressing the pedal to the floor, I speed down the road. A few blocks over, I shut off my lights and sirens and go in silently.
Arriving before Andrew does, I jump out of my car. I have only half a thought of reaching back into my patrol car and grabbing my assault rifle. I click the button to release it from the cage and pull it out of the car. I chamber a round and head for the house.
Rage boils to the surface. Who does he think he is? I can hear the piece of shit screaming from outside, his voice rattling the windows and making a dog bark in the distance. No one deserves to be yelled at like that.
I march toward the front steps and only halt when I hear Andrew’s voice on the radio. “Wait for backup.”
I sigh. He’s my fucking backup. I grab my radio and call into dispatch. “Get SWAT on the way. We’ll hold the perimeter until they get here.” I know it’s the right call, but it’s taking everything in me not to barge into the house as the man’s voice gets louder.
I aim my rifle at the home, checking the double-paned windows around the front of the building, looking for movement. There’s nothing. I’m unsure where he’s located inside the house. How badly is the woman hurt?
I pace, legs burning with the need to rush into the house. Then my radio crackles. “SWAT is ten minutes out.”
Ten minutes! That’s ten whole minutes that he could be hurting her. A text message shows up on my watch, and I check it.
Andrew shows up a moment later, grabs his rifle, and gets out of his car. “Where do you want me?”
“I’m gonna go around back. Maybe get eyes on them. Watch the front door. SWATS on the way.”
He nods, and I jog to the side of the house. Wet leaves stick to my boots as I cross the yard. As I pass the first bedroom window, I hear screaming, then a loud bang of a door slamming. My heart jolts.
I finally see movement through the glass of the back door. The woman falls to her knees as she trips. Pain etches her face as she tries to get back up, but he’s there before she can. He hits her.
I see red.
“Contact! Contact,” I say over the radio to whoever is listening. I don’t really care. I’ll one-man-army this shit and be done.
I rush to the back door. My hand slips on the smooth metal knob.
Through the window, I watch in horror as the man shoves his pistol into the side of her head. I don’t wait for the green light. I burst through the back door.
I aim my rifle at the man. “Police! Get on the ground!”
His eyes go wide as he swings the gun in my direction. Everything slows. Dogs bark from the back room. The woman whimpers.
I fire. One round. Straight into the guy's chest.
He stumbles backward as the round pierces his body.
A scream of terror comes from the woman, but I ignore it.
I rush toward the man now on the floor, press my hand on the hole in his chest, and press down.
Warm blood seeps through my glove. I grab my mic.
“Shot’s fired. Suspect down. We’re in the living room. 755 I need you in here.”
Andrew doesn’t even answer the radio before pushing in through the same door I came through. His eyes widen. He slings his gun over his shoulder and leans in to help me. We roll him into a recovery position and cuff his hands behind his back.
“Add pressure, I need to check on the woman.” Before I crawl over to her, I radio dispatch. “Send EMS priority. Male. Looks to be in his 30s. Gunshot wound to the chest. We’re holding pressure now. He’s still conscious at this time.”
“10-4,” Molly responds.
When I reach her, she grips the front of my vest like her life depends on it. Her fingers tremble, knuckles white. Tears trail down her face.
I lift her into my arms. “Shh, you’re okay. I got you.” Her heartbeat hammers against my chest. I carry her out of the house as the ambulance pulls up. Her mascara runs down her face, and a dark circle has already started forming under her left eye.
A paramedic rushes into the house, and the other offers to take the woman from me, but her grip on my vest tightens. “I’ve got her,” I grumble.
I walk her over to the back of the ambulance, where the paramedic checks her over.
Once they give her the all clear and urge her to rest, I lead us to the other side of the road out of the way.
“Don’t leave me,” she whimpers. So I sit next to her on the grass as we watch the chaos unfold before us.
As the lights and sirens continue to wail, she rests her head against my shoulder.
There’s nothing more I can do right now except stay by her side untilthe captain shows up to get my statement.
After a while, her lip trembles. “I’m so glad the kids weren’t home.”
“Where are your kids?”
“They’re at my mother’s house.” A tear runs down her face. “This was supposed to be a good weekend where we had some time to ourselves. I didn’t think he would…”
“It’s okay. Everything’s going to be okay.” I rock her gently, trying to soothe her. Usually, I would pass the victim off to paramedics and go about my business, but the way she holds on to me makes my heart squeeze.
It’s like I’m her lifeline—the only thing grounding her. I clear my throat. “Do you have somewhere you can go tonight?”
“Can’t I go back in there?” She glances at the house. “I have to clean up the mess… and the blood. The dogs!” Her eyes widen. “The kids can’t see that, officer. They can’t see…”
I squeeze her shoulder. “No, hun. It’s a crime scene now. You won’t be allowed in there for a while. But I’ll make sure they grab your dogs. Where are they?”
“In the back bedroom.”
“What kind of dogs are they, and do they bite?”
She chuckles softly. “They are sweet boys. They wouldn’t hurt a fly. It’s two German shepherds.”
Just then, the paramedics put the suspect in the back of their vehicle, and after a moment, they drove away. I go to rise, but the woman’s grip tightens around me. I resign myself to just sitting here with her until someone she loves shows up.
I grab my mic. “755,” I wait for him to respond. “Grab the two dogs in the back bedroom and bring them out here, please.”
The woman winces when she tries to smile and touches her swollen cheek. “Thank you,” she whispers.
I nod, but don’t say the only thing I'm thinking.
Thank you for surviving.