>>> Item number 16350 from WRITERS LOG9308D --- (442 records) ---- <<< Date: Fri, 27 Aug 1993 18:00:06 JST Reply-To: WRITERS Sender: WRITERS From: Mike Barker Subject: SUB: Anniversary Ballgame [WARNING - THIS IS NOT A HAPPY STORY! ALSO CONTAINS MINOR PROFANITY] I tried to write something putting together some of the things we've talked about, about battering, violence, etc. If there are errors, of course, they're mine, but the roots of this one are in discussions from this group. I want to thank all of you for helping, for stirring up the embers that I've tried to capture in this. If you don't want to read this, or you want to stop partway through, I'll understand. You might let me know about that - what stopped you, that is. Since part of what this story is intended to do is rub raw spots, it would be helpful to know where I've pushed it too far.. where I need to smooth it or slow down, let the reader breath for a moment. Or where I've simply gotten boring... Incidentally - yes, more stereotypes. Sorry about that, but sometimes you want ordinary people... just like you and me, you see? Police, ER, etc - not being an expert, I may have errors. Let me know? comments may be sent to barker%aegis.or.jp@ndsuvm1.bitnet or barker%aegis.or.jp@vm1.nodak.edu tink ------------------------------ Anniversary Ballgame Mike Barker 3900 words Kevin pushed the door open, stepped inside, and pulled at his belt, settling the revolver and handcuffs as he looked around the emergency room. He walked over to the nurses' station. She was bent over papers at her desk. He waited a moment. "Excuse me. You requested a policeman?" She looked up and brushed her hair back, smiled, then pointed down the hall as her head turned down again to her papers. "Number 4. That's the beating." He rubbed the band of his hat as he turned and walked down the hall. A beating. Damn, but he hated night shift. Sometimes the memories just would not leave him alone. A young blonde woman dressed in jeans and a t-shirt sat outside the room with the "4" painted on the door. She glanced up when he stopped and knocked on the door, then looked down again with the caved in look of someone who woke up in the middle of the night and stepped into nightmare. He thought she was probably a friend of the victim. An intern opened the door and looked out. "Good, you're here. Come in, please." He stepped in, then stopped. There was a figure on the table, but it was a man. "Do I have the right room? The nurse said there was a beating..." The man on the table moved his head, and the intern stepped back. "Yes, this is the right room. Mr. Anderson wants to talk to you, and I have to finish treating him. Now, if you'll listen to him?" The intern turned and picked up a wad of cotton. He started doing something to the man's leg. The bank of equipment behind the man flashed grey-green lines with spikes. Readouts beside the screen gave numbers which meant nothing to Kevin, except that they showed the equipment was working. Kevin stepped forward and stood by the man's head. He glanced at the bandage around his forehead, then at the casts on his arm and leg. Kevin's nose wrinkled a little as he absorbed the familiar wet stone smell of the cast, the biting touch of antiseptics, and the sourish scent of sweat and fear from the man. "Yes sir? Are you ready to make a statement?" He opened his notebook and got his pen ready. The man on the table swallowed, then spoke. "You're a cop, right? About time you got here. Look, you pick up my wife and put her away. She's gone crazy." Kevin tapped his pen on the edge of the notebook. "Name?" "Her name's Andrea. She's..." "What's your name, first? We'll get to her in a minute." The man on the table started to shake his head, then stopped, stiffened, closed his eyes, swallowed, and opened his eyes again. "John. John Anderson. I don't know where my wallet is, so I can't show you no I.D." Kevin smiled for a split-second. "That's okay, John. Now, you say your wife did this to you?" "That's right. So just pick her up and put her away. I'm not safe as long as she's running around." "Slow down, John. First, tell me what happened." "Christ, how should I know? I was watching the ball game, and she laid into me with a baseball bat. She caught me in the head first, then she busted my leg, broke my arm.. hell, she pounded me good while I was down." Kevin glanced at the intern, who nodded, silently. Then the intern seemed to notice he was still holding the wad of cotton and hadn't done anything with it. He blushed, picked up a squeeze bottle of liquid, and saturated the cotton. He started brushing the outside of the cast with it. Kevin looked again at the bruised face in front of him, then at the report form. "How'd you get here? Ambulance?" The man on the table looked puzzled. "I don't know." The intern glanced up, shook his head, then concentrated on the cast again. "Well, I'll check that later. But do you have any idea why your wife would have done this?" The man on the table blew his cheeks and lips out. "No way. I mean, this is our anniversary. We've been married one year. So after work, I came home and ate dinner. She gave me a present, then I flipped on the game. After a while, during one of the commercials, well, I gave it to her quick and hard, like she likes it. Hey, you don't have to write that down. Anyway, I was watching the game again, and BAM! She starts pounding on me with a baseball bat." Kevin licked his lips. "A baseball bat?" "Yeah, sure. That was my anniversary present, she knows I like to play ball, so she bought me one. Then out of the blue she starts beating on me with it." Kevin looked at the report form. So far, he'd filled in victim's name, put down as suspect the wife's name, and marked in a baseball bat for the weapon. "Did anyone see her beating you?" "Hell, no! We were at home." "And you have no idea why she hit you?" "No. But if you waste any more time, she'll probably be in Mexico. Go arrest that bitch. Then ask her why she did it." The intern straightened up and dropped the cotton wad in a wastebasket. "Officer, if I could talk to you for a minute?" Kevin nodded. The intern bit his lip, then waved toward the door. "Maybe we could talk in my office?" "Sure. I'll need to borrow a phone, anyway, to get someone started on finding his wife." The intern started toward the door, his voice trailing back over his shoulder. "Oh, I don't think that will be any problem." As they stepped into the hall, the blonde stood up. The intern quickly turned to her. "He's fine, resting now. I'd rather you didn't go in yet, and I need to talk to this policeman right now, so why don't you just sit down and wait out here?" Her face smiled, fell, frowned, and then returned to a faint smile while he talked. Kevin guessed that she was emotionally and physically worn down to the point where every feeling was immediately reflected on her face. He wondered, idly, just what her relationship to the victim was. He'd have to check that later, though, the intern was walking away as if each step took him a little farther from something dangerous. The intern's office was small, with the untidy piles and scattered books of someone who is studying and working. Kevin settled into the guest chair with a grunt, lifting his legs for a moment to take the weight completely off his feet. "Alright, what did you want to talk to me about without letting your patient know? Does he use drugs or something?" The intern shook his head with a quick grin. "No, no, nothing like that. It's just.. I can answer some of your questions, and I've got a theory about motives." "What questions?" "Well, like how he got here. His wife brought him in." Kevin settled back in the chair. "What?" "Right. His wife went crazy, beat him to a pulp, and then brought him in here for treatment. I don't think she's crazy, although she may be headed that way." Kevin shook his head. "Well, what did she do after she brought him in? Did she say anything about where she was going? What kind of car..." "She sat down outside the treatment room and waited. That was her I just talked to in the hall." Kevin put his hand up, palm out. "Hold it. Do you have any coffee? I swear, I thought I'd heard of them all, but to beat someone, bring them into an emergency room, and then wait while the police arrive - that's new." The intern started to get up, then stopped, picked up a folder on his desk, and handed it to Kevin. Then he stepped around the desk and towards the door. "I'll get coffee. You look at that. What do you take in it?" "Black is fine. But what is..." The door slammed, and he shook his head again. He looked at the folder. The edge label read "Anderson, Andrea". It was a thick file. He opened it and started flipping through the reports. In a few minutes, the intern came back, juggling two cups of coffee with plastic lids as he opened the door. He set them on the desk, then closed the door and maneuvered back to his seat. Kevin looked at the cups. The intern waved. "Either one, they're both black. How far did you get in the file?" Kevin popped one of the lids, blew on the coffee, and sipped. Then he set the cup back down. "Not real far. I don't understand all the medical terms, for one thing. But..." The intern leaned forward. "What?" "Well, it looks as if she's been in here an awful lot. Every two, maybe three weeks?" "Yes." "And.. she's not in here for illness. She's got .. well, a fractured wrist, one time. Then cracked ribs. Oh - what are cranial contusions? If you mean someone was hitting her in the head, why..." The intern held up his hand. "Wait. In every case, Mrs. Anderson has described her conditions as the result of accidents." "Seriously?" "Quite seriously. As a matter of fact, Mr. Anderson always brings her in and insists on being with her during treatment." Kevin looked at the intern, then at the file. He took a deep breath. "You do know what you're implying?" "I know." Kevin picked up the coffee and sipped at it, glancing at the file. "Say, what's your name?" "Oh, I'm sorry. Doctor Brandon, officially. But call me Tim. My father is Doctor Brandon, too, and I always feel like he must be standing behind me when someone calls me that." "Right. Call me Kevin, then. Now, Tim, you.." Kevin was staring at one of the forms in the folder, and realized he didn't really have to ask. Still, might as well get it as a statement. He realized he was already starting to think of having to testify about this mess. "Oh, I see it here, but let's make it official. Tim, you've treated Mrs. Anderson before?" Tim leaned back and grimaced. "Yes. Matter of fact, almost everyone on emergency room duty has taken care of her from time to time. But I've definitely treated her myself." "What for?" "Last time? That was.. oh, yeah. She cracked some ribs." "And did you ask how she did it?" "Sure. First she said she fell down the stairs, then her husband reminded her that they don't have any stairs, and she decided she slipped in the bathtub." Kevin rubbed his forehead. "Have you reported this to anyone? I mean, you've got to suspect that she's.." "You mean I don't believe these are accidents. I've reported it, my boss has reported it, we've filed enough reports that they don't want to hear from us anymore. Look, Kevin, uh.." "Give it to me straight." "Okay, Kevin. All her accidents happen at home. He always brings her in, right away, and he stays with her. Social Service workers have checked, and even when she's alone, she sticks to her story of accidents. That means nobody can do anything, except keep on patching her up. At least until tonight." Kevin nodded. "Right. Tonight, apparently, she hauls off with a baseball bat and pays him back for whatever has been going on, then drags him in here. She doesn't even seem surprised or worried when a policeman turns up. Tim, what do you think is going on here?" "Kevin, I think we've got a battered wife, who for some reason fought back this time. The problem is, I don't think you'll get her to admit what is happening." Kevin picked his hat up from the desk. "Maybe it's time I talked to her, then." Kevin looked at the young blonde more carefully as the intern introduced them. She stood up, just a little shaky. Short, just barely five feet tall, and small-boned. He doubted if she weighed more than 80 pounds. "Well. Andrea, why don't you sit back down? Look, I know this whole business is hard on you, but I've got some questions. Uh, Tim, maybe you'd get Andrea some coffee or something?" She sat down, dropping her hands between her knees. Kevin waved Tim on, and he walked away. "Now, Andrea, do you want to tell me about this evening?" She smiled at him. "What did John say? He's going to be all right, isn't he?" "Suppose you tell me what happened first, then we can talk about what John said." She chewed on her lip for moment before answering. He waited. "Well, John came home from work. I'd fixed a special dinner, since it was our anniversary, but I don't think he noticed. He just shovelled it down so he wouldn't miss the game." "Did he say anything to you?" "Not really. Talked about the game, told me about some trouble he was having at work, then shovelled the food away. He took a second serving, so maybe he did notice it was special. No, he does that sometimes. I don't know if he noticed or not." "So he turned the game on?" "Yeah. Sat down and was watching. I cleaned up the table, then waited for the first commercials. I gave him a present then." "What kind of present?" "A baseball bat. He loves baseball. He plays, you know? So I thought a bat would be a good present. But he didn't get to look at it very much before the commercials ended. So I set it against the back wall." "And he watched the game." "Yeah. Oh, one time he screwed me. During a commercial." "Does he do that often?" "Well, he likes to screw me, if that's what you mean." She didn't seem to be looking at him, which was a good thing, because Kevin wasn't any too sure what his expression must look like. Then she shook her head. "Oh, you mean during a commercial, don't you? Only during ball games. I mean, well, sports kinda rev him up, and he needs to relax, so.. he grabs me during a commercial and relaxes, you know?" Kevin's pen snapped. He put the pieces carefully in his pocket. "Then what happened?" Now she looked at him. "Well, it was the strangest thing. I mean, I was looking at the bat, and at the flowers I'd put on the table, and kind of waiting for him to ask me to get him a beer, just letting my mind drift, you know, and then I picked up the bat and hit him in the head with it. I can't imagine why I did that, but when he fell, I hit him again a few times. Then I helped him up, and got him out to the car. I don't think he really knew what was happening." "And you brought him here?" "Of course. That's what he always does when I have an accident. I'm sort of clumsy, you know, and I have accidents now and then. John always brings me here, and he stays with me while the doctors fix up whatever I've broken." "How long have you had accidents, Andrea?" "Oh, they started just after we got married. John gets drunk, or he has trouble at work, and.. I guess I start worrying, and don't think, and then I have an accident." "What do you think is going to happen next, Andrea?" She smiled at him. "You're going to arrest me, of course. I mean, beating someone is a terrible thing to do, isn't it? So you'll arrest me, and they'll put me in prison. Do you think I can get a long sentence?" Kevin glanced around, and saw Tim waiting down the hall. He waved him to join them. "Tim, would you wait here with her for a few minutes? I need to think about.. well, I need to think about some things." Kevin walked. He started outside to call in, then shook his head and just started walking the halls. The night lighting was plenty to see by, and the halls were quiet, except for mechanical clicks and whistles of machinery working to keep the patients healthy. He breathed long and deep, letting the anger work itself out of his shoulders and arms, feeling the calmness of the hospital slowly seep in. He glanced into a ward, seeing small lamps glowing and ranked beds as darker masses. He didn't need more light, he'd seen enough wards before. He knew where the nursing station was, the staff rooms where the doctors slept through shifts when times were slack, and the cafeteria with its always heated cardboard snacks and stale drinks that disappeared because the visitors and staff were too tired and too wrapped in their own thoughts to notice what they were eating. He walked until he was calm again. Then he considered. Finally, he laughed, and made his way back to the emergency treatment rooms. Time to lay it on the line again. The intern looked up. Andrea must have decided he was going to arrest her, because she stood up and held her hands out. Kevin shook his head. "No, Andrea, I don't think so. I want you and Tim to come in with me, and we're going to talk to John one more time." He held the door for them, then followed them in. Tim stepped towards the machinery that was monitoring John, then turned. Andrea moved toward John's arm, and John's eyes widened. "What the hell? Hey, bitch, you touch me again and..." Kevin moved forward and set his thumb carefully on a bruise, squeezing the unbroken arm just a little. John winced. "Now, John, shut up for a minute. I just thought all of you should know that I'm going to have to accept your statements. Let me repeat it, just so you can tell me if I've left anything out." John's eyes turned toward Andrea, then back to Kevin. "Yeah, but let go of my..." Kevin squeezed again. "Shut up." John quit talking. Kevin looked at Tim, who glanced at Andrea, then turned to watch the monitors. Andrea was just looking at Kevin's face, without looking at John. "Now, John, you said this was an accident, right?" Kevin squeezed, and John twisted. He finally spat out. "Fuck you, that's not..." Kevin dug in a little harder. "Right. Whatever you say." "John, I don't think you understand yet. You slipped and fell in the bathtub. Isn't that what you told me?" Kevin squeezed again. John grunted. "Hell, aren't you a cop?" "Hey, John, are you a coward? Does it make you feel good to beat your wife? Answer me, John." He didn't squeeze. John glared up at him. "Look, you, I'm the one who got beat up." "What about the other times?" "Those were accidents. Ask her, she'll tell you." Kevin leaned down close. "Just like tonight was your accident. Now do you understand, John?" "You want me to lie about it?" "Nope. Just tell the truth the same way you did about your wife's accidents, that's all." John looked around nervously. Tim watched his instruments. Andrea looked at John, then smiled. Kevin straightened up. "OK, John, Andrea? Everybody understands that tonight was an accident?" John chewed his lip, then started to smile. "You gotta go sometime, pig. Then I'll..." Kevin leaned on the bruise, really digging his thumb in. He leaned down and whispered in John's ear, holding him flat with his other hand. "John. Next time you're drunk, next time you get pissed at work, you remember this. You remember that every team gets a chance at bat. And when you hit your wife, remember - when she gets up to bat, I'll take some time off and pinch hit for her. You think she worked you over with that bat this time? John, I can leave you in pain for the rest of your life! So you had best remember." He stood up, then let go. He waited. "Who the fuck..." "John." John shut up. "You are lucky, buddy. You just had a little accident, that's all. And day after tomorrow I'm going to visit you, and we're going to a meeting." "What?" "All husbands with your kind of problem, bud. You want to hit someone? We'll let you, but you'll get hit back, too. It won't be easy, and we may have to bring you back here for Tim to work on a few times, but you can learn to keep it under control." John started to turn his head away, then stiffened. He glared at Kevin. "What the hell would you know about it?" Kevin rubbed his hand on his belt. He started to look at the wall, then looked John straight in the eyes. "I know because I beat my wife, too. But she left me. I know you can get it under control because I did, mostly. You just remember that when I can't handle it any more, well, I hunt up bums like you and let it out a little." Tim was staring at him, but he'd learned to understand that. Andrea had moved back, too, and that hurt more, but he understood her fear. "So, John, you could consider me your brother. Might as well, 'cause I'm going to be there whenever you turn around for a while. If not me, then one of the other men in our group. Oh, and one of my 'sisters' is going to be talking to your wife. We'll teach her to really use that bat. Gotta get her ready for her turn at bat." He started to turn and leave, then turned back. "Smile, John. Your little accident is going to change your life! Oh, and happy anniversary to both of you." Kevin got out to the car and called in, then sat and shook for a while. He got her picture out of his wallet and looked at it for a long time. When he finally spoke, he could barely hear himself. "Sweetheart, I've almost got it beat. If I ever get another chance, I promise I'll do my best. One day at a time, one person at a time, I'm turning it around." He thought a moment, then closed his eyes and bent his head. "God, I know I don't deserve it, but.. give me another inning and help me make it a no-hitter, please?" He put the picture away carefully, then started the engine and rolled into the dark. The emergency room lights faded, and the memories of all the times he'd put his wife there. The End -------------------------- One question that I didn't want to ask ahead of time - does having the viewpoint character turn out to be a wife beater himself "work"? --------------------------