The Rapture of Omega

by Stacy Dittrich

I bent down and began to furiously scratch at the bottom of the door with my nails. I stood up and waited.

  Nothing.

  I scratched at the door again, and this time Paula took the bait.

  “What the…” I could hear her walking toward the door. “I thought I locked those damn dogs up!”

  The door handle began to rattle as she unlocked the door. When she had opened it just a crack, I made my move. Jumping in front of the door, I could see Paula peering through the crack. Upon seeing me, she tried to slam it shut—but she was too late. I kicked the door as hard as I could, which sent her flying to the floor on her back. She quickly tried to get up, but I threw myself on her with such force, she knocked her head on the floor. I grabbed both of her hands and twisted them above her head as she writhed and struggled beneath me. I had to get to my radio and knew I would have to suffer a few blows if I released one of her hands. As she punched and clawed at my face, I grabbed the radio, clicked the button, and screamed breathlessly:

  “Move in! Move in! Officer in trouble!”

  I heard Lola screaming somewhere within the room, but couldn’t look for her. Paula had managed to knock the radio from my hand and grab a hold of my hair, pulling my face to the floor. I scanned the ground, looking for a gun but didn’t see any. The old adage that looks could be deceiving was true; Paula Terman was one hell of a strong woman. That, coupled with the fact that she was crazy, made the fight even more exhausting.

  While she still had my hair, she began to punch my face. The punches were wildly thrown so they were a mixture of hits and misses. I used all of my strength to throw us both against the nearest wall and slam her repeatedly against it until she let go of my hair. I quickly grabbed her hands, and we spun around and fell against a nightstand, shattering the lamp and landing in the glass. Somewhere in the distance I heard the loud stampede of footsteps. The officers would be in the room within seconds. But first I wanted to take the opportunity to express my complete and utter hatred for Paula Terman. While she lay on her back, I managed to hold both of her hands above her with one of mine. As close to her face as I could, I told her my exact thoughts.

  “You’re done! You hear that, Paula! You lost, you redneck piece of shit!”

  I finished my opinion by punching her square in the face, welcoming the stream of blood that began to flow from her nose. At precisely that moment the room became flooded with SWAT officers. I was pushed to the side, and four full-grown men leaped on Paula, flipping her onto her face and handcuffing her. Somewhat disoriented, I scoured the room in search of Lola.

  She was curled up on the bed with her hands over her face, sobbing. I ran over and picked her up, realizing then how close I had come to losing her. I felt my own sobs begin to rise and had to forcefully ignore them. She needed comforting more than anything else, and I couldn’t do that if I was a babbling mess.

  “It’s okay, sssshhh…” I held her tight. “Mommy’s here, Lola. It’s okay…”

  She peeled her face off my shoulder and looked at me. Her eyes opened wide and she let out a horrific scream.

  “Mama bleed!”

  I felt no pain, so it hadn’t dawned on me that I might be bleeding. Apparently, I was. I reached up and felt the warm blood trickle from several scratches on my face, and saw numerous cuts on my hand from the broken glass. After what I’ve been through in the past, these injuries were a walk in the park. I smiled.

  “Mommy’s okay, baby, just a couple of scratches.” I sat on the bed still holding her tight. “Would you like to go home now?”

  She nodded, her face still scrunched up, red and puffy.

  “Did she hurt you?” I whispered, terrified at the possible answer. “Are you hurt?”

  Her bottom lip protruding out, she shook her head back and forth. Thank God, because I think at that point if Paula had so much as put a scratch on Lola, I might have killed her.

  “Oh, Jesus! Are you two okay?” I heard Michael’s voice from behind us.

  “Dadee!” Lola began to cry again.

  He sat next to us on the bed with such force I thought we would bounce up into the ceiling. Lola reached for Michael and he took her into a tight hold, gently rubbing her small back while she cried.

  “You okay, Cee? What the hell happened? You’re bleeding!” His voice dripped with concern.

  “I’m fine, just a few scratches. It was a hell of a fight—”

  “You can’t do this!” Paula’s screams interrupted. “This is police brutality! I want all of your names, I’m gonna have your badges, motherfuckers!”

  Paula was promptly shoved through the bedroom door by several officers to an awaiting police car. As far as I was concerned, the nightmare was over. Naomi and Coop came running into the bedroom to ensure that Lola and I were okay.

  As I sat in one of the ambulances getting my scratches and cuts cleaned up and disinfected, I insisted on holding Lola. It was almost morning and she was having a hard time staying awake. Holding her in my arms, I rocked her gently back and forth while she teetered on the brink of a deep sleep.

  “Why don’t you let me take her home, Cee,” Michael whispered before kissing Lola’s forehead. “She’s been through a lot.”

  I nodded, knowing it was best for her, but sickened at the prospect of letting her out of my arms.

  “Did you call home? Rena and the kids are worried sick,” I said.

  “I called a little bit ago and told them Lola was okay. I guess Selina was hysterical, so Rena got her calmed down.”

  As Michael took Lola from me, I realized that for the first time he hadn’t chastised me for going “outside the boundaries” of law enforcement. Normally in a situation like this, he would have scolded me for putting my life in danger. I called him on it.

  “No lectures tonight, Michael?” I gave a slight smile.

  He sighed. “I gave up on those a long time ago, and, frankly, I’m glad you did it. If I’d figured it out before you, I would’ve done the same thing. I don’t think I could take something happening to one of our children.”

  He leaned over and kissed me good-bye with a promise to see me at home shortly.

  After only a few more minutes in the ambulance I was given a clean bill of health. Once the blood was cleaned off, the scratches weren’t that bad. I made the medical technician disinfect the cuts not once, but twice. As filthy as Paula Terman was, I tried to put the thought of HIV or hepatitis C in the back of my mind, but it was difficult.

  “C’mon, I’ll drive you home.” Naomi walked up and extended her hand to help me down from the ambulance.

  Sheer exhaustion took over during the car ride. Although my fight with Paula didn’t last all that long, the high amount of adrenaline that took over for hours finally dissipated—leaving me barely able to keep my eyes open. Naomi had to shake me awake when we pulled into my driveway.

  “Cee, wake up, you’re home,” she whispered.

  I welcomed the sight of my house and the prospect of my own bed. Thankfully, Michael was waiting up for me. The kids had long since gone to bed and Michael said that after he had given Lola a bath, she fell asleep while he was dressing her. I went upstairs and looked down on her sleeping peacefully in her crib. I felt the anger rising again at what she had been put through tonight. Michael met me in the hallway.

  “You need to get some sleep. I’ll stay up in case Lola wakes up.”

  “Okay, but wake me up in two hours.”

  He looked perplexed. “Two hours? Naomi told me she gave you the day off today. Look, Cee, you’re not going to work—”

  “I know. But I am going to Paula’s arraignment this morning.” I looked at him defiantly.

  “Oh, c’mon! You don’t need to be there for that!”

  “I don’t care. I’m going. I want that bitch to see me in the courtroom after what she just put this family through, and I want to make sure she gets what she deserves.”

  Knowing better than to argue, Michael simply shook his head and went downstairs. As tired
as I was, I found it difficult to sleep. I got up at least twice to check on Lola; to make sure she was still in her crib and breathing. I had probably slept for less than an hour when Michael woke me up. He looked as exhausted as I felt. Like me, he had checked on Lola several times and had not slept at all. He dove into our bed and was sound asleep before I even got out of the shower.

  Driving to the courthouse, I felt more than awake when I considered the prospect of seeing Paula Terman once again. The prosecutor trying the case, Lance Davis, met me in the hallway.

  “CeeCee? What are you doing here? You know you don’t have to be present this morning.”

  I raised an eyebrow at him.

  “All right, I get the message. Right now, we’re charging her with aggravated burglary, aggravated kidnapping, and aggravated child endangerment. We’ve got a slew of other charges but this will be enough to hold her on indefinitely.”

  “I hope so.” I scanned the lobby looking for Paula. “Is she here yet?”

  “She’s inside already. Do me a favor and sit in the back. I don’t want the judge to think you’re there to intimidate her.”

  I had already assumed he would say this and merely nodded. I followed Lance into the courtroom and quietly slid into the last row of benches near the door. Paula was seated in the jury box, wearing a bright red county inmate jumpsuit. The red was for maximum-security inmates only. She was shackled and flanked by two corrections officers. If she noticed me in the courtroom, she certainly didn’t show it. She had a swollen right eye and tape across her nose, compliments of yours truly, and stared straight ahead—looking tired and haggard. There was something in her face that contrasted Illeana Barron’s. I found it disturbing.

  “State versus Paula E. Terman, case number CP-98762. Ms. Terman, are you present?” the judge announced.

  Paula was led to the podium facing the judge.

  “Yes, sir.” She looked grim.

  “Ms. Terman, you are being charged with one count of aggravated burglary, one count of aggravated kidnapping, and one count of aggravated child endangerment. Do you understand these charges?”

  “Yes.”

  “Mr. Davis, does the prosecution have any additional requests this morning?”

  Lance Davis stood up from the prosecutor’s table.

  “Yes, Your Honor. Due to the violent nature of the crime, and the fact we will be filing additional charges, the prosecution requests the defendant be held without bond. She is from Texas, has no known permanent residence, and is considered by this office to be a great flight risk. We also feel she poses a substantial threat to the child victim in this case as well.”

  “Request for denial of bail granted. Ms. Terman, do you wish to hire an attorney or are you seeking a court-appointed attorney on the basis of indigence?”

  “I don’t know what that means, Judge.”

  Big surprise there.

  “It means you are stating you have no financial means to hire your own attorney, and therefore the state will pick up the tab.”

  “I ain’t got no money.”

  “All right, the court determines the defendant indigent and therefore will appoint attorney Dan Maccoby to handle the case. We will hold off on entering a plea until Ms. Terman has a chance to confer with Mr. Maccoby. We will meet back here tomorrow morning. Court adjourned.”

  I waited for Lance Davis outside the courtroom. I wasn’t worried about Dan Maccoby; he was the king of plea deals. Trials terrified him, so any deal put on the table was mostly accepted. Definitely a point for the good guys.

  “So what are you going to throw down?” I asked Lance.

  “How about a plea to the kidnapping and burglary with a minimum of twenty-five—no possibility for parole until then? He’ll take it. If we go to trial, he knows she’ll get life in the blink of an eye.”

  I knew that Paula Terman wouldn’t live another twenty-five years considering the shape she was in, so I agreed. It would save all of us the gut-wrenching prospect of a lengthy trial. This way, we would be able to put this behind us and move on with our lives. Either way, Paula Terman would die in prison, and that was simply fine by me.

  By the time I got home, the children were awake and I was barraged by questions from Selina, Isabelle, and Rena about the previous night’s events. Selina was holding Lola. She wore an expression that dared anyone to try to take her little sister out of her arms. Her protectiveness made me smile. After several minutes of coaxing, I was able to hold Lola and cover her face with kisses, which made her giggle uncontrollably. Yes, our nightmare was finally over.

  Exhaustion reared its ugly head later in the morning and Michael suggested I try to get some rest.

  “We’ve been through a lot—the tornado, Paula, everything! You need to get some rest, Cee. If you keep up like this, you’re going to get sick, and if I know you, you’re going to go back to work and hunt Ms. Illeana Barron with a vengeance.” He smiled. “You’ll need all your strength to do that.”

  He was right. I hadn’t thought about Illeana in the last several days, but as her image played around in my head, I realized I needed some sleep. I was so exhausted that I fell asleep in my clothes. I slept soundly and deeply, and felt somewhat disoriented when Michael woke me around six o’clock that evening. He was seated on the bed next to me. Even in the fading sunlight, I could see him smiling broadly.

  “I was going to let you sleep all night, but I thought you would want to hear this,” he said.

  “What?” I mumbled, trying to rub the remaining sleep from my eyes.

  “It’s done, officially.”

  “What is?” I wasn’t in the mood for word games.

  “Paula.” He grabbed my hand and gave it a squeeze. “Lance Davis just called. Dan Maccoby took the first plea deal without question. Paula signed off on it—she’ll be formally sentenced to twenty-five years first thing in the morning!”

  “Oh, Michael!” I sat up wide-awake and embraced him. “It’s really over! She’s really ours!”

  I didn’t realize how hard I was crying until Michael reached over to the nightstand and grabbed a tissue, gently wiping at my eyes.

  “Yes, it’s over,” he soothed. “We’ve finally got our baby—for real and forever. When things settle down, I’ve already decided we’re long overdue for a family vacation. How’s Florida sound? A week at the beach and a week at Disney World? I think the kids would agree.”

  “I think that sounds wonderful,” I laughed. “Now, go get my beautiful baby girl and bring her here!”

  Waiting for Michael to bring Lola up, I lay back onto my pillow and realized the magnitude of the past several weeks. I stared up at the ceiling with a smile on my face, knowing everything would be okay. But as my detective instincts began to overshadow the joy I felt, my smile slowly faded. Damn! Why couldn’t I be happy for at least one minute?

  It was life, that’s why. My life of fighting criminals—murderers, sex offenders, robbers, and child abusers—continued to loom out there in the darkness. One of them in particular, a homely-looking woman who wore a smile filled with evil.

  Paula Terman might be gone, but Illeana Barron wasn’t. I had a feeling that maybe my nightmare wasn’t over, and this was only the beginning.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Although in good spirits, I couldn’t help but feel slightly unnerved as I drove to work, always the perfect place to dash any hopes of a peaceful and content day. I was beginning to loathe my job more and more. I felt drained after the last several days, and wanted to be home with my children and Michael.

  Trying to stay positive, I pulled into the parking lot and again noticed the apartment building across the street. A man was watching again, but this time he threw the curtains together when he saw me slow down and look at him.

  It wasn’t paranoia, but instincts, that told me the incident was definitely worth looking into. Thankfully, there was a for-rent sign advertising the bottom unit of the building. I quickly wrote the number down. Then I found a parking
spot nearest the station. Walking toward the secured police entrance, I knew without a doubt I was still being watched. Ignoring Naomi’s and Coop’s open office doors, I walked into my office and closed the door behind me, a sign I didn’t want to be disturbed under any circumstance.

  As I dialed the number on the sign, I impatiently chewed my lip. It only took the walk from my car to my office for me to figure out what I was going to say. It was several rings before a gruff, groggy-sounding man’s voice answered the phone.

  “Yeah, what is it?” he barked.

  “Excuse me, but who am I speaking with?” I asked kindly.

  “Who the fuck wants to know?”

  “This is Sergeant Gallagher with Richland Metro and I’m looking for the owner of the apartments at 55 North Street—across from the station.” I stayed polite, knowing the guy was shitting his pants about now.

  There was quite a bit of rustling and moving about as the man attempted to pull himself together, most likely cursing his own phone etiquette.

  “Yeah, um, that’s me…sorry ’bout that, ma’am. I get a lot of people calling to rent this early in the morning and I’m a night owl. Didn’t mean any disrespect.”

  “No problem, I completely understand. The reason I’m calling is I’d like to know who occupies the upper-right apartment of the building, if you’re facing my station.”

  I was met with silence, a response that concerned me, greatly.

  “Are you there?” I asked.

  The man coughed into the phone. “Yeah, yeah, I’m here…who did you say you were?”

  I was starting to get irritated, and suspicious. “I’m Sergeant Gallagher with Richland Metro Major Crimes. Would you mind telling me your name, please?”

  “It’s uh, umm, Gary. Gary Harris. Why are you asking about the upper apartment?”

  “We have been receiving reports of a possible sexual predator living there. He has been seen frequently following children in the area and one of the parents followed him home. Now, I need you to tell me his name so I can check to see if he is a registered sexual predator. At the very least, I’ll need to speak with him,” I lied.