The older police officer grabbed his portable radio and pushed the button. There was one squelch before he spoke. “Central, be advised, we’ll be transporting one on domestic assault charges.”
In one swift motion, the man’s younger partner removed a set of handcuffs from his belt while grabbing Mac by the arm.
Mac freaked. “Jen, please,” he yelped, pulling away from the aggressive cop. “Tell them this is a mistake.”
“Sir, please,” she pleaded, “not here, not in front of our children.” Although she shared her husband’s anxiety, hers was for her children.
Mac scowled at her once before yanking his arm out of the officer’s grasp in a rush of panic.
The muscle head, however, wouldn’t have any of it. Like a cornered badger, he pounced on Mac and began wrestling with him until they fell to the floor in one massive thud.
Jillian ran to her father’s side. “Stop hurting my dad,” she screamed. “Mom, make him stop!”
“Please officer, not here,” Jen repeated.
Mac’s thrashing body was rolled until he was face down. As the younger police officer knelt on his back, the other forced Mac’s arms behind his back.
Mac bucked and convulsed, groaning like a wounded animal. “This is my home,” he panted.
“You need to comply,” the older officer said, already winded, “before you get hurt.”
Finally surrendering to the officers’ manhandling, Mac’s body went limp. “Come on,” he whimpered, “not in front of my kids.” As the handcuffs were applied, he looked up at his children. “I’m sorry, guys,” he whimpered. “I’m so sorry.” Mac was jerked to his feet. “I love you guys more than anything in the world,” he told them, his grimacing face betraying his physical discomfort.
By now, everyone was crying.
“I’m sorry, Ma’am,” the silver-haired officer claimed. “Under these circumstances, we have no choice but to arrest.”
Jen was in shock. “I…I understand.”
As Mac winced from the pain in his wrists, each officer grabbed an arm and began walking him out of the house. He was looking at Jen with contempt and hatred before he refocused on his children’s horrified eyes. Everyone froze and, to their surprise, the officers allowed him a moment to speak. He could barely get the words out; they were clearly stuck behind the lump in his throat. “Guys, I’m so sorry you had to see this. But don’t you worry about Dad, okay? It’s all just a big mistake. Mom and I will clear this whole thing up.”
While Jillian kept her distance, the two smaller kids ran to him, wrapping their arms around his quivering legs. Two sets of wide eyes looked up, searching for their father’s comfort.
“I love you guys more than anything in the world,” he vowed, “always remember that.” Looking over at Jillian, he fought back the tears. “And I’ll be home soon. I promise.”
As the officers escorted Mac out the front door, Jen dropped to her knees, spreading her arms to her frightened children. Bella and Brady immediately went to her. Jillian, however, refused her mother’s comfort. They all grieved—violently.
Between sobs, the echo of a deep voice traveled back into the house. “You have the right to remain silent, tough guy. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford…”
⧝
His fingers stained black, Mac’s belt and shoes had already been removed from him when he used the station’s desk phone to dial home. The kids sounded happy. “Hi, you’ve reached the Andersons. Please leave a message and we’ll get right back to ya. Have a great day.”
As his eyes filled with tears, the booking officers took notice. A young police officer grabbed him by the arm and laughed. “Well pal,” he said, “that’s your one and only phone call. Looks like you’ll be spending the whole night here at the roach motel.”
The older officer—understanding more compassion—pulled his inexperienced partner’s arm off of Mac, lifted the telephone out of its cradle again and handed it to their prisoner.
Mac was still in a state of shock. “Oh, that’s okay. Thanks anyway,” he mumbled, “but I have no one else to call.” He hung up the black handset.
The officer looked confused. “What about your attorney? Don’t you want to make bail and get out of here?”
Mac shook his head. “I don’t want to bother him at home. I’ll call him in the morning.” He shrugged. “If it’s just the same, I’ll stay here tonight.”
The older officer offered a solemn nod and escorted his pathetic prisoner into one of the grimy cells.
At the door, Mac turned to him. “Maybe I could try to call my house again in a little while?” he suggested.
The man nodded. “I’ll come get you in a bit when we don’t have any company.” He looked up the short corridor. “It’s easy to mistake kindness for weakness around here and I don’t need to get my balls busted over it.”
Mac nodded. “I understand. And I appreciate it.” He took a seat on the bunk. Within seconds, he rolled himself into the fetal position where a whole new feeling tapped him on the shoulder; it was depression.
⧝
There was an evil force that pulled at Mac and, though he didn’t want to go, his tired mind gave in. The tunnel was dark and he saw no end. Carrying a tremendous weight upon his shoulders, he only wished to rest—perhaps sleep forever—but the fear of staying in this tunnel of hell made him want to forge ahead. He sensed there were others in the tunnel, but a vicious loneliness tore at his soul. Each step was agonizing, as he went nowhere. Finally collapsing onto the cold floor, he wondered, Does anyone even know that I’m lost? Does anyone know how to pull me out? While one last tear tumbled down his twisted face, a tormenting fear welled up inside of him. He’d reached despair, perhaps, for him—the end.
⧝
Life at the Anderson house was no less bleak. Jen was an emotional wreck, as she tried to straighten up her kitchen in the aftermath of Hurricane Mac—a swath of devastation left in his bizarre wake. “You had to see him, Diane,” she said, resting the phone in the crook of her shoulder. “He was a madman. I really didn’t know if he was going to hurt me.”
“That son-of-a…” Diane squawked, “putting his hands on you like that. You’re going to press charges, right?”
“The police told me that it’s out of my hands,” Jen explained between sniffles. “They said they’re charging Mac with domestic assault.”
“Good enough,” Diane said.
Jen shook her head. “I know Diane, but it’s just…” She couldn’t believe it, but she still felt the need to defend her husband. Focus on the kids, she told herself.
“It’s just nothing! The kids don’t need to see that crap, Jen. And you certainly don’t need to live like that either. No woman does.”
“I know, Di, I know,” Jen said. “I didn’t think it would come to this, but I realize now that Mac needs professional help.”
“And he’ll get it,” Diane snickered, “right where he belongs.”
Jen continued to shake her head. “The kids are a mess, Diane, and I really need your help. Can we come over?”
“Of course. Come over.”
“Thank you,” Jen said. “We’ll be there in a few minutes.”
⧝
While Bella and Brady wept in their bedrooms, Jillian sat on the couch—appearing more angry and confused than ever.
Jen entered the room and extended her hand. “Let’s go to Auntie Diane’s. We can talk about all of this over there.”
The teenage girl refused her mother’s trembling hand. Instead, she got up and marched out the front door.
“Bella and Brady, come downstairs,” Jen called out. “We’re going to Auntie Diane’s.”
Within seconds, they appeared—coats in hand.
Taking them by their hands, Jen hurried out of the house, leaving the lights on.
⧝
It was late when Mac punched in the last number and waited.
“Hi, you’ve reached the Andersons,” Jillian, Bella and Brady said in chorus. “Please leave a message and we’ll get right back to ya. Have a great day.”
A tear broke loose and traveled the length of his cheek. The old police officer looked away.
The machine beeped to take the message.
“I love you guys so much…” Mac said, his voice cracking. “…and I’m so sorry.”
One beep later, there was silence.
Chapter 10
Wearing handcuffs, Mac was escorted into the court for his arraignment. Jen gasped at the sight of it. Although his eyes quickly found her, he immediately looked away. He looks numb, she decided, unable to truly read him. Not like the animal that wrecked my kitchen.
Ray Howard, the Assistant District Attorney, stood before her, breaking any future eye contact between Jen and Mac. “Mrs. Anderson,” he said, “even though the state is charging your husband, we’re going to require that you testify.”
I need to testify? Jen thought, suddenly feeling nauseous. Before she could respond, Attorney Howard added, “And unfortunately, the only way we can guarantee your family’s safety is for you to request a restraining order.”
As the first tears gathered in the corners of her eyes, Jen stared blankly. “I don’t…”
“I’ve seen hundreds of these cases, Mrs. Anderson,” the A.D.A. quickly interrupted, “and many end up…” He stopped to search her face. “Why don’t we just impose a temporary order, until your husband gets help for his anger?”
“Ummm, I…I suppose,” she said, hesitantly nodding.
Attorney Howard broke a smile just as the judge entered. “Everyone rise,” Court Officer Beaupre ordered, “the honorable Judge Marge Tremblay presiding.”
“Please be seated,” the judge said.
Everyone did as they were instructed before the charges were read: One count, domestic assault. One count, resisting arrest.
“Mr. Anderson, how do you plead to the charge of assault and battery?” the judge asked.
Roland Dube, the family attorney and friend, clasped his hands together. “Not guilty, your Honor.”
Attorney Howard winked at Jen, and then turned to offer his manipulative spiel. “Your Honor,” the A.D.A. said, “Mrs. Anderson is requesting an immediate 209A, restraining order. Due to the circumstances, I believe this would be most prudent at this time.”
Jen felt ill at the request, but told herself, I need to protect the kids. Through her peripheral vision, she saw Mac flinch. The judge’s hand motioned to begin the proceedings.
Attorney Howard recited the details of the horrible night’s events, while Judge Tremblay quickly skimmed through the report. “Your Honor,” the A.D.A. said, “please note that the officer described the terrible condition of the Anderson’s kitchen, the angry state Mr. Anderson was in and the bruises that began forming on Mrs. Anderson’s arm.”
As if she’d already made her judgment, the judge glared down at Mac.
Mac had his head down; he appeared removed from the scene until Jen was called to take the witness stand. Slowly, she stepped up. After being sworn in, Attorney Howard began his vigorous line of questioning. “Mrs. Anderson, on the evening in question, did your husband physically damage property within your home?”
Jen nodded.
“Is that a yes, Mrs. Anderson?”
“Yes,” she said, choking out the word.
“Did he make threats of inflicting bodily harm upon anyone?”
“Ummm…yes, he did,” she replied, painfully.
The A.D.A. quickened his pace. “Did he also place his hands upon you, causing bruises?”
Jen felt like she might actually vomit. “Yes,” she answered, “but…”
“A yes or no answer will suffice, Mrs. Anderson.”
Jen realized that Attorney Howard was clearly not a compassionate man. “No, it won’t!” she said, turning to the judge. “Your Honor,” she pleaded, “this is my family’s future we’re talking about here. I believe I should have the right to speak freely.”
The judge looked over at Mac and then back at Jen. “Please just answer the questions, Mrs. Anderson,” she said, devoid of any emotion.
“My husband did do everything you’ve said,” she told Attorney Howard, “but he was drunk.” Torn between her roles as wife and mother, she shook her head. “Mac has never been a violent man. He’s always been a good husband and a wonderful father.” She was hyperventilating now. “Things have gotten out of hand lately and he’s shown signs of violence, but until last night he never physically acted on them. I suppose everything’s been building for weeks now and came to a head yesterday. He…”
“Mrs. Anderson, is your husband employed?” the A.D.A. asked, cutting her off.
“Yes…I mean, no.”
“Which is it, Mrs. Anderson?”
“He lost his job yesterday before everything came to a head.”
“A yes or no, please,” the Attorney Howard said.
Judge Tremblay shifted uneasily at the discovery that Mac was currently unemployed.
“And I know alcohol isn’t a defense,” Jen added defiantly, “or even an excuse for his actions, but Mac…”
“Mrs. Anderson,” the A.D.A. barked, cutting her off again, “I would appreciate it if you wouldn’t…”
“He came home and found a male watch belonging to a colleague of mine,” Jen blurted. “Even though I’ve been true to him, he believes I’ve been unfaithful.” The first tear tumbled down her burning cheek. “All I’m saying is…my husband is not a criminal. He’s a man who’s been in pain for a long time now and…and can no longer contain his temper. He’s a man who needs help.” The sobbing became worse. “I’ve…I’ve…tried to be there for him.” She looked at the judge. “I’m begging you, please get him the help he needs.”
Although the A.D.A. was clearly frustrated with Jen, the judge straightened herself before she spoke. “Mrs. Anderson. I appreciate your candidness. However, in all good conscience, this court must consider the welfare of your children above all else.”
“Yes, of course,” Jen blurted.
“So I must ask you now,” the judge continued, “after yesterday’s ordeal, do you believe that your children will be completely safe in the presence of their father?”
Jen looked at Mac and more tears broke free.
Mac leaned forward, panic filling his face.
“No, not until Mac gets some help for his anger.” She trembled at the truth of it. “No, I don’t think that our children are completely safe around him right now.”
Attorney Dube leapt to his feet. “Your Honor, I object! I haven’t even had…had the opportunity to…to defend Mr. Anderson.” He was talking so fast that he began to stutter. “We…we haven’t come to a finding on the charges. How can we even entertain the notion of a…of a restraining order?”
The judge peered down her long nose. “Mr. Dube, let me be frank. This is my court and I have been granted great discretion in my rulings on family matters. So let me fill you in—your client has no past criminal record and until yesterday, he was gainfully employed. Therefore, this court does not view him as someone who needs to serve jail time. However, it is quite evident that something is going on with Mr. Anderson that is not in the best interest of his wife and young children.” Scanning over the piece of paper before her, the frigid woman’s eyes returned to the shocked lawyer. “This court will impose a temporary 209A restraining order on behalf of Mrs. Anderson and her children. However, as there is no prior record, I am willing to dispose of the case this morning, Mr. Dube. If your client is so willing, I’d be inclined to impose a three-year pre-trial sentence of probation.”
“But your Honor,” was all Attorney Dube had left.
“There
are no buts here, Mr. Dube,” the snarling judge advised. She pointed at Mac. “Mr. Anderson, shame on you for putting your children through such trauma. You need to find yourself some help, sir.”
“Please, your Honor,” Mac whimpered. “Please don’t take my kids away from me.”
The judge broke eye contact, confirming that Mac’s plea had fallen upon deaf ears. The court clearly felt it was working in the best interest of the children. Mac folded himself in half, awaiting his formal punishment.
Attorney Dube addressed the court. “May I have a moment with my client, your Honor?”
“Granted,” the judge said.
⧝
Attorney Dube pulled Mac aside. There was urgency in both his movements and tone. “Mac, listen to me now. Based on what I’ve heard here today, this is the best deal we’re going to get.”
Mac’s entire body was buzzing with panic. “The best?” he repeated, his mind spinning out of control. “What about my kids, Roland?”
“Pre-trial probation has nothing to do with the restraining order,” Dube said.
“Roland, please!” Mac’s body was trembling near the brink of convulsion.
“Mac, you need to accept that you’re not going to be able to see the kids for a while,” Dube advised. “The judge will impose the restraining order.” He patted Mac’s shoulder. “As far as the criminal charges go, as long as you comply with the terms of the probation the case will get dismissed after three years.”
Mac glared at Roland. His long-time friend was missing the real punishment. “Fine,” Mac muttered in despair, adding a term of surrender he’d never imagined saying, “whatever.”
⧝
Dube addressed the court. “Your Honor, my client is willing to accept your recommendation on the assault and battery charge.”
The judge nodded and noted this in her documentation. Seconds later, she looked back at Mac. “Mr. Anderson, I’m sorry, but…”
To Mac, the rest sounded like blah…blah…blah… He collapsed back into his chair. To him, being separated from his children—for any period of time—was equivalent to receiving the death sentence. The remainder of the hearing passed as some cruel haze. In the end, Mac was found guilty of domestic assault. Probation was imposed for a period of three years, along with a mandate to attend domestic violence classes for a period of two months. “Upon graduating from the program, visitation with your children will be further entertained by this court,” Judge Tremblay concluded.
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