Where to Find Love (MXM) ✔

Chapter 39

Mike Hunt

I made my way through the streets after the dispatcher relayed a possible domestic violence call. As soon as I arrived, I could hear the yelling of a man from inside the house all the way from the street. I ignored the familiar goosebumps that formed on my arms and the uneasy pit that settled in my stomach. There was a crash and a sob from somewhere behind the front door. I pushed away the mental image of my mom sprawled out on the floor with bruises all over and tears on her cheeks. I decided to radio for backup before I knocked loudly on the door. Everything went silent beyond the door. There was a long pause before a large man opened the door just a slit.

"Is there a problem officer?" he asked.

I stood ready just in case, but also didn't want to come across as threatening to the man. I noticed his overly red knuckles on the hand that held the door. There was even a little bit of blood on it. Memories of my own father's reddened, bloody knuckles came to mind. I hated responding to calls like this.

"We got a call about a disturbance at this address," I said. I was aware that I couldn't see his other hand that might possibly hold a weapon. I watched him carefully for any movement that might indicate he was going to attack me or those inside.

"From who?" he asked gruffly.

"Sir, would you please show me both of your hands."

His other hand came out from behind the door. It was empty, but it had the same reddened, bloody knuckles as his other hand.

"Please place your hands on the back of your head and step back, sir."

"I know my rights," he said without complying. "You can't just come in here without a warrant."

"I can if I have probable cause and I do. Please interlock your hands behind your head and step back." My tone became more demanding.

He scowled at me, but put his hands behind his head and took a step back. I carefully opened the door wider while maintaining my readiness in case he tried anything. The first thing I noticed was the woman on the carpeted floor. She had a bloody lip and a quickly forming black eye. Her hair was disheveled and tears streamed down her cheeks. She held one hand up to her cheek while the other hugged herself. She didn't look like my mother, but she had the same haunted, hopeless look that my mother always had. It took me back to when I was a helpless child.

Next my eyes landed on the two small boys cowering by the couch. They couldn't have been older than six and four. They both had bruises on their cheeks. One had a split lip similar to his mother.

A small display case with collectible action figures had been tipped over. Glass had scattered everywhere along with broken collectible arms and legs. There was an open archway beyond the room we were currently in that led to the kitchen. I could see the upturned table with the half eaten Thanksgiving dinner scattered everywhere.

I took the man's arms and moved them behind his back where I proceeded to cuff him and read him his Miranda Rights.

"You can't do this," the man yelled. "I know my rights."

I continued to read him his rights as calmly as I could. Officer Taylor pulled up behind my patrol car. The woman behind me stood up. I moved so I would be ready if she decided to attack me. It always amazed me how many times that happened.

"What are you doing?" the woman yelled at me. The boys started wailing by the couch. They hugged each other tightly, desperately. "I don't want to press charges," she said as blood dripped from her lip. She started to walk towards me.