This is not a work of fiction. This is really how I'm processing an event I've recently been through. It started as a sort of personal journal entry, but then just . . . expanded. Maybe this isn't the right forum to post this, but I'm feeling an almost desperate urge to tell it, to get it out.
All I can think is I should have hit him harder. More. It doesn't get much more clear cut than it was that night. I had the excuse. I knew he was the bad guy, and I was defending myself and someone else. Aged fuck had nothing on me. But I just gave the lady time to get away and backed off. And now she's dead.
I don't know shit about their relationship. I don't know what spurred the events of that night. I just know that she was running from him down my building's hallway, yelling for someone to call the police, and I heard his gruff voice shouting after her. I got up off the recliner.
Neighbors were sticking their heads out of their apartments, looking anxious, looking stupid. "What do we do?" asked one lady, trying to figure out what was going on instead of calling the fucking police. I instructed her to just call the police while I tried to calm everybody down. I ran after the couple, and was followed shortly by a neighbor with a phone.
There they are at the end of the hall where two parts of the building are separated by an open fire door. He's yelling, she's cowering. I later forgot to mention it to the police, but I noticed a bit of her hair (weave? extension? I don't know the proper word, but it matched what was on her frazzled head) on the floor as I walked up, so I knew he'd at least grabbed and pulled.
He wasn't a young man. I'd have guessed mid-fifties, and the police later confirmed that estimate. He had average size and build, glasses and a mostly white stubble of facial hair. In contrast, I'm huge. The woman appeared to be older than myself, but still a good deal younger than he, and wearing only her underwear and a t-shirt.
Anyway, I just called the neighbors stupid, but I wasn't being too bright, either. Didn't check if he had a weapon or anything, just approached with my hands up in a calming gesture and let him know cops were on the way, so maybe we should all just calm down, relax.
He hit her. Right there in front of me he hauled back and landed one. Honestly, I couldn't tell you whether it was open handed or closed, but her head snapped to the side and I moved. I stepped right into the middle, hard to do since she was against a corner, and more loudly reminded him the cops were on the way. He cursed and tried to shove past me, and landed a backhand on my cheek. This was when I realized how drunk he was. It wasn't a very coordinated move.
I hit him. I even felt bad doing it, but I hit him hard, one time. It was like punching a water balloon. I swear, it felt like his head gelled as my fist moved past his face. He was down on hands and knees in an instant, and I felt relieved, thinking that was gonna be it. But he started staggering to his feet immediately. I don't know if it was my body positioning or if I actively pushed him, but he moved toward the wall with the fire door as he was getting up, probably for support. I thought an easy out would be to get him through and close the door on him, so I DID then shove. Problem was, this was around 11:00 or 11:30 at night, and I was in PJs and socks. I guess these fuckers put some preparation into an evening of spousal abuse, because his sneakers gave him enough traction that I couldn't manage to shut him out of our portion of the hallway.
She and the neighbor were running by this point. Apparently, some distance behind me, she went past Andy in his wheelchair and our barking dog, so Andy turned his chair sideways, hit the brakes, kept the dog on a tight, if loud and jerky jerky, leash, and made a good obstacle of himself.
So anyway, fucker wedged an arm into the door before I could close it, got up as he was shoving it open and me back, and started coming at me again. I remember telling him that I didn't want a fight. I was literally backing away from him with my hands in that placating and calming gesture, reminding him that the cops were coming and he might want to just drop it and go. He was advancing aggressively and cursing at me as if he hadn't just been maybe a couple pounds per square inch of impact away from unconsciousness. I told him "I'm just trying to give the lady time to get away." After probably the length of two apartments or so of this, he turned tail and ran. Through the fire door, down the hall, down some stairs, gone.
I about fell over. My heart had never pounded so. I've never hit someone as an adult. I'm a big guy, with long arms, and I've taken a couple self-defense classes from time to time since high school. I know how to move my body, and apparently, how to land a punch. But I'd never done it before. The cops interviewed me and I told them all about it. I learned that the couple had been separated for a while, and she moved into my building from his place in Pittsburg. I told them I didn't want to press charges, since I didn't want any further involvement.
The next morning, after I'd been advised by some MotherTalkers about how rarely the women in these situations press charges and how often it continues to happen, I changed my mind. I went in to the police station and changed my statement. I'd been hit, and I defended myself, but he needed more than that. He was charged with assault.
A few weeks later I got a subpoena, telling me to meet the DA on February 24th to testify. On the evening of February 23rd, the woman from that night came by to introduce herself. I think her name was Ryan. She thanked me for helping her that night, and for pressing charges. It kinda weirded me out, since I didn't know if she might pass along my address to the guy, if he might show up for a rematch or endanger my children. But the next morning when I went in, I found out he'd already pled guilty, a restraining order had been put in place so he wasn't allowed near me, and I wasn't even needed to testify. I still went out and bought a baseball bat to keep just inside the front door.
I was so happy thinking that'd been the end of it. I'd been the good guy, and she was all right, and that was the end. But I got a phone call today letting me know that she had been murdered when she went back to his place in Pittsburg to get a few things. Now I get to testify as a witness in his murder trial, whenever that happens.
I don't believe in the death penalty. But there's no doubt in my mind that he deserves to spend the rest of his life getting pushed around by bigger and badder thugs than himself.
Yeah. I should have hit him harder. More.