I lay down on the rock hard bunk and pulled the rough gray blanket over myself. My head was pounding. The jail was noisy even though it was only in the police station. I’d seen movies about prisons and knew if I ever landed there, the noise would push me over the edge of sanity. I had asked for a couple of painkillers but the fuckers just laughed. The only thing that helped my migraines was quiet and darkness. No chance I’d find that here. I’d ram my fist into the wall except it would hurt my head. I wanted to yell obscenities at the cops for putting me here, but it hurt to make any noise louder than a whisper.
The injustice of it all made everything harder to bear. She was MY wife. Why couldn’t they see that I had a right to my own wife? I wanted to cry like a baby but I didn’t dare. When things went wrong and life was unfair, I had a hard time dealing with it. Always had.
My mother! Hah! She doesn’t deserve to be called a mother. She was the epitome of unfairness. My brother Tony and I got more beatings than we would ever want to remember. She must have been pissed off because she didn’t have a man. Most women would cry and get depressed. Not her. She’d get mad, and drink, and get madder, and drink more. Then, just before she passed out, look out! If you were in reach, you became her punching bag, and she was no small woman. One time she walloped Tony so hard his head spun around and he lost his balance. He fell backwards hitting his head on the edge of the counter. She kicked at him but then quit. He didn’t move. Guess he’d passed out, and that took the fun out of hitting him. I hid in the bedroom until she passed out too, and then I went back to look after Tony. He was still lying there, not moving. I called 9-1-1, and that was it for us living in that house. Tony was never the same after that, but then, neither was I.
Foster care was no fun, but I learned to read to escape, and if kids teased me, I kicked the shit out of them and they never did it again. Talking big saved me a lot of trouble. Hitting put the icing on the cake, as they say. I was good at both. I learned to talk my way into and out of anything I wanted.
If only I didn’t get these stress headaches. They hurt like hell.
*****
After a while, a constable unlocked the cell door and snapped handcuffs on me while he led me to a brightly lit room down the hall. The pain from the stabbing light was excruciating. I sat with my head propped in my hands, eyeballs throbbing behind closed lids.
The uniform who came in to talk to me slapped a file folder on the table. The sound reverberated in my brain. The chair scraping the floor set my teeth on edge. I groaned.
“Not feeling well, Mr. Bolton?”
I didn’t look up. Didn’t open my eyes. “No,” I moaned. “Migraine.”
“Aw … that’s a crying shame.” The sarcasm was just dripping off his tongue. “I’m betting Andrea has a bit of a headache too right now.” The cop had no sympathy at all. “Where’d you get the date-rape drug?”
I didn’t answer. Just pressed the heels of my hands into my eyeballs.
He slammed his hand on the table. I hated that he made me jump. So humiliating. Just like my bitch of a mother used to do. A jab of pain stabbed my temples. “Answer me,” he shouted. The throbbing arrowed from my eyes to my temples and deep into my brain behind my eyes.
“What date-rape drug?” I mumbled.
“We’ve got you on administering a drug against Andrea’s will.”
“Oh no, you don’t.” My voice was dull and probably not convincing, but the pain kept me from stating my case more effectively. I wanted to leap up and punch his lights out, but even that thought hurt my head. “She was looking for something in her purse. Must have been some kind of pill to get high or something. I had nothing to do with that. If she overdosed, it was her own fault. She took it willingly.”
“Why would she willingly take a date-rape drug?”
I turned my head to look at the cop and immediately regretted the movement. Felt like my whole brain was bruised and the turn of my head sent another spear of pain through me. “Maybe she didn’t know that’s what it was. Maybe she thought she was buying something else.”
“Well, either way, we’ve got you for kidnapping.”
“I was picking her up after she did our shopping. She’s my wife. What the hell else do you want? My wife! She belongs to me.” I poked my chest with my finger again and again to make my point. Oh, Christ, my pulse was hammering my eyeballs. “Do I need a lawyer?”
“That’s up to you, Mr. Bolton. Do you feel you need one?”
“If you’re charging me with something, yes.”
He sighed, shook his head, and unlocked my handcuffs. “We’re going to release you pending further investigation. You need to get in your truck and go to Powell River. Don’t leave the province. Stick close to home. We’ll be wanting to talk to you again.”
“Told you, you’ve got nothing.”
“Get the fuck outta here, asshole.”