Chapter 8
When Enough Is Enough
It was almost five-thirty a.m. when Ginger returned home from the hospital. She pressed the button on the garage door opener. She saw that Ronald had parked his car in the middle of the two-and-a-half-car garage leaving no room for Ginger to squeeze her car in.
“He’s so darn ignorant.” She sighed.
Ginger was not in the mood to attempt to ask Ronald to move his car over. The request would only escalate into an argument. Ginger had been up all night. She was tired, irritable, and sleepy. Ginger put the gear in reverse and backed down the driveway. She parked on the street and went inside.
It was almost daybreak and Ginger knew that if she lay down, not even the loudest alarm clock would be able to wake her up in time for work. In the bedroom, she saw Ronald in bed snoring loudly. On the nightstand was an empty forty-ounce bottle of beer. On a plate next to it was a sandwich-size Ziploc plastic bag containing a small amount of white powder. Ginger knew it was cocaine.
Lord Jesus, give me strength. I’m so tired of this crap.
Ginger showered, slipped into a nightgown then sat at the kitchen table to grade papers. Fifteen minutes had elapsed when she heard the toilet flush. Ginger froze. Oh, God. She closed her eyes and exhaled deeply. She remembered that she didn’t raise the toilet seat after she used it. There was going to be trouble.
Ronald came and stood in the kitchen doorway. “Where you been?” His eyes were bloodshot and his speech was slurred. He was intoxicated and high.
“I was at the hospital with Portia.”
“You’re a lying whore,” he spat. “You were out screwing around.”
Ginger had enough of the abuse. Verbal abuse, mental abuse, and physical abuse. Seeing Portia lie in a hospital bed with a battered face and broken body, clinging to dear life, made Ginger’s own situation a reality. She realized that if she continued to allow Ronald to use her as his personal punching bag, she herself would have to be admitted to a hospital. While driving home Ginger thought about how it could have easily been her, instead of Portia, lying in a hospital bed, beaten and broken, at the hands of a lunatic. Ginger also recalled what Officer Phyore Montgomery had told her:
“You are a beautiful black woman. Learn to love yourself. It hurts me deeply to get called to a house and find one of my black sisters unresponsive from domestic abuse. And I’m gonna tell you something, Miss Brown. Eventually he will kill you. It happens like that all the time.”
Ginger boldly stood and walked to Ronald. “Well, heck, where were you at two this morning when I got the call about Portia? Huh? I called your cell but you didn’t wanna answer. So, if anyone is allowed to point the screwing-around finger, it’s me.” Ginger took it a step further with Ronald. “And what if I was out screwing around? What are you gonna do about it?”
Ronald was lethargic but not incoherent. It took him a long moment to realize what Ginger had just said. He wondered if she had really just challenged him. “What?”
Ginger stood her ground and folded her arms across her chest. She spoke very slowly so that her words would penetrate through the cocaine Ronald snorted. “If I was with a man, there ain’t a darn thing you can do about it.”
A sober Ronald would have had his hands around Ginger’s throat in less than a second. But right then the alcohol and drugs weren’t on his side. He lunged toward Ginger but lost his balance and landed on the kitchen table instead. The table legs gave in to his weight and Ronald crashed to the floor.
Ginger knew that in the state Ronald was in, she could take him. After almost losing Portia at the hands of a man, Ginger vowed to never let Ronald put his hands on her again. It was a brand new day for Ginger and if Ronald touched her, he was in for a new awakening.
Ginger saw Ronald trying to get to his knees and knew that the time to take back her life was right then. The moment had come for her to defend herself. With all of her might Ginger kicked Ronald in his side. He yelled out and fell back onto the floor.
Ginger rushed to the telephone on the kitchen wall and dialed 911.
“911. What’s your emergency?” the dispatcher asked.
The two years of dramatic acting classes Ginger took in college were getting ready to pay off. She screamed into the telephone, “Help me, please! He’s tryin’ to kill me!”
Ginger sounded hysterical. The dispatcher tried to calm her down. “Ma’am, please take your time and tell me what’s going on.”
Ronald was trying to get up. Ginger set the cordless phone on the counter, picked up a chair, and broke it across Ronald’s back. He hollered and fell back to the floor. Ginger got back to the telephone and pretended like she was auditioning for a role in a thriller.
“He’s going crazy! Please, please help me!” Ginger let out a shriek that almost busted the dispatcher’s eardrums.
“Okay, ma’am. The police are on their way. Stay on the line.”
Ginger placed the telephone in front of her mouth and screamed, “No, Ron, no. I’m sorry. Please don’t hit me again,” before disconnecting the line. She looked at Ronald lying on the floor mumbling and moaning. She heard him call her the B word. Ginger looked around the kitchen for something to beat the crap out of him with. She remembered the wooden rolling pin in the utensil drawer. Ronald had thrown everything away except the rolling pin. That had to be God working in her favor, Ginger thought.
She got the large wooden rolling pin out of the utensil drawer and hit Ronald across the back of his head as hard as she could. Either he was too drunk to feel it or he was dead because he didn’t move. But that didn’t matter to Ginger. She had seen too many movies when the woman thought her attacker was dead but wasn’t. Ginger was going to make sure Ronald wasn’t getting up. She raised the rolling pin over her head and swung it at thirty miles an hour. She hit Ronald so hard across his back, the rolling pin cracked.
She raised it again and with all of her might, she slammed it onto the left side of his brain. Ginger heard something break. She hoped it was Ronald’s skull. He wasn’t moving. Blood ran out from under Ronald’s head.
* * *
Outside on the front porch police officers were knocking on Ginger’s front door. “Police, open up.”
When the police broke down Ginger’s living room door, they found her in the kitchen straddling Ronald. She was still bashing his head.
An officer pulled his gun from his holster and pointed it at Ginger. He saw what looked like a very small bat in her hand. “Put the bat down!” he ordered.
She looked like a madwoman. Ginger was sweating profusely and her hair was pasted to her face. She was breathing heavy.
The officer walked farther into the kitchen with his gun aimed at Ginger’s head. “I said put the bat down.”
Ginger refused to drop the rolling pin. She wanted to kill Ronald before he got the chance to kill her.
A female officer appeared in the archway to the kitchen. “It’s okay,” she said to her fellow officer. “Lower your weapon. This is a domestic situation.”
When Ginger saw Sergeant Phyore Montgomery she dropped the rolling pin and started crying uncontrollably. Sergeant Montgomery went to Ginger and pulled her off of Ronald. She led Ginger out of the kitchen. “Call an ambulance,” she said to the other officer.
Sergeant Montgomery took Ginger into the dining room, pulled out a chair, and sat Ginger down. She knelt before Ginger. “What happened?”
Ginger was a basket case. Her body shivered. She was covered in Ronald’s blood. “I wasn’t gonna take it anymore. One of us was gonna die.” Ginger stared into Sergeant Montgomery’s eyes. “And it wasn’t gonna be me.”
“Didn’t I tell you this was gonna happen?”
* * *
Two paramedics rushed in and tended to Ronald. “We have a pulse,” Ginger heard one of them say.
Ginger was disappointed. “I didn’t do it right,” she mumbled. “I should’ve killed him. Ron deserved to die.”
“Don’t ever say that again,” Sergeant Montgomery scolded Ginger.
The paramedics loaded Ronald on a stretcher and proceeded to carry him through the living room and out the front door.
Ginger jumped up from her chair and blocked them. “Take him out the back door.”
Both paramedics frowned.
Ronald demanded that Ginger not enter the house through the white, immaculate living room. And she didn’t want him to travel though it either. Ginger didn’t care that he was on a stretcher. “Take his dirty behind out the back way,” she demanded.
Sergeant Montgomery pulled Ginger out of the paramedics’ way. “Let them through.”
The first officer who had arrived on the scene approached Ginger and Sergeant Montgomery. “I need a statement.”
Sergeant Montgomery spoke. “She did what she had to do to get him off of her.”
Ginger looked at her with a surprised expression. She had expected Sergeant Montgomery to arrest her.
“I’ll write the report myself,” Sergeant Montgomery said. She gave Ginger a reassuring smile. “We’re done here.”
* * *
When the police had left, Ginger went into the kitchen. The amount of blood that was on the floor and the splatter on the walls made up the perfect crime scene.
Ginger thought about the miscarriages she suffered at Ronald’s hands. The rapes and beatings flashed before her eyes. But she had taken her life back. No more beatings. No more verbal abuse. And no more miscarriages.
Ginger opened the pantry door and got a pail and mop. After she cleaned Ronald’s blood she showered, then called Celeste’s house.
* * *
Anthony stood at the kitchen counter with his right fist submerged in a bowl of ice cubes. Celeste came into the kitchen from the bathroom with a small box of gauze wrap.
“Tony, I can’t believe you and Deacon Hatch did that to Richard. Have you ever heard the term ‘crooked cop’?”
Anthony didn’t feel the least bit guilty for what he’d done. “Celeste, please. Deacon Hatch and Portia worship at the same church. She’s his sister in Christ.”
Celeste looked at Anthony. “Tell me something, Tony. How did God get the glory out of Deacon Hatch handcuffing a man’s hands behind his back and you beating the crap out of him?”
“Why you gotta bring God into everything? Some things He lets us handle on our own.”
Celeste looked at Anthony as though he were insane. Before she could comment the telephone rang. “Who in the heck is calling at seven in the morning?” Celeste asked.
Anthony answered the phone with an irritated greeting. It was Ginger. She told Anthony that she and Ronald had gotten into a fight and she had beaten him with a rolling pin.
“What the heck is going on? It must’ve been a full moon last night.” Anthony glanced at the knuckles on his left hand. “I got one good fist left. Is he still there?”
Celeste heard Anthony’s question. “Is who still where?” she asked.
“No. He was taken away in an ambulance,” Ginger told Anthony.
“Are you all right? You want us to come over there?”
“Come over where?” Celeste asked.
“No. I’m okay,” Ginger answered.
“Well, call us if you need anything. Anything at all.” Anthony hung up the telephone and told Celeste Ginger’s story.
Celeste couldn’t believe the events that had taken place over the past five hours. “My Lord. Has this been a wild morning or what? Is Ginger okay?”
“Yeah, she killed Ronald.”
Celeste’s eyes grew wide and she shrieked, “What?”
“My bad,” Anthony said. “She should’ve killed him.”
* * *
Later that day Richard was charged for the attempted murder and sexual assault against Portia.