CHAPTER SIX

 

S.A.W. (Stop Abusing Women) House was a battered women’s shelter located in a reconstructed Victorian mansion in downtown Bluffs Bay. The once grand home was dilapidated and slated for demolition by the city. That was until Selene seized the opportunity and took the initiative nine months ago, convincing the city council that the building would be perfect for a much-needed local shelter for victims of domestic violence. Supported by state and federal funds, the dream turned into reality and S.A.W. House was opened.

Selene became the director and relished the opportunity to help other women who had been abused by husbands, boyfriends, or intimates.

She sat at her desk in her first floor office where a staff meeting was underway. The regular staff numbered eight, five of whom were volunteers. Like Selene, all of them were women who had been battered at one time or another. Now they were survivors with a purpose.

The oldest staff member and assistant director of the shelter was Harriet Johnston. A decade ago, she had struck back at her abusive live-in lover after years of battering and stabbed him to death. Harriet was convicted of manslaughter and sentenced to five years in prison.

Selene believed that was why battered women’s shelters or safe houses were so critical. Too many women had nowhere to turn before either killing in self-defense or being killed by their batterer. Amazingly, such shelters did not even exist in the United States till the early 1970s.

In spite of this response to the problem of battered wives and girlfriends, Selene understood why so many women still found it hard to ask for help, having been there before herself. Sometimes it seemed easier to live behind a wall of silence and denial than not.

Selene listened as Harriet outlined for some new staffers their procedures for accepting victims at S.A.W. House.

“As much as we’d like to take in anyone who needs help—from females strung out on drugs to the homeless to streetwalkers—it’s just not possible. We’re here to provide a temporary shelter for battered women and their children who have no place else to go. Period.”

“What about when we reach full capacity? Do we turn women away?” asked Persephone Atkins. The twenty-four-year-old graduate student was their newest volunteer.

Selene responded to her question. “No, we never turn anyone away in need of protection from batterers,” she said. “If we have to bring in roll away beds or share rooms, we will.”

Local ordinances required that admissions be limited to occupancy. S.A.W. House had twelve rooms that were each designed to hold one woman and up to two small children. But since there was a paucity of local places for battered women to go, overcrowding was sometimes necessary, given the alternative of the victim remaining in an abusive situation.

“What we really try to do at S.A.W. House,” Selene continued, “is provide short-term refuge—usually three to four days—while we help the victim find a more long-term living arrangement. We’re also here to assist battered women with medical and psychological treatment, social services, and pressing charges against the batterer.”

The latter was easier said than done. Fear, intimidation, isolation, and financial need all played a role in perpetuating the abuse and preventing victims from seeking justice. She should know.

“Shelters like S.A.W. House can really make a difference in these women’s lives,” Harriet said. “Believe me, I’ve been there—”

Selene nodded. She admired Harriet for her refusal to shy away from her experience, as if it were a rite of passage for battered women in the worst-case scenario. It made Selene wonder if she would have taken such extreme measures if all else had failed in escaping her abuser. It was a disturbing thought.

“Each of us can personally make a difference,” Selene told them. “Every battered woman who comes in here is scared to death, confused, and asking where do I go from here? All too often the burden falls on our shoulders to provide the answers.”

Selene knew that those answers frequently hinged on a reciprocal working relationship with overburdened social service and law enforcement agencies. Alas, red tape, inadequate budgets, and politics usually kept the relationship from being a perfect marriage.

* * *

In the afternoon, Selene met with S.A.W. House victims for a group discussion in the shelter’s main meeting room. She considered this the most important part of being there: recognition that they were not alone in their ordeal. The present group consisted of eight women of varying ages and racial and ethnic persuasion.

Selene recounted her experience as a battered wife, a tale that had become almost as routine for her as getting up in the morning. She considered it a necessary trip down memory lane to encourage others to share their ordeals. However, on the inside Selene could still feel the pain of being beaten as though it were yesterday. After counseling and the support of her husband who understood as best as he could what she had gone through, she had essentially managed to put that difficult period behind her.

The meeting was interrupted when a staff member told Selene she was needed urgently.

“I shouldn’t be too long,” she told them. “In the meantime, please continue. It’s important that you all face up to everything that’s happened to you.”

Outside the room, a young staffer named Maria Lopez brushed thick black bangs from her forehead and frowned when she told Selene, “There’s a woman here...been beat up pretty bad—”

All too often Selene had heard those chilling words, and it made her heart ache. She drew a breath and asked, “Where is she?”

In a large waiting area decorated with retro art and flowering plants, Selene walked up to two women who had their hands clasped. It wasn’t difficult to identify the victim. She was in her mid thirties, petite, with short blonde hair tucked behind her ears. Her right eye was nearly swollen shut, and there was blood oozing from her right nostril and the corner of her mouth. Her clothing was in disarray and she stood on wobbly legs.

“Get the nurse,” Selene ordered Maria, and turned her attention back to the victim. Trying hard not to gasp at the horrific sight before her, she said, “I’m Selene Herrera, the director of S.A.W. House.”

“My name is Kay Fuentes,” said a thirty-something, heavyset woman. “This is my friend, Ashley Leighton. Her criminal attorney no good asshole of a husband did this to her—”

Selene cocked a brow. “Is that true?”

She nodded. “I really shouldn’t be here...”

“Yes, you should!” Kay shot back with indignation. “Next time, he might kill you—”

“She’s right,” Selene told Ashley. She thought about what Kay had said regarding the batterer being a criminal lawyer. So many people assumed that battering women was a product of the lower classes and undereducated. The truth was any man was a potential batterer and any woman a potential victim irrespective of where they fell in the class stratum or on the educational ladder. “We’re here to help you,” she offered. “But first we’d better address your injuries.”

Almost on cue, the staff nurse rushed in. She smiled faintly at the women, and then asked Ashley to come with her. Ashley reluctantly agreed after her friend promised she would not leave.

Selene waited till Ashley and the nurse had disappeared before asking Kay what she already knew. “Has this happened before?”

“What do you think?” Kay rolled her eyes. “More times than I can count.”

Selene knew the statistics. There were tens of thousands—possibly millions—of women and teenage girls seriously beaten by the intimate males in their lives each year, yet it went unreported. The shroud of secrecy and general perception of domestic violence as a family matter made detection and prevention that much more difficult.

* * *

The nurse worked her magic to stop the bleeding and make Ashley presentable, all things considered. There were no broken bones or emergency room type injuries, but Selene wanted her to go to the hospital anyway, just to be on the safe side.

First, she needed more information from the victim. In Selene’s office, Ashley was joined by her friend Kay. The two sat in leather chairs across from Selene’s desk.

“Tell me what happened today,” Selene said to Ashley. She would take careful notes, knowing it could be used later to bolster a criminal case against the perpetrator.

Ebbed on by Kay, Ashley shed tears as she slowly recounted the argument that led to the beating. She made it clear that this was a common occurrence, but never this bad. “This time he j-j-just kept hitting me—” she stammered, tensing up.

Selene knew from experience that many women suffered through years of abuse before they sought help. Sadly, for some, help came too late.

But maybe not for this one, she thought hopefully. “Do you have any children?”

Ashley shook her head.

“And where is your husband now?”

“At work,” Ashley said.

“Where does he work?”

Ashley hesitated. “I’d rather not say—”

Selene sucked in a deep, patient breath. “You really should be more concerned about protecting yourself than the man who used you as a punching bag.”

Ashley lowered her head in shame. “He isn’t always like that. Most times we have a good marriage. I just don’t want to make a big deal of this...”

Kay nearly sprang out of her chair. “You can’t let him get away with hurting you! Tell the lady the real reason you don’t want anyone to know what’s going on.”

Ashley scowled at her friend, before dabbing a tissue at the corner of her still bleeding mouth. “Because I’m a cop, okay,” she bit out. “And I’d rather not have this trickle down to my department—”

A cop? That gave Selene a bit of a start. For some reason it was hard for her to imagine that this battered and bruised, rather fragile looking woman was an officer of the law. But she knew as well as anyone that batterers and victims could be found at any layer of the occupational scale—including law enforcement and attorneys.

Ashley added unevenly, “My husband’s work puts him in frequent contact with the police department. If word got out about this, I...”

Selene swallowed, eyeing her sympathetically. “I think I understand how you feel, but—”

“No, you don’t!” Ashley cut in. “I like my job, Ms. Herrera. I’ve worked hard to prove I belong. The last thing I need or want is to come across as a weak female who has no business being on the force.” Ashley took a breath. “My husband and I can work this problem out between us. I just needed to get away for a little while.”

“Mrs. Leighton, your husband is a wife beater,” Selene said bluntly. “Rarely, if ever, are spouses caught up in the cycle of abuse able to work it out between them. You cannot simply wish the battering away and expect it won’t happen again. As long as your husband feels you’ll tolerate the mistreatment to protect your career and marriage, he’ll continue to hit you whenever he damn well pleases or otherwise has a bad day. The fact that you are a police officer gives you a big advantage over most battered women. But only if you use it. I’m sure if you come forward, your colleagues will be supportive...”

The loud banging at the front door seemed to reverberate throughout the house. Selene immediately felt a chill as she looked at Ashley. “Does your husband know you’re here?”

“No,” she replied, and gazed uneasily at Kay.

“Then it’s probably not him,” Selene said hopefully. “Wait here...”

* * *

Maria Lopez was just opening the door when Selene arrived. Both observed a tall, trim, clean-shaven man in his late thirties with slicked back dark hair. He was dressed in an expensive pinstriped suit.

His fierce gray eyes bored into Selene’s with such sharpness that she felt as though they had struck her. “May I help you?”

He cracked a cynical smile. “Yeah, I think you can...” Reaching into his jacket pocket, he removed a business card and practically tossed it at her.

As Selene looked at the card, she heard him say, “My name’s Robert Leighton. I’m an attorney...”

And I’m supposed to be impressed? Selene regarded him disdainfully, thinking about the job he had done on his wife. She checked her anger and went through the routine, starting with her name, and added, “I’m the director of this shelter. What is it you want, Mr. Leighton?”

He pursed his lips. “I think we both know what—who—I want. Where is she...?”

In a frightened voice, Maria whispered to Selene, “Do you want me to call the police?”

“Not yet,” she said, hoping to resolve this here and now. “I’ll handle it.”

Maria seemed concerned for Selene’s safety, but did not argue, leaving her alone with the man.

Selene sighed. “Mr. Leighton, you did a real number on your wife. As a criminal attorney, you must know that assaulting someone—anyone—is a very serious offense.”

He grunted. “Is that what she told you—that I assaulted her? Not true. We just had a little misunderstanding. It happens sometimes in marriages. No big deal!”

“Oh, I think it’s a very big deal,” Selene argued. “Obviously your wife agrees. She came here to get away from you, and here she will stay—”

His thick brows knitted together. “You don’t want to mess with me,” he warned. “What goes on in the privacy of my home is my damned business, not yours! Ashley knows I’d never do anything to really hurt her. Now, again, I ask you to get my wife. Or...”

“Or what? You’ll come in and get her like the tough man you are?” Selene challenged him. “Mr. Leighton, why don’t you go home before you do something really stupid that you’ll live to regret? Trespassing on private property, then assaulting a house full of women will only get you in much more hot water than you are now—and we aren’t afraid to press charges if we have to!”

Robert Leighton glared at Selene while seemingly weighing his options. Before either could say another word, Selene heard footsteps behind her. She turned and saw Ashley and Kay.

In a shaky voice, Ashley uttered, “I’m going home with my husband.”

Selene cocked a brow, glancing at her in disbelief. “You don’t have to do this...”

“Yes, I do.” Ashley looked at her husband. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

Feeling triumphant, Robert’s scowl became a crooked smile. “It’s okay, sweetheart. We both just got a little carried away. Let’s get the hell out of here.”

Kay clutched her friend’s arm worriedly. “You sure about this?”

Ashley mulled it over for a moment or two before saying, “Yes, I’m sure.”

She met Selene’s eyes, and then flashed her husband a believable smile.

Selene watched helplessly as Ashley walked into his waiting arms and they went out the door.

“She’s doing it again,” Kay muttered.

Selene shook her head sadly. “Women usually do when they’re caught up in the battered woman’s syndrome.”

“What if he beats her up again?” Kay asked.

“Not what if, but when,” Selene responded bluntly. She feared it was only a matter of time before Robert Leighton used his fists on her again. Ashley could use all the help she could get, whether she knew it or not.

As such, Selene could only wonder what was in store for the woman cop who seemed to be headed down a path with no good outcome.