Silverton, Ohio used to be a quiet little lake town, but between the ever-growing popularity of the amusement and water parks and the recently built casino, it was growing into quite the metropolis. Very different from the miles of cornfields, just upon the outskirts, with lingering scents of cow manure that Elizabeth used to know. Of course, some of those cornfields still existed, but they were few and far between.
They drove about ten minutes into town, to the new condos facing Lake Erie. It was a mile or so from Elizabeth’s old apartment building. The flashing lights lit up the night sky and memories of moments past flickered through her mind. Seriously? Elizabeth and Martinez met up with the officer standing next to his cruiser. Officer Lucas shook his head and greeted Martinez with dissonance. “Detective, I don’t believe we asked for assistance in this matter.”
“You did not, Lucas. Just giving the lady a ride. You did call in a request for an advocate, did you not?”
Shaking his head in disbelief, Lucas refused to question authority. “Yep, sure did.”
“Well, I’m just giving your victim advocate a ride here. You gotta problem with that?”
“Notta one.”
“So, can you tell me what’s going on, Officer Lucas?” asked Elizabeth.
Lucas glanced at Martinez, as if for approval, before continuing. “Got a call about twenty minutes ago. Female was distraught, asking for help, before the line went dead. It was a landline so dispatch was able to get a location. Seems husband and wife had an argument/altercation before husband decided to rip the phone out of the wall. Hence, here we are.” Glancing at his notes he continued, “Husband is a Brandon DeFranco, wife is Pamela DeFranco. Officer Duval is speaking with the husband over there. Wife, Pamela, is upstairs in Unit 202 waiting for an advocate. She refuses to speak with us. You’re on, Miss Strong.”
Elizabeth walked up the stairs into the second floor lobby. She had not been in the old factory since they renovated and built the condos. Wow, she thought, they really went all out. I wonder how much they get for these. The door to the DeFranco residence was wide open and the light shone through into the dim hallway. Knocking on the door with her knuckles, she called out into the foyer, “Mrs. DeFranco? I’m Elizabeth Strong, the advocate you asked for. Can I come in?”
She hesitated a moment before knocking again. “Mrs. DeFranco? Hello?” An average looking woman with shoulder-length brown hair turned around the corner to the edge of the foyer, dabbing her eyes with a tissue. She reminded Elizabeth of a teacher she had in high school.
“Mrs. DeFranco? Is it okay to come in?”
The woman didn’t speak. She turned away and walked into the living room, slowly sitting down on the sofa. Assuming it was an invitation, Elizabeth walked in and sat down across from her in a leather recliner.
“My name is Elizabeth Strong. I’m a victim advocate with the Annapolis County Prosecutor’s Office. I’m here to help in any way I can. Can you start by telling me what happened?”
Mrs. DeFranco was shaking slightly. To steady herself, she placed her elbows on her knees, and cupped her hands to her chin. Looking up to the high ceiling, tears welled up in the woman’s eyes again as she periodically wiped her nose with a crumpled up tissue.
“Brandon and I have been married almost five years now. We’re trying to have a baby.” She sighed and a tear streamed down her right cheek. Her hands waved out beside her face. “I’m not quite sure when everything became so difficult!”
“Mrs. DeFranco, take your time.”
She toughened up a bit and said, “Can you please call me Pam? It’s hard enough having all these strangers in my home due to all of this.”
Elizabeth looked around the condo, noticing the Wok full of rice, vegetables, and meat, now strewn all over the sink and the cordless phone laying on the floor. It was apparent the phone dock had been ripped from its cord, which was still plugged into the wall, and the small table it sat on was toppled over.
Pam noticed Elizabeth’s wondering eyes. She walked into the kitchen and started cleaning up the mess. “I made dinner. I usually don’t do it much. He works a lot. Tonight, I expected him to come home earlier than he had. Unfortunately, he had a bad day and didn’t feel much like eating. Of course, that led to an instant argument. I got upset with him and I threw it the sink. Immature, I know.” She steadied herself on the counter and shook her head. “It just escalated from there. I said some things I shouldn’t have and he just went off. He’s been a little unsteady lately and I shouldn’t have badgered him.” Giving up on cleaning she tossed the pan back into the sink and began crying again.
“Whatever you said to him did not give him the right to make you fear for your safety. Especially not so much that you called the police for help.”
After rinsing off her hands, she grabbed the dishtowel dangling from the oven handle. “So what happens now? I mean, God, what a mess I’ve created!”
It was a typical reaction, which Elizabeth was used to: Denial that there was a problem and regret for asking for help. “Pam, this wasn’t your fault. The officers are downstairs with him. They are waiting on us. Either way, they will take him in and process him. Then there will be an arraignment Monday morning.”
“But what if that isn’t what I want?”
“Your husband disrupted a public service. When someone rips the phone out of the wall in the middle of a cry for help that is a crime. At this point neither one of you has a choice. So, you can either follow them to the station and wait for him to get an OR bond, or you can tell me you want a temporary protection order and he will not be allowed to return home for a while. Sometimes a period of cooling off is helpful. It can at least let you sort some things out, quietly, without having him breathing down your neck. Did he put his hands on you?”
“What’s an OR bond?”
“That means he will get out on his own recognizance. You can pick him up at the station.”
“I really think I need some time. He didn’t touch me. He just frightened me. I mean he pushed me a little. I thought he might...”
“I’ll tell you what, how about we all get out of your hair for the evening and give you the time you need. But you do need to decide if you want him home tonight. He can still get out, and he likely will, but you can request the temporary order for the rest of the weekend and we can revisit this on Monday morning when he shows up to court. Is that fair?”
“I need some time. But what if it makes it worse?”
“What if he comes home and the two of you pick up where you left off? Then we’re right back to where we started.”
She thought for a moment. “Will you be there Monday?”
Handing Pam her business card, Elizabeth looked at her empathetically and assured her, “I will be there until you decide you don’t want me to be.”
Hesitantly, she grasped the business card.
“Look, I know this is difficult, but I will help you get through this.” She held onto the card before letting go and continued, “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. You’re in control here.”
Pam nodded her head as if she understood and Elizabeth let go of the card. “Alright then. The only thing I need from you is your signature.” Pulling some papers out of her purse, she placed them on the kitchen counter and explained the temporary protection order to Pam, handing her a pen. Noticing her apprehension, she added, “Remember, this is only temporary.”
Signing the papers with tears in her eyes, Pam handed Elizabeth the pen and walked over to the sofa instantly mulling over her decision. Elizabeth felt guilty for leaving her. It was easy on her own turf in the courthouse; she had a job to do. Being in someone’s home seemed more intrusive and much more difficult to just leave them in their own misery after such an occurrence. “I’ll see you first thing Monday morning.” She turned into the foyer and looked back, “Get some rest. Everything is going to be okay.”
Heading back downstairs to meet the officers, Elizabeth was thankful they finally turned off the lights to the cruiser. Martinez met her at the end of the walkway.
“Everything good?”
Nodding affirmatively to his question, she looked at Lucas and then to Brandon DeFranco sitting patiently in the back of the cruiser. Attempting to hand Lucas the paperwork she said, “She’s accepting the TPO until Monday. She needs a little time. If he’s released on the OR, he can’t come home tonight.”
Looking at her with disdain he replied, “This can’t possibly be filed on a Saturday night.”
Martinez, knowing that was the wrong thing to say, took a step back and allowed Elizabeth’s retort. Tilting her head a bit, the controlled look on her face became a slight growl. “Officer Lucas, though I’m not sure exactly what your procedure is once you get back to the department with this protection order, I’m pretty sure I know what procedure I am to follow and the law that backs it up.” She shoved the paperwork at him, forcing him to accept it. “Like I said, he cannot come home tonight.” She spun around and said to Martinez, “Let’s go.”
Flipping his keys in his hand, Martinez grinned, glanced over to Lucas and said, “You heard the lady.” Hearing the passenger door close to his sedan, he walked to his vehicle and jumped in the driver’s side, locking his seatbelt securely. He sat for a moment and gave Elizabeth a look of approval.
“What?” she asked, like a teenager defending her actions.
He laughed. “Hey, it’s nothing. Really. Just...”
“Just, what?” She felt guilty for being so short with Lucas.
“Liz, it’s okay. Lucas is a rookie but he’s a good cop. He just needs a little help sometimes, as frustrating as that may be.”
“I didn’t mean to be pushy with him. But I’m sorry, he pissed me off. It’s basic procedure he should be familiar with.”
Throwing up his hands in defense he warned, “Hey! I’m on your side here! Lucas has been trained on the procedure. He shouldn’t have questioned you. You did good, Liz. Seriously. I like your spunk.” He turned the key to start the engine, put the car in drive, and gave her one last look before hitting the gas. “I’ve always liked your spunk, Elizabeth Strong.”
They drove a few miles in silence. Martinez hated silence, unlike Elizabeth. “You know who that guy is, don’t you?”
“Who? Brandon DeFranco, you mean?”
He laughed. “Yeah. Don’t you read the Silverton Tribune?”
She rolled her eyes. “Don’t you think we are bogged down with enough negativity in our lives?”
Staring at the dark road in front of them he lifted his thumb from the steering wheel and replied, “I see your point. But seriously, don’t be surprised if you’re in next week’s edition at some point. Brando DeFranco is a high-profile blogger/reporter for the Tribune. He writes about politics, crime, and most famously, anyone involved with the prosecutor’s office or SPD. Not favorably, I might add. Just watch your step with this one. That’s all I’m saying.”
Fantastic! Just what I need to hear. “Are we sitting by the lake with a glass of wine yet?”
They finally hit Elizabeth’s drive way, the gravel popping under the wheels to his sedan. Martinez pulled behind her tattered Beamer and put the vehicle in park. Elizabeth starred out to the dark sky for a moment before turning to him; the dim lighting highlighted the perfect sculpture of his chiseled face. Smiling she said, “Thanks for the ride.”
His teeth illuminated from behind his perfect lips. “Anytime. I hope this doesn’t mean our date is over?”
She was a little embarrassed for suggesting it. “No! Of course not.” She grabbed the handle to the car door, “Come on. I have a plan for the rest of the evening. Well, as long as I don’t get another call.”
He began to follow her back into the house. “I’m hoping the chances are slim to none.” As soon as her back was turned, he placed his hands together under his chin, looked up to the sky, and silently prayed he was right.
After hanging her bag on the back of a dining chair, she ventured into the living room and lit a few candles, though she wished it was cold enough outside to burn a fire in the fire place. It’ll be winter soon enough, she thought. She hadn’t changed the place much since moving in. Although she did buy new furniture, the sofa and love seat still created an L shape in front of the fire place and her mother’s blanket hung comfortably over the back of the new sofa. The television remained in the corner surrounded by shelves of vinyl records. Her father’s old multi-record turntable, however, was accentuated by her Bose stereo system where she could play music for hours on end.
She reached the opposite end of the room, knelt down in front of the alphabetized collection, and pulled out The Beatles compilation album, “Hey Jude”, from 1970. Carefully extracting the record from its jacket, she twirled it between her fingers to Side Two, where her favorite songs anxiously awaited the needle to be nestled upon them. Martinez made himself comfortable on the edge of the sofa and watched her every move. She turned to him before laying the album on the turntable and said, “The only time I know of that a needle is actually welcomed.”
He looked at her a tad awkward. With the record suspended between her middle fingers and her thumbs, “Sorry,” she defended, “Just a little criminal-justice-humor. Too much?”
Looking down to the floor as he shook his head and sighed, he looked back up and gazed at her, “Where have you been all my life?”
Giving him a sexy smirk, she set the album carefully on the revolving platter and placed the needle gently on the first groove. “Hey Jude” began to play and Elizabeth turned up the volume until they could hear nothing but the music. She stood up, turned to him, and graciously placed her right hand in front of him as an invitation.
Without saying a word, he gently took her hand and stood up to meet her. Interlocking his fingers with hers, he wrapped his right arm around her tiny waist, almost possessively, and drew her body in close to him. They swayed to the music, ingesting invisible pheromones in the air. His lips brushed her neck sending waves of electricity through every inch of her being. Before the song had ended, they had made their way into her bedroom.
The nervous tension in her stomach battled the every-growing desire to be consumed by him. She whispered with shame, “It’s been a long time.”
He gently kissed her lips and looked into her deep blue eyes. “Remember, you’re in charge here, Liz. You’re the boss.”
If ever three little words had won a war…
With the blankets strewn and windows fogged, they laid on their backs in a satisfied stupor, as if a bright white light had passed between them.
Elizabeth grabbed a red throw from the floor leaving him the sheet. She wrapped it around herself and leaned over to him. “Can I get you something to drink?”
Placing the hair that had fallen onto her face behind her ear, he replied, “A water would be great.”
She smiled, kissed him hard on the lips, and jumped off the bed, nearly skipping into the kitchen. Her legs shook at the weight of her body. She reached the counter and steadied herself. Holy Orgasm, Batman! The shaking subsided with a good stretch of her hamstrings. Reaching into the refrigerator, she debated whether she needed water to hydrate herself, or a glass of wine to help calm her down. She decided both were necessities at this point.
Elizabeth returned to her room where Martinez had his head propped up on a pillow with one arm behind his head; the sheet modestly covering the necessary extremities like a Demigod. Wine glass in one hand, water bottle in the other, her blanket unraveled itself from its tie and fell to the floor.
“Shit!” she exclaimed as she fumbled to place the drinks on the nightstand and cover herself again.
“Well, it’s a little late to be shy, don’t you think?” He said seductively.
Good point. She covered herself up anyway and smiled. She handed him the water and sat down on the bed next to him. She left the wine on the nightstand and reached out for the water once he took a big swig.
Looking at her awkwardly, he asked, “So, I have to share now?”
She was taken aback. “I think we’ve shared much more than water tonight, don’t you think?”
“Touché.” He ran his eyes over her, sighed with pleasure, and made himself comfortable again.
Bending over him, she kissed his forehead and whispered, “I’ll be back in a bit.”
Instantly, his sleep deprivation wore off. “Where you going?”
“I’m just going to sit on the porch and look a couple things up online.”
“Awe come on, Liz. Lay with me...”
After taking a sip of her wine she ran her fingers over his smooth bare chest. “Did you know the Pagans believed that the women, after ritualistically having sex with their men, stole their energy from them in order to conduct magic at night?”
He was stunned by her analogy. “Are you telling me you’re a witch, Elizabeth Strong?” Jumping up from his comfort, he grabbed her by the shoulder with one hand while placing the palm of his other hand on her forehead. His voice became deep and hysterically frightening. “Be damned you flagrant devil woman from hell!”
The wine spilled down her breasts and soaked the blanket, her laughter sharply shaking the room. Still laughing, she placed her half-empty glass on the nightstand.
He lunged at her, covering her body with his massive presence. “What is this evil you speak?”
She couldn’t contain her laughter. “Oh my God, you freaking ogre!” She pushed him away and he conceded. “See that, Mr. Detective. I’m stronger than you think.”
His smile was pure delight against his light brown skin. “Don’t be long, okay? I’m afraid of the dark.” He winked and rolled over, stuffing the down pillow under his head.
It had been years since she felt so energized. She grabbed her laptop from the living room, filled her wine glass, and ventured to the screened in porch. She left the door open, but careful not to disturb her sleeping Angel. Placing her laptop and wine on the wicker table in front of her, she opened the screen, a band-aid staring at her where the camera once did. She turned on the airport and went straight to Google, typing in ‘Brandon DeFranco, Silverton Tribune’.
The results popped up on the screen. “Damn,” she quietly said to herself. “Busy guy.” The headlines all appeared political to some extent.
“Silverton Police Following a Trend of Militarization?”
“SPD Officer in Hot Water Again”
“New Victim Assistance Program, Too Much?”
What the hell? Upon reading the title, she immediately clicked on the article.
“Annapolis County’s Victim Assistance Program recently introduced a new service to victims of crime: Specifically for victims of domestic violence and rape. In previous years, a victim advocate would meet the alleged victim in court on the day of the defendant’s arraignment. The victim would then be entitled to a temporary protection order as well as being informed of the general court process.
With the help of government funds, aka Annapolis County’s taxpayer dollars, victims of crime can now summon an advocate once the police are dispatched to and reach the scene of a crime. While many argue these services are necessary, some say it is open for debate.
Statistically, the number of protection orders granted at arraignments is quite low compared to the number of crimes committed, which would be eligible for such government assistance. Alternatively, the number of protection orders that are actually granted at the time of arraignment and subsequently dropped one week later, are outrageous. (Source)
Although these services are offered to all victims of crime, the Prosecutor’s Office claims that the majority of its use will likely come from victims of domestic violence. Ironically enough, this is the one crime in which victims typically request the order, then subsequently drop it within days of charges being filed.”
Well, no shit, Sherlock! Elizabeth was so frustrated she slammed the computer screen shut, grabbing her wine glass for a sip of calm. It was mind boggling to her that so many people in the 21st century still were not educated on the facets of domestic violence. When women and men alike were assailed by a loved one, at the time of the attack they’re frightened enough to call the police and request a protection order. Once the reality set in, they were even more terrified the abuse would worsen at the mere fact of the protection order. And it sometimes did.
Elizabeth knew all too well that a piece of paper wouldn’t keep someone at bay. Not someone who was bound and determined to unleash his or her power over the other individual in every way possible. These people were already rule breakers. They didn’t give a rat’s ass about a 500-foot invisible line. But, if it gave a battered woman one good nights rest, she was ready to be there to help make sure it was enforced.
Frustrated, she finished her wine as she walked into the kitchen. She turned on the faucet and rinsed out her glass, setting it on the counter. Staring out of the window above the sink she thought, Nice job, Brandon DeFranco. Nothing like an article from a ‘reputable’ source to force people to focus on something other than the real problem.
She walked back through the dining area and stopped at the doorway to her bedroom. All the negative thoughts dissipated as she watched Martinez sleeping in her bed. The cool lake breeze gently swung the sheer curtains from side to side. Turning out the light on the nightstand, she crept into the bed, trying not to disturb him. As soon as she was comfortable, he rolled over, spooning her from behind and cradling her breasts with his arm. Safety: A luxury unknown to her for some time.
“I’ll go to the hearing,” she whispered.
He pulled her closer to him and rested his cheek at the nape of her neck. “And I’ll be right next to you the whole time.”