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“Okay, let me get you the initial paperwork so you can fill it out while you wait,” she says before turning away from me to get the papers.
My eyes dart to each side of me, expecting Steven to be there, convinced he knows what I’m doing.
“Here you go,” the clang of the metal drawer opening in front of me makes me jump. My hand flies over my heart to steady the racing pace.
“Thank you,” I say as I reach in, taking out the clipboard with papers and a pen clipped to it.
“Fill it out. A detective will be with you shortly,” she says, giving me a generic smile.
Turning on my heel, I make my way across the lobby and sit in a row of hard plastic chairs bolted to the floor.
While filling out the papers, a deep voice and a pair of shiny loafers divert my attention.
“Are you here to file an assault and battery charge?” The baritone timber soothes my frayed nerves. Slowly, my eyes move up from the shoes over a pair of sharp-pressed, black slacks with a sky-blue shirt tucked into the waist with a shiny black belt.
At first, my eyes play a trick on me, and I think the man is Steven. He has dark hair, just like my husband, but his eyes are dark brown. The complete opposite of Steven’s blue.
“I,” my voice cracks, and I clear my throat before trying again, “I am.” I stand up and barely come level with the man’s chest, even with my heels on.
“Okay, follow me to my desk, and we can get that taken care of for you,” he says, stepping to the side and extending his arm toward the double glass doors.
“I’m Detective Daron,” he says, keeping in step with me.
He holds open one door after swiping a key card through the scanner off to one side.
“Heather. I’m Heather Black,” I say timidly.
Gemini
Notes of a spring breeze scent hit my nose as Mrs. Black and I weave through the throng of desks in the bullpen. It’s a refreshing smell after the daily dose of sweat and cleaning bleach I’m used to in here.
She’s got money if her clothes, shoes, and handbag have anything to say about her. Her platinum blonde hair is perfectly styled, and not a single strand is out of place.
I can see that all of it is a façade. Her eyes have shadows and dark circles, covered with makeup that hides them well. But in my line of work, I have to notice things others might miss. It’s what makes me such a good detective.
“Please, have a seat,” I say, pulling out one of the two chairs on the front side of my desk. When she sits down, I round it and sit in my squeaky rolling chair.
“Were you able to complete the forms?” I ask, holding my hand out for them.
“Yes,” the papers shake as she hands them over, and my gut tightens.
“Who is the report against?” I ask, looking over the first page with all her information. I note that she lives in the high-end part of town, where the obnoxiously rich reside.
Upon seeing her in the lobby, my first thought was that she’s likely a rich housewife that got slighted by a neighbor, and she’s here to be a ‘Karen’ about it,’ but my gut tells me that’s wrong.
“My husband,” her voice quivers.
While it’s nothing new for a woman to come in with this issue, this case hits me hard. Rage builds inside me, along with the fierce urge to whisk her away and shield her from someone who is supposed to protect her, not harm her.
Moving on to the next page, I see she has a son with her husband. My gut tightens with the need to vomit. I shove it down. I’ve got a job to do and I know it’s the best way to make sure she’s safe.
“Do you want to file a restraining order and include your son?” I ask her.
“No. No restraining order,” she says urgently. Fear is laced in every syllable.
“An order of protection is the best way to keep you from harm, Mrs. Black,” I explain, hoping she’ll change her mind.
“How? It’s a piece of paper. Besides, we live together. I can’t exactly kick him out of our house.” Nevertheless, she brings up valid points.
