Saving Grace

by JL Hallow

  “I guess I just don’t understand how someone so perfect can change so quickly.” Grace said.

  “Well, the reality is no one is perfect and when you hold someone so high on a pedestal, they come crashing down from it eventually. When did the abuse start?” Greg asked softly.

  “About six months after we got married. He never used to drink. Never. Not even on the night of our wedding. I’m not sure why he started. Well, no, that’s not true, I guess I do know. Aaron, he’s a dispatcher, 911 dispatcher and it’s a tough job. He had a call one night, I don’t remember the details, but I know there was a child involved and he came home that night with a bottle of Jack Daniels. He drank the entire thing. I never saw him drink before that night but after that he didn’t stop. He passed out drunk, woke up the next morning violently sick. I thought he was going to die but he wouldn’t let me take him to the hospital. Just spent the whole day in bed, puking all day.”

  “It changed him, huh? That call…” Greg asked, encouraging her to keep talking.

  “Yeah, it did. It started with that call and then it never really stopped. He had deaths before, but nothing that ever involved a child. I guess it was the breaking point for him. I begged him to seek help, to get some kind of counseling. He refused. I think in a way the alcohol was his counseling. The alcohol was what really changed him. It uh, made him violent. It wasn’t healthy for any of us.”

  Grace took a breath, pulling her coat around her as she snuggled deeper into the seat. The cold was starting to get to her. “It didn’t start with hitting. When he would drink, he would yell. God, he would get loud. He would start fights over nothing, screaming matches over the house not being clean enough. Stupid things. I eventually started going out with my friends, usually Caroline…”

  “How long have you known Caroline?”

  “She’s my childhood best friend. I’ve known her since we were kids. She was my rock. In a way, she got it. Her husband is a firefighter, she knows what the hard calls are like, but after two months, he stopped letting me leave the house when he got like that. He would take the keys and hide them, lock me in and wouldn’t let me get out even if they showed up to get me. I’d open the door, make excuses and send them off. The yelling would resume as soon as they were in their cars and driving away.” She had to look away.

  “I should have walked out then. But I thought it was just a phase, so I stayed. Then it got worse. He put his hands on me. At first, it was just a shove. Then it progressed to slaps. Only got worse from there, more violent. The open-handed slaps became punches. He left visible bruises a couple times but then he got smart, started going for my ribs, my arms, not my face. He made me hide them. Wearing long-sleeve shirts in the summer. Make-up. You know?”

  “Why did you stay?”

  Grace shrugged. “I loved him. I knew deep down, he loved me too. At least I thought he did. I truly believed it and maybe he did but at some point, all of that just fell apart. My Aaron was still there, just buried a little deeper. Every time he would get drunk and take it out on me, he would wake up the next morning in tears, begging me to stay, crying, saying he was sorry. I believed it. Eventually that stopped though – the apologies.”

  “Something else changed, didn’t it?”

  Grace nodded. “Yeah, after a couple months, he wasn’t just drinking at home. He was always drunk, even at work. Started putting vodka in water bottles. I don’t know how his supervisors didn’t notice. Either that or he did his job so well, they just didn’t care. I don’t know. But he was a good liar, still is. But the drunker he got, the worse the abuse got. The first major injury was when he broke my wrist the first time. The same night he shattered my eye socket.”

  “Why didn’t you get help*?” Greg asked.

  “I was scared. I didn’t think anyone would believe me.” Grace said quietly.

  “Tell me about that night”

  ~

  *If you or anyone you know is a victim of domestic violence, please see the page after the epilogue for a list of resources. You are not alone.

  Chapter Sixteen: Violence

  Aaron and Grace, six years prior

  Aaron stared ahead at the wall. He was sitting in the La-Z-boy chair in the living room, legs kicked out in front of him with a bottle of Jack dangling from the fingertips of his left hand. He was quiet, face reddened from the alcohol, silently stewing. Despite his body looking relaxed, Grace knew all too well that looks were deceiving.

  She could see the tension in his muscles, the coil; a snake before it strikes. Grace braced for it, the last six months had prepared her to see the danger in her husband. Fight or flight, right? Sitting on the small loveseat on the other side of the room, she curled her legs up under her, pulling the fleece blanket up higher. Maybe if she was quiet, if she made herself invisible, his rage would miss her entirely.

  Across the room, Aaron lifted the bottle and took another swig of whiskey. Bloodshot eyes glanced at the glass bottle. There was only an inch left and he knew as well as Grace did that it was the last bottle in the house. Leaning back into the chair, he let his eyes close. In his head, the call that haunted him for months played like an old movie.

  “911, what’s your emergency?”

  “Please help me…my son, he’s not breathing!”

  “What’s your address?”

  The frantic voice on the other end of the line gave the address. Aaron’s voice crackled over the line, walking her through the instructions for CPR. Blue, she said. Her son was blue. Not breathing. The kid had gone swimming earlier in the day, took a nap when they got home, she said. When she checked on him an hour later, he was unresponsive. No, not unresponsive.

  Dead.

  “The paramedics are on their way.” Aaron’s voice stayed level, calm through the whole thing.

  Ten minutes later he heard the voices of the medics, the screams of a single mother losing her only child. Christopher. That was his name. She said it over and over. Disconnecting the line, Aaron ripped off his headset and tossed it on his desk, her pleas to save her baby echoing in his head. Her screams were so similar to those of his best friend’s mother when Eric had been found floating in the pool. Aaron thought he had been playing a joke after he had jumped into the pool and came back up floating face down. Eric had dove into the shallow end, breaking his neck on impact. They had only been twelve at the time.

  Aaron shoved back from his desk and stood, pacing the small room. Sandra, the other dispatcher on duty eyed him. “You need to go decompress, Aaron. Go. Step away, come back after.”

  And he did. Aaron left, heading to the quiet room in the back of the station. The one that was reserved for debriefing or when someone needed a moment to breathe after a brutal call. A brutal call like the one he had just taken. Despite knowing the outcome before he even hung up the phone, the confirmation of the child’s death rocked him to the core.

  The kicker was another call to the same address three days later. A neighbor had called it in after hearing the gunshot and he had taken the call. Suicide, the Troopers said. A self-inflicted gunshot to the temple. The mother was dead on arrival. Just like her son. After the chief got word about the second call, Aaron was forced into mandatory leave. A break, both he and the chief agreed he needed. It would be for the best.

  That night, he stopped at the package store on the way home. Browsing the bottles and bottles of alcohol on the shelves, he stopped at the bottle of Jack Daniels. He had drunk it once or twice in high school. The taste was tolerable enough. Bringing the bottle up to the register, he placed it on the counter, paid for it and headed home, skipping the bottle of coke. What was the point of diluting it?

  The twenty-minute drive home felt like an hour, the bottle of alcohol a heavy presence in the seat next to him. Pulling into the driveway, Aaron put his truck in park and sat there. He leaned forward and rested his forehead against the steering wheel, eyes closing. In the silence of the vehicle, he replayed the first call over and over inside his head. Could he hav
e helped her? What if his instructions had been better? What if she called five minutes earlier?

  Wouldn’t have made a difference. Christopher had died from secondary drowning. Fluid in his lungs even after leaving the pool. There was nothing he could have done, the kid was gone before his mother even picked up the phone.

  Aaron sat up, hand coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose. A moment later, he scrubbed his face with his hands, grabbed the bottle, and headed into the house.

  That was six months ago. Six, long months.

  Aaron’s eyes snapped open, landing on Grace when they did. His lip curled into a silent snarl as he brought the bottle to his lips and drained it. “Get me another one.” He snapped.

  “That’s the last of it.” Grace shrank back into the couch.

  “Bullshit. Go fucking find another bottle.”

  “Aaron, that’s the last of it. I don’t even have a bottle of wine around here.” It was true, he finished the bottle she had set aside for cooking.

  Without warning, the bottle flew across the room, smashing several inches above her head. Grace felt the glass rain down on her, showering her with the shards. She ducked, covering her head. It did little to protect her, an afterthought, her body not prepared for the assault in the first place. Slowly lowering her arms, her gaze landed on Aaron, lower lip quivering. “Please don’t do this…go upstairs. Go to bed. Please.” She was pleading with the devil, the real Aaron long gone.

  “What?” His voice was a whip crack. “What did you just say to me?” He demanded, shoving himself out of the chair.

  His body wobbled, hand darting out to the wall to steady himself. But that’s what a liter of Jack Daniels did, warped your mind, stunted one’s ability to control their motor function. Aaron had hit that point halfway in but judging by the flames behind his gaze, he was ready to inflict pain.

  Ignoring the glass, Grace shot up from the couch. She placed herself behind the coffee table. It wasn’t going to stop him but with any luck, it would at least slow him down, trip him up. “I said, go to bed.” She kept her tone soft as her hands raised, attempting to keep him at bay. “You don’t want to do this. Not tonight. Go to bed, I’ll come up with you, anything you want.”

  But Aaron had already decided what he wanted. He was out for blood, ready to strike. He crossed the living room in five long strides, facing off with her across the table. She was just barely out of reaching distance and with his wobbled stance, moving quick wasn’t in his capacity. Grace dodged left and he followed, hand darting out to grab for her. His fingers slipped, snagging the hem of her sleeve. But he caught just enough fabric to pull her into him.

  He did so with a sharp yank. His hand moved to her hair, tangling up in it as he gave it a firm yank, directing her toward the kitchen. Grace’s body twisted in his hold, trying her best not to fight it as her eyes stung with unshed tears. The dull ache started, whether it was the tension in her body that triggered the headache or the sharp tugs on her hair, she wasn’t sure.

  When they reached the kitchen, Aaron let her go with a shove, sending her tumbling to the floor. Grace hit it with a thud, a whimper following. She knew what was coming, knew this was going to get worse before it got better. And it only got better when he grew tired of hitting her.

  “Get. Up.” He ground out. “Find the other bottle.”

  Grace slowly started to pull herself to her feet, using the counter to help her up. “I told you, that was the last one. There isn’t another bottle. I would give it to you if we had it. We don’t. You drank it.” She took a weary step closer to him, then another.

  His body was tense, muscles rigid below the surface. When her hand reached out to touch his chest, his lashed out and grabbed her by the wrist. Aaron yanked it, twisting it behind her back before bullying her body forward. Grace let out a sharp cry, the fragile bone no doubt breaking from being twisted at such an intense angle. “Let go. Aaron, please let go.” She was pleading with him, desperate to nurse her injured wrist.

  The sharp jolts of pain ripped up her arm as Aaron kept going, driving her forward until they reached the cabinets. “I said look for it.” His grip tightened, wrenching her wrist further.

  Grace let out a cry of pain, free hand flying out to steady herself on the countertop. “You have to let me go so I can look. Please.” She begged. “I’ll look. Whatever you want, I’ll do it.”

  Aaron wrenched her wrist tighter before releasing it. An angry snarl crossed his features as he shoved a finger toward the cabinet. “Fucking look then.” He snapped.

  He was primed and ready to inflict even more pain at a moment’s notice. Grace eyed him wearily, swallowing as she turned her back to him. Glancing down, she scanned her wrist. It was already bruising, the bone awkwardly twisted below the surface. Her eyes stung as tears streamed down her cheeks. She lifted her shaking hand to the first cabinet, pulling the doors open and shuffling things around before moving to the next. She made the same search through six more cabinets before sighing in defeat.

  Grace already knew there was nothing in them. She counted the bottles, knew when the anger would take over. It always did when he ran out of the one thing that seemed to keep him sane. Well, sane to him. Taking a deep breath, she slowly turned to face him. “We don’t have anything else.” She spoke softly, body tensing as it prepared for anything that might come her way.

  Her gaze flicked toward the clock on the wall. “I’d go get you more but it’s already too late. The stores have closed for the night…I’m sorry…”

  Before she could react, Aaron surged forward. He was like a human tornado as he stormed toward her. Her hands came up to block her face, earning an instant yelp of pain. She watched his arm cock back, fist flying forward. It connected with her face despite her attempt to stop it. The blow dazed her, knocking her to the cold tile floor.

  The attack didn’t stop there. Aaron followed her to the floor, fist aimed for her face over and over again until it split the skin on his knuckles. When Grace’s cries turned to quiet whimpers, he hauled himself off of her and stood. His hands moved to smooth out his shirt, tugging it down into place as he stared down at her.

  “Next time you’ll fucking find it.” He spat, foot flying into her side. He turned away from her and headed for the living room, then to the stairs that led to their bedroom.

  Grace laid curled up on the floor, blood trickling down her face as her eye swelled shut. The five minutes she laid still felt like five hours. She waited, barely breathing, not moving a muscle until the stomping from the floor above ceased and the house fell quiet.

  Slowly, she pulled herself up into a sitting position, head spinning as she leaned back against the wall. Everything hurt; her body, her mind, her soul.

  Her eyes scanned the kitchen, hunting for the house phone. Her cell phone was in the living room, entirely too far for her to crawl to it. Relief flooded through her when she spotted the small cordless Panasonic.

  Not trusting herself to stand, she crawled across the kitchen floor until she made it to the table. Reaching out for the chair, she used it to help her to her feet. She pulled herself up with a shaky hand to steady herself before she tried to take a step. She forced herself to keep walking despite the waves of dizziness and urge to throw up. Each step brought her closer to the phone on the opposite end of the table.

  When she finally reached the other end, she lowered herself into the chair carefully. She reached for the phone, forcing herself to see the numbers she punched the buttons, one good eye open.

  It wasn’t 911 she called, it was Caroline.

  Chapter Seventeen: Coming Clean

  Present day, Grace & Greg

  Greg was silent at first, seemingly mulling over the memory she was sharing with him. His jaw was clenched tight, eyes tired and weathered around the edges. Aaron wasn’t a man. No man did that to a woman, especially not one he claimed to love. One he loved enough to marry. Averting his gaze, Greg stared out the window, saying nothing.

  The si
lence in the car seemed to stretch longer and longer as the minutes ticked by. Grace glanced down at her hands in her lap, hair falling into her face as she ducked her head and blew out a ragged breath. Coming clean about that night was quite possibly one of the hardest things she had ever done. It was hard with Caroline the night it happened and it was harder repeating it now. Only a handful of people knew the story of when things went from bad to brutal.

  “I’m sorry.” Greg finally spoke up. “I’m sorry he did that. I’m sorry it got worse from there. I’m sorry no one helped you. I can’t even imagine. I really can’t.”

  “I wouldn’t say no one.” Grace piped up, glancing over at him. “Caroline was there.” She said quietly.

  Caroline was always there. No matter what.

  “What did she do? When she found you like that?” Greg asked.

  Grace responded with silence and a shrug at first. “I didn’t tell her what happened at first. When I called, I said I had been mopping and that I slipped on the wet floor and hit my head and that Aaron was already asleep. I told her I didn’t want to wake him because he was working early the next morning and he hadn’t been sleeping much lately. That much was true. Aaron rarely slept, the nightmares kept him up and the only time he slept through the night was when he borderline drank himself into a coma. I needed her. She understood because her husband, Mike, like I said, he’s a firefighter. We let our men sleep when they can.” She took a breath. “She lived about a half an hour away. By the time she got there, Aaron was fast asleep. One of those deep, drunken sleeps, you know? He wasn’t going to budge no matter how much noise we made. Anyway, I didn’t need to let her in. She had a spare key and let herself in. She was horrified when she saw my face. Literally jerked back and dropped her keys on the floor. I guess it was real bad. The first thing she did was grab a towel and a bowl of warm water. She did her best to clean up the blood but there was only so much she could do. She begged me to go to the hospital…begged.”