“Oh yes, it's true.” he continued in a normal, conversational tone. “And you know what else? It's probably because he admires a lady, too. I mean, after you attacked her and she disappeared, she wasn't gone a week before you moved in for the kill. With him, I mean. Let just enough time pass so things didn't look suspicious. The friend, always there to comfort him in his time of need. But the truth was, you were following him around like a dog in heat, isn't that right? And he knew it, too. That's why...”
Clasping her hands over her ears, she closed her eyes and began shaking her head back and forth.
Raising his voice, he continued. “That's why he never got over Cassandra, because she had never loved him for his money, or his position in the community. She loved him for who he was, flawed as he may be. And that's why I myself love HER! It's who she is. A loving, caring individual, and that's the most pure aphrodisiac in the world to some men! It's why you'll always have boy-toys instead of a man who truly loves you. You're empty inside, Martina, SHE'S NOT!”
Still shaking her head back and forth, she suddenly screamed “Shut up shut up SHUT UP!!! I love him, I DO!!!”
“And I'll bet she's better in bed, too!” he shouted.
Suddenly, she snapped. Opening her eyes and pinning him with a maniacal glare that made his scrotum shrivel, she launched herself towards him and screamed, “You shut your filthy, LYING MOUTH!”
Before the assault began, he only had time to register one coherent thought, Oh shit, I've pushed her too far...
Then she was on him. Both arms wind milling maniacally, she began raining blows to his face and upper torso with both sap-clad fists. The first blow that landed split both his upper and lower lips wide open simultaneously, the second caught his jaw, a glancing blow that still felt as if his jaw had been dislocated, the third over his right eye, yet again, the fourth, fifth and sixth catching his collar bone and two ribs.
Realizing the position he had put himself in, he began to panic, now no longer coherent enough to even know if any bones were being broken, and not caring. Some primal, long dormant instinct instead screamed for him to get away, by any means necessary, or simply ‘turtle‘, to try to protect his vital organs. He chose to run.
In what he later reflected must have a been a purely subconscious defensive move, he struggled to his feet, still handcuffed to the chair, then turned his back to her and hunched over, the back and bottom of the chair offering limited protection against the blows that were still raining down on him from the deadly gloves, which offered her own delicate hands protection. With her still hot on his heels, he began hobbling as quickly as his trembling legs would take him towards the stairway, where he began leaping up the stairs, two at a time.
He had reached the sixth step when he felt her hand grip his right ankle and yank backwards hard enough to send him crashing down face-first onto the wood, which further tattered his already swollen lips and smashed nose. He screamed incoherently as he felt a blinding pain in his right calf, and realized she was biting him. Struggling to regain his footing, he fell again as she grabbed both his ankles and began dragging him back down to the foot of the stairs. Once there, his panicked mind finally realized the best way to protect himself was to ‘turtle‘ instead of running. Sinking to his knees and touching his forehead to the cold, hardwood floor, he screamed through smashed, bloody lips, “THOP, THOP, THOP! THASS INNUFF!!!”
***************************************************
Martina was weeping as she ministered to the injuries she had inflicted upon her cousin.
He was stretched out on the couch, and he was a terrible sight to behold. His right eye had swollen shut, and the already-black bruise was the size of a softball. His delicate nose and mouth were even worse, his nose having swollen to the size of a summer-ripe squash, and his two lips resembling a hot dog bun. Upon further, extremely careful examination, she was relieved to find that at least none of his dazzlingly white, perfectly straight teeth had been knocked loose or broken. His nose, she was certain, was another matter entirely.
Lifting his shirt gingerly, she looked at his bruised ribs in horror, wondering if any of those were broken. “I'm so sorry Brett, I didn't mean to get so angry.” she sobbed as she pulled his shirt back down into place, picked up the icepack she had gathered from the freezer, and placed it gently over his eye.
“Teena.” he mumbled, and motioned weakly with one finger for her to lean close.
She complied immediately.
“Teena..” he mumbled through swollen lips, “Dint mean what I thed. Wazz trine to make you mad.”
“I know that now, Brett.” she sniffled. “What do you want me to do now? Just tell me, and I'll do it, no matter what it is. I'm a strong girl.”
“Call the poleeth.” he mumbled, then drifted off into unconsciousness.
***********************************
Cassandra groaned and burrowed deeper into the mattress, nuzzling her nose into Granger's neck. Subconsciously inhaling his clean, masculine scent, she began drifting off to sleep again and thought, This feels soooo nice...
BANG.....BANG.....BANG!
Bolting upright, Granger blinked several times and shook his head, trying to clear the cobwebs. Dislodging himself from Cassandra gently, he eased himself out of bed just as she sat up and asked in an irritated, confused voice, “What's going on?”
“Sorry I woke you, someone's at the door.” he replied.
“Woke me? You mean we...”
“I just snuggled up to you last night, that's all that happened.”
“Oh.” she replied, and found herself both pleased and frightened at the prospect.
“Be right back.” he replied, then walked out of the bedroom.
Oh God, I hope it's not Brett at the door, I can't handle another confrontation between those two... she thought suddenly, then threw the covers back and scrambled out of bed herself. Glancing at the bedside clock, she saw it was 3:45 AM.
**************************************************
“That better not be Parker.” Granger muttered angrily as he unlocked the door, then snatched it open. Standing outside in the hallway were two men in suits, two uniformed Sheriff's deputies, and the county Sheriff himself, and all five of the men looked ill at ease. “Well, what is it?” he snapped.
“Uh, Mr. Mortensen? Granger Mortensen?”
“Yes?”
“I'm Sheriff Griffin, and this is Lieutenant Fulton.” he said, motioning to a lanky man with salt and pepper hair, wearing a business suit. “And this is Detective Sergeant Price.” he finished as he motioned to the shorter, younger of the two men, who looked like a chubby version of Harry Potter. “We would like to ask you a few questions.”
Both detectives silently produced their badges and extended them, studying him with a neutral expression.
Rubbing his eyes again, Granger gave the badges a cursory glance and demanded, “What's this all about?”
“Please, may we come in?” the Sheriff replied.
“Whatever.” he grumbled, then turned and motioned for them to follow him to the sitting room.
Entering the sitting room with the five men in tow, he seated himself in one of the high-back chairs and got right to the point, not even offering the men a seat. “Alright, just what is so damn important this early in the morning?”
Silent for a moment, the Sheriff knew he had to tread lightly, because Granger Mortensen had enough political and financial juice to make his life a living hell. “Sir, do you know a Doctor Brett Parker?” he finally asked in a respectful voice.
“Granger, what's going on here?” a confused voice asked.
Turning as one, all six men watched as Cassandra made her way into the room, pulling her robe tightly around her, with a worried expression on her lovely features. Perching herself gracefully on the arm of the chair of Granger was sitting in, she glanced at him and repeated the question, putting one hand on his shoulder.
Thrilled with the intimate gesture
, he looked up at her and smiled softly. “It's nothing that can't be resolved, I'm sure, dear.” he said. Turning his attention back to the matter at hand, he looked at the obviously nervous Sheriff and replied in a noticeably cooler voice, “Yes, I know Brett Parker, why?”
“Where were you around ten last night?” the Sheriff replied, studying both husband and wife acutely, looking for any signs of deception. Noticing a furtive, pensive look crossing the woman's face, he thought, Does she knew something? Is she trying to hide knowledge of her husband's attack on the doctor?
Leaning forward, Granger popped his neck, hoping to relieve the tension. Forcing himself to smile, he replied, “I was in the bar, why?”
“Well, sir, Doctor Parker claims you physically assaulted him last night. The man was literally beaten to a bloody pulp. He had to be rushed to the hospital, with some very serious injuries, I might add. He suffered a broken nose, two black eyes, split lips, which required over twenty stitches, three cracked ribs, one bruised kidney, and a severe bite mark on one calf. In all my years on this job, I've only seen or heard of one beating that was worse than this. A fellow Sheriff, who happens to be a friend of mine, told me about it. Happened to some redneck named Leroy Harrington, over at the Road House Tavern, in Wise county. Anyway, Doctor Parker claims you flew into a jealous rage over the fact that he's genuinely concerned about your wife's well being.” he replied as he turned his attention to Cassandra. “He says he's very concerned about you, Mrs. Mortensen, since the disagreement your husband and him had was over you. He says he's especially worried because you yourself were the victim of a brutal attack, several years ago.”
Suddenly feeling queasy, Cassandra clutched her stomach and thought about what had taken place in the hallway earlier that night. At the time she had sincerely believed her husband was going to kill the man with his bare hands, but now, something didn't seem quite right. Glancing down at Granger's strong hands, she frowned and thought, That’s odd...his hands look as smooth and unmarred as mine. How could he issue such a brutal beating and not have even one cut, one bruise, and no swelling? And how could he have beaten Brett that badly, and have no defensive wounds at all? Surely he wouldn't have simply stood there and let him beat on him without even trying to defend himself... she thought as her gaze swept his face, which was as smooth as his hands.
Icy sweat trickling down his back, Granger looked the Sheriff straight in the eye and spoke. “Well, first of all, like I said, I was in the bar all evening, and there are several witnesses who can support my alibi. My aide, the bartender, and three...” he trailed off, not wanting to mention the young women, unless he absolutely had to, “....and three, four, I don't know how many, video surveillance cameras, maybe? Look, I'll admit that I got into an argument with the little shit head earlier last night, and I snatched him up by the collar, but I was simply making it clear I don't want him sniffing around my wife anymore, alright? In my place, you would have done the same thing, because his interest in her is less than professional, believe me.” he finished as he glanced at his wife worriedly and gave her a small, apologetic smile.
With a grim look on his face, the Sheriff stepped forward, hoping the huge young man would come quietly. He didn't want to mess this arrest up, and he certainly didn't want anyone accusing him of cutting the man a break, that could come back and bite him in the ass the next election. “Sir, you're under arrest for aggravated assault, unlawful entry to Brett Parker's residence, and malicious wounding.”
Gasping, Cassandra watched in numb horror as the two deputies stepped forward, one of them pulling out his handcuffs. Something’s not right!!! Her mind screamed, then it hit her. Standing quickly, she hurried from the room.
Watching her flee, Granger felt as if his heart had been ripped out of his chest. She believes I did it..... He thought. All hope gone, he stood to his feet wearily and held his hands behind his back, not caring what happened next. Closing his eyes, he asked in a quiet voice, “Before you cuff me, may I at least change, and call my adjutant? He'll need to contact a bail bondsman and my lawyer. Also, I would like to speak to my mother-in-law. She's just right down the hall.”
Motioning for the two deputies to halt, the Sheriff nodded, relieved that the man's legendary temper hadn't kicked in gear.
*****************************************
Running into the bathroom where she had put Granger's clothing, (after she had gotten up and heard the policemen in the sitting room) Cassandra plucked the items from the laundry hamper and studied them quickly, yet carefully. “No blood stains, no rips or tears, just a few wrinkles.” she mumbled. Putting his shirt to her nose, she sniffed, and could distinctly detect the odor of liquor and cigarette smoke. “That would be from the bar.”
Still clutching the items, she ran back to the sitting room, and thrust the items towards the startled Sheriff. “Sheriff, this is what my husband was wearing last night. You can smell the cigarette smoke from the bar, and my husband doesn’t smoke. You said Brett, I mean, Doctor Parker, was beaten to a bloody pulp, correct? Now, what's wrong with this picture?” she asked, waving the shirt under his nose. “Take a good look at it. No rips, no tears, not one drop of blood. Now, how do you suppose that could be? Could be because he’s not guilty of assault! I don't know what's going on here, but it's obvious to me that Doctor Parker is either lying, or it's a case of mistaken identity.”
His heart leaping in his chest, Granger opened his eyes and looked at her in wonderment, his eyes sparkling. She's defending me!! She's actually defending ME, over Brett!! He thought, giddy with excitement.
Face flushing, the Sheriff glared down at her in complete silence for a moment, not caring one bit for the way the young woman was telling him his job. Ever since all those damn crime and Court TV shows had became so popular, everyone who watched them thought they were experts. They actually believed all the BS about how gathering forensic evidence was so easy, and everyone and their brother wanted to be either Johnny Cochran or Barry Sheck. Or both. But these thoughts he kept to himself. After all, she was married to Granger Mortensen, and judging from the way the young man was looking at her, it wouldn't do for him to upset her, as well. Taking the shirt from her, he gave it a quick once-over, then handed it to Lieutenant Fulton. “Well, ma'am, it may seem to be that easy on one of those CSI shows that folks love to watch so much, but the reality is, there isn't always trace evidence, and there could have been other ways to inflict such a beating without getting any blood on himself. In the real world, crime is never that cut and dry, and it's never, ever as easily explained as it is on television. But we'll submit these items as evidence anyway.” he finished, in an effort to placate her.
Granger said nothing, enjoying her defense of him the way an attention starved child would crave praise from a neglectful parent. She was glaring at the man, and he could tell she didn't appreciate being talked down to.
“Sheriff…” she shot back, “I'm not some dullard, I'm well aware of the fact that REAL police work would be more involved. And look at this.” Reaching down, she took Granger's left hand in hers, turned it palm up, then palm down, then repeated the process with his right hand. “No signs whatsoever of a beating. Now, I'm sure you men have seen the after effects of a good old-fashioned fist fight, am I right? Bruising? Swollen knuckles? Plus, there are no signs whatsoever of defensive marks on him. No bruises, or even scratches. Now, do you honestly believe that any man, any man at all, would just stand there and be beaten on, without offering even the slightest resistance? Please!” Then, returning his look with one of equal contempt, she huffed, “And for your information, I didn't get that from CSI, I got it from 'Murder She Wrote'”
Unable to help themselves, Granger, the two detectives, and even the two deputies snickered.
His face now beet red, the Sheriff sputtered, “Now look here, I don't care who you're married to young lady, you don't speak to me like that.”
“Hey hey, take it easy Sheriff.” one of the deputies muttered, th
en glanced at his fellow deputy uneasily.
Unfazed, Cassandra's gaze never faltered. “Just what is your problem anyway, Sheriff? Look, my husband said he was in the bar. This Inn is a five-star resort. I'm sure there's video surveillance footage of the bar, cameras in the VIP elevators that are used to get to these suites, cameras in every hallway, in the lobby, every retail shop and restaurant, in the parking lot, yadda yadda yadda, you beginning to catch my drift here? Their surveillance cameras probably have surveillance cameras. And while you're at it, why don't you ask security to check with the desk to see when the key cards were used?”
“Young lady, you don't understand, we can't simply ignore the complaint, or the warrant. Charges have been made, and a warrant has been issued. I work for all citizens in this community, and if I let this go, I wouldn't be doing my job.” he replied wearily, thinking that far too many people these days were complaining about how the rich were treated better than the poor, and this was a blue-collar community, through and through. If he ignored this, he was practically finished as Sheriff, come the next election. And he knew that Brett Parker was just the type to scream that his department was giving Granger Mortensen preferential treatment.
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