Restraining Order

by Alex Dean

  “It’s over, okay? Now, if you’ll excuse me, I really need to get back to my guests. So, goodnight Will, I wish you the very best,” she quipped as she spun to go back inside the house.

  Suddenly, an evil surge peaked inside of him. Wilfred Bachman desperately lunged forward, grabbing her by the throat with his left hand as he pulled out an eleven-inch stainless steel dagger with his right. He snatched her body close to his, locking her in a chokehold as the blade of the knife pressed into her neck. She screamed, jerked, trying to wrangle free as Bachman held his death grip tighter.

  “You led me on, fucking used me. I thought you were different,” he called out in between breaths.

  “Let me go, you fucker—you motherfucker,” Alexis spat out.

  She managed to get Bachman’s left forearm in front of her mouth and, opening wide, clamped her teeth down onto his flesh as hard as she could. Bachman yelled; the pain was excruciating. He became disoriented from the horrifying sensation, letting go of her, staggering backward down the concrete steps onto the lawn.

  Directly across the street, a retired war veteran sitting on his porch heard the screams, witnessing the assault; he called the police from his cell phone. But while waiting for the cops to arrive, he strode over to Alexis’s house to confront Bachman head-on.

  “Hey, what’s your problem, asshole? Leave her alone—now—and get lost!”

  “Why don’t you mind your fucking business, old man? This doesn’t concern you! Get back on your porch before you get your ass kicked!”

  The war veteran, his adrenaline pumping and fists clenched tightly, squared up close to Bachman, face-to-face, standing several inches taller, lean and rugged, still sporting a close-cropped military haircut.

  “Don’t let this white hair and wrinkled face fool you, punk. I’ve kicked guys’ asses much bigger than you and still can for that matter. You wanna try me?”

  Bachman shuffled backward. “I’m out of here. This ain’t over. Not by a long shot,” he said as he pointed to Alexis and the war veteran. He quickly retreated to his Camaro and peeled away as the squeals from the police sirens blared louder. Minutes later, four squad cars arrived, blocking any traffic from passing through the street. The officers walked toward the house with their guns drawn. Alexis was still standing on the front lawn, her hands gently caressing her neck and face.

  The party guests, glancing at the flashing blue lights flickering through the front picture window, turned down the music and slowly filed outside to see what was going on.

  “Ma’am, are you all right? What happened here?” one of the cops asked.

  “I’m okay. My ex-boyfriend came by here uninvited and made a scene when I told him that I didn’t want to be with him any longer.”

  “What’s his name?”

  “Wilfred Bachman.”

  “Was he armed?”

  “He had a knife and held it to my throat.”

  “How about his address?”

  “He lives with his mother in a condominium. I vaguely remember the location and don’t know the address. I’ve only been there once, awhile back. He was embarrassed by the fact that he lived with her and rarely took me by there. Why, I have no idea. I still live with my mom, too.”

  “Did your mom witness what happened?”

  “No. She had just left to pick up some extra things from the store. We expect her back any minute now.”

  “Was he on foot or in a vehicle?”

  “He was driving.”

  “What kind of vehicle?”

  “A black Chevy Camaro.”

  The cop’s eyes narrowed, his forehead creased. “I’d recommend you getting a restraining order and taking extra precautionary measures. This guy sounds like he’s not playing with a full deck. You want to take this seriously.”

  “I will, thank you,” Alexis replied, her eyes shiny and wet with fear over the attack. The police took an eyewitness report from the war veteran and within minutes left the scene, but not before a BOLO was issued for Bachman and his vehicle.

  Alexis and her guests all trooped inside. The party had come to an abrupt stop as her friends wondered what had happened.

  “Hey babe, what’s wrong?” said Jason, her best friend, Carol’s, brother.

  “Wilfred came by. When I told him I wanted to break up with him he totally freaked out and put a knife to my throat.”

  “What?”

  “Yeah, you think I made the right decision in dropping him?” Alexis said sarcastically.

  “No doubt!”

  “Are you okay? You hurt?”

  “No, no, I’ve just got a little soreness around my neck.” Alexis shifted her gaze toward the floor, tossing her hair back. “Oh God, why did I ever get involved with him? What was I thinking?”

  “What a loser. Hey, next time listen to your mom. She warned that you’d be sorry getting involved with him. And he’s a mama’s boy. You could have done a lot better than that creep. Who called the police?”

  “Bill across the street did. He heard and saw everything. I don’t know what would have happened if he hadn’t been there.”

  “What the hell was Wilfred thinking?” Carol asked.

  “I’m not sure. When I told him I wanted out, he just snapped. He had this crazed and evil look about him. I had never seen that expression on him or anyone else for that matter. It was this dark, cold and solemn cast. His eyes had black circles underneath them. When I first met him, he seemed like an average guy. Decent looking, polite, good job, which he later lost—and now this.”

  “You need to do what the cops advised. Get a restraining order, speed up your relocation efforts and get the hell out of Dodge,” said Carol.

  “I’ll work on getting an order of protection tomorrow, although I feel they’re not worth the cheap paper they’re written on.”

  Jason said, “He’s going to come back. You know that don’t you? They always do—and it only gets worse. You’re about to start a new life and career. Simply put all this behind you and move forward.”

  “How does your mom feel about her only child finally leaving the nest? Living alone in another state?”

  “She’s happy for me, of course, but I’m concerned about her safety since she’ll be living here alone.”

  “And after this, I can only imagine. But don’t worry; we’ll keep an eye on her for you. We’ll make sure she’s okay,” Carol said, putting an arm around her friend. “This was not the kind of start she wanted to see, I know.”

  “Yeah, once she gets wind of this, I’ll never hear the end of it. It will be ‘I told you so,’ over and over. Anyway, you guys continue. We’re not going to let Wilfred take our fun away. That’s exactly what he’d want,” Alexis said.

  Several of her friends proposed a Veuve Clicquot toast to the doctor in training. And the party went on well into the night.

  Chapter 3

  BACHMAN ELUDED POLICE long enough to make it home, where he planned to grab some clothes before leaving to spend the night elsewhere. His pulse still racing, he’d turned into a delirious and raving maniac. He marched inside the condo he shared with his mother, darting straight to his room. He said nothing to her when she spoke to him. This was a side to him that she had never seen. He had been experiencing a Jekyll and Hyde type of personality change, and it was getting worse. Much worse.

  His mother came to the door of his room. “Wilfred, you look distraught. Something wrong?”

  Bachman swiveled his head around, shifting his gaze toward her.

  “Alexis and I got into it in front of her house. We were fighting like couples sometimes do, and then some old guy came from his porch across the street and got in my face. He must have called the police before he threatened to kick my ass.”

  “You let him threaten you like that? Then what happened?”

  “I left. I heard the police sirens and figured it was time to go. And so I’m going to stay away for a few days, Momma. Now, because of that nosy asshole, the police are looking for me for
questioning. I’m sure of it.”

  “That’s the problem with some men, Will, too much damn testosterone. Turns out, they always have to learn things the hard way—usually at their own peril.”

  Twenty minutes later, he left the condo and checked himself into a cheap motel on the other side of town. The young desk clerk on duty had sensed something odd and urgent in Bachman’s demeanor, but dismissed it as a weary traveler needing a place to stay for the night.

  Bachman walked down the dimly lit hallway to his room, the cramped accommodation overlooking a small parking lot. He took off his clothes and lay down on the small, overly firm bed, gazing at the ceiling. He conjured thoughts of his troubled childhood and images of his father beating his mother.

  The beatings were often brutal, leaving her bruised and bloodied. Whenever that happened, he would be transported to his Aunt Rosie’s house in Roxbury, but he still witnessed most of it. His mother’s disapproval of his father’s drinking and inability to stay home at night started most of it, along with his father’s accusations that his mother was a whore and was sleeping with his brother, who lived in Platteville. The frequent beatings continued—that is, until his father, Ward, was himself found beaten to death behind a seedy pub in East Madison.

  Bachman’s anger had reached a dangerous level that night. He stood up from his bed, his eyes peering into the darkness of the room. He suddenly felt overcome by fear and panic, and he violently plunged his fist into the wall opposite the bathroom, leaving a gaping hole and crumbling pieces of drywall fragments. He had put everything into her, the whole essence of his being over these last two years; they would get married, he’d thought. And now, he could only get even. He had to; he reasoned, vowing to make her pay.

  When he’d had his knife to her throat earlier, he had snatched her cell phone. He grabbed his pants from the chair in the room, sliding the phone out of his front pocket to see if there was any evidence of her seeing someone else. Scrolling through numerous messages, he found an exchange of texts between her and her girlfriend, Carol:

  “How is the job search coming? Any offers?”

  “Yes, I’ve accepted an internship at a hospital in Lake Park, Illinois. Veterans Legacy Memorial. But please keep it to yourself. I don’t want Wilfred finding out!”

  “Congratulations, girlfriend! My lips are sealed.”

  Bachman smiled as he stared at the cell phone’s screen, vividly recalling his fateful words that day: This ain’t over. Not by a long shot.

  Chapter 4

  AT HER FRIEND CAROL’S insistence, Alexis went to live temporarily with Carol and her brother in a three-bedroom ranch on Leo Drive. The 60s era brown brick property had been left to Carol and her younger sibling when both of their parents, the Bergs, had died. Alexis had been on edge after the attack. And everyone, her mother, friends, and family, all agreed that this would be a safe sanctuary until either: she could manage to relocate, or the police could find and arrest Bachman.

  One gray morning Alexis was sitting up on the side of the bed when Carol walked into the guest bedroom.

  “Today is the first day of the rest of your life. And guess what? I’ve decided that I’m joining you this morning at your self-defense class,” said Carol, holding a cup of java.

  Alexis looked up from checking her schedule for the following day, which was saved on her iPad. “That would be great, Carol. Of course, the fact that I can bring one guest for a free session doesn’t hurt either. You can keep me motivated to not give up.”

  “As if you don’t already have enough motivation. You’ve been continuously receiving various threats from him—at school, online, threatening to burn down your mother’s house even. I’m thinking that once you learn the ropes with this martial arts stuff, you’ll be able to kick his ass the very next time he comes at you like that.”

  Alexis nodded. “Yeah. I know. I still can’t believe how a guy can change from a mild-mannered gentleman into a complete jerk almost overnight. I believe I should have ended it a lot sooner. I feel so stupid.”

  Carol sat on the bed and put her hand on Alexis’s shoulder. “Hey, stop thinking like that. You’re not stupid. When you first meet someone, you’re not getting the real deal, okay? People put on false fronts. And you know what? When someone shows you who they are you have to believe them the first time. I heard that somewhere recently. I forgot who said it.”

  Carol took a sip from her mug. “And I think characterizing him as merely a jerk is being a bit too generous.” Carol rose and walked to the dresser and grabbed her laptop. She sat down again next to Alexis. “Okay. Reality check time. Not to beat a dead horse here, but I think you should know what other women in this situation were ultimately faced with.”

  Carol opened her MacBook and began a search for infamous cases of women who had been stalked. She went out to the Web and typed into her browser: “Famous stalking cases.” She opened various articles and saw pictures of stunningly beautiful women. Alexis leaned over and assessed different stories of women who had been stalked, threatened, and ultimately murdered. Often their cries for help fell on deaf ears. In one particular case, the stalker had been arrested only to be released on bail to exact his final horrific revenge.

  Moments later, Carol gently closed the laptop and turned to her friend. “I want you to do everything that’s necessary to protect yourself and your mom. And hopefully bring charges against him that will stick. Of course, since I’ll be working with the Dane County Medical Examiner’s Office in two weeks, I don’t want to see you brought in there anytime soon.”

  Alexis smiled and put her hand on top of her friend’s. “Thanks for being here for me, Carol.”

  “Is that not what friends are for? We’re BFFs remember? I say we go out and have a toast to no more go-nowhere relationships,” said Carol.

  “Sounds good.” Alexis glanced at her watch. “Well, if you’re going to class with me we better get moving. Like yesterday.”

  They slipped on their coats, got into Alexis’s BMW and then drove to M. P. Chang’s Martial Arts Center on Mineral Point Road. The center had been converted from a small retail storefront and now housed self-defense classes for women four days a week. Inside, teaching a small group of students was none other than forty-seven-year-old Grandmaster and five-time Martial Arts champion, Michael Pan Chang. He had relocated to Madison from Beijing several years ago to open up this school to exclusively teach westerners. He was expertly skilled in multiple Chinese martial arts, even in the Korean discipline of Taekwondo. Chang stood just under five foot seven. He was in impeccable condition. Ripped abs. Chiseled chest. A toned and agile, muscular frame. Not someone you ever wanted to mess with.

  “Good evening ladies,” he called out as he headed for a drink of water after performing a series of inverted hook kicks, or Qua Tek as they’re called in Jeet Kune Do.

  “Hi, Michael.”

  “Alexis, I see you’ve brought a friend. Is she being stalked too?”

  “No. No. This is my friend Carol, she’s accompanying me today for support and to learn a few things for herself. One never knows what bogeymen lurk around the corner, right?”

  Chang nodded. “That is so right. Well, Carol, you’ve come to the right place. It’s very important for women to be able to defend themselves. Especially in this day and age. Jeet Kune Do can help you to do just that! It is an eclectic martial art founded and made popular by the legendary martial artist Bruce Lee.

  Chang grinned broadly. “Not one to limit my quest for knowledge, I am also quite proficient in Taekwondo as well. Loosely, it translates to the Way of the Hand and Foot. Nice to meet you,” he said, graciously extending his hand.

  “Pleasure to meet you too,” said Carol.

  Chang set his paper cup of spring water down and then strolled to the front of the room. He wiped some sweat from his forehead and tightened the black belt around the white dobok he wore.

  “Okay ladies, after a little warm-up and some stretching, we’ll begin with some
basics. In a matter of several weeks, you’ll be kicking butt and taking names. No. Only joking. But, as a start, you’ll be able to at least fight off a dangerous attacker. Make no mistake—there is a lot to learn. But you can most certainly do it. Are you ready?”

  Alexis and Carol both exchanged giddy looks as they stood in their yoga pants and sweat tops on the martial art center’s foam roll out mat.

  “Yeah. Let’s do this,” Alexis said firmly and nodded.

  “The one thing you will learn is how to immobilize your attacker. Even kill him if necessary. So. This course is not for the faint of heart, nor is it for the squeamish,” Chang said eloquently as he peered across the faces of the women.

  “Welcome to the reality of life or death.”

  Chapter 5

  ON A CRISP AUTUMN NIGHT, Alexis had agreed to watch Jason’s six-month-old son, Justin, while Jason and Carol attended the first night of the Bergs’ family reunion on Madison’s Southeast side.

  After their parents had died in a small private plane owned and flew by her father, Carol had made it a point to keep in contact with the rest of his side of the family, as well as that of her mother’s. Most of them lived in the Badger State, save for several aunts and uncles who were now living in La Verne, California.

  Jason was still single, and it had been his weekend to spend time with his son. But because little Justin had been flirting with catching a cold, he would be staying indoors for the rest of the night. Alexis walked around the living room holding the newborn, decked out in a cute organic cotton onesie, while Jason and Carol prepared to leave the house.

  “There’s some formula and Gerber in the fridge. Oh, and if he gets restless, here’s his Joovy Spoon Walker. I’m guessing he’ll be down about nine,” said Jason. “And thanks again for watching him. You can reach Carol or me if necessary. We both have our cells with us.”

  “And if he gets any worse. Don’t hesitate to call us,” added Carol.