Day and Night Ch. 04

He lunged at her, faster than he should be able to give the whiskey on his breath she could smell half a room away. Beth dodged, scrambling over the couch. He was blocking the front door, so she spun, running to the guest bathroom. She'd barely made it inside and locked the door before he slammed into it, nearly breaking the lock. "Beth!"

"Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck," she chanted, looking down at the phone in her hand. It'd managed to call 9-1-1 but they'd fucking hung up. She dialed again, fast as she could.

The door shuddered on its hinges. "9-1-1, what's your emergency?"

Beth tapped the speaker icon as she rummaged under the sink for anything she could use as a weapon. "My fiancée is trying to kill me," she yelled as her hand curled around a thick, greasy, metal wrench. "He already beat the hell out of my friend."

"What's your address?"

Yanking out the tool, Beth shot off the address as she hefted the wrench up and scrambled onto her feet. The door stopped shaking, but then Jason's cajoling voice seeped through, "Who ya talkin' to Beth?"

"Ma'am, the police are on their way," the operator said. "Are you in asafe location?"

"Is that the fucking cops?" Jason screamed, slamming against the door again. "The cops!"

Beth snatched up the phone, clicked off the speaker, and positioned it between her ear and shoulder as she backed up to the wall and stood ready for when the door stopped holding.

"Ma'am, are you safe in your current location?" the operator asked again, this time with a hint of urgency in her otherwise monotone voice. "The police are enroute to your location."

"I'm okay," Beth whispered, muscles tight and eyes trained on the door. "I locked myself in the guest bathroom. But my friend was unconscious. He knocked her unconscious."

"Okay." There was typing in the background. "I've noted it and sent the information to the paramedics. Can you tell me how badly she was hurt?"

The memory of Simone lying bloody and bruised on the floor hit Beth, making her already tight muscles scream in protest. "She—I don't know. There was a lot of blood. From what I could see of her face it looked like hamburger meat."

"What's your name?"

"Beth. Beth McNair."

"Okay, Beth. My name is Penelope. Are you injured at all?"

"No, he didn't get to me." Yet.

"Just a few more minutes, Beth. You're doing really well," the operate said softly, a hint of emotion in her voice. "I know this is terrifying, but—"

The door shuddered again, one of the three hinges bending awkwardly and breaking away from the wall. Beth thought about her position in the bathroom. If the floor flew off, it would knock her out.

Edging away from the wall opposite the door, Beth climbed into the sliding glass shower, feeling even more exposed. If Jason broke the glass he could try and stab her with it.

Fuck.

Suddenly all the late night crime shows and podcasts about murder were coming back with a sick vengence and none of the information was all that helpful. Beth had always been alert outside, but it was rarely a stranger in the darkness who hurt others.

"He's almost in," Beth whispered desperately, trying to hold onto what was left of her sanity and composure.

"Almost there. Can you tell me what you do for a living?"

"I-I don't know. I can't remember."

"It's okay. Take a deep breath. In and out."

It was than Jason started to drunken scream-ramble about everything wrong with her. Even wasted off his ass, words barely intelligible, he managed to hit all her soft spots, all the weaknesses she'd confided in him.

"None of it's true," the operator said, voice strong and steady. "The police are in your building. It'll be over soon. None of this is your fault."

But wasn't it all? She'd chosen Jason. She'd come back. She'd left in anger. Would this be happening if she'd made different choices from the start? At that Fourth of July party she'd known he was an alcoholic with a temper. But she thought she could change him, fix what was obviously fundamentally wrong with him.

A commotion at the front door jarred her as pounding and the call of "Police! Open up!" echoed through the apartment. Beth could hear Jason moving around, opening the door, trying tp offer some drunken explanation. For a second, Beth thought Jason would win. Why the hell would the police knock if she'd called for help? Wouldn't they just bust down the door and arrest him?

But as quickly as the thought came, it went as she heard medical jarron and a steady stream of Miranda Rights. Still, she didn't move. Didn't put down the wrench or break her stare with the door.

"They're here."

"Who?"

There was a pause before, "The police, dear. It's over."

A harsh laugh erupted from her mouth as Beth's eyes started to waver. "No it's not. You don't know who he is."

"There are places that can help you. Groups for—" The police pounded at the bathroom door and it fell down, hitting and cracking the marble. "What was that?"

"The door."

"Oh... Wow."

An officer dressed in plain clothes looked at the warped door and then back to her. "You're safe now, ma'am. You can come out."

Beyond the door Beth could hear Jason's drunken ranting about lawyers and his father and who he was. Simone passed on a spine board, limbs slack with a neck brace securing her head while an EMT looked at Simone's phone and called out medical information. The enormity of the situation hit Beth as she slid down the slick shower tiles, wrench and phone falling from her fingers with thuds.

Nothing is going to be okay. Not at all. Oh God. Oh God!

"She's going into shock," someone called as shivers wracked Beth's body and a cool sweat broke out on her skin. "I need an EMT in here."

Within a few seconds there was an emergency thermal blanket around her shoulders and someone was speaking clearly and calmly, voice almost reassuring. But Beth was blank. Eyes unfocused at some spot on the floor as her world—the one that had already been splintered by Jason's infidelity—exploded comepletly in a shitstorm that would fuck up eveything.

Of course it would.

Jason was too rich to go to jail. His parents had to much political leverage in the city for her to successfully press charges and keep what was left of her life. Everything would get swept under the rug for Jason—especially if it was his first offence. Beth, on the other hand, would be black listed, her contacts up in flames, friends gone, career ruined.

Consciousness began to return in increments as her new reality sunk in. Questions buzzed like gnats in her mind: Where will I live? What do I tell my boss? Am I gonna have a job come tomorrow? Who can I stay with? How much money is in my account?

"Deep breaths." The voice finally penetrated, the hand on her shoulder keeping Beth anchored as she sucked in a breath that made her gasp and cough. What do I do?

The EMT, a petite Latina woman with a voice that was the perfect amount of gentle and firm, helped her breathe and come back to herself. A fun size pack of pretzels were dangled in front of her face. "Are you allergic to any of the ingredients?"

Shaking her head, Beth reached for the pretzels and slowly bit and chewed. "Thanks."

"No problem," the EMT smiled gently. "Think you're about ready to come out of here?"

Beth started, glancing down at herself on the damp shower floor wrapped in silver. Not her best look. "Oh, yeah."

"Let me help you up," the officer from before, the one who'd apparently never left, came forward, reaching out a hand. Beth took it and let him pull her up and walk her out of the bathroom to the living room.

The EMT was gone before Beth could give another thank you. "I'm Detective Tish, Ms. McNair..." He waited, the not-quite question of my last name hanging in the air before I nodded and he continued, "Can you tell me what happened here?"

Beth sat slowly on the cream-colored sectional, looking over the mess of officers traipsing through her house. No, not her house: Jason's.

"Ms. McNair?"

Beth blinked back to the officer who had positioned himself at the other end of the couch, hands loosely clasped in front of him with his elbows on his knees. Detective Tish didn't look like anyone on TV. He wasn't the caricature of a detective with a jelly-stained tie or white powder from a donut around his mouth. He wasn't the uber-buff Stabler with a heart of gold but slightly looser morals. He was rather nondescript. Brown hair, brown eyes, 5 o'clock shadow, with worn black boots, a fur-lined coat, and gray button-down shirt.

Easy to forget.

"Sorry. What?"

Tish smiled calmly as he reached into his inner coat pocket and pulled out a notepad. "What happened here?"

"Aren't you supposed to have a partner?" Beth asked instead, not ready to talk about Jason or Simone or the ashes of her life.

He pointed past her, back to the hallway and bedroom. Beth turned to look over her shoulder and caught the other detective. She blinked back, recognizing the woman instantly.

"Ms. McNair," the woman said, moving to shake her hand. "I'm Detective Valencia—"

"Daniels," Beth supplied, eyeing the the woman like she was crazy. Must have been. There was no reason for the heiress of Daniels Realty to be working as a public servant. "You're a detective?"

Detective Daniels smiled as she took a seat next to her partner. "I am."

Cocking her head, Beth tried to figure out why. Daniels Realty was top brass, three generations of wealth and exceptionalism. It'd been one of Jason's requirements that she learn who the lions of New York were, the families that ran the east coast and more so the ones that dabbled in the world. Money didn't matter that far up, clout was currency. Except Beth had none of it: no clout, no money, no recognition.

"I'm not going to sugarcoat your situation Ms. McNair," Daniels started. "We know whose apartment this is."

Beth crossed her arms, hugging herself as the detective's words stabbed at her. This was what she'd been avoiding. It wasn't bad enough that Jason had essentially ruined her love life and personal life. She'd had no real friends beside work colleagues and Simone when they'd got together. All the people she'd accumulated as "friends" were extensions of Jason. There was no way she could rely on them, even if they were good people. It wouldn't be fair to put them in that position, and Beth knew that Jason would use all the leverage he could to get them against her. The Brucksworths were ruthless; she'd known that. But she'd also bet on becoming ruthless herself, adding it to her repertoire. It had all been a long game, strategy to make sure she would always have security.

"Fuck me."

Options. What are my options?

Let it go, lie to the police, drop charges, and just move on. That's what Danials was getting at. A fork in the road with neither choice yielding her great results. She pressed charges, took this to the public and court and her life would be over. But if she said nothing, clammed up, she'd be going against everything she belived in—going against herself and her truth to preserve something that shouldn't be on the fucking line anyway.

Why were Jason's fuckups and bad behavior destroying everything?

"Beth," Daniels said softly, reaching over to take her stiff hand. "Do you know why I became a detective?"

"Because paying the department off wasn't working," she sniped, yanking her hand away.

"Powerful people hurt everyone," she said, softly, "Often nothing is done about it, no matter who you are or the resources you have. There's always a bigger, badder wolf out there."

Blinking back in surprise, Beth looked at the woman across from her. Valencia would never pass as a normal person, there was too much blue blood running through her veins. Even worn clothes, beat to hell boots, and a pony tail that needed a good washing couldn't take away from the air of privilege that surrounded the woman.

Untouchable.

But not really. Not if the message in her words was true. Something had happened to the woman to shock her to the core, change what should have been a life modeled after Mrs. Holiday and the woman Beth would have become. That she'd thought she wanted to become.

Now, her aspirations weren't so high. A safe place. A job. Those were the only two things on her life wish list at the moment and even they seemed impossible.

"You're Valencia Daniels," Beth said as if that made a damn bit of difference, as if those words explained how their situations weren't the same and would never be the same.

The detective nodded. "I am. But that didn't stop what happened to me. The only thing that could have stopped what happened to me would be the justice system working. That's why I became a detective. I want to make sure from the moment something horrible happens to another person, I'm there. First line of duty."

It was on the tip of Beth's tongue to ask what had happened, but there wasn't a need. Whatever it was had completely shattered the carefully constructed world view Daniels had had.

Bad people get punished.

Simple.

Naive.

"Are you here to tell me what to do?"

"No," Tish finally spoke up, pulling out a notepad. "We're here to take your statement and help you in anyway we can."

Detective Daniels nodded. "I understand what you're going through. The choices you're facing, Beth. Whatever you do won't be easy. But we can make sure your truth is heard and documented. So, tell us what happened here."

***

"Dad," Brian piped up from the living room as Day, once again, struggled with the washer. There were too many damn settings and Brian's clothes all had special labels, because God forbid warm water and soap for an hour actually clean anything.

"Yeah?" Day called, deciding on the good 'ol fashioned Normal cycle on warm. At worst the colors bled together and it was another trip to the store.

His phone vibrated and he pulled it out as Brian replied, "Cops."

Neighborhood: Cops. Bladewell Apartments. All white. Two female. One male. 6:13PM

In an instant, Day's blood ran cold and fear slithered down his spine.

"Away from the windows," Day said, trying to keep the panic out of his voice. "Now."

This was the one thing Brian never questioned Day on, the one response Brian gave immediately, because his son knew. Shortly before Shontell died, that'd both sat Brian down and had 'the talk.' The one that consisted of how to exist while being Black in America and all its accompanying don'ts:

Don't talk back to the police.

Don't stand anywhere too long.

Don't resist arrest.

Don't run.

Don't raise your voice.

Don't have anything that looks like a weapon in public.

Don't make any sudden moves.

They'd wanted Brian to understand the strange dynamics that his shade created within society, but that didn't mean they wanted him to fear his own shadow or every police officer that walked by him. But he had to know how the police interacted with him would be different and could be dangerous. That was a fact he couldn't hide or erase for his son.

Day approached Brian, trying not to think about the myriad of other Black people that had been in his same shoes. "Here." Day thrust the phone into Brian's hand. "You know what to do."

His son nodded and quickly went to Day's room to hide in the closet.

Muscles locked tight, Day went to the window and peered through his blinds. Sure enough, there was an unmarked vehicle parked in front of his apartment building. Why police even bothered with unmarks was a mystery to him. They were still obviously cop cars, easy for even a six year old to discern.

"Hello?" a knock sounded at the door, making Day jump. Beads of sweat rolled down his nick at the thought of opening that door and catching a bullet—not opening that door and still catching a bullet.

Terrified. In and out of his home.

Fuck.

Moving to the laptop sitting on his dining room table, he cracked it open and pulled up his camera. Positioning the laptop, he made sure the recording would show him, the door, and anything that happened next.

"Who is it?"

"It's me. Um, Beth."

Beth? What the fuck? Day strode across his apartment to the door, eating the space in a matter of seconds. "Beth?"

There she stood, pale and small with two officers on either side of her who looked less than thrilled to be there. They weren't in uniform, but hell if they blended in.

Reality hit him at a hundred miles an hour as Beth stood, nearly shaking, with the police. Liar. She was a fucking liar. Five days and one trip back to her cheating ass fiancéee had convinced her that he'd raped her. Now he was going to jail. All because he fucked the wrong person. Picked up and took care of the wrong woman. A dark thought flitted through his mind because maybe he should have never left his apartment, never intervened. Let those boys do exactly what she was accusing him of.

But even as that sick thought sifted through his mind, Shontell's chastising tongue click blasted that darkness right out. You're better than that, David.

"... Day?"

He blinked, coming back to the moment. "Huh? Yeah."

"I'm sorry. I didn't know where else to go."

"Where to—" What the hell is she talking about? Looking past her to the officers, he noticed a complete lack of handcuffs. No Miranda rights either. "What's going on?"

"Ms. McNair," the female officer cut in. "We'll be contacting you soon. Please take what I've said under consideration."

Beth visibly swallowed before nodding slowly. "I will. Thank you, Detective Daniels, Detective Tish."

The pair nodded before trekking back down the few flights of stairs, eyes shifting in that cop way as if danger lurked in every corner and rosebush.

A scrape of metal against the concrete floor had Day looking down to the travel suitcase beside Beth and laptop on top. First cops, now this? Hell no. This was Trouble with a capital T and nothing he needed.

Stepping out into the hallway, Day shut the door behind him and regarded the woman in front of him. The woman who, just a few seconds ago, he thought was gonna accuse him of rape and have him arressted. Not that that made any sense. If she was a victim, no way they would bring her to the house of her assailant. "Seriously, Beth, what's going on?"

Her knuckles flashed white against the handle of her bag, lips drawing into a tight line. "I went home. I told you I was going home."

"You did."

"And when I got there. I... I found Jason beating the shit out of Simone. I don't know what happened, but I tried to get him away from her, and—"

Day's hands were on Beth in a second, tugging at the coat, feeling for any bandages, looking for any bruises. "Did that cocksucker touch you?" Touch what's mine.

The thought came out of left field, but Day didn't have time to analyze it as he checked her over. Aside from the shaking, she seemed fine.

Putting a hand on his chest, Beth drew back and he stopped his search. "No, no. He tried, but I locked myself in the bathroom and called the police."

"Good. That's exactly what you should have done." He drew her closer, tucking her body into his and placing his chin on top of her head. Fuck! His heart was practically beating out of his chest, the reaction insane for who she wasn't and everything they weren't.

Beth was just some lady he'd helped. Some chick he slept with one morning who called his son nightly to read him bedtime stories. One who he talked to about the mundane day-to-day until one of them fell asleep.

Just some woman.