I Took The Long Way Home

"Crazy Fucking Bastard, look at the Fucking Mess! Dude, what the fuck did you think you were doing?"

He looked stupid, like a god damn cow, not comprehending what he did, so I kicked him in the crotch, twice and he fell back down.

"Clean this mess up, you sick bastard! I'm going to the hospital, and I'll deal with you later! If my husband catches you here he'll kill your sorry ass."

He wouldn't be home till tomorrow, late tonight at the very earliest, but anything to hurry the bastard along. I should have called an ambulance, I really should have. Like, I could barely see straight? I got into my car, and headed out. The pain was not so bad now, but I was thirsty, feeling queezy, going in and out of shock, I so fucking should not be driving. What am I going to tell the hospital? Fuck the hospital, what am I going to tell Hubbie? I walked into a door? I don't think so. God I feel like I'm going to the sick.

I parked in the lot nearest the emergency room, and staggered towards the doors. Some black guy coming out saw me, grabbed a wheel chair and ran to get me before I collapsed. I had some difficulty telling the nurse at the desk that I had been assaulted, which I was by that sick bastard. But no, lady, not by this nice man! He met me staggering towards the emergence room door.

God how was I to know Bob was a psychopath? I just wanted to have a little fun and companionship, you know? Christ, my face will be ruined! I was bleeding on the floor, and everywhere else as they shifted me to a gurney and wheeled me into the working area. They quickly checked for broken bones, as nurses stripped me naked in a in a very professional way, right there on the gurney, got me into a gown, while I heard them paging some doctor.

A woman about 15 years older than me leaned over

"You'll be OK, Hon, You're lucky! Dr. Sullivan is on duty today. He's the best plastic surgeon in the State."

"Definitely my lucky goddamn day, and to think I didn't know it...until just now." I murmered.

I didn't even think of calling people to tell anyone where I was....These hospital people kept asking me questions, Shit, shit, shit. I was answering questions, and had no Idea what I was saying.

Like, was I really saying? Shit, shit, shit?...Needles in my hand and arm, and it was all a blur, this one and that one coming around, asking me this and that... and then nothing. Nothing at all. Had I been conscious, I might have thought this was death, but I wasn't aware of a thing.

Husband

After a few minutes at the coffee shop, they got really busy, and I unobtrusively got into the car, and headed back to the house. I lucked out and got a space right in front. Gracie Abdul, my neighbor greeted me, as she raked her postage stamp lawn, and I told her how lovely New York state had been (practicing lying abut my whereabouts I suppose), and went into the apartment. It was an abattoir! My stomach heaved, but I caught it and swallowed, the stomach acid burning my throat, and made it to the kitchen sink and barfed there.

No dead body about, so I must not have killed Campbell. Blood was all over the couch, the rug, the bathroom floor, footprints here and there, I wiped the two legs of the footstool that I had touched, and turned it around so the clean legs faced the wall, and called 911 on my cell. I told the police I just got home, and there was blood all over the apartment, and I had no idea where my wife was. They told me to wait outside, so I did.

Mrs. Abdul was still there, I had only been in the house a couple of minutes, so I told her what I saw in there. She was horrified, "My gosh, I never heard a thing! Some crazy person, must be that methtronome stuff you read about that's moving into the neighborhoods. Gotta look out for one another, like in the old days! You and me will make the evening news. We'll be on channel 6!"

"You tell 'em for me, Gracie, I don't mind if you say something, but me, I'm not going to say a word."

It would be all over the neighborhood in an hour or so, and probably Philadelphia in two hours. It was gratifying how fast the cops came. Our taxes in action. And still more cops came, until there were four cars in the street. I told this one and that one what I knew, until a rather beefy black detective, with hands the size of meat platters asked me to come to the station and give a formal statement. He spoke with a pure South Philly accent.

"Whatever will help, officer, but at this point I have to call my mother in law. She'll hear about this on the grapevine, and kill me for not telling her first.

"OK pal, do whacha gotta do. Get inta the car, an' talk to her on the way." Not a request.

It wasn't at all like the movies. Wouldn't you know, mother in law wasn't home, I just left a message saying I called with important news, and would call a bit later that evening. These cops talked like bad news journalists, obviously reading from a memorized script, careful to say exactly what procedure dictated they should say. We went into an office where they read me my rights. Yes, I waved my right to an attorney, and the questions started.

Nothing much I could tell them, I had been gone all week. Where was I that afternoon? Well, I had most of my receipts in my brief case in my car, some in my wallet, among others, I had a lunch receipt from a mom and pop restaurant in New York state, the French Azilum admission receipt, where I told them I spent about a hour and a half walking along the river, and the Seattle Coffee receipt at 4 PM, where I sat and checked my e mail for 15-20 minutes, mentioning the barista Zoe, and then drove about an hour to home, and made my call to the cops.

If you've never heard of French Azilum, you're in good company, they never heard of the place either, I had to spell it for them despite the fact that it was on the receipt.

Finally they photographed and fingerprinted me and let me go, telling me my apartment was a crime scene, so I couldn't go in. And oh, by the way, Wifey had been assaulted, not in mortal danger, and was at Jefferson Hospital! I was really delighted that she was sort of OK, really I was. Like I said, the penalty in civilized countries for what she'd been doing is divorce, not death.

I bitched to them that they had kept me there when the wife was in real trouble and needed me, and got a ride back to the house with some patrol woman to pick up my car. The excitement was nearly over, only one police car; the other three had been replaced by a white police van. The police woman told me that I could probably go in the house by 10 or 11PM. I told her I had a spare key, so would they lock up when they were done and drop it in the mail slot?

I headed over to the hospital, returning the numerous calls that her mother, sister and some aunts left on my cell. Pandemonium among the in laws, I must say. I'm surprised I didn't hear them pealing rubber over on Pearl Street where they all live, as they rushed to the hospital. I did call my mom at that point to give her such details as I could, but as she lives 500 miles away, she could be cool and objective. Plus I really didn't know anything about her condition, other than it wasn't fatal. Well, I thought I probably didn't kill the Punter either, as Wifey couldn't have moved the body far, and as the police had no idea who he was. I felt a little better.

When I got to the waiting room I held the in laws off until I checked in with the desk. The elderly volunteer told me Wifey was still in surgery, beyond that, nobody knew nothing! The in-laws were sitting around watching TV with their usual empty minds, and I told them the lurid details of the apartment filled with blood, with bloody footprints of a man's and woman's bare feet. My sister in law's husband Dannie came in waiting room the middle of all this, heard the end of the story, and demanded to know:

"Where were you during this time, Huh? I mean you got'ta have some sort of alibi, don't 'chew?"

I wondered for an instant if the dumb shit was implying I might have done this, but remembered never to ascribe to malice, what could as well be stupidity. I wouldn't really call him stupid, but there's a reason he's never driven a car with a standard transmission. I told him the police had asked me that same question, and gave him the short answer. He seemed satisfied.

Mother in law shook me awake at 11 PM, to say wife was out intensive care, and we could take turns staying with her in the post operation recovery room. I went in first, and sat down to think, had no coherent thoughts. She was out of it, more or less incoherent. After a bit, mother-in-law barged ignoring the nurses rules

Wife

The pain came for me from out of the darkness, but then drifted some distance away, almost as if it belonged to someone else. My mind was floating with it, and as the world began to assert itself in my consciousness, the pain came closer. There were people there, strangers and my Mom, and they were asking me questions I couldn't quite understand.

The nurse said,

"She's fine. She's coming out of the anesthetic, but it'll be an hour or two until she's really with it."

"Horrible, just horrible", mom was muttering. "Why did you let a crazy stranger in the door? Or did you leave the door open? She should have known not to open her door to some crazy stranger."

Husband

I heard what Mother in law was muttering, and I said with confidence:

"No doubt he left lots of DNA evidence about, so he will eventually be caught."

I was thinking that the wife's injuries, and the suspicion that Campbell was the willing cause would salve the wounds she gave me. Wifey groaned half awake and said everything hurt, and sent her mother to get the nurse to give her some pain medication. She needed water, so I gave her a sponge lollypop with ice water, which was all she was allowed.

The nurse said she was still under the anesthetic and wouldn't remember any of it. They would give her painkillers when they could, and politely suggested we leave.

I accepted Mother in-law's offer of a bed in her spare room as I wasn't sure the cops would let me in my house.

I was taking a piss, while on the other side of the wall, She started loading Wifey's clothes, towel and what not into the washer. She called me when she observed that the blood was on the inside of her underwear, not just on the outside. I, of course already knew that, but now could acknowledge that Wifey probably had her clothes off when the blood began to flow. I telephoned the duty nurse on her floor to tell her Wifey should be considered a rape victim, but they must have seen the same thing and already collected evidence.

We got to the hospital the next morning, as the police were leaving. They told me Wifey gave them a statement, and I could go back to the apartment anytime. I told them about the underwear, and one of them wrote it down. Wifey looked a mess. Two black eyes, huge bruises on her cheeks reaching back to her ears and down her neck, and gauze everywhere, I think as much for cosmetic reasons as wound dressing. I never realized that bruising, bleeding under the skin could flow like that. And it really bothered me that I did it to her. I really wish I had just pitched a verbal fit or something, this was just wrong, and I couldn't fess up now.

Emmh! She really looked awful, she really did. I stopped to talk with the nurses, while her mother bee-lined in there past me, and started in with the thousand question routine, what happened, did she know who did this?

Wifey claimed an unknown assailant attacked her, raped her, and hit her in the face, stunning her. Presumably he then ran away. That changed my public attitude. If she had admitted to having a lover, I could give her the cold shoulder, but rape made her the victim, and so I needed to be seen as supportive. For all I knew, while it didn't look like rape, maybe it was, I just saw them at it for a few seconds. I assumed it was Robert Campbell, but I had never met him, so I really didn't know who it was.

I called her sister's husband, Dannie the Dumb (No, I didn't call him that to his face) to see if he could help me clean the place up that afternoon. We agreed to meet at 4PM. I wanted the in laws to see the apartment bloody footprints and all.

I called Wifey's employer, and talked to her boss's secretary Kathryn, who I knew, not really well, but certainly better than anyone else in the place. We had chatted a bit at a couple of the company parties. I told her Wifey was assaulted, and took a big blow to the face, and was under going reconstructive surgery. As a guess would probably be out for at least a week or two. I then asked when she left work yesterday.

"Gee, I don't know as I noticed, really."

"Get real, Kath, you can see her desk without lifting your lovely bum from the chair."

"Well maybe about 2 PM or a little after."

"Did anyone else leave around then?" A long pause.

"It's a criminal matter, the police will be asking as well. Her nose cartilage and cheek bone are broken. They say most assaults are by someone known to the victim."

Kathryn offered:

"Well I can't imagine it is related, but Bob Campbell did leave about the same time, but surely he wouldn't do such a thing. I mean he and your wife are friends... co workers. You know! I've known him for years, too!"

Oh yes, friends. I told her I would keep her informed. I know most of Wifey's co workers names, but haven't met a lot of them. I knew his name because he belonged to the sport coat, but couldn't recall if I had met him. Other than the coat incident. I don't think she ever mentioned him to me. So I guess the first time I saw him was yesterday.

A Dr. Sullivan came by, told Mother in Law, and me that Jennifer would be out in a day or two, that all had gone well, and in a few weeks, she would have to undergo one, or maybe two operations to set her nose to rights. He set his clipboard down while he examined her, and I fanned some of the pages, scanning it to see what I could see. Under STD tests, Gonorrhea was checked positive!

I stopped by our family doctor's to be tested for STDs, and to tell her what happened. She offered to stop by the Hospital and see that Jennifer was getting all the care she required (Hmph! I rarely think of Wifey's given name, unless I'm pissed at her). I told the Doc, I would like as rapid an answer on STD's as possible, and was promised 48 hour service.

Danny brought his sister, Ann with him to help us clean. They were suitably appalled at the place, and figured out most of what happened. She was cleaning the blood out of the bathroom, while Dannie and I were dragging the sofa down to the curb when the big detective from last night, Leon Washington showed up. The guy was really impressively huge, a brick on legs. Did I recall anything else, or was anything missing? Then it dawned on me,

"I know! I'm missing a white shirt! I was in the closet getting some clothes for Jennifer, and noticed two of my dress shirts fell on the floor. I picked them up, and a noticed a'white shirt was gone!"

"Come now Mr. Harlow, how would you know if you were missing one of your white shirts?"

"Detective Washington, let me show you," and I went into the bedroom, and opened the closet.

"How many white shirts do you see?"

His eyebrows went up and he said with a smile,

"Oh, so you only had one white shirt? Right!"

"Only one, and it's gone. I was at a paper mill this week, didn't take any dress shirts with me. Did you find a bloody shirt in the trash by any chance? I mean apparently the bum got his messed up, and took one of mine." He wrote down what I said, and gave nothing away.

"I assume you are treating this as a rape and assault?"

Officer Washington replied, "That's one possibility, but we're still investigating it."

We ended up pulling the carpet out, and to my surprise, found a nice hardwood floor under it. I was thinking no great loss without some small gain. I rented a floor polisher on the way in to the hospital. After I saw Wifey at 7 PM, We did the formal meeting of the inlaws stuff, and fled the press of inlaws after about 15 minutes. By ten I had cleaned and waxed the floor. It really came up nice. I half expected a call from Jennifer, but the only time the phone rang was a few friends of hers, and mine.

The next day Kathryn called to say that Campbell was arrested right in their office, and hauled away in handcuffs. It was the talk of the building. That afternoon, the police came to see me at work. They were wondering about the timing again, and wanted me to go over it again. Apparently I drove very slowly.

"Well no detective, I did not drive especially slowly. Frankly I was in no hurry to get home. I took a series of scenic roads where 55 miles an hour was about the best one could do. And I drove right along with such traffic as I encountered. It was a lovely day, upstate NY, and central Pennsylvania is really beautiful, I was in no big hurry. I stopped at a couple of antique shops because our wedding anniversary is coming up."

Names?

"Yes well, off hand, I only recall one by name and location"

(which I really had stopped at),

"and I also stopped at another, smallish one that I can't recall, it was after the first shop, just a small barn with mostly total junk. I had no particular reason to get home much before suppertime. I was taking the long way home."

I gave him the route that I took, in detail, with commentary on where to turn and so forth. I traced it on the map, ripping the map out of the atlas for them to take with them. With GPS I don't use it any more. They made copies of the receipts, and were a little more forth coming on mostly the more public aspects of the matter.

They admitted Campbell was implicated, his fingerprints were found in blood in the apartment, and apparently, he said he had been seeing Wifey for some time. Wifey denied it, and was still claiming rape. Besides that, they were puzzled about the injuries. "Whose injuries? My wife obviously, but did he have any injuries?" asks I.

"Well, your wife's could be explained by him giving her a head butt, but then why do you think he would do that?"

"I have no idea. Slipped off his elbows? Hit her with something? Some sort of fit? How would I know. I don't think I've ever met him. You didn't say, does he have any injuries?"

"Well the back of his head has quite a nasty bruise, but not too bad, and there is some bruising to forehead and his testicles."

"Well, then she probably kicked him. She does have a temper."

"Mr. Harlow, what would you have done if you had come upon that scene?"

"Detective Washington: I don't really know. I mean we've all heard of people killing their spouse and lover, or taking pictures of them fucking, and sending them to everybody that knows them, you know, the punishment of public shame and all. Let me think a minute about what I would and wouldn't have done.

Well, for starters, I have never hit a woman, and cannot imagine ever doing so. A bounder is another matter. When we cleared out this room to remove the carpet, right there beside the couch, was an empty 1.5 liter wine bottle. If I came upon them fucking on the couch,I think I would have grabbed that, and hit him on the side of the head as hard as I could, and mashed his ear. If that didn't knock him off the wife, I would have grabbed his hair, and drug him off. I was at a paper mill this week, and was still wearing steel toed boots that afternoon.

I have never been in a real fight, but if I was, I would have no interest in it being a fair fight. When he hit the ground, I would have kicked him several times in the ribs and in the balls, in which ever order was accessible. His balls would not have been bruised, they would have been crushed, and he would have had several broken ribs. Broken front and back."