“Derek, we have to get Lucy cleaned up. She wouldn’t want to stay out in public like this. Come on, let me help you up. I promise that we’ll take great care of her.”
Derek could never remember who convinced him to let Lucy go. As he softened his hug, he gently rested her back on her side, the way she always slept. He brushed the blood-soaked hair away from her face, kissed her then collapsed beside her.
The days following Lucy’s death were a blur of wakes, funerals, impossibly silent nights, and a slowly diminishing stream of friends parading through his front door. The days blended into weeks before Derek’s bereavement and personal time had expired, and he was expected to return to duty.
“There’s no rush, Cole,” his Captain told Derek on his first day back. “If you need more time, say the word.”
“Didn’t think you cared about what I had to say, Captain,” Derek said.
“Come again, officer?”
“You know what I mean,” Derek said as he brushed past his Captain and into the officer’s dressing room.
Though his Captain never said, Derek knew that he felt that he had wronged Derek. While Derek was desperately trying to save his wife and put an end to the bank robbery, his Captain played it by the rule book.
It was no more than three months after Lucy had died that Derek’s life began to spiral out of control. His performance while on duty was becoming “reckless and haphazard.”
“You’re behavior of late is putting yourself and others at risk, Officer Cole,” his lieutenant told him. “I understand, the whole department understands what you must be going through, so if you feel you to take some more time, just let us know. We’ll work something out for you.”
“What about my behavior specifically concerns you?” Derek asked.
“Last Thursday, it was reported that you ran into a home with a reported domestic situation. You know that domestics are the most dangerous calls we receive.”
“Does your report say what happened after I ‘rushed in?’”
“Just because you prevented the husband from causing more harm to his wife, doesn’t justify your actions. We have protocols and procedures to follow.”
“Like those we followed that day at the bank?”
Three weeks after his conversation with his lieutenant, Derek was placed on “temporary leave with full pay and benefits.” The department knew that Derek was a quality officer, who had shown tremendous potential from day one. They also knew that his errant and dangerous behavior would eventually get him or another officer killed.
“How long am I to stay away?” he asked the Chief of Police when told about his temporary assignment.
“Until you feel fully ready to be a part of this department again, or our counselors believe you are ready to return to active duty.”
All departments make occasional mistakes. Some forget to process paperwork correctly. Others make the mistake of not reading an arrested person their rights. Other departments neglect to ask an officer placed on leave for their service weapon. Derek left the department, drove to the nearest bar, then took himself and his modified Glock home.
The tears were streaming down his face as he sat holding a picture of Lucy in his arms. Beside him, on his nightstand, sat a bottle of Johnny Walker black and his fully loaded service pistol.
“I need you here. With me,” he cried. “I promise to be more quiet. And I promise to never let anyone hurt you again.”
He pulled hard from the bottle of black and danced his fingers over his pistol.
“I can’t see your face,” he sobbed, dropping the framed picture to the floor, sending shards of broken glass sliding across the hardwood floor.
He reached for another tug of black. As he slammed the near-empty bottle back on the nightstand, his hand held firm to the bottle as his gaze held firm to the gun.
“I can’t see your face.”
He released his hold of the bottle, grabbed his Glock, and shoved the barrel into his mouth. Between his sobs and desperate cries, he began to squeeze the trigger. Two pounds of pressure, his eyes closed, hoping to see her face. Three pounds of pressure, his mind was filled with the horrible images of her face pressed against the bank window. Four pounds of pressure, he saw a flash in the corner of his eye. He quickly turned his head as his finger delivered the full five pounds of pressure needed to fire the Glock.
He remembered nothing when he woke. His ears still held the ringing and his left side of his jaw and face felt as if they were on fire. He saw doctors and nurses standing over him, assuring him that “everything will be okay, Derek.” He slipped in and out of consciousness, each time trying to remember what he had seen that made him turn his head as the bullet left the chamber and blasted its way through his left cheek.
He woke again to see his mother sitting by his hospital bed and his father leaning against the far wall.
“Oh Derek,” his mom said. “Everything is going to be just fine. Mom will see to that.”
Derek was in the hospital for only four days until he was released. His parents willingly agreed to have Derek stay with them until he was fully recovered and assured the hospital that they would make absolutely certain that Derek attend everyone of his sessions with his psychologist. Beyond having three of his molars blasted out of his head and an exit wound scar on his left cheek, Derek was amazingly uninjured.
“I know you don’t feel it son,” his father told him the afternoon they brought Derek to their Columbus Ohio suburban home, “but you are one lucky buck. Now, you know I’m not good at talking about feelings, but if there’s anything you want to talk about, you just let me know. Anytime. And that goes for your mom, too.”
The sessions with the psychologist were an embarrassment for Derek. He knew full well that he was inches away from killing himself and survived only because of a slight head turn.
“I don’t know what I saw,” he said to his psychologist. “Maybe I didn’t see anything and just chickened out. I don’t know.”
“Do you wish you hadn’t turned your head?” she asked, slowly twitching a pen held in her hand.
“I don’t know yet, but I think I’m still here for a reason.”
“Let me help you find that reason, Derek.”
Three months of sessions later, and Derek was cleared to return to the police department.
“I know this won’t be easy on you, Cole,” his Lieutenant said on Derek’s first day back to the police department. “But I can tell you without question that everyone here is on your side and is as happy as hell that you’re back. Now, if there’s anything you need, you just let me know.”