Darla's Dilemma

Danny and I could only look away in shame.

"Guys like that, gentlemen," Pat continued to scold, "are only looking for one thing; a reaction. Well, guess what? You gave 'em exactly what they wanted!"

"Look, Pat," Danny started, "I can explain. You see - " Pat cut him off.

"Don't even start with me, Danny. How do you think I'm going to feel having to explain to people that one of my deputies was in a bar, drinking alcoholic beverages, proceeded to get into a very public confrontation and then, to top it all off, ended up drawing his own firearm during the confrontation?"

"Jesus, Pat! The guy drew a fucking knife on me! I had legitimate reason to fear for my life!"

"I know, Danny! I'm well aware of that! Hell, if we're being technical, you probably would have been totally justified to put two slugs in his chest! Would that make you feel any better?"

"No," Danny said like an admonished child.

"It's my fault, Sheriff," I chimed in, trying to deflect some of Quinn's heat away from Danny.

"It is both your faults," Quinn corrected. "How do you think Chief Van Dyke is going to react when he hears about this? Think Jerry will give you a big pat on the back?"

"Uh, definitely not," I said, sheepishly. My boss, Chief Jerald Van Dyke, was ridiculously concerned with the image of his department and I could easily be looking at a suspension, whether I was charged or not.

"Yeah, you didn't think about that little detail, did you?"

"Well, I'll probably have plenty of time to think about it after the fact. I'm pretty sure my right hand is broken."

"Yeah, I'm sure Van Dyke will absolutely love you for that. I'd imagine he'll be paying some pretty hefty overtime to cover your shifts for the next few weeks, huh?"

"Alright, alright, Pat. You made your point," Danny interrupted. "Look, we got goaded into a fight, alright? But it wasn't just some random bar fight, okay? This guy had it out for Daulton. He confronted us the minute they walked in the door and was being a smart ass from the word 'go'. Daulton had been in relationship with Darla Jones for over six months. She had been living with him for...what...three months? Four?" he said, looking at me.

"A little over four," I replied.

"Yeah, four months," Danny continued. "Darla and Randy were getting a divorce. They were only like a month away from finalizing it. Then Randy comes back to town, makes all kinds of overtures and promises, gets in her head and starts sleeping with Darla behind Daulton's back and she ends up leaving Daulton to go back to Randy. Tonight was just Randy throwing it in Daulton's face and provoking him, basically trying to make Daulton look like some kind of wimp-ass sap or cuckold in front of the whole fucking restaurant!"

I winced as Danny said cuckold. But the funny thing was I noticed that Sheriff Quinn did, too. Immediately, Quinn started calming down and rubbing his face. Gone was the bad cop and the good cop was starting to make an appearance.

"Randy Jones, Randy Jones, Randy-fucking-Jones," Quinn said, shaking his head and pacing.

"You know who he is?" I asked.

"Hell yes, I know who Randy Jones is. He's a fucking idiot. Christ, I gave that douche canoe his first OWI about six years ago when I was still on Red River PD."

Danny and I both chuckled a bit.

"Look, guys," Quinn said, much calmer. "I'm gonna get off my soapbox now, okay? Like I said, people like Randy Jones are only good at one thing in life; provoking people and getting a reaction from them. I expect you, Danny, to be better than that. And I know Chief Van Dyke expects you to be better than that, too, Daulton. You guys are the good guys. People like them would love nothing better than to bring you down to their level. You guys are the ones who have something to lose, not Randy Jones and his clown-ass friends, okay?"

"Yeah, okay," I said.

"I read ya, Pat," Danny said.

"Danny, take Daulton over to the Emergency Department to get that hand fixed up, okay?"

"Will do, Pat."

I handed Danny the keys to my car as he was obviously in better shape to drive than I was. But before we could get far, Quinn walked back over to my vehicle. I rolled down the passenger side window so we could talk.

"Just one more thing, Daulton," Quinn started. "I know you said your relationship with Darla Jones was over with. But have you considered how all of this might affect her?"

"No," I replied tersely. "And, frankly, I don't really give two shits, either. I told her the day she left that I wasn't going to be her backup plan. I even warned her that it was just a matter of time before Randy's dumb ass fell off the wagon. Frankly, I'm surprised it took this long."

"Yeah, me too," Pat said. "But, you wanna know something? My ex-wife and I ended our marriage on anything other than good terms. In fact, we got even less friendly after the divorce was finalized. But even after everything that went down between us I still care about Clarissa. I'm going to bet that you probably still care about Darla, too. So, if I were you, I'd be concerned about how tonight's festivities might impact her and their kids, if they have any."

"They have two, a boy and a girl," I replied.

"You and Danny did a pretty good number on Randy and his friends tonight. Once Randy gets sober and gets bailed out of jail, how is that going to sit with him knowing that he got his ass whipped by his wife's ex-lover? Just some food for thought. But if I were you, I'd think about keeping an eye on Darla and the kids in case Randy really takes a swan dive off the old crazy board."

Jesus. I hadn't even remotely thought about that. Fuck. "I'll do that, Sheriff," I said. "Hey, Sheriff? Do you think there's still a possibility that Danny and I could get charged with disorderly conduct?"

"Not a chance," Quinn smiled.

"You sure? What if the PD asks for charges from the county attorney? They seemed awfully giddy about getting a deputy in trouble tonight."

Sheriff Quinn chuckled out loud. "Don't worry about that for one second, Daulton. I can be pretty damned persuasive when it comes to the County Attorney, Marion Lawson. If I say you won't be charged, then you won't be charged."

Quinn laughed all the way back to his truck and Danny proceeded to drive me to the Emergency Department where an X-ray revealed that I did, indeed, have a broken third metacarpal - the bone just below my right middle finger. They proceeded to put a cast on it and I would be off work for the next six to eight weeks. Fortunately, we have short-term disability through the city and I wouldn't have to go the entire time without being paid.

Needless to say, Quinn was right. Chief Van Dyke was not happy. He didn't suspend me but he did try to give me a formal reprimand, which basically meant that I would be suspended without pay if I incurred any future disciplinary action - regardless if on duty or off - in the next two years. Fortunately, my International Association of Fire Fighters union local got involved and filed a grievance on my behalf. The physical and video evidence was proof that I was not the one who instigated the altercation. A civil service board hearing was convened to consider the matter and it was resolved in my favor. Chief Van Dyke growled about it but accepted the decision.

The whole affair gave me some time off for the rest of July and a good chunk of August. I tried to stay as busy as I could and worked on some projects around the house. I could still mow my own lawn without much trouble and worked on a few other things, as well. My scheduled shifts at Eagle Star were canceled for the next couple of months, with relatively little hassle. One of the full-time flight paramedics there, Alex Trotman, was more than happy to pick up some overtime along with the rest of the crew.

Even though I wasn't allowed to work at RRFFD while on sick leave, I still decided to answer the pager for the Royal Fork Fire and Rescue for medical calls only, as long as I didn't try to lift the patient. We had a pretty good crew of people who always responded to calls and it was rare when we had less than four or five people show up.

And so it was in late July we were in the middle of a very, very nasty heat wave. Temperatures were constantly in the mid 90's, which isn't so bad compared to some places in the Southwest. But in the upper Midwest, you have to take into consideration the incredible humidity that we are prone to getting, which had been consistently 85% and higher for most of the heat wave. When the humidity is that high you can't cool off because there is so much moisture in the air. You can sweat but it won't evaporate and you just feel warm and sticky all the time - and not in a good way.

July had not been a good month so far for Randy Jones. He had indeed been charged with assault, public intoxication and disorderly conduct. Oh, and he was missing a few teeth. He was probably going to serve a minimum of 30 days in jail and possibly up to 60 days. And that was only if his court-appointed attorney could get the charges reduced from misdemeanor assault to simple assault. The public intox and disorderly conduct would only get him a night in jail, if that. But Randy was also looking at the very real possibility of losing the lucrative welding job that he had working for one of the oil companies up north. He had been getting paid about $50 an hour, which meant he was easily pulling down over six figures with overtime.

He had been staying at company-provided housing up north for a week at a time and then spending a week at home. He was working twelve to sixteen hour days and making good money. The problem was, he was spending it just as fast, too. And nobody knew what he was spending it on. Darla and the kids were staying in the same apartment building that they had been before the divorce was filed. So Randy had obviously not improved their financial situation much.

And so, if you combine the insufferable heat wave with a whole host of personal and legal problems, it can create nothing short of a time bomb. And anyone in EMS or law enforcement can tell you that domestic assaults skyrocket during heat waves.

It was a Friday afternoon. The temperature was still 96 degrees with 95% humidity out and the whole day had been absolutely insufferable. Our aging town pool actually had to turn people away due to the number of them trying to find relief with a cool swim.

The pager went off that day around 4:30 pm.

"Royal Fork Fire and Rescue, Royal Fork Fire and Rescue. You are needed for a medical response at 431 4^th Avenue Northeast. Again, you are needed for a medical response at 431 4^th Avenue Northeast in Royal Fork for a female patient who has been assaulted. Mason County deputies and State Patrol have also been dispatched. Time of call is 16:27."

Oh, shit! That was Darla's parents' house! I grabbed my keys and jumped in my car. I sped to the fire station, which was located on Main Street. The ambulance had already been pulled out of the station and was waiting with the emergency lights already activated. I parked the car and quickly jumped aboard the ambulance. Jake Herman was our driver today. Meg and Diana were both on board as was Misty Kiefer, another volunteer EMT. I sat up front with Jake and manned the radio.

"Mason County dispatch, this is Royal Fork Rescue Adam 4-0-1. You can show us en route to 431 4^th Avenue Northeast. We'll be staging approximately two blocks away until you advise law enforcement is on the scene."

"10-4, Adam 4-0-1. Mason County deputy 17-15 is almost on scene and will advise when it is safe to approach. I show you en route at 16:31."

It took us less than two minutes to arrive in the area and my stomach suddenly felt like it was filled with two million butterflies.

"Dispatch, Adam 4-0-1 is in the area. Please advise when we can approach."

"Copy, Adam 4-0-1. 17-15 advises that the suspect has left the residence and it is safe to approach."

"10-4, dispatch. You can show us on scene." We quickly sped the last two blocks until we pulled up in front of Darla's parents' house. The house was a typical ranch home with a one-stall garage. It was in decent condition. Darla's dad, Butch Kent, had worked at the town lumber yard his whole life. He wasn't exactly made of money but he did okay for his family.

Danny greeted me as we approached the house. He said nothing but just shook his head when he saw me walk up the front porch stairs. We entered the front door of the house and I saw Butch and Cecelia, Darla's mom, both of them weeping and kneeling by the sofa next to their daughter. I felt the blood literally rush out from my face as I saw Darla's battered and bruised little body. Darla's left eye was completely swollen shut and she also had a nasty open cut above her left eyebrow that had bled badly. Her left cheek appeared swollen but also misshapen. He bottom lip had been punched so hard that her lower left eye tooth had completely punctured through her bottom lip.

She had all manner of bruises and abrasions on her forearms. It appeared that she had done her best to defend herself. Her right wrist was badly broken and looked like it had needed a road map; such was the severity of the angle due to the break. Darla was also clutching her ribs and abdomen and she had no doubt been repeatedly punched and kicked in both places.

"Butch, Cecelia, can either of you tell me what happened?" I asked gingerly.

"That son of a bitch Randy," Butch sobbed. "Cecelia and I were gone for just a couple of hours. That asshole came over here and beat the shit out of her!"

Suddenly, it hit me. "Where are Natalie and Nathan?"

"They're next door playing," Cecelia sobbed. "The bastard at least had the sense to not do this in front of them!"

I started examining Darla from head to toe. There didn't appear to be any cerebrospinal fluid leaking from her ears and there was no bruising behind her ears, either, which might indicate a basal skull fracture. That would have been very, very bad. Both of her pupils were equal but dilated as I very gently opened her eyelids. She obviously had a concussion and she didn't really recognize that I was there at first. She had some well-defined bruising starting to form around her neck. Randy had obviously tried to strangle her, which was almost synonymous with domestic abuse.

Darla's chest had deep bruises on both sides. I listened intently to both of her lungs and was relieved to hear good air flow on both sides. She flinched a bit when I gently examined her tummy. Again, I could hear good bowel sounds in all quadrants of her abdomen, which indicated there was probably no internal abdominal bleeding or perforated hollow organs.

I didn't want to expose her too much in front of her parents, but I had to check her entire chest. I gently lifted up the t-shirt she was wearing. Darla hadn't been wearing a bra, for some reason, and I was startled and horrified by what I saw on her breasts - human bite marks, at least a dozen of them. I immediately put her shirt down and said nothing as I'm sure her father, Butch, would have blown a gasket right then and there and probably would have gone looking for Randy to surely kill him.

"Let's get the cot in here and get ready to transport," I told the rest of the crew. Jake and Misty went to the ambulance to retrieve the cot while Meg and Diana monitored Darla's vital signs for me. Her blood pressure was slightly elevated at 145/95, her pulse was 55 and her respirations were between 8 and 10 per minute. These were signs that there may, indeed, be a closed head injury. It also might be just temporary due to the concussion. We wouldn't know until she had a head CT scan at the hospital. Her oxygen saturation was 97%, which was good.

We gently moved Darla from the sofa to the cot and strapped her in. She had whimpered a little bit as we did so. We quickly got Darla moved to the ambulance and got ready to go. Jake jumped back up front to drive while Meg, Diana, Misty and I took care of Darla in the back. I grabbed the IV kit and immediately started an IV in Darla's right hand. I was thankful at that moment that I was left-handed and could still even start an IV. A good sign was when Darla woke up immediately, opening her right eye as I poked the needle under her skin. Darla absolutely hated needles and had an abhorrent fear of them, as well as bees and other stinging insects.

Darla seemed lucid for a few moments as I started the IV and a horrified look came over her face as she recognized me. She was obviously humiliated and embarrassed for me to have seen her this way and she immediately closed her one good eye and turned her head to the left to look away from me.

"Darla, can you hear me okay?" I asked softly.

She said nothing, only nodding her head yes as she began to quietly weep.

"This is only going to sting for a little bit until I get the IV in, okay?" She only winced as I poked the needle forward. I hit a good vein in her left hand and was rewarded with a quick show of blood in the IV catheter's flash chamber. I removed the metal stylus, holding pressure in the vein, and attached the IV tubing and started a slow drip of Normal Saline. Diana had applied the patches from our cardiac monitor, which showed us that Darla's heart rate had increased to around 70 beats per minute and her blood pressure was now showing 132/88, which was also an improvement.

I continuously asked questions of Darla as I continued to treat her and care for her on the way to the hospital. I took a bottle of sterile water, wetted a wash cloth and gingerly cleaned up some of the blood on her lips, nose and eyes. We had also applied a splint to her right wrist, which was obviously and badly broken, although she still had a good pulse and color in the right hand, thankfully.

Darla would only answer questions by tenderly shaking or nodding her head. She continued to cry softly, refusing to look at me. I sat there looking at her and felt completely helpless to do more to alleviate her pain and suffering. Suddenly, it became clear that my confrontation with Randy just a few weeks ago had played a large part in what happened to Darla. I began to feel immense shame. But it was obvious that Darla felt an even larger degree of shame, embarrassment and humiliation. Everything that I had predicted would happen with Randy had come to pass.

For some reason, I couldn't help myself. I stood up from my seat, straddled the lower end of the ambulance cot and sat down, facing Darla. I gently lifted her legs up and scooted towards her, unbuckling the belts that secured her to the cot. I gently helped her to a sitting position, which was all the more awkward due to the soft splint that I had on my own right hand. I gently placed Darla's injured right arm and hand behind my back - and ever-so-softly pulled her into my embrace. Darla immediately buried her head in my shoulder, being careful of her swollen wounded left eye, and began sobbing uncontrollably.

I said nothing, nothing at all. I just looked forward towards the front of the ambulance and just held Darla in my arms; doing my best to let her know that, at least for the moment, she was safe.

"Oh, God, Daulton!" she sobbed. "I'm so sorry! I'm so fucking sorry!" She continued to wail and I could feel the tears build up in my own eyes.

The other three girls in the back of the ambulance said nothing, just watched us. They, too, all got tears in their eyes and both Diana and Misty had to cover their mouths to keep from sobbing. I nodded to Meg and asked her to please make a quick report to the hospital to let them know that we were getting close, which she did.