Chapter 14: The Domestic Call
Wednesday Evening, May 30, 2018 - Residential Neighborhood, 7:23 PM
The call came in as "neighbors reporting screaming and loud arguing." Standard domestic disturbance. Lopez and I were closest unit.
"7-Adam-19 responding," Lopez radioed.
The house was suburban, well-maintained, nothing obviously wrong. Lights on inside. Car in the driveway.
My danger sense fired before we reached the porch. Sharp, insistent, building pressure behind my eyes.
Armed. Someone inside is armed.
I caught Lopez's attention. Made the hand signal for weapon—fist, thumb pointing down. She nodded immediately, shifted her approach.
Standard protocol was knock and announce. We went tactical instead.
Angela Lopez's POV
Mercer's instincts were screaming again. I'd learned to trust them—kid had saved my life on day one with that knife call. If he sensed a weapon, there was a weapon.
"7-Adam-19, requesting backup, possible armed subject," I radioed quietly.
"7-Adam-15 responding," Bishop's voice. Her and Nolan, two minutes out.
We positioned on either side of the door. Mercer's face was pale, jaw tight. Whatever his danger sense was telling him, it was bad.
The door opened before we knocked. Woman, mid-thirties, tear-streaked face. Behind her, male voice: "Who is it?"
"LAPD, ma'am. We received a call about a disturbance."
"Everything's fine—"
My chest tightened. The lie detection Mercer had described—I didn't have it, but I'd learned to read people. She was terrified.
"Ma'am, can we speak with you outside?"
The male appeared behind her. Gun in his hand, pointed at her back. Amateur grip, shaking, but a gun's a gun.
"Get inside. Both of you."
Ethan's POV
My danger sense peaked. The positioning was all wrong—suspect behind victim, using her as shield, gun pointed at her spine. Lopez and I were exposed on the porch.
Split his attention. Create angles. Lopez left, me right. Don't cross lines of fire.
I moved right while Lopez went left, both of us using porch support beams for cover. The suspect's eyes followed Lopez—older, more experienced, bigger threat.
I was the rookie. Less dangerous in his assessment.
Wrong assessment.
"Sir, put the gun down," Lopez said. Calm, professional. "Nobody needs to get hurt."
"She called you! She's trying to leave!"
The victim—Jennifer, I'd learn later—sobbed. "I didn't call. I swear. The neighbors—"
My lie detection confirmed she was telling the truth. But the suspect didn't believe her.
"Sir." Lopez's voice hardened. "Gun down. Now."
Backup arrived—Nolan and Bishop, taking positions behind our shop. Four officers, one suspect, one hostage.
The suspect's attention split between Lopez's commands and the new arrivals. His grip on the gun loosened slightly.
"Jennifer loves you," Lopez said, surprising me. "She didn't call us. But right now, you're scaring her. Is that what you want?"
"I just... I don't want to lose her."
"Then put the gun down. Show her you can be the man she fell in love with."
Thirty seconds of silence. Felt like thirty minutes.
The gun lowered. The suspect set it on the ground. Bishop moved in, secured the weapon and the suspect. Crisis resolved.
No shots fired.
We processed the scene. Suspect arrested for assault with a deadly weapon, illegal firearm possession. Jennifer gave her statement.
Then came the question I dreaded.
"Do you want to press charges for the assault and threats?"
Jennifer looked at the shop car where her boyfriend sat cuffed. "He didn't mean it. He's just... stressed. Work's been hard. He loves me."
My lie detection stayed quiet. She believed every word. She genuinely thought love excused violence.
"Ma'am," Lopez said gently, "this isn't the first incident, is it?"
Jennifer's silence was answer enough.
"We can help," I added. "Resources, shelters, restraining orders—"
"I don't need help. I need everyone to leave us alone." Her voice hardened. "I'm not pressing charges."
Lopez drove us back to the station. My hands shook on my knees.
"You did good work in there," she said.
"She's going back to him."
"Probably."
"And next time he might kill her."
"Maybe." Lopez's voice was tired. "We did our job, Mercer. We responded. Secured the scene. Arrested the suspect. Offered resources. The rest is up to her."
"That's not enough."
"It's all we can do." She glanced over. "You can't save everyone. Especially not people who don't want to be saved. You'll tear yourself apart trying."
The recall captured Jennifer's face perfectly. The tears. The defensive anger. The statistics I'd memorized said women in her situation faced escalating violence. Abuse rarely got better on its own.
She'd probably be hurt again. Maybe killed. And I couldn't stop it because she wouldn't let me.
Knowing what's coming doesn't mean I can change it.
Thursday, May 31, 2018 - 2:17 AM
I couldn't sleep. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Jennifer's face. Heard her voice defending her abuser. My recall wouldn't let it fade.
I texted Nolan: How do you handle the ones you can't save?
My phone rang thirty seconds later.
"Come over," Nolan said. "I'll make coffee."
"It's two in the morning."
"So? You're awake. I'm awake. Come over."
I walked next door in sweatpants and a t-shirt. Nolan had coffee brewing, two mugs on his kitchen counter.
"The domestic call," he said. Not a question.
"She won't press charges. He'll hurt her again."
"Probably." Nolan poured coffee. "And you'll remember this call forever, wondering if there was something else you could've done."
"Is that supposed to help?"
"No. It's supposed to be honest." He handed me a mug. "You carry them. The ones you can't save. You remember them. And you save the next one. That's all any of us can do."
"What if that's not enough?"
"Then you do it anyway. Because the alternative is quitting, and you're not a quitter."
We sat in his living room—modest furniture, family photos, a life rebuilt from divorce and regret. Nolan understood starting over. He understood carrying weight.
"Thanks," I said.
"Anytime, neighbor."
I went home at dawn. The recall still held Jennifer's face, still played her voice. But Nolan's words held too.
You save the next one.
That would have to be enough.
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