It's Not My Fault

“It wasn’t my fault.”

“It wasn’t your fault.”

“It wasn’t my fault!”

“I know, I know…it wasn’t your fault.”

They looked down as the blood began to pool and she could hear him whimpering slightly under his erratic breathing.

“I mean…what the fuck. What the fuck!?!”

“Hey…I know, I know. Just calm down and we’ll figure this out.”

“We’ll figure this out. Are you out of your fucking mind. Do you not realize what the fuck I’ve done. I am fucked…so fucked…and you know what…so are you…WE’RE fucked!!!”

“No…it’s gonna be all right. We’re gonna get through this. “

“We’re not gonna get through shit. I am so fucked. It wasn’t my fault.”

“I know. It wasn’t your fault.”

The cruiser rounded the corner at a moderate pace for the type of scene they were approaching. The driver realized no one was going anywhere so what would be the point of creating drama in a day that was about to start with a fair amount of it anyway. His partner thumbed through the latest issue of some Caribbean boating monthly while the rain tapped the windshield like a steady telegraph informing the two of an approaching, dreary day.

“My last week, my friend, and let me tell you, not too soon I might add.” He stuffed the magazine into the passenger door compartment and turned to his partner, the driver. “The boat is ready and I see a life of island hopping in my most immediate future.”

The driver turned his head, glaring incredulously at his partner. “You have really saved enough money for all this? I mean with the pension and all, you can really afford this.”

“That’s what I am saying, my friend. No more child support since the youngest turned eighteen and once I cross into those beautiful international waters, no more alimony for that rancid cunt anymore. It’s a good life, my friend, and you need to start planning for this type of thing yourself.”

The driver grunted. “Yeah, I’ll be lucky if I get my house paid off by then and my boy out of the house.” They rounded another corner and were a few blocks behind the ambulance that was also en route to the scene, lights spinning frantically and siren echoing across the otherwise quiet streets. “You don’t think once she gets wind of your departure that she isn’t going to tap that pension and you won’t ever see another dime?”

“My friend, if I was relying solely on the pension, I wouldn’t be able to leave in the first place. I’d end up a rent-a-cop, supervising some parking garage somewhere, trying to keep those little bastards from sneaking in with their skateboards.” He smiled and looked out along the road at the modest homes that lined the neighborhood. Another suburban middle-class neighborhood where a member of the proletariat had once again crossed the line. “And Jesus, no more of this shit. No sir, I have quite a nice nest egg I’ve acquired over the years. That, with my investment in Grand Bahama and I’ll be sitting pretty for the rest of these golden years.”

The driver guffed at this and his eyes widened when he saw the ambulance pull off the road. “We’re here. Time to put on that game face one more time.”

“Always, my friend, always.”

“Oh shit, they’re here. What are we going to say. What am I gonna do?” He looked towards the fence that separated the front and back yards, lights flashing over its horizon and the murmuring of voices from the neighbors who had begun to gather around the house since the incident started. “Fuck. We’re fucked. I’m going to prison.”

“You are not going to prison. Just calm down and get your head together and we’ll get through this.” She stroked his back slightly and he flinched as if scalding water had trickled down his spine. “You need to calm down. It wasn’t your fault.”

“It wasn’t my fault, goddammit!”

They exited the cruiser after turning the patrol lights off and approached the mass of citizens who were standing around the front lawn of the home, mostly in bathrobes and sweat clothes, obviously thrust from their homes while enjoying a safe and quiet morning, by the commotion that had recently transpired. The ambulance crew were readying their gear and the driver of the cruiser addressed the confused crowd. “All right everyone. Let’s go home now. There is nothing you can do here. Go on. Go home.”

A man in his late thirties stepped out of the group, holding a large, still steaming coffee mug. “Did he do it? Did he finally kill her?” He turned towards the woman who had been standing next to him. “We knew it was going to happen sooner or later.” He then turned back around to the officer gesturing his cup towards the house. “They have always had problems and he’s just not right in the head, if you know what I mean.”

The officer approached the man, placing his massive hand on the smaller man’s shoulder, turning him slightly away from the house as if an attempt to corral the herd into the opposite direction. “That’s why we’re here, sir. We’re going to investigate this matter and handle it accordingly, but right now the best thing you can do is go home and wait until we’ve completed our investigation and find out what has happened. There is nothing you can do right now. So, go on, go home.”

The crowd mumbled in opposition but slowly dissipated towards their homes. The officer turned to his partner who had just lit a cigarette and shook his head. “What are you doing? Put that damn thing out.”

“What? I can’t have a smoke? Who are you, my mother?” He took a long drag and smiled as he blew the smoke in the officer’s direction.”

“Dammit, DiMeara.” His hand shot quickly to his partners and in a few quick and perfect movements removed the cigarette from his fingers and threw it to the ground, stomping it under his patent leather boot. “We’re going to a crime scene. You can’t be smoking, dammit.”

“Christ, you’re no fun,” he smiled. “I’m gonna miss you.”

The two moved towards the wooden fence door. DiMeara looked quickly over the fence and turned to his partner. “I see two people standing in the backyard,” he whispered.

“Why are you whispering? I think they know we’re here.”

DiMeara looked over again, a bit longer this time, and observed a man and woman, white, in their thirties, standing over a person lying on the ground, at the far end of the backyard. The man’s head turned towards the fence and his eyes locked with DiMeara. That’s when DiMeara saw the gun in his hand.

He shot his head back down and looked again to his partner. “There’s two of them and a man down,” he whispered, while removing his gun from its holster, cocking it, sliding the first round of the magazine into the chamber. His partner’s eyes widened at the movement. “They’re armed.”

His partner recreated the same movement and they slid against the fence in a defensive stance, both hands wrapped around their weapons.

“Oh fuck. The cops are at the fence. What are we going to do?”

“Just calm down. It’s going to be just fine,” she calmly replied, again stroking his back, initiating yet another convulsion.

“Sir, this is the police,’ the voice yelled from beyond the fence. “Put down the weapon and get face down on the ground. We don’t want to hurt you.”

They both looked at each other in astonishment and slowly drifted their view to his right hand which, still trembling, held the hand cannon tightly , white knuckles locked around its handle.

“Oh my god,” he shuddered. Facing towards the fence he shouted. “It wasn’t my fault. You gotta believe me.”

“Sir! Put down the weapon and get on the ground! Now!”

She spun him around quickly. “Jesus, Will, do what they say.”

He stood there for a moment, as if contemplating his next move, but his mind was reeling so quickly that not one thought took shape. He just merely stood there, frozen, unsure of what to do, all motor skills locked up and his focus on the clouds that drifted overhead and then down to the shadows they drew across the carpet of grass.

“Sir! Do it now! Don’t make this end badly!”

As if slapped in the back of the head, he regained consciousness and moved quickly. The gun placed on the ground, his body next to it just as quick and his hands over his head, fingers intertwined, face planted in the grass, sulking as if he knew he was about to die. She moved to him, squatting down, her hand rolling across his back without contact whispering, “Shhhhh…it’s ok…its ok.” She looked up towards the fence and exclaimed. “It’s ok. It’s ok. Come on back. We‘re unarmed”

The officers looked at each other simultaneously and moved without thought, years of training making their movements instinctual, practiced, and deliberate. DiMeara opened the fence quickly while his partner moved across the open space with stealth and caution, weapon raised in the direction of the couple. DiMeara followed in the same yet less graceful manner. “Ma’am move away from him. Do you have any weapons?”

Slowly she raised and backed up still looking at the trembling man on the ground. Her voice nervously echoing, “No…no, I don’t have anything. Please it is o.k. Everything is all right. It wasn’t his fault.”

In seconds they were on the man. DiMeara kicking the gun away into deeper grass several yards away and then quickly patting the man down. In the corner of his eye, he saw the body lying face down in the grass several yards away. “He’s clean,” he said as he turned to his partner who had been monitoring DiMeara’s actions while watching the woman intently. She was an attractive woman, whose lightened hair looked strained and face, likely prettier than now, seemed shallow and bleached with shock. She had a look of horror and confusion that was probably due to this recent series of events and she appeared to be the kind a woman not accustomed to events like this in every day life. He holstered his weapon and calmly approached her.

“What happened here?”

“It wasn’t my fault!” the man screamed from the ground. The officer looked at him and shot his focus in the direction of the body. Slowly he faced the woman, still obviously shaken.

“It wasn’t his fault.”

“That’s fine. What happened here?”

She looked away , her left hand slowly stroking her right arm, slowly glancing towards the body. “We heard a noise.”

“That’s right! We heard a noise!” the man screamed.

The officer turned to the man on the ground, DiMeara hovering over him, his gun also now holstered. “Sir, I’m going to ask you to be quiet, right now.” He turned to the woman, more calmly, “Go on.”

“Umm…we heard a noise,” she offered over the tears that seemed to be trying to escape. “And we didn’t know what it was. It was still kind of dark outside and…um…we didn’t know what to do.”

“What kind of noise?”

She turned to the far back end of the yard where a small carport covered a shining, cherry red Corvette. Alongside the driver door broken glass littered the ground. He followed her glance and noted the debris.

“It sounded like one of our trash cans getting knocked over. We have had problems with the neighborhood kids throwing them around. You see, Will is a teacher and not very popular with some of the kids here.”

The officer gestured towards the man on the ground. “Will? Your husband?”

Her eyes glistened as they filled with tears and her lips crumbled into jagged layers of skin and froth. “Yes…yes, my husband.” She shook off the moment of weakness, embarrassed, and continued. “You see he’s a good teacher but very strict and for that he’s become unpopular with the students,“ she rambled. “But he does a great job and they really do learn a whole lot from him and I…”

“Ok, ma’am. Fine. I get it. The noise. You heard a noise.”

“Well, we upstairs in our bedroom,” she said pointing at a second story window that overlooked the yard, the officer following her arm’s ascension to the house, then turning back to her face, which seemed to be filling with some color now. “And well, we looked down to see what it was, but there’s no light down here where the car is, so we waited, just to see if we could see anything. You know, movement, another noise, anything. God, I wish we still had our dog, this would have never happened.”

Will began weeping softly at this, the officer looking at him, then DiMeara who looked confusingly back. The officer turned back to the woman. “So what happened next?”

“Well, it was quiet and dark and we thought maybe it was just a neighbor’s cat or dog or something. I mean it seemed way to early for some kids to be playing a prank.”

“And…”

“Well, after what seemed like a lifetime, we saw something move, like a flash, by the car, and that’s when we heard the crash. You know, the sound of broken glass. We realized someone had just broke the window on the car.”

The officer again looked towards the Corvette and the shattered glass that lay around it. “So what did you do?”

“Well, Will got angry and started yelling and took off towards the downstairs.”

“What did he say?”

“I don’t know. Something like ‘you mother fucker’ or ‘goddammit’ or something but he was gone. Down the stairs. I was scared so I waited for a moment. Then I realized I couldn’t just sit in the room waiting so I put on my bathrobe and went downstairs. That’s when I heard the gunshot.”

“Gunshot?”

“Yes. It was loud and I jumped.” she looked towards the ground. “I was scared so I just stood still for a moment, then I heard two more. That’s when I ran to the phone and called 9-1-1. I was worried something had happened to Will. I was in the kitchen looking out the window and couldn’t see anything. It was still dark. So I locked the door and told the operator what had happened.”

“And…”

“And, that’s it. When I got off the phone I saw Will stumbling back towards the house. I opened the door and asked him if he was o.k. and he nodded but had a strange look on his face. I asked him if he was hurt and he shook his head. Then I said, ‘what happened’ and he looked at me, like a scared little boy and said ‘it wasn’t my fault.’ I rushed out to him and hugged him and that’s when I saw the body.”

The officer turned to the body that DiMeara had now been observing. DiMeara looked towards the officer and shook his head. “He’s dead, my friend.”

Will began crying more violently now. The officer looked at the body and then approached Will. “So you have to tell me what happened. From the beginning.”

Will lifted his face from the lawn, eyes reddened from the tears, lip trembling chaotically, filled with spit and dirt. “O.k….o.k. I’ll tell you. It wasn’t my fault.”

“Yes, I got that,” the officer said sharply. “So what happened here?”

Will sat up shaking the grass from his pajamas, his hands still trembling and started, “I was scared so when I got downstairs to the office I got my gun. I don’t use it except every now and then at the range. I got it for home protection because the world has gotten so…” He looked at the body and began sobbing heavily, occasionally losing his breath.

“Will, you have got to get through this. You have to tell me what happened.” The officer put his hand on his shoulder and for once, he didn’t burst into seizures.

“All right,” he muttered. “All right. So I went outside slowly, trying to be quiet. I heard rustling out by my car. That’s a vintage vette there. I just got it like six months ago and I’ve put a lot of money into it.”

“Right, right. So what did you see?”

“Well, I could see a shape moving around in the shadows and heard what sound like feet crushing glass. I knew he had broken the window and was trying to steal the car. So, I got closer, trying to be quiet.

The officer nodded.

“When I got to the edge of the yard, I could see he was bent over inside the car. I was scared but I wasn’t going to let this piece of shit steal my car. I mean, I couldn’t could I?”

The officer nodded. “Go on.”

“I raised the gun in that general direction. I mean I knew it was loaded but I wasn’t going to shoot him or anything. I just…I just wanted to scare him, y’know. Maybe he’d run away or something.”

“So what happened?”

Will raised his hands up, mimicking holding the piece and exclaimed, “Freeze! Step out of the car, now!”

“And then what happened?”

“Well…it all happened so fast. I saw him spin around quick and I saw a gun flash in his hand…and I was scared so…well, I pulled the trigger.” Will looked down to the lawn, green from so many endless afternoons fertilizing and grooming meticulously. “I didn’t see anything. I mean, the blast was so bright that I was blinded for a second. I couldn’t see.”

The officer nodded. “So how did he get over here?” pointing towards the body.

“Well, like I said, I was in shock. I couldn’t see anything now. I couldn’t hear anything. Then I saw something leap over the fence there and I just spun around and fired in that direction. Again, it was blinding and loud and I couldn’t see where he was.”

“We have two entry wounds here, my friend. One to the shoulder and one in the gut. Looks like it exited through here.” DiMeara pointed at a large, crimson stain on the body’s lower back. “Looks like he bled to death kind of quick.” He looked at Will and over to the gun, now sunk in the lush, thick lawn. “What the hell did you shoot him with?”

Will stared off into oblivion. “Desert Eagle,” he spoke softly. “Fifty caliber…”

The officer shook his head and looked at DiMeara. “Do you see a weapon?”

DiMeara shook his head and looked around. “Nothing.” And then he saw something lying in the grass. He rose and moved towards it, inspecting it closely without touching it. “Gotta screwdriver. Has blood on it.”

Will broke from his spell and looked at the officer. “He had a gun, dammit! It wasn’t my fault!”

The officer stood up. “It’s o.k. Will.” He changed his glance to DiMeara. “Check the car.” DiMeara nodded and went to the carport, minding the broken glass and peered inside the vehicle. He turned back to his partner and shook his head.

Will’s face turned into a twisted gyration of anguish. “I tell you he had a gun! I saw it! He was going to kill me!”

“Will, you need to be calm. Can you do that? It is very possible he did, but we don’t have a gun, do we? You said it yourself. You were frightened. You were scared. It was dark. You weren’t thinking straight and there was someone breaking into your car. In all likeliness, you may have thought the screwdriver in his hand was probably a gun. It happens. I am not justifying your actions but this is most likely what happened.”

Will began sobbing again. “It’s not my fault!” His wife began to cry as well.

“Honey…it’s going to be o.k. Officer, tell him it’s going to be o.k.”

“Will, we’re going to have to sort this out.” He looked towards the house at a picnic table with an umbrella wavering overhead. “Why don’t the two of you come with me and have a seat over here,” he said motioning towards the table.

She went to Will and helped him up, both crying now, and they helped one another to the table. The officer followed them and turned to the wife. “You both stay here for now. Don’t go anywhere, just sit tight.”

At that moment the paramedics entered the yard with a stretcher and their gear. The officer turned to them and said, “Fellas, we’re gonna need a bag for this one.” And an all too familiar cell phone ring sounded in his pocket and he produced it. It was his wife. Not a great time, baby, he thought but answered regardless.

“Hey baby. Bad, bad time.”

“I’m sorry Jerome but I’m worried.”

“Why?”

DiMeara had moved back to the body and saw a wallet peering out of the back right pocket of the baggy, blood soaked jeans. He pulled a latex glove out of his own pocket, put it on, and slid the wallet carefully out of its resting place. The paramedics approached and he smiled gravely at them. “Hey guys. Appears to be a black male, maybe early twenties. Two gunshot wounds. One in the shoulder, other in the stomach,” he said pointing at the large bloodstain on the lower back of the body’s shirt. “Exit wound appears to be there.” The paramedics approached the body and began to inspect it. DiMeara opened the wallet, finding some loose bills, a credit card, and a driver’s license. He looked at the face and the name and felt the blood leave his face.

“Jerome, it’s Jamal.” She sounded frantic. “He didn’t come home last night. He was out with his friends and I’ve called most of them and they all said he was going home the last time they saw him.”

“Goddammit. I’m gonna ground his black ass this time. I told him the next time he didn’t come home he was grounded.” Officer Jerome paused for a moment and wiped the disappointment from his face. “I know he’s eighteen now, but he still lives in my house. If he’s going to live there now that he’s done with school then he’s going to live by our rules. It’s these damn thug friends he hangs out with.”

“I know, Jerome. I’m just worried.”

“Don’t be. He’s probably hung over somewhere at one of his friends house. I’ll deal with this when I get home.”

“Jerome…”

“It’s o.k. baby. I’ll take care of this.”

“Jerome…” This time it was DiMeara’s voice.

“I gotta go baby. I love you. I’ll take care of this.”

Officer Jerome looked at DiMeara. The color had vanished from his usually pink skin and his eyes had sunk deeper into the wrinkles of his aged face. Startled, Officer Jerome felt something sink within himself. Something was wrong.

“Hey guys,” yelled one of the paramedics. “This is just a kid. Looks like he’s about seventeen.”

Officer Jerome’s head spun to the couple sitting at their picnic table at the edge of their fertile, green yard. He turned and moved quickly across the field of perfectly hedged grass. DiMeara slowly approached him, “Jerome…wait.” Everything faded black.

Officer Jerome passed by DiMeara, glancing his partner’s outstretched arm off his shoulder, a meager attempt to prevent his forward progress. He came upon the two paramedics who squatted alongside the young, dead boy, eyes shut, blood dried around his mouth, twisted, deformed, and ended.

“Jamal…” He fell to his knees and his entire being erupted into an overpowering numbness. His head fell to the boy’s face as he began uncontrollably crying. “Jamal!!!”

“Jerome,” offered DiMeara. “I’m sorry, my friend. I’m sorry.”

A few more seconds passed, Officer Jerome sobbing at the dead boy and then with unprecedented speed his face spun, locking on DiMeara, a look of horror and hatred. “Mother fucker!”

It all happened so quickly. Again, DiMeara, attempting to impede his partner’s forward momentum, but this time the younger, stronger, more powerful officer simply flung the older, lesser man to the ground. The gun was out of the holster and raised in the matter of steps it took to reach Will.

“It wasn’t my fault!” came the scream silenced immediately as the barrel found its final resting place on Will’s forehead, unloading six rounds before a final breath could be taken.

His wife screamed, blood and matter splashed across her face and nightgown, looking and the gaping hole in her now dead husband’s face as it streamed blood, more blood than she’d ever seen, in all directions, a pile of ravaged meat now atop his shoulders, and in the time it took for her to swing her face to the now crazed Officer Jerome, he had already emptied his magazine, reloaded another, and chambered its first round. As he spun the police issue pistol at her a cry screamed, “Jerome, put down the gun or I will drop you! Now!”

He paused, looking at the trembling woman, covered in blood, her husband’s blood, every inch of her being shaking violently and reddened by the thick, viscous liquid. Slowly he turned towards his partner, DiMeara, lowering his arm that held his gun. His face looked blank, emotionless, and he focused on his friend, his partner, now pointing his weapon at him, intently.

“Jerome, stop! Put it down now!” The paramedics had vanished from the backyard and in the distance, the sound of one calling for help on a radio could be heard. But Jerome heard nothing. He saw nothing. Except his dead son and his partner who was now prepared to kill him.

“They killed him…they fucking killed him!”

“I know, my friend, I know. But it can’t go down like this. You know that. It just can’t”

“He was just a kid. He didn’t come home last night.” He dropped his stare and looked back and forth across the sea of grass, now alive and in motion, moving with the wind that gently cascaded across the yard, across his face, across the body of his dead son. He raised his gun at DiMeara. “You put it down. I’m finishing this.”

DiMeara jumped slightly and refocused his target with Officer Jerome’s unexpected move. Slowly they began circling the yard with each other lying at the end of their sites. “Jerome, dammit, stop this. You’re not going to shoot me and you’re not going to shoot anyone else. Put down the weapon and we’ll sort this out.”

“There ain’t fucking nothing we’re gonna sort out. Put down your gun or I’m gonna put this entire clip in your fucking head.” He closed his gaze on DiMeara still circling gaining ground on where the body lay. “Do it! Now!”

DiMeara flinched a bit. He was scared. His partner, his friend, was a dead shot. Best in his precinct, likely the city. A good cop. A very good cop. Now, a very dangerous cop. “No one else has to die, my friend. Let‘s end this now.”

Officer Jerome’s phone rang again. The yard became silent and the ringing continued. Again, and once more. Both men stayed locked on one another. Officer Jerome slowly produced the phone, once again, from his pocket and answered, DiMeara cautiously observing but now watching ever closer.

“Yeah,” Officer Jerome said as he raised the phone to his ear. “What?”

“Baby, I have a really bad feeling.”

“Don’t worry, baby. I found him.”

“What?”

“It’s o.k. baby. I’ll take care of this.” The first three shots rang out and all hit their target thrusting DiMeara back across the yard. He hit the grass hard and all movement stopped abruptly, his blood now draining through his head, his back, into the deep green lawn. But the fourth blast, louder, a powerful burst of white energy, exploded on impact. Officer Jerome stood there, stunned, watching his dead son, his dead partner, and the pool of blood that sprayed from his chest and across the flourishing grass in front of him. He looked down at his chest as his arms swung down, numb, dropping his gun and phone, and saw the large hole that had punched through his ribcage. As he slowly fell to his knees, he could hear his wife howling on the phone that now lie in the tall, green grass and pools of blood that continued to flow from him. To one arm he fell, turning his glance backyards where he saw, stained and shaking vehemently, still in her nightgown covered in her husband’s blood and matter, the cause of his concern, with tight little fingers wrapped around the enormity of the Desert Eagle, which had lie in the beautiful green grass for a good part of the morning.

-the end