Make It Go Away
It had been years but Gene was used to it.
The call for him, as soon as he got in from work - before he'd even got his coat off –- the screaming at him with hatred in her eyes.
The day would come when his wife would no longer know who he was.
He hadn't told any of his colleagues why they'd never met her. They'd only feel sorry for him if they knew, or worse, feel the need to help and more than likely get it wrong. He'd had people in to help with her in the early stages, but more often than not they never did things properly, so he couldn't see the point; they usually left after they'd been on the receiving end of his tongue anyway.
First she'd started dropping things, forgetting words; that was the least of her problems now.
"You beat people up," she'd said to him once.
"You look so tired...why is that?"
"Work, love."
"Oh? What do you do?"
"I'm a police officer."
Over and over again; he might as well have played a tape.
He could easily have walked away, found somebody else like she said he should. He could have taken his pick, girls loved policemen - and so did some men, if they liked their shopping dropped off round the back - but he didn't want to think about that.
Probably it would have been best if he had –- but you married for life. Sometimes he felt like he'd burst, but after seeing how frightened she was and and how difficult it was for her he'd learnt to switch certain things off.
Joking and sarcasm got him through the day. It was why he had no patience with suspects; their problems were entirely of their own making.
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She was so different from the woman who'd ironed his shirts singing along to her imported blues records. Once he'd come home from work early and caught her singing along to 'I Just Wanna Make Love To You' (she'd told him he was so good at it that every word was true) the woman who had loved his accent; the woman who'd laughed till she'd nearly wet herself when he'd shoved his truncheon down his heavy blue serge trousers.
Unlike most women, she'd absolutely loved it when he'd told her how this or that suspect had squealed.
"Can you make me do the same?" she'd said, her blue eyes twinkling.
He'd added bits in to make it more exciting for her, but most of it was true.
I hit the lying, useless bastard over and over again, then I threatened something that'd make his eyes water; he confessed straight away.
What a woman she was, he thought.
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One day he didn't hear anything. He dashed up the stairs two at a time.
"Shit!"
She'd thrown her glass of water at the wall; the bed was covered in blood. She was crying her eyes out. He had seen this kind of thing before, when suspects had quite simply had enough.
He sniffed.
It had been a long day; he wanted to shout, but something stopped him. He removed his coat; hard to get blood off of that. Didn't want people asking him questions.
"I don't want to do this any more...so ashamed...I''ll be…. you'll put me somewhere..." she gabbled.
"Now, don't talk daft," he said softly. "We've been together since we were 19. Since I was a flatfoot. It's not gonna change now."
"I'm sorry..."
He squeezed her hand and smiled, that bright, all-too-rare smile that had always made her melt.
"But... "
"Now let's get you cleaned up. Come on."
Something else he was having to get used to saying.
He put a fresh sheet on the bed.
"What's going to happen to me?" she sobbed, terrified.
"You'll be all right," Gene whispered, rubbing at her aching legs. "Sssh..."
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