“What do you want?” The words came out in a harsh, almost snarling tone that clearly conveyed exactly what Jim wanted her to hear.

Sherry was taken aback, and not just by the tone of his voice. He had lost weight. He was pale, his skin drawn over his face, his hands thinner somehow, and he looked ... not himself. Not the one she remembered, anyways.

“You don’t have a hug for me? I’m still your wife.” Sherry stood up from the bench and held her arms out towards him with a soft smile on her face that she hoped was warm and welcoming.

He flinched, and took a step further back and looked away, across the park towards the parking lot that was partially obscured by the trees on the side of the path.

He looked back at her with disgust. “You are still trying to manipulate me, I see. Not gonna work this time. Sorry. Deliver your message and get the absolute hell out of my life.”

She shook her head. Maybe this wouldn’t work after all.

“You’re so far away. I wanted to have a quiet, private conversation with you. I thought we could work this out, and go back to how things were before.” Sherry put all the emotion she could into those words, trying to convey sorrow and remorse. “You used to give me the greatest hugs. I always felt so warm and safe in your arms. Can I please have a hug?”

He seemed to shudder, as if that were a fate worse than death. “Oh God, no. No no no no no. I am not coming within six feet of you in this or any other life. I do not ever want to even touch you or be touched by you ever again.”

“Well, will you at least come and sit by me? Please?”

“I don’t want to be here long enough to sit anywhere, and sitting next to you is the last place on this planet I want to ever find myself again. Quit with all the bullshit and get on with it, Ms. Duchennes.”

She recoiled as if he’d slapped her when he used her maiden name. That hurt her badly. He no longer considered her someone in his circle of family and friends, she realized. And when she looked at him again, she realized that he was barely holding his emotions together and under control. That might work, though. She had certain things she wanted to accomplish, and that would help her if she could push the right buttons.

She was of two minds on her relationship with James William Nelson. A part of her wanted to get back together and fix what had happened between them. However, the much stronger part wanted to move on, take what she could get from him, and start over. It just wasn’t working between them. It never would. They were too different.

She huffed. “Okay fine, have it your way. You were a selfish bastard during our marriage. You were always watching sports, or off at work, or out with your so-called friends, who filled your head with a bunch of lies about me. You never had enough time for me. And we never did anything I wanted to do. It was always what you wanted. Spend more time with your family. More time with your friends. Go to more games. You neglected me every chance you had so you could run off and be with that group of degenerates and pedophiles. And don’t even get me started on your whore of a sister, or that shrew masquerading as your mother!” She shook her head in disgust and anger.

He just stared at her in shock, unable to form words for several seconds. Then abruptly he figured out what she was trying to do.

“Seriously, Ms. Duchennes? That’s why you came out here? Why you pulled me away from work? So you could complain about how unfair your life was? I wonder what I ever saw in you. Jesus Christ, I swear you are the stupidest person on the planet. Well, by definition, half the population fills in the ranks below the average intelligence of humanity, so at least you’re in a lot of company. God damn.”

She was about to speak up indignantly at the blatant insult, but he did not let her get a word in as he continued.

“I have this thing people call a job, Ms. Duchennes. It’s how I earn money. You know what money is, right? It’s that thing, all those green pieces of paper with pictures of dead presidents on them that let you have things if you have enough of them. They are also good for ‘buying’ necessities in life, like ‘food’, ‘clothing’, and ‘shelter’, namely that lovely three thousand square foot house you insisted we needed for all those ‘children’ we were never going to have together.” (Each word in quotes was emphasized the way one would to a small child who was having trouble comprehending something they should have already learned a long time ago.)

“Out with my friends? I don’t have any friends. You saw to that. You chased them all off by being, well, your ever lovely, charming self. You told Dan that his wife looked like an Italian porn star. You told Will that his face reminded you of the side of a wrecked car, never mind that you knew he’d been in a fire as a child. He still won’t talk to me, won’t even take my calls. The rest wandered off to greener pastures when they saw what an awful person you actually are. And yet, not one of them ever said a negative word about you.

“And forgive me for wanting to see the cousin I grew up when he was in town a couple of months ago. I hadn’t seen him in eleven years, and he was moving to Europe for a new job. I wasn’t going to see him in person ever again, since I don’t have the money to travel to see where he is now (thanks to your need for Coach purses and Jimmy Choo shoes on MY dime). So I went and spent a couple hours talking to him in a restaurant. But you couldn’t go. It was more important for you to stay home and reorganize your underwear drawer, or whatever you did.”

“In the six years we’ve been together, how may games have I gone to? I’ll give you a hint.” He held up his middle finger towards her, flipping her off. “Can you count how many fingers I’m holding up, Ms. Duchennes? Yes! That’s right! One! One game! Give the little lady a prize! She can count to one! Good for you, little girl!”

Sherry’s eyes bulged dangerously, and she sucked in a breath to start yelling, but he just went on.

“I got those tickets for us, since you had told me baseball was your favorite sport, and you’d love to go to a game. I didn’t even have to pay for them – I saved the money on them so you could blow it on something else. I just called in a favor from someone in marketing, and they got them for me. It was supposed to be a nice night out for us. I even had a gift card for that steak house you like so much. The evening was going to cost us almost nothing. Parking was the only thing I was going to have to spring for.

“You, on the other hand, decided at the very last minute (even though you knew about the game and the evening I’d planned for a week in advance) that we just had to go to your mother’s house for something that night. You implied that it was important, that we needed to go there to help your mother out. With what? All the sitting we did on her couch? She was happy to see you, but she obviously didn’t know we were coming.”

He paused as she tried to keep from smirking. That’d been a good one. That had pissed him off a lot.

“My friends are degenerates and pedophiles? Which ones are which? The social worker? The paramedic? The fireman? The child advocate lawyer?

“And as for your insults towards my family, let me just say that on your very best day ever, you were not qualified to lick dog poop off my mother’s or my sister’s shoes. I fully expect that you would enjoy it, though, since what passes for your heart is obviously as foul and disgusting as the contents of a septic tank.

“So, fuck you, Ms. Duchennes. I hope the rest of your pathetic, manipulating, waste of a life is spent in pain, misery, and abject loneliness and horror.

“I’m just happy I will be able to get my two girls away from you before you corrupt them with your sick little mind games. I thought you might be a capable parent after their mother died, but you take it all to new depths of delusion and stupidity.

“And I hope and pray to whatever higher power there exists in this universe that you never have your own children, because I am certain that you would turn them into child rapists and serial killers the likes of which this world has never before seen.”

That last one was the final intolerable insult. She had always hoped to have children, having believed since childhood that she would make a great mother. Her rage boiled up and over, and she surged off the park bench towards him with mayhem and murder in her eyes. If he wasn’t going to play along willingly, there were other ways to get what she wanted.

He saw her coming, and did nothing to stop her, or even defend herself. The last thing he saw was her fist coming towards his face, then an explosion of light and pain as she connected with his jaw. And as he fell towards the asphalt path, his mind thought, ‘I guess she did learn something in all those mixed martial arts lessons after all... ‘

He awoke in incredible pain. It hurt everywhere. He tried to shift to see if that would help, but both of his hands were immobilized by something around his wrists. He did feel something in his left hand, so he squeezed it, not knowing what it was, just wanting to have something to grip. It was more of a reflexive action than anything else.

A minute later he heard a door open, and a woman’s voice he didn’t recognize spoke up.

“Oh for ... someone get those handcuffs off of my patient right now! I mean it! I will have all of you thrown out of this hospital if those aren’t removed in the next ten seconds! Ten ... nine...”

“Ma’am, this man is a violent criminal who beat up his wife. I can’t do that.”

“Really? Fucking really? Where is the bitch then? Somewhere else in this hospital? A different one? Answer the fucking question, Officer!”

“Well, no. She’s not in a hospital right now.”

“Well, then where is she?”

“She’s down at the station giving a statement to the detectives.”

Jim tried to open his eyes, but it wasn’t easy. Even his eyes, especially the left one, hurt for some reason. He managed to get one of them opened, but the light hurt his eyes for a moment and his vision swam.

“And what are the extent of her injuries? Any broken bones? Cuts? Bruises? Any other damage? Did she even break a goddamn nail?”

“Well, she has one small bruise on her cheek bone.”

“And here is her soon to be ex-husband with multiple broken bones, a concussion, a broken nose, a ripped ear, and minor stab marks all over his abdomen, probably from her keys. Why isn’t she in jail, officer?”

“Well, she said he attacked her. She’s the victim.”

“Victim my ass. I bet the only real injury on her is to her hands and feet. Here’s your real victim. It will be weeks before he can leave the hospital if he can even walk again without a cane or a crutch. You do know that his wife is an MMA fighter, right? Check Youtube.com for Sherry Duchennes sometime. Watch her last bout. And Mr. Nelson here is a middle school teacher. History and math, if I remember correctly. Take off the fucking cuffs or find someone who will. Either way, get out of this hospital room. Now!”

Jim watched through almost shut eyes as the police officer turned and left the room, and then he looked up at the woman that had driven him off.

“Sorry about that, Mr. Nelson. This whole situation is fucked up. It took a little while, but I finally figured out who you are, and who your ex is, just a few minutes ago. The paramedics that brought you in thought you’d been hit by a car, but they found you a hundred yards from the nearest access road. Then your harridan of a wife started telling people you’d beat her up and she’d had no choice but to fight back.” She shook her head in disgust.

“We haven’t put you on any pain meds because of the head injury. We needed to make sure we didn’t do any damage. I will put in an order for something right away. I am certain you are in considerable pain everywhere.”

He tried to nod, but settled for the grimace of pain his face went to instead.

“Are you ready to hear the catalog of what is wrong with you right now? Or do you want to wait a bit?”

He tried to speak, but his mouth wasn’t working right, something about his jaw wasn’t moving the way it should, so he just nodded. Or tried to again. Apparently he was a slow learner on that front.

“Okay, here goes. You have a broken arm bone and dislocated shoulder on your left. You have a broken orbital socket bone around your left eye, your left foot has two broken bones in it, and you have at least three broken ribs and a few more that are cracked. You also have three dislocated finger joints on your right hand, and your right wrist is also broken. We also think something is wrong with your left knee, but we haven’t gotten you out for an MRI yet – the duty doc was just putting in the order when you signaled the desk that you were awake. Other than that, you are covered in bruises and some outright cuts.

“In short, you have a lot of the same injuries you’d have if you were hit by a car. But with the stories your ex is telling people, you are going to need a lawyer. Hope you have a good one.”

“-eed my p-one.”

“The police took your phone, and everything else. I am not sure when you will get that back.”

She turned as a scribe came in wheeling a laptop on a portable stand.

A commotion at the door made them turn away from him thought.

“Who are you?” The doctor asked.

“I’m his lawyer. Jim, buddy, I wish you’d let us pull her off you, hell, I wish we’d been able to act but it happened so fast, but we ended up doing it your way. Hope it was worth it.”

He just nodded.

Twenty-three days later, there was a bail hearing in a county court. The proceedings started off pretty much as expected. It had taken this long for the defendant to recover to the point that he could be formally arrested and attend his first hearing. The prosecution spoke first, demanding no bail for the hardened criminal who inflicted such pain and distress on a poor, defenseless, innocent young woman like the victim in this case.

Then the defense attorney spoke. “Your Honor, there are mitigating circumstances. My client should be kept out of jail while he recovers from his injuries. He is still not ambulatory, and he will require months of physical therapy and rehab to recover the ability to walk unassisted. Additionally he needs constant monitoring and around-the-clock care because of the head injury he suffered at the hands of his hopefully soon-to-be former spouse. The symptoms from the severe concussion he experienced have not subsided enough for him to be left to his own recovery.

“We suspect, based on debris removed from his skull, that his head was smashed repeatedly into the asphalt on the path where he was injured. In short, he needs live-in nursing care. The only reason why he is not in a rehabilitation facility is because of the charges against him. No one will take him because of the violent felonies he has been charged with.”

“Your honor, we believe the defendant is a flight risk, and request that bail be denied.” The prosecutor, Hans Gerhardt, interjected.

“Flight risk? Seriously? He can’t move faster than a few feet at a time in a wheel chair without vomiting, and you think he’s going to flee from prosecution?” The tone of Angus McCrorie, the defense attorney, was still respectful, but only by the barest shreds of civility.

The judge banged his gavel. “That’s enough, you two. Counselor, where is the defendant planning on staying if he is out of jail? The victim in this case has gotten a restraining order filed with the courts to prevent him from returning to his home. Where will he get help and care while he is recovering if the rehabilitation facilities in town won’t take him?”

“My wife and I are offering to take Mr. Nelson into our home, where we can oversee his care directly. My wife is a nurse administrator and a registered nurse for a local hospital chain and will oversee the coordination of services in Mr. Nelson’s case.”

“Very well. I can clearly see that Mr. Nelson is not capable of harming others or running from his obligations. And since there is an appropriate location that can house him, I am setting an all-cash bail of five thousand dollars, along with your signature guarantee that he will be available for trial.” The judge banged his gavel and started to stand to leave the room when the prosecutor spoke up.

“That is acceptable. Thank you, Your Honor.”

“Your honor, I wish to appeal this bail amount, and request an injunction pending review by a higher court.” He spoke the words with some heat, as if he could not believe that such an awful man could be granted such leniency.

“Let me see if I get this straight, your honor. My client, someone with no criminal record, a very good career and two loving children, and is surrounded by upstanding citizens who support him in this difficult time, who was beaten nearly to death by his wife, a professionally-trained and experienced mixed martial arts fighter, who attacked him with no physical provocation, then cried wolf and claimed a bruise she received in a sanctioned fight was evidence that he attacked her, doesn’t deserve to be out of jail so he can recover from nearly dying just because the prosecutor is trying to make a name for himself in domestic violence cases?”

The prosecutor flushed angrily at the accusation of prosecutorial bias and opened his mouth quickly. “Your honor, I object to this assassination of my character by the defense attorney! This is unconscionable!”

“That’s enough, both of you! Defense counsel, you need to watch yourself. Another outburst like that and I will hold you in contempt and recommend the bar investigate and sanction you for your actions. Do you read me loud and clear?” The judge glared at the lawyer, who wilted under the fury directed his way.

“Yes, your honor. I apologize for my inappropriate comments. I was clearly out of line and let me mouth get away from me. It won’t happen again.”

“See to it that it does not. You will not like what happens as a result if you do. Do you understand?”

“Yes, your honor. I apologize, Mr. Prosecutor.”

The prosecutor nodded stiffly.

“Mr. Gerhardt, you may appeal my bail judgement if you wish, but your request for an injunction to keep Mr. Nelson incarcerated is denied. No public benefit is achieved by leaving someone who cannot care for himself in jail or in a secured medical ward. Understood?”

The judge glared at the prosecutor this time, and then let his gaze sweep back over both lawyers in the room once more.

“I will be quick to hammer either or both of you if this is a foretaste of how you will be behaving in my courtroom. I expect and require the utmost professional behavior from those who come before me in the interests of law. See to it that you remember this, both of you.” And with that, the judge turned and left the courtroom.

After the door closed behind him, the defense attorney looked down and began to pack his notes and documents back into his briefcase. The prosecutor looked over and started to say something, then thought better of it with a glance at the bailiff still standing near the bench.

First the defense attorney, then the prosecutor a few seconds later, turned and walked out of the room. Once out in the hallway, Gerhardt reached out and firmly grasped McCrorie’s elbow and pulled him back around.

Angus looked down at his elbow where the prosecutor’s hand had latched on, and then looked up at the slightly younger man with a frown.

“You do not get to get away with making accusations against my character. Do you hear me, you pathetic little ambulance chaser?” The words came out in a low growl, but Angus ignored what was said and stared into Gerhardt’s face.

“Remove your hand from my person at once, sir. This is your first, last, and only warning.” His visage seemed to get darker and more threatening as he moved his head and face closer to the other man and glared directly into his eyes. “Unless you wish to force me to defend myself against this illegal and unethical attempt at physical intimidation. Is that what you wish to accomplish here, sir?”

Hans tried to push the issue further along, unwilling to be cowed into backing down. “You better watch yourself, counselor. You don’t get to run wild through the courtroom on a whim. There are rules and laws about decorum in courtrooms. Break them at your peril.”

At this point, the altercation had attracted the attention of two police officers working security at the court building who approached the two men.

“Sir, let go of the gentleman’s elbow right now.”

Hans Gerhardt looked up suddenly at the voice from just a few feet away, and flushed angrily, then dropped his hand.

“You remember what I said, Mr. McCrorie.”

Angus just walked on in complete silence with no emotion visible on his face.

“All rise, the honorable Michael Brown presiding.”

“Please be seated. Bailiff, the case please.”

“In the matter of the state verses James Wallace Nelson.”

“Thank you, bailiff.” And the case was under way.

A day later, the prosecution had finished laying out its case for why the violent, dangerous criminal known as James Wallace Nelson should be locked up behind bars for the protection of the public at large, and to protect the poor, poor victim, the former Mrs. Sherry Nelson, who was now known as Sherry Anne Duchennes, her maiden name. A judge somewhere had signed off on a quickie divorce to get her away from the violent lowlife that had hit her. Her slight bruise that had been visible on her cheek at the time of Jim’s arrest had long since faded.

Jim’s injuries, however, were very much still in evidence. He walked slowly with a cane and with a noticeable limp, even now some seven months after he supposedly attacked his then-wife. His face had still not fully recovered, and there had been two plastic surgeries on his orbital socket and the rest of his face to try to make him look as normal as possible. As it was, he was never really going to look like himself anymore.

Sherry’s testimony had been dramatic, but not overly so. She had tearfully testified about how their marriage had fallen apart, and how Jim had turned to drinking to get over his troubles and forget about the damage he had caused to their relationship. With the drinking had come the threats of physical violence, followed by the occasional slap or punch. It eventually culminated in the incident by the city lake. It had started with, according to her, Jim sitting too close to her on the park bench, which made her stand up and step back. It escalated to him making her back up from him and trying to intimidate her as she tried to step around the tree she had bumped into in her efforts to get clear of him.

It was there where he had slapped her hard enough to knock her down, whereupon she had gotten up and defended herself. She hadn’t meant to cause all that harm, all those injuries. In fact, she regretted them terribly to this very day. It was something she would have to live with for the rest of her life, knowing that she’d done such things to the man she loved so dearly.

She still had trouble sleeping at night because of what he forced her to do. And she was forced, she made it clear. Every time she tried to disengage, he tried to continue the physical altercation, leading her to applying more and more force to get him to stop trying to hurt her.

Through it all, she maintained her pained and sorrowed expression, stressing that she never meant to hurt him. She still loved him. But she couldn’t ever be with him anymore, hence the divorce and the rapid pace at which she had extricated herself and her two young, innocent daughters from this violent woman-beater of a man she had loved with all her heart.

The jury looked at Jim like he was the devil incarnate when she finally stepped down after the defense cross-examined her. Angus ended the cross examination with the proviso that he wished to recall her to the stand later for further clarification after the defense had a chance to testify.

That Jim was going to testify was a shock to the prosecution. Guilty men never allowed themselves to be in reach of a good prosecutor if they could help it. Anything could, and usually did, happen during cross examination. It was way too unpredictable.

“Defense calls Mr. James Wallace Nelson to the stand, your honor.”

There was a bit of a stir in the gallery as the man at the defense table stood with difficulty and not a little bit of pain, and slowly walked forward towards the witness box, shuffling on his feet as his cane thumped along on the hardwood floor. The brace made it impossible to bend his knee, and that slowed things considerably.

Eventually he made it to the box, was sworn in, and slowly sat down on the chair inside it.

Testimony from the defendant was predictable. He loved his wife, too. Blah blah blah. Whatever. Until...

“Did you know that your wife was going to get violent with you?”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Then why did you arrange for three different people to video record your encounter on the parkway that day?”

All eyes turned to Sherry sitting behind the prosecutor’s table, and she had a sudden sinking feeling in her gut that she tried desperately to keep from showing on her face. For the most part, she succeeded rather well.

“Because I had no idea what she was going to do or say, and I wanted whatever happened to be recorded so she couldn’t gaslight her way out of it later.”

“When you say gaslight, what do you mean, Mr. Nelson?”

“Sherry has this way of doing things where she gets into your head and makes you believe whatever she wants. It’s called gaslighting – making someone believe something that obviously isn’t true. I wanted a record of it because she has done this to me many times in the past. I wanted to be able to go back and know the truth, to see it with my own eyes, to hear it with my own two ears.”

“Your honor, I wish to introduce into evidence a video that was uploaded onto the video sharing website youtube.com just over two and a half weeks ago. The prosecution was informed of this and several other pieces of evidence about the same time, as required by evidence laws.”

“Objection, your honor. This information was not presented to us. We have no prior knowledge of this. And at this late date, this cannot be entered into evidence without a formal hearing to justify its relevance to the case.”

“Your honor,” began Angus McCrorie, “This information was clearly presented to the prosecution team on Feburary 23rd as required by law. It is not our concern if the prosecution doesn’t do their due diligence and review everything that we present to them in a timely manner.”

A glare from the judge stopped any further statement that could insult the Honorable Hans Gerhardt, but McCrorie was done. And so was the damage.

The co-counsel for the prosecution team started frantically digging through their documentation, and his face fell when he found the reference on an evidence disclosure sheet, most of the way down a long list of information that had been turned over at the same time. He handed the sheet to the prosecutor while looking down at the table, hiding his eyes.

Hans just stared at the sheet in shock, wondering how the hell the note had not been brought to his attention before this.

“Well, Mr. Prosecutor, do you have sufficient notice of this evidence or not?”

“Yes, your honor. We request a continuance to review this information before it is entered into evidence and reviewed by the jury.”

“Denied. I am not going to give you any more time on this one, Mr. Gerhardt. Your internal office’s issues are not the concern of the court. Proceed, Mr. McCrorie.”

The video began to play on the big screen television that had been hooked up to a laptop for the purpose of showing the video. It was in 4k resolution, and the sound was crystal clear, too. All three video streams were present, with two smaller angles in small boxes in the upper corners of the main video footage where it didn’t cover any of the relevant action in the man footage.

The video showed James Wallace Nelson staying at least six feet away from his victim at all times, until his statement about children was clearly heard over the speakers in the television by everyone in the courtroom, including the judge, the jury, and the people gathered at the prosecution table. Sherry heard them too, and slumped down on the chair just behind the prosecutor’s table.

The fight was over almost as soon as it began. With the first violent punch, Jim was clearly unconscious. He collapsed like a puppet on a cut string, and his face bounced off the asphalt as he went down hard. That wasn’t enough for the experienced MMA fighter, though. For nearly a minute, she pummeled the body laying on the ground with kicks, punches, and at one point even stomped on his leg repeatedly until it obviously broke. Then she did it to his wrist and arm as well. She then proceeded to stab him with her stiletto heels all over his stomach and upper body. As a final going away present, she kicked him in the side of his face, hard. And during the entire attack, he never moved, never lifted a finger, never even shifted his legs to try to stand, never even brought his hands or arms up to defend himself. All told, the brutal, devastating attack took less than a minute, and Sherry was walking away with a triumphant smile clearly plastered across her beautifully made up face.