Chapter 44: Welcome Home

Thursday, September 27, 2007

It was time to go home for good. I was still the responsibility of the Army, so they had to provide me with a ticket home. Most of my gear was being shipped via UPS, so I simply packed a few things in a rucksack, put on a clean ACU, and caught a shuttle van to Dulles Airport. (I hadn’t wanted to wear a uniform, but the WTU informed me that my return home was still considered a military movement and required my wearing a uniform.) With a little luck I would make it home by noon.

I got lucky. We landed at about 1145 and I hustled out, carrying only my rucksack. I was tempted to call my family, but that wasn’t a good idea. I think everybody had used up all their days off visiting me at Walter Reed. Instead, I made my way towards the exit, and rode the MARTA bus into Atlanta, where I was able to transfer to a Greyhound to Matucket. That would drop me off at the bus station downtown. From there I could walk over to either the hospital or the County Office Building and get a lift home with one of my parents.

I arrived back in Matucket about 1430. Actually, I arrived back at 2:30 in the afternoon. I had to get used to being a civilian and keeping civilian time. As I got off the bus, I realized just how nice a day it was. It was in the high seventies or low eighties, bright and sunny, and not too humid. I decided to walk home. I was all healed up and could be there in a couple of hours. That would make for a nice surprise when my parents showed up.

I got to the house a couple of hours later and discovered a problem - Bobbie Joe wasn’t home! My Subaru was missing, as were Mom’s and Dad’s cars, and when I knocked on the door, the only sound I heard was Rex barking. I probably still had a key to the house, but it was undoubtedly in my stuff, which was either in the house or out at the apartment in West Springs. I could probably just sit there on the front steps until somebody came home, but that might not be for a few hours. That wasn’t quite the surprise I had in mind. There was, however, a second method to get in. The back door had both a tricky latch and a deadbolt, but the deadbolt usually wasn’t locked. If the deadbolt wasn’t latched, then if you jiggered the handle just right, and then leaned against the door frame just so, you could get inside. We weren’t exactly high security. I grabbed my rucksack and headed around to the back door.

We didn’t have a back gate, just a split-rail fence that had a few gaps in it. I went to the back door and grabbed the doorknob. Inside I heard a scrabbling sound as Rex figured out somebody was at the back door, and he began barking again. I wasn’t too worried, though; he had met me before and wasn’t all that vicious. I expected that he would try to knock me down and then lick me to death. I started jiggling the doorknob and pushing against the door frame. If I got inside, then the deadbolt wasn’t latched. If it was latched, I wasn’t getting in there short of a battering ram.

I thought I had it for a second, so I took a breath and started jiggling the handle again, when I heard a sudden deep voice behind me. “Stop right there, buddy!”

I turned around to find a fat cop looking at me. He was dressed in the standard blue uniform of the Matucket Police Department. I stared at him for a second and said, “I can explain...”

“Shut up! Don’t move!”

“Officer, this is my house!”

“I told you to shut up. Now turn around and face the wall!”

“What?”

“FACE THE WALL!”

“Jesus Christ!” I muttered to myself. This was ludicrous. My parents were going to be surprised, all right, surprised at having to get me out of jail for trying to come home. I turned around and faced the wall and put my hands on the door frame, just like on the cop shows on television. The fat cop started frisking me, then he jerked my hands back behind me painfully and put handcuffs on me tightly. Then he grabbed my right arm and twisted me around to face him. He was smiling now. “Officer...” I read his nametag. “ ... Dubois, you’ve made a mistake,” I said.

Dubois smiled at that, but then, faster than I thought the fat fucker could move, punched me in the stomach, hard enough to knock the wind out of me and bend me over. Then he pushed me back up against the door, slamming my head into the door frame. “I didn’t say you could talk, so keep your mouth shut.”

“But this is my house!” I protested.

“Yeah? You always try to break into your house? You got any proof this is your house?”

I was on the verge of telling him yes, but I realized suddenly that I didn’t. When I was released from Walter Reed, I had my military identification and a partial pay, but that was it. My wallet with my driver’s license was probably inside the house. “If you call my mother, she’ll tell you who I am!”

“Yeah, I thought so. Shut up, we’re going down to the station.”

“Officer!” I protested.

I didn’t get any further, because the son of a bitch slammed his right fist into my gut, doubling me over again. Then it got worse. Out of the corner of my eye I saw his left hand balled up and swinging towards my face. I twisted as quickly as I could, but that simply reduced a broken jaw to a split lip. After that I got slammed back upright against the door frame. “Maybe you need to stop talking now.”

I didn’t say anything, but just glared at him. Then I turned my head to one side and spit out the blood in my mouth. That must have seemed disrespectful or something because that got me another punch to the belly and another haymaker to the face. Again, I twisted away, but I knew my right eye was going to be black and blue. He grabbed my arm and dragged me around the fence and put me in the back of a patrol car. You know how on the television shows they always put a hand on the prisoner’s head to push him inside? That must be only on television, because he managed to slam my head into the door frame as I got thrown in.

This was all simply unbelievable to me. I was a soldier in the United States Army, a Sergeant, and in uniform! Most people, whenever I traveled, smiled and thanked me for my service. I had been bought beers in airport waiting areas by people I had never met before, and had my hand shaken by others who simply said, ‘Thank you and God bless you.’ What the fuck was going on here? I kept my mouth shut. If I left it up to this guy, one more word was going to get me dumped in a quarry outside of town.

We drove back downtown, pretty much to within a few blocks of where I started out that afternoon. Officer Dubois parked the cruiser and then yanked me out roughly. I was dragged inside through a back entrance and then hauled around to a lobby sort of area. I was pushed onto a long wooden bench that was bolted to the floor. “You stay there and keep your mouth shut.” Dubois went over to the counter and began chatting with another cop. I didn’t know the ranks in the police department, but Dubois had the two chevrons that in the Army would be considered Corporal’s stripes, and the guy at the desk was a Sergeant.

I sat there around twenty minutes or so, blood from my split lip dripping down onto my uniform. I still had faith I’d get out of this at some point, but I’d never live it down! Maybe I could sue the bastard! Meanwhile, people came in and out of the lobby area, a mix of cops in blue uniforms and guys in civilian clothing. Most of them looked at me curiously but didn’t say anything. One or two did look like they wanted to say something, but Dubois ordered them to leave me alone.

My thoughts became increasingly darker and nasty as time progressed. At some point they were going to have to process me into the system, and at some point, I was going to be given a phone call or be arraigned or something. At that point I could demand a lawyer, and somebody was going to be in big trouble.

That didn’t happen, though. I was just sitting there, my tongue exploring the inside of my swollen lips, when a tall and thin man with thinning hair, dressed in a suit, came through and looked at me. He looked confused and curious, and he came over. For once Dubois didn’t warn him away. “What’s this?” he asked.

“I caught him breaking into a house over in Pine Glens. I’ve got him on breaking and entering, assault on a police officer, and resisting arrest,” reported Dubois, sneering at me.

The first man looked back at me. For some reason he looked awfully familiar. He came closer to me. “What’s your name, son?”

“Reaper, Graham W., Sergeant, United States Army. You want my social security number, too?” I asked.

“Reaper? Why does that ring a bell?” he asked.

“I don’t know. Who are you?”

“My name’s Crowley. Captain Crowley. I’m the Patrol Commander.”

I gave him a hard look. For some reason he looked very familiar to me, but it just wasn’t clicking. “I don’t know why, but you look familiar to me, too.”

“Those are some pretty serious charges, Sergeant Reaper. You want to explain them?”

“Captain, I need to process this guy in!” protested Dubois. I think he wanted me dead and buried before somebody obviously higher up the food chain talked to me.

Crowley looked over at him. “You can wait, Dubois, just like you’ve been waiting for the last half hour.” He turned back to me and raised an eyebrow in a questioning manner.

“There was no breaking and entering. I was just trying to get into my house without a key. The resisting arrest part must have been when my face resisted this asshole’s fist. The assault must have been when I bled on him.” I turned to Dubois. “Take the cuffs off, asshole, and try it again! I didn’t just spend four years in combat so some fat fuck back home could use me as a punching bag!”

Dubois came over and drew a hand back to hit me again, but Crowley ordered him away. “What’s the address where you arrested Sergeant Reaper?” he asked.

The guy at the counter gave the address, 640 Piney Terrace, and Crowley stood up and went to the counter. “Give me the phone book.”

“Sir?”

“Give me the goddamned phone book or you’re on report along with Dubois!” That got some action, and Crowley leafed through the Matucket phone book until he found the page he wanted. “John Reaper, 640 Piney Terrace,” he announced disgustingly, slamming the phone book down on the counter. “Cut him loose!”

“No way! I had a legitimate citizen complaint about a guy sneaking around and robbing houses!” protested Dubois.

Crowley looked at me.

“Mrs. Hunsacker lives across the street, is senile, and is half blind. When I was in school, she’d get loose about once a month and call something in to the police. I bet she got her hands on a phone,” I said.

Crowley glanced at the guy at the counter, who simply nodded. Crowley rolled his eyes and said, “For the love of God, cut him loose.”

“You can’t do that, Crowley!” protested Dubois.

“I said to cut him loose! You’re already on report, Dubois. You delay any longer and I’ll let the Sergeant here use you for a punching bag! Now, CUT HIM LOOSE!”

Dubois came over, a mulish look on his face, and uncuffed me. Once my hands were free, I brought them around to my front and started rubbing the painful red marks on my wrist. I looked over at Dubois in disgust; once I was loose, he had backed up and now had his hand on his holstered pistol. Christ, what an asshole!

“Knock it off, Dubois, and go find yourself a lawyer. You’re suspended, effective immediately!” ordered Crowley. That diverted my attention off the fat cop. I looked over at Crowley. He looked back. “Now I remember you. You’re the kid who got into it with the Holden boy years ago when he tried to grab that girl. I remember going over to that address to talk to you and your folks.”

“That’s right. But you were a detective then, weren’t you?” I asked, the memories coming back.

“It’s been a few years. I’ve moved up in the world. So have you, Graham.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you. Now I just need to explain to my family why the Matucket Police Department decided to beat the crap out of me as a welcome home party.”

He sighed. “Yes, that will be awkward, indeed. Come on down to my office. Let’s talk.” He motioned for me to follow, and I followed Captain Crowley out of the lobby and down a hallway, leaving a bunch of cops staring at me from behind. I felt like flipping them off but decided that wouldn’t be all that productive. I was planning on living in Matucket.