Chapter 11: Unwelcome Visitor

I was spending my weekends at Rita's apartment. I didn't want to move her into our house unless and until we were at least engaged. I hadn't yet got to that stage with my thinking. Rita didn't seem to be upset with my being "stuck in neutral." She was apparently satisfied with the status quo.

My youngsters (I couldn't keep referring to them as children) were old enough to look after themselves from Friday through Sunday afternoon. We often had a barbeque supper on Sunday evening when weather permitted. At Rita's suggestion, I'd moved some basic toilet and clothing supplies into her apartment to make things more convenient for my stay. I was happy with the arrangement, and why not. I was getting sex regularly and learning all there was to know about the woman I was more and more certain I would marry.

It was a Friday evening that I got a shock that would cause me to change my thinking about our future. Rita and I had finished our dinner and had cleaned up the dishes. I'd poured each of us another glass of wine and we had retired to the living room. Just like an old married couple I thought to myself. We'd barely got seated when there was a banging on the door. I couldn't understand how someone could get past the locked vestibule door in the lobby without calling first.

I rose and went to the door to see who it was. I knew it wouldn't be someone soliciting anything. They weren't allowed in the building. I opened the door to find a rather belligerent looking man standing in front of me. And he was large. Very large. At least six-four and a good 250 pounds by the look of him.

"Where's Rita?" he demanded, now weaving slightly.

I could smell the alcohol from his breath and I got the impression he'd had more than a couple of drinks.

"Who are you?" I asked, not moving from my position in the middle of the door frame.

"What's it to you? Where's Rita?" he demanded, this time putting a big meaty paw on my chest and pushing me out of the way with no more effort than pushing a balloon.

"Rita!" he snarled in a loud voice. "Get your shit and get over here. We're getting out of here."

I turned to look at Rita and saw a look of horror or fear ... or both. "No," she said weakly. "No ... I'm not going with you, Pete."

"The hell you aren't. You're my wife and you're coming with me. Now get your things and make it fast," he snapped.

"She's not going with you," I said as confidently as I could. I was anything but confident in the presence of this man-mountain.

"Who the fuck are you?" he snarled, turning to me. "You been fucking her? That's my wife, asshole. I otta beat the shit out of you."

"Why would you want a criminal assault charge?" I asked, desperate to try and defuse this confrontation.

"It ain't no crime to hammer on some asshole who's fucking another man's wife," he spat, all the while jabbing my chest with a thick, hard finger.

"You aren't married to Rita," I tried again, frantic to distract him. "She was just a live-in girlfriend, a common law wife."

"You don't know what you're talking about buddy. I got a Nova Scotia marriage license to prove it," he said in a menacing tone. "Rita," he hollered, "get your ass out here. We're leaving."

There was no response from the back of the apartment. I began to worry what she might have done. We were on the third floor. Did she jump from the bedroom window? It was pavement below and she'd have certainly hurt herself, or worse. In the meantime, the former boyfriend was exhibiting irrational behaviour and went stomping through the apartment looking for her.

I was getting very frightened. Frightened that Rita would be taken against her will, or worse, harmed by this drunken thug. Trying to intervene physically would only get me beaten to a pulp and still not prevent him from taking her. I needed to do something, however. At last my brain kicked in and I grabbed the portable phone and dialled 911.

"Home invasion," I gasped at the sound of the operator. "Violent man attempting to take a woman against her will. Apartment 323, 1844 Harbour. Hurry please. He's still in the apartment."

I put the phone down, but left the connection open. With any luck, the operator might hear screams from Rita, although aside from the crashing and banging that our visitor was making, I heard no sound from Rita.

"Where are you, you bitch!" he screamed from the back of the apartment.

Obviously, he hadn't found her yet. I sucked up my courage and walked back toward the bedroom and found him tearing her walk-in closet apart, thinking she might be hiding there. I noticed that the bedroom window was open. I skirted round the man and looked out the open window. There was no sign of Rita.

"Where is she?" he demanded.

"How would I know?" I said with as much force as I could manage. "I was out in the living room with you. Maybe she went out the window."

"Stupid bitch. That's just like her. I'll find her, and when I do, I'm going to knock some humble into her. She thinks she can just waltz off and fuck some guy when the mood strikes her ... well ... she's got another think comin'."

"She told me she wasn't married," I said, trying to find out what the story with this guy was.

"Bullshit. She married me in Halifax in 2003. Civil ceremony ... in front of a J.P. She's married all right."

"Are you sure she didn't file for divorce?" I asked. "That might tell you why she's not with you."

"Shut up, asshole," he growled. "I don't have to tell you fuck all. I otta beat the shit outta you just for the exercise."

I was getting more and more worried about what this guy might do, but I was equally worried about what had happened to Rita. Maybe she could straighten out this marriage business later, but right now, I needed to know she was safe and unharmed.

It wasn't five seconds later that two RCMP officers appeared at the door.

"Thank God you're here," I said. "There's a big drunk tearing this place apart, looking for the woman who lives here. He threatened to beat me up if I tried to interfere. The woman who lives here has run off I think. She might have gone out the back window, but I don't know for sure. You better be careful with this guy. He's as big as a house," I warned.

"I assume you are the man who placed the 911 call?" the taller, younger constable asked.

"Yes. I better hang up the phone," I said. "I left the connection open."

"Step out into the hallway please, Sir," the other constable said. "Stay out there and stay out of the way."

I followed his order, almost deciding to go outside to see if I could find Rita. I stayed were I was. I was in sock feet and in no condition to go wandering around on coarse gravel.

The two officers carefully approached the back of the apartment, coming almost immediately face-to-face with our intruder. At that point, the still-prowling man attempted to bull his way past the officers. I stepped back along the hallway to stay out of everyone's way. I could hear yelling, the police giving our invader orders to get down on his knees. Apparently, he didn't comply. There were some other sounds of a scuffle until I heard what I thought was an electrical zap sound, a loud thump, and then relative silence.

It was fairly quiet, although I thought I could hear the two policemen talking. I took a chance and peeked around the doorway. Our interloper was face down on the floor, his hands cuffed behind him. He wasn't moving very much.

"What happened?" I asked.

"He resisted arrest and assaulted us. We had to Taser him."

"Thanks for helping us," I said. "If he decided to beat on me, I wasn't going to win. Now I've got to go find out what happened to Rita."

"What was the woman's name that he claims was his wife?" the shorter officer asked.