“All nearby units we have a 10-16 on brooklyn avenue. It's them again you know the address” a tired female voice came over the radio in Officer William's patrol vehicle. This call went out at least once a week like clockwork. There wasn't much crime in this small town so the barebones police force got to know the regular trouble makers. The officer finished his coffee and sighed. His patrol always bought him the closest when this call came in so it came down to him to once again respond.
Reluctantly he picked up his transmitter “yeah i got it. I always got it.” he shifted in his seat from his comfortable resting position and brought to life the rumbling engine of the car. It wined and stuttered as he turned its worn leather wheel to join the road. The rain battered down pelting the vehicle relentlessly as it made its slow way to a street all too familiar.
The house was as it always was. Run down and dishevelled, overgrown lawn, trash bags arranged in an unholy mound of filth. “At this point son just shoot em” a wrinkled dark face said from across the low wire fence from the lawn to the right. “Damn white trash. I can't get no sleep. I used to be beautiful you know.” Officer williams rolled his eyes and in a low groaning voice said “thank you for your call Mrs Walton. Please go back inside” the ancient fragile frame of the neighbour shuffled her way back to her front door mumbling incessantly under her breath cursing both her neighbours and the Officer.
Three loud thuds on the thin wooden door. This was met with hushed whispers from inside arguing about who would go. Three further loud thuds. “Mr and Mrs Carmichael. Here we are again. Please open the door it is Officer Williams” fast shuffling came from inside the door and the sound oh too familiar of their bathroom door opening. The Officer cursed to himself and took a couple steps back.
All it took was one quick barge and the door was in splinters. The Officer gun drawn stomped his way to the bathroom of the house. There he found the frail emaciated frame of Mr Charmichael desperately trying to flush several small ziplock bags of a black substance. He grabbed the man by the back of his collar and dragged him out into the hall. “What did you steal to buy it this time then sir?”
The man now on his back spat in the face of the officer and barked “fuck you! Black piece of shit my grandaddy owned yours!” This was par for the course for Mr Carmichael. He would fly into tyrades about how the government was trying to keep his people down and usher in a new world order. Now handcuffed on the ground he continued his protest slinging slurs and insults from his cracked dry lips.
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A faint cry that was swiftly hushed came from the bedroom. The Officer's head snapped in its direction and he flew through the door. There stood Mrs Carmichael, blood covering her lower half and all over the dirt covered floor around her. In her arm she clutched a tiny pale white form. “You can't have him. He's mine. He don't belong to you. Or anyone but me.” in her other hand drenched in blood she held a now dull kitchen knife.
“if thy right hand offend thee, cut it off, and. cast it from thee.” she spluttered out as crimson began to drip from her lips. She paced towards Officer williams. The knife slipping from her blood slicked hands as she went. She gripped his chest with her now free hand. All he could do was stand transfixed as she whispered up to his face “you cant have him. Don't let him have him. He's the fallen one. That which dwells. She is his charge." These words were not her own. Life had left Mrs Carmichael long before they left her throat.
Her malnourished frame collapsed at the feet of the officer coating him in what was once flowing through her. Still held tightly in her arm was a tiny premature infant boy. The Officer reached out his hand to the boy. He was interrupted by the sudden maniacal laughter of a man gone mad emanating and growing in volume from Mr Carmichael. “Hes seen you now. You fucked up. He's seen you. He's seen you. He’s…..” he kept repeating the same words over and over endlessly with tears in his eyes and spit in his breath.
The boy was so small he fit in the palms of the Officer's hands. He had a small cut on his left thigh from the violence that had been inflicted upon him. His breathing was shallow as the officer handed him off to attending paramedics. They rushed him away whilst Chief Hardin sat with the Officer on the stone porch of the house.
“The hell happened in there Williams? You bust the door down because they are flushing shit and you find that? Jesus Christ man.” Officer Williams looked down at his blood soaked uniform with trembling hands examining it. “I knew they were nuts but this? Damn governor is gonna come down on my ass. You even know she was pregnant?” Williams forced the words from his neck “nobody did. I come here every week. I would have seen it.”
The whole street had turned out. Onlookers gawked at the blood soaked officer and shouted insults at the still raving Mr Carmichael being carried by two officers into the back of a patrol car. “Fuckin white crackhead” Mrs Walton shouted from across her lawn as she raised her middle finger in protest.
The small police force struggled to control the riled up crowd as many pushed by to see them carry out a bloody body bag that left a maroon trail on the ground in its wake. Officer Williams saw her cold face in his mind and recalled her final words. She was a madwoman high off of the endorphin rush of death. Her words carried little weight. She had raved before about such things.
“I'm giving you a week off. Go home. Clean up. We will get you a psych eval before you return to duty” the Chiefs words barely reached him where he was. In a place in the mind the eye does not see. An older officer handed him a jacket “take the shirt off. Burn it. Trust me.”
He couldn't move. He sat there for what felt like hours. “Let me take you home Williams” the chief came down to his level and met his eyes. “They gotta clean up lets go.”