Chapter 210

word count 1070

Buzz was a broken man. He emerged from the woods onto a back road and walked for miles without seeing a single house or another person. It was a good thing. Tears rolled down his cheeks as he traveled. And his mind was a mess.

The scene played over and over in his head. His fist slamming Trudy's jaw. The crunch and crush sounded again in ears. That pitiful look on her face. The satisfying feeling from the all-consuming rage that took him over, propelling his fist, causing him to revel in her pain and celebrate the grand release. Other memories came, too. The hundreds of times he smacked around his late wife, Jeannie. That same expression on her face...terror, cowering weakness, pain. The thud of his fist, the screams. He shook his head to chase away the thoughts. What was he? Some kind of animal? Why did striking out like that seem to complete him?

He was one sick puppy, that was for sure.

He saw civilization looming on his trek. The road he walked on arrived on the edge of New Albany in the scummy, red light district. Junkies slept on the corners and prostitutes roamed the streets. After dark, the streets came alive with the same such human vermin. The stink of filth and neglect filled his nostrils carried in grime and road dust. It sickened him. This was about all he deserved. He stopped in the first liquor store he saw. There was one on every corner in this part of town, more common than street lights.

The proprietor, a fat man with a dour expression, looked him over with one eyebrow cocked. Okay, so he wasn't the usual specimen of a customer...yet.

He bought a bottle of Jack Daniels and exited, leaning against the nearest wall. As he took a slug, his back slid down until he slumped on the ground, squatting against the wall supported by his long legs in a crouched position. Yes, this was where he belonged. He was a wanted criminal. He assaulted a woman. It was only a matter of time before Trudy went to the police and pressed charges. He felt his face. It itched. His five o'clock shadow scratched like sand paper against his fingers. Grime had already gathered on his jeans. He was on his way to derelict-ville.

“Yep, that's me. Buzz Miller, your local scuzz bag,” he murmured, hoisting a toast to himself with the bottle of JD.

* * *
It was getting dark and Buzz still hadn't come back. Trudy snuggled up tighter in his jacket and wiped some steam off the window with the palm of her hand. She looked in all directions. No luck. She wanted to see him, be close to him. The bruise on her cheek burned. She laid her hand on it and felt its warmth. She felt branded, marked as his, close to him albeit in an unexpected fashion. They had shared an intense moment, where she saw a side of him most people didn't get to see. All holds barred. A secret of sorts. Now that she'd cooled down, she didn't see it as a bad thing. She knew he had a temper problem. God knows she understood that. She'd irritated him; she knew that. And so he couldn't help what he did. It was her fault, really. Now she wanted him near. Wanted to make love. He loomed powerful, strong in her thoughts. He was hers now, and she was his. Totally. They'd shared a moment that bonded. She wanted now him to secure that position in his heart.

A tapping on the window made her jump. She rubbed away steam and saw Gil's face looking in. Dear Gil, he'd always have a special place in her heart. They'd shared some passionate moments which would never be forgotten. But now, he looked at her with a troubled expression. She pried open the car door and stepped out.

“What the hell happened here?” he asked, hands in his pockets as if he were afraid to touch her.

She gave him a peck on the cheek. Moonlight always brought out her sense of romance. “Buzz and I had a little fight and he ran off into those woods.” She pointed across the road. “I'm waitin' for him.”

“He crossed the freakin' highway? It's a wonder he didn't get killed? How long ago was this?”

“I don't know. Around 3:00, I guess.”

Hank came striding across the DQ parking lot with long, hurried steps. “No one inside knows anything about Elliot or the religious guys. It was hours ago, I'm guessing.”

Gil nodded and paused to think. He eyes wandered to Trudy and he spied the bruises. He stiffened, then grabbed her face in his hands. “My Gawd, Trudy. What did he do to you?”

“It was nuttin,” she stammered. “We just had a little tiff, that's all.”

“A little tiff? Your face is practically black and blue.” Hank had stepped forward to study her bruises. She saw his eyes swimming in depths of pain as though he were seeing more than what was there. His lips were stiffened into a tight, thin line. He stepped back, murmuring, “The son of a bitch.”

“I'm putting out an APB, and I'm calling the medics for you,” Gil said, grabbing his phone from his pocket. He paused. “Are you going to want to press charges, Trudy?” Half of him felt she should, and half of him didn't. Buzz was still his boss, and he hated to see his career wrecked. But Gil was still a cop, and a crime had been committed.

“You should press charges,” Hank said, his face grim. He held Trudy in his gaze like with a steel clamp.

Gil looked at him in alarm. He had condemned Buzz with no hesitation.

“I'm not pressing charges. I love him,” Trudy said.

“Are you kidding me?” Hank blurted out. “That bastard has got to be taken off the streets. He brutalizes women.”

“Hey, you're out of line!” Gil interjected. “I'm thinking maybe you're a little too close emotionally to this case.”

“What? And you're not?”

Trudy stepped forward. “It doesn't matter because I'm not going to cross Buzz. No charges. We'll get him back and everything will be like it always was.”

With that new police commissioner gunning for him, I think not, Gil thought.