A LIFE LOST

* For Barbara: May she find the peace in death she never had in life and for the women out there who must find the courage to walk away. *

By Wendy : Shywalker

She watched as the hand, smaller at the distance, grew larger as the hand loomed. Instead of running or protecting herself, she stood and waited. When the blow came, her face showed no emotion as it impacted with her cheek. The sound of the slap resounded through the kitchen, as the blow snapped her head back.

Grabbing out for the bench for support, she straightened herself, wondering again, how things had gone so wrong with her life, but she still didn't move away.

She didn't recognize the man that stood in front of her. This was not the man she loved and that had loved her in return; the man who had given her flowers and tenderly held her in the night. He had slowly disappeared over the years. What life and lack of work had worn away, had left a curse spewing monster in his place.

The names that came with the blows were not new. She had heard them all so many times before.

So she waited. Waited for his temper to fade or his strength to give out, which ever came first. There was always the excuses and the promises, that were delivered with kisses and tender touches to the bruised skin.

"Bitch! This is all your fault. You know I don't want to do this, but you make me! You're always pushing me ... pushing me and pushing me, 'til I have to teach you a lesson." The punch to her abdomen winded her, and dropped her to the floor.

This time she couldn't get to her feet. Gasping for breath, she thought she heard him screaming at her through her ringing ears.

"Get the fuck up, bitch! Damn you, I told you to get up!" He shouted, grabbing hold of her arms, he yanked her to her feet.

Struggling to see through a swollen eye and tasting blood from a ripped lip, it took all her effort to stay standing as more blows rained down. She didn't know when it actually occurred to her that this time was going to be different. As his strength never seemed to weaken, she felt an unrelenting fervor to his beating, he hadn't had before.

She wondered if she should be more afraid than usual, but instead she accepted her fate and gave in to the inevitable. In the minutes that passed; as she felt what life force she had left leave her, she wondered; * Why? Why did this happen? Why did she stay? What was the exact minute of time that she gave permission for some one to take her life away?

As the darkness slowly descended and her body began to feel numb, she found she had no answers to her questions. All she had were wishes, whispered for no one to hear; * I wish I walked away, I wish I had taken my life back. * As her eyes flickered, like a candle caught in a gust of wind, and her breath left her for the last time, * I wish ... *

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Peter arrived at the apartment building, having to push his way through the crowd the milled outside the apartment door.

"Hi Sam, what have we got ?" he asked the officer that was struggling to keep the curious on lookers back.

Sam nodded to a man sobbing on the couch, his head buried in his hands. "Domestic. The bastard just killed his wife. Her name was Karen Simpson..."

Turning to the pushing people, he snapped, "Get back ... Jesus people, if you have nothing better to do, why don't you go and watch the traffic. Maybe someone will get run over for you and make your day!"

Peter put his hand on the young officer's shoulder, gesturing for another policeman to take Sam's place, as he pulled him to the side of the room. "You alright?"

Sam couldn't pull his gaze from the purported killer, seemingly so lost in his grief. "You know, Pete, I have been called to this house three times myself and I know of others that have been called here as well. I just don't understand. We tried to help her. Why couldn't she just walk away-- just leave the bastard?"

Peter looked toward the room where the body lay crumbled in the kitchen corner. He watched the forensic team as they moved around her; her unseeing eyes immune to the intrusion of camera flashes.

Turning his attention back to Sam, he knew he had no answers to his friend's question. "I don't know, Sam. I really don't know. Are you going to be all right?"

Sam attempted a smile." Yeah, but I need to just go and get some fresh air, if that's okay?"

"Sure, go, "Peter said sadly, and watched as Sam angrily push his way through the crowd.

Taking a deep breath, Peter ignored the husband. Instead, focused on the lost life, laying devastated in the kitchen.

Peter couldn't help noticing the once pretty features that were now marred by the ugliness of blood and bruises. He wondered if she had ever smiled, had ever been happy, or was her life always this sad?

"Nasty one 'eh, Pete?

Clearing his head, Peter focused on the voice and saw the coroner, Nickie Elder, standing beside him. "Yeah, you're not wrong, Nickie. Anything I should know about?"

Nickie shook his head sadly. "I'm sorry to say, Pete, it's a classic. I would say internal bleeding eventually did it, but I will have to wait for the autopsy to be sure."

"Okay, Nickie. Let me know as soon as you can."

Peter had put off talking to Simpson for long enough. Walking back into the living room, he stood looking at the man who's face was awash with tears.

Stepping out of the way to allow the gurney carrying the body past. He watched for Simpson's reaction and saw that the husband's eyes averted their gaze from the sheet covered body that used to be his wife. * Courage to beat a woman to death, but no courage to face it * Peter thought with disgust.

"Has he been read his rights?" Peter asked the uniform officer standing at Simpson's side.

The officer nodded. " And he wants a lawyer. He is not talking, he explained.

"I don't blame him. What could he possibly say?" Peter directed his jibe straight at the cuffed man. "Okay, take him down town and give him his phone call."

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The priest felt his son's turmoil before Peter had entered the room. He found Peter lost in thoughts as he stood, staring into the candle light.

"You're heart feels pain, my son."

"Some ... yes." Peter answered, without turning around.

Caine stepped closer, but still kept a distance, waiting for Peter to chose the action. "Can I help?"

Peter turned to his father, his eyes glistening with unshed tears, but he knew there was no answers. "No, Pop, but you can just be here." Stepping over to him, Peter let his father's arms envelope him, wishing Karen had warm arms holding her tonight.

The end