Dead Beats: the beginning
by: Bridgett Nicolace - Bird
"Honestly ma'am, this was the worst case of assault I have seen in ten years." ~Officer James Stys
Not a day went by I didn't feel the searing burn of regret permeate my senses, like a freshly hot iron pressed firmly against one pulsating exposed nerve. The sharp pangs of regret continued to resonate in the very depths of my shattered spirit; for every time my face had met the hard bone of his closed fist or when the heel of his foot abruptly slammed me head first to the floor. A regret that would leave a stark shadowy footprint in what seemed like an incurably broken heart.
I would regret not calling the police for every infraction against my well being and then ailing pride. I would regret having tolerated the intolerable behaviors, and having accepted an apology in lieu of forever dispelling his poisonous presence. Foolishly I remained for almost four years enduring the unacceptable behaviors of this small man; as I was continuously spoon fed his pitiful pleas to change.
I still regret he is a free man. I regret that today he does not occupy a pen of steel bars, where he belongs. The humiliation and shame covered me like a thickly caked charcoal shawl...Until now.
Once upon a psychotic time, I desperately yearned that he be six feet under; solving the pesky divorce debacle. Thankfully, now on these pages I may craft the wonderful thoughts I could only embrace in my dreams. My wonderfully sordid daydreams filled with images of his body's rancid smatterings meeting its final destination against a rocky terrain or being violently thrust in an overzealous wood chipper. Obscure and rather troubling thoughts which I now bring to life, if only for a brief moment in the vivid world of my reader's imagination
The truth of the matter is, long after I have spun my tales of debauchery, I will continue to eagerly turn to the obituaries hoping to see his name. This cathartic finale would be a lasting antiseptic salve for my soul.
My story is developed under the veil of a fictional work. However, most of what happens to the main character along with the other characters - in terms of mental and physical abuse- is in fact truth. In many respects, these stories paint a picture of my past and writing this has granted me an indescribable measure of new found serenity.
This story is not written to garner a pitiful sense of empathy, but to turn something that was horrifying into something that is likely to entertain. Although, I don't care for labels nor did I ever personally care for the label of “victim”, I hope that if someone who wears this particular label -inconspicuously or otherwise- may read my book and endeavor to make change happen in their life. If this label is surreptitiously concealed in quiet despair, there can never be a change for the better. I know this all too well.
Speaking of “labels” or titles, I am proud of a few. I am a mother, a wife and a lawyer. The last being a title I am proud to have achieved but not a profession I choose to engage. This brings me to my final reason for writing my sordid little tale. Amongst my proudest accomplishments include raising my three sons -a work in progress-, finding and marrying my amazing husband and passing the bar exam...the first time. Although, not soon after I passed the bar exam, I discovered -rather quickly- how much I loathed the semantics of lawyering.
In fact, for the most part I find the entire profession to be rather dreadful. For reasons that most would expect to hear, including but not limited to the bureaucracy driven procedures which drive the mechanisms of “justice”.
With that said, I do not develop the main character of my book as a lawyer, but as a police officer. For two reasons, I have an incredible amount of respect for police officers. Also, one paramount inspiration for my tale is Dexter, due in part for the ironic nature of how we love him so; despite his being a serial killer. However, while there are similarities my story has several distinctions. The main character murders only one particular kind of person – wife beaters- and they get what is justly deserved. Period.
Yet another distinguishing feature, is that all the fictional victims endure truths of my past. Everyone of my unfortunate fictional victims will abide tiny tid-bits of insanity that I had endured in my marriage.
Lastly, once I finally publish I would prefer not to put people to sleep with the minutia that is lawyering. Rest assured lawyering is far less glamorous than it appears on TV. As many of you know, it is far more likely to settle a case or arrange a plea bargain rather than go to trial. They say 'truth is stranger than fiction', but it can also be incredibly boring. Plus, lawyering shows on prime time make me want to throw up in my mouth. Why write a book about it? No thank you.
Admittedly, I think the foundation of our system sounds good in theory; the Constitution of the United States of America. -While, I am not looking to spark a heated debate about a person's political views or the like.- However, I think many of us can agree for instance, that at times doctrines which are designed to keep important evidence out of the courtroom, at times allows persons who by all accounts should be behind bars are free to roam the streets.
Many procedural safeguards that are designed to protect our people allow for what most of us would call a miscarriage of justice. Bearing this in mind, what is best? To establish no precedence or guideline? Understandably, this is not the answer. It is as many of us say and most of us believe, our freedom is not free. In other words, to afford protection to all, the price is that some may walk free when clearly they should not.
When you are sworn in to practice law, they proudly proclaim at your swearing in that you will always be a lawyer. Something no one can ever take from you; as if it is an unconditional brand on your hide. If that is true, as an officer of the court I am perpetually bound to uphold the U.S. Constitution and to respect the laws of the Commonwealth of Massachusetts. But deep within the murky depths of my mind, visions of cruel vengeance dance in my head; for all whom justice was once ill served.
It is hard for the mind to wander aimlessly into a maelstrom of conceivable tragedy. A loved one falling victim to the clutches of a predator, rapist, abuser or otherwise. As mothers we consume ourselves daily with worry about a simple fall down the stairs or the like; never mind a life altering tragedy. I would like to believe I would allow our system to dole out justice should the unthinkable occur. Men or women who strike their spouse are predators as well, they merely have a different prey.
Understandably, I have a passionate distaste for wife beaters or abusers of any kind. While I do not condone murder, something about it seems to intrigue the human brain. So I don't feel alone in my fascination with this morbid side of humanity.
I am certain this makes me odd, and for those who know me seem to embrace the quality, so for now.... I will keep it just the same. My story brings you into my macabre daydream of murder and vigilante justice.
Payback sure is a fucking bitch. Enjoy.