Jackson had calmed down a bit. “Because of the fight?”
“That’s part of it.”
“And why is he so stinky in the morning?” Jackson had a lot of questions that Colleen knew she couldn’t answer at the time. How do you tell your child that his father has become a raging alcoholic? Perhaps that was a question for Al-Anon. Going for help was something she had been reluctant to do, but clearly it was time for some intervention. If not for Mitchel, then for herself. She had a child to protect.
“I want you to listen to me.” Leaning over, she looked him straight in the eye again. “None of this is your fault. Daddy is going through something right now that I can’t explain. I just want you to try to do the best you can today. Try not to think about his bad behavior. Remember, the only person who should feel bad is him. Not you. Got it?”
Jackson wiped his nose with the tissue and saluted. “Got it.”
“Great. Now, you go catch up with your friends, and I’ll see you in a bit. OK?”
“OK!” Jackson gave her his best smile and headed down the street.
Colleen was certain that would not be the last of Mitchel’s outbursts. That very evening, he stumbled in around midnight, reeking from booze and cheap perfume. There was the clichéd lipstick on his collar, too. But she didn’t care. She suspected he had been having sex with someone, probably another drunk. The trick was to figure out how to extricate herself and her son from this whirlpool of horror. She just didn’t think it would be that day.
As he staggered into the bedroom, he blew up at her for the morning’s clash on the front porch. “How dare you take my son when I’m trying to talk to him?” He pushed her onto the bed.
“Mitchel, please. I was not trying to take your son anywhere except to school.” Colleen was desperately struggling to defuse the situation.
He caught her wrists, held her down, and pushed his face into hers. She could almost taste the foulness of his breath. “You don’t ever try to keep me from my son.” He loosened his grip, and she rolled out from under him. He grabbed her shoulder and aimed his fist at her face, but she was quick enough to dodge the punch, causing him to put his hand through the wall. Colleen ran from the bedroom into Jackson’s room, locking the door behind her. She pushed his dresser against the door.
Jackson awoke with a start. “Shhhh . . .” She put her finger up to her lips as Mitchel made his way down the hall and into the kitchen.
He began clearing the counters with his arms flailing, breaking dishes and glasses along the way. Thankfully, she had had the presence of mind to grab her cell phone as Mitchel cursed and freed his bleeding hand from the wall. Praying she had service, she dialed 911.
“Nine-one-one. What’s your emergency?”
“Domestic dispute at Thirty-two Birchwood Lane. My name is Colleen Haywood. My husband is on a rampage.”
“Where are you right now?”
“My son and I are locked in his bedroom. Please hurry.”
“Yes, please stay on the line with me.”
“OK.” Colleen made her way to the window, just in case she and Jackson had to climb out. She could hear Mitchel’s manic behavior and cursing through the walls. The dispatcher continued to talk to her.
“Are you and your son all right? Do we need to send an ambulance?”
“We’re fine right now.” Colleen kept the panic out of her voice, clutching Jackson in her arms. She whispered in his ear, “You’re being very brave,” and kissed him on the top of his head.
Jackson whispered back. “Why is Daddy so mad?”
Colleen gave him the finger-to-her-lips signal again.
“We have a patrol car a block from your house. Please continue to stay on the line.”
“Yes. Of course. We’re next to the window, and we can climb out, if necessary.”
“OK, Colleen. What’s your son’s name?”
“His name is Jackson.”
“How is he doing?”
“He’s a bit scared, like me.” She winked at him, trying to keep him calm.
After what seemed like an eternity, Colleen finally heard the siren of a police car and could see the flashing lights. A moment later, there was a loud bang on the front door.
“Police! Open up!”
“Go to hell!” Mitchel screamed back.
“Mr. Haywood, if you don’t open the door, we are going to have to break it down.”
“Screw you!” Mitchel shouted.
Colleen and Jackson heard the rumbling of the front door being bashed open. “Mitchel Haywood?”
“Who wants to know?” he said in a surly manner.
“Officer Pedone. Hibbing Police Department. Put your hands behind your back, sir.”
“Put your hands behind your back, sir,” Mitchel replied mockingly.
“Mr. Haywood, you are under arrest for assault.”
“Like hell I am,” he slurred back. “I didn’t assault anyone.”
“Then can you tell me how your hand got so bloody? And how your kitchen got trashed.”
There was a knock on the closed bedroom door. “Mrs. Haywood? This is the police. I’m Officer Davis, with Officer Pedone. Are you all right?”
Colleen spoke to the dispatcher and told her that the police had arrived. She pushed the small dresser away from the door and unlocked it. She almost crumbled in relief. “We have your husband in custody now. It’s safe for you to come out.”
She peered down the hall and saw Mitchel slouched over on the sofa. “Can you take him outside so my son doesn’t have to witness this?”
“Certainly. As long as you are both all right. Do either of you need medical attention?”
“We’re OK.” She hugged Jackson tightly against her. “No need for an ambulance,” she said, reiterating what she had told the dispatcher.
“Wait right here, please,” Davis instructed her.
Mitchel was still protesting as Pedone escorted him to the patrol car, guided his head into the vehicle, and locked him in the back seat.
“Jackson, honey, I want you to stay in your room for a little while, OK?” Colleen
