“Can you and the young lady step out of the car, please?”
The voice behind the mirrored shades was professional and pleasant, but the driver was reluctant to comply. The look of panic in his daughter’s eyes only hardened his hesitancy.
“I’m sorry, officer. Was I speeding?” the driver asks calmly, offering the officer his license and registration.
“Sir, I received a tip about your passenger’s medical condition. I need you and the young lady to exit the car NOW.”
“Daddy, please, don’t go,” the daughter implores her father, gripping her seatbelt tightly with both hands. Her knuckles are white, and her body visibly trembles.
“It’s OK, honey – just stay put.”
“Listen, officer. This girl is my daughter. She’s 13 years old. I’m her parent and legal guardian, and she is NOT getting out of this car.”
The officer takes a step back, draws his weapon, and points it at the father.
There’s a jarring change in tone as the officer’s jagged words erupt coarsely from his gravel-lined throat:
“Sir, this is your last warning—step out of the car NOW.”
“Jesus fucking Christ – what’s wrong with you?” the flinching father screams towards the officer, angrily throwing his license and registration out of the car window.
Worried and panicked, he turns to his daughter, who cannot speak – “Honey, you stay buckled – I’m going to talk with the officer.”
The father exits the car slowly – putting his hands above his head to show the officer he’s unarmed. The officer instructs him to turn and face the vehicle – before doing so, the father glances at the badge on the officer’s uniform – noticing the etching of four white crosses above and below the shield – the officer holsters his weapon, grabs the father by the back of the collar, and slams him onto the hood of the car before violently slapping handcuffs on him.
The father sees the horrified look on his daughter’s face; she wretches and vomits.
He is helpless.
“She was raped,” he growls at the officer who stands him up against the side of the car – “Six weeks ago, my baby girl was raped.”
“Not by the child in her womb,” the officer sneers callously.
“She’s a soul vessel now. Transporting her across state lines for reproductive care (the officer uses air quotes) is a crime.”
“You’re under arrest.”
Like a black and poisoned weed, the phrase “soul vessel” takes root in the father’s head. He had heard rumors about a network of like-minded Christian police officers across the United States working to enforce “God’s law,” especially as it pertained to unplanned pregnancies.
When he and his daughter worked out their visit to planned parenthood, they consciously mapped a backroads route, steering clear of major highways. “It’ll be safer this way,” he remembers assuring his daughter, whose biggest concern six weeks ago was getting the right cleats for soccer.
The officer places the defeated father in the back of the police cruiser and walks back to the car where the girl sits, still clutching her seatbelt. He opens the passenger door, reaches over her, and unbuckles the seatbelt, coldly instructing her to “exit the vehicle.”
The girl, expressionless, complies. When she gets out, he pushes her towards the back of the car, turns her harshly towards the trunk, and instructs her to place her hands on the vehicle.
The officer glances back at the father, wanting him to witness what comes next.
He takes out his Billy Club and tells the girl to spread her legs; while looking back towards her father, he gently taps the insides of her thighs, moving the club up towards her vagina. He leans into her, and she can feel the warmth of his breath on her neck. Through the stale scent of chewing tobacco and cheap cologne – he whispers, “We’ve got to keep that bun baking, little girl – that’s all that matters now.” – she turns her head in disgust.
She sees her father’s shadowy figure behind the cruiser’s tinted glass and imagines the steel edge of his restraints cutting into his wrists as he explodes in rage at the assault taking place before him. She looks past her father and notices the cruiser’s engine is still running. The tailpipe exhaust relentlessly pushes down on a patch of withering daisies—they bend and twist, but there’s no escape.
As the officer leans away to put the cuffs on the girl, she falls to the ground. He steps aside and smirks with disdain, staring momentarily at her before extending his hand. She looks up at him and sees her broken and crumpled self in the reflection of his sunglasses. She offers up her hand, her middle finger extended. The officer grabs her wrist and pulls her to her feet.
As she rises, she notices the gun in his holster, unsecured—she grabs it and is surprised at how easily it comes out. She takes one step back, points the gun at the officer, and (without hesitation) pulls the trigger.
The bullet shatters his sunglasses and tears through his left eye. Blood, shards of bone, and brain matter explode from the back of the officer’s head, spraying the soft beige dirt on the side of the road in red and pink.
The officer’s knees buckle, and he falls in a heap. The girl’s arm goes limp, and the gun falls loosely from her hand.
She walks purposefully and in silence towards the police cruiser. She passes by her father, who sits stunned, mouth agape, in the back seat—she never even glances at him. At the rear of the car, she squats down, gently pulls the daisies out of the ground, and holds them to her chest. She stands up, walks down an embankment on the side of the road to a running brook, places the flowers in the water, and watches them float away.
She retrieves the handcuff keys from the dead officer and walks to the cruiser to free her father. He hugs her immediately, but she’s unable to hug him back. Her arms hang heavy and motionless from her shoulders like slats of wood.
After a minute, she looks at him and says, “Take me away from here – there’s nothing here for me anymore. – there’s nothing.”
bendingtheneedle 