Someone Bigger and Stronger

Mrs Rauch could hear the neighbors upstairs. It was Saturday night and the couple in the apartment above them was fighting. It happened like clockwork, every weekend. The man, Jimmy was his name, got drunk God knows where, then came home and yelled at his wife Addie  and at his daughter Venice, for whatever reason. Sometimes there were thumps. Addie's voice came across sometimes along his, just a whimper really. Venice's voice was never heard. "It's a disgrace, that's what it is", Mrs Rauch said looking up, while she and Mr Rauch had dinner. Mr Rauch never ever raised his voice at her in their forty years of marriage, and if he did she wouldn't have stood for it. "Something bad is gonna happen, one day, you'll see", she said. Her husband nodded absent-mindedly, like he always did. He wasn't very engaged in anything that she seemed to care about, in general, and she wasn't sure whether he was really listening to the noises coming from upstairs.

Next day she went to another town to see her mother, who was very old and very sick, and stayed there for the week. Mr Rauch stayed home, like he always did when she had to travel, and ate the food she left for him. Next Saturday late in the evening, she came back home, and found the building and her apartment closed up and full of paramedics and police. She found out quite quickly that her husband was dead.

The death had been violent. Extremely violent, one could say. Someone broke in and beat the man to the pulp, broke his head and a number of bones. Perhaps he defended himself but one couldn't tell. They thought the assailant must have been bigger and stronger.

Usually the spouse is the prime suspect, but Mrs Rauch was quickly found innocent. Not only was she frail, she also had a solid alibi with the trip to her mother. Police was looking at other people for suspects. Neighbors were gathered around, watching, and Mrs Rauch saw Addie and Venice standing among them. Addie waived her hand at her in a signal of recognition. Mrs Rauch went over to talk. "I'm really sorry for what happened to your husband", said Addie. She had some bruises on her face, some more fresh and some older. It looked like she didn't bother to hide them with make-up or with her usual green-blue scarf anymore. "Thank you", said Mrs Rauch kindly. "I hope you take care of yourself too, you two". Venice, a long willowy child, stood quiet with attentive eyes. She had a fresh cut on her lip, but overall looked less bruised than her mother. 

A man showed up, demanding to be let in through the crowd. Addie gasped. It was Jimmy, ready to quarrel. He wasn't like that just with his family, but could be quite noisy with anyone who stood in his way, once he had a few. Police stopped him and started questioning him, asked him who he was and where he had been. After a while they decided he was the prime suspect in the murder. His story didn't add up to the one his family told, and he wasn't very coherent to begin with. Addie and Venice said he had been home with them earlier, but he claimed he hadn't. 

Mrs Rauch listened to them all. To her, the shouts and slurs coming from Jimmy were familiar. But Addie's voice wasn't. She remembered the whimpers from other nights, but here stood a woman who seemed sure of herself, defending her story almost aggressively. Venice next to her didn't talk much but was nodding vigorously about everything her mom said. In the end, they took him to the station. The police was happy because the case seemed easy to resolve. 

When all quieted down, and everybody left, Mrs Rauch sat down in her apartment at the table she had shared with Mr Rauch for so many days and nights throughout the years. There was nobody sitting there across from her, nodding absent-mindedly at whatever she happened to talk about. She felt like she didn't know him that well, this man of hers, after all this time, and that was the saddest part of all. But there was also a sort of relief, and more importantly, a sort of urgency. She had to move, and soon. For she knew that people who killed once, could very well kill again, if they felt threatened. She had seen the green-blue scarf lost under the couch in the living room, where her husband was killed. She stood up, picked up her still unpacked luggage, and went back to her mother's.