“This is detective Allen Green,” a voice boomed from a patrol car’s loudspeaker. “I’m here to make sure that no one else gets hurt.”

“Leave me alone,” a muffled voice was heard screaming from inside the bank. “These bastards took everything from me.”

“Why don’t you put your gun down, walk outside, and you and I can have a conversation about what happened to you? I promise that no one will hurt you, and if someone in the bank did something to hurt you, I’ll promise to give you justice.”

The front window of the bank exploded as the gunman fired three shots from his Glock .40 caliber into it.

Derek could see that the gunman was moving closer to what remained of the window, screaming words that Derek couldn’t understand.

As the gunman reached the unbroken windowpane, his human shield’s face became clear.

“Captain,” Derek yelled. “that’s Lucy!”

“Stand down, Cole. Our sharpshooter is clear to take the shot as soon as he can. Stand down.”

“Captain, I can be in that bank in twenty seconds without him knowing.”

“Cole, are you seriously suggesting that I allow you to go freelancing into that bank and risk having you screw up and getting yourself and your wife killed?”

“He’ll never know I’m there until it’s too late,” Derek begged, his eyes now locked with Lucy’s. “Please, Captain. I can end this.”

Before his Captain could talk, the gunman screamed. No words, just a primal sound at the top of his lungs. Derek could see the fear in Lucy’s eyes. She stood, her faced pressed against what remained of the cool window pane as the gunman began grunting, breathing in heavy pants, and sending his spit onto the window pane.

“Captain,” Derek said, his eyes never leaving Lucy’s, as the gun fired.

He watched her fall to the ground in a lump of death, her head exploded out on one side, and her eyes instantly glazed over.

He never heard the next few shots. The gunman turned and opened fire on his hostages before then turning the gun on himself.

No one tried to hold him back as Derek sprinted across the parking lot and in through the shattered glass of the bank. He knew she was gone before he fell beside her and held his dead wife in his arms. He cradled her, saying nothing. Gently rocking her and whispering “shhh” into her ear.

“It’s all quiet now,” he said as he kissed her bloodied forehead. “No more questions.”

No one asked Derek to release his hold of his wife. They worked as silently as they could around him, as he sat cradling her body. He sat holding her for nearly two hours before someone told him it was time to let her go.

“Derek, we have to get Lucy cleaned up. She wouldn’t want to stay out in public like this. Come on, let me help you up. I promise that we’ll take great care of her.”

Derek could never remember who convinced him to let Lucy go. As he softened his hug, he gently rested her back on her side, the way she always slept. He brushed the blood-soaked hair away from her face, kissed her then collapsed beside her.

The days following Lucy’s death were a blur of wakes, funerals, impossibly silent nights, and a slowly diminishing stream of friends parading through his front door. The days blended into weeks before Derek’s bereavement and personal time had expired, and he was expected to return to duty.

“There’s no rush, Cole,” his Captain told Derek on his first day back. “If you need more time, say the word.”

“Didn’t think you cared about what I had to say, Captain,” Derek said.

“Come again, officer?”

“You know what I mean,” Derek said as he brushed past his Captain and into the officer’s dressing room.

Though his Captain never said, Derek knew that he felt that he had wronged Derek. While Derek was desperately trying to save his wife and put an end to the bank robbery, his Captain played it by the rule book.

It was no more than three months after Lucy had died that Derek’s life began to spiral out of control. His performance while on duty was becoming “reckless and haphazard.”

“You’re behavior of late is putting yourself and others at risk, Officer Cole,” his lieutenant told him. “I understand, the whole department understands what you must be going through, so if you feel you to take some more time, just let us know. We’ll work something out for you.”

“What about my behavior specifically concerns you?” Derek asked.

“Last Thursday, it was reported that you ran into a home with a reported domestic situation. You know that domestics are the most dangerous calls we receive.”

“Does your report say what happened after I ‘rushed in?’”

“Just because you prevented the husband from causing more harm to his wife, doesn’t justify your actions. We have protocols and procedures to follow.”

“Like those we followed that day at the bank?”

Three weeks after his conversation with his lieutenant, Derek was placed on “temporary leave with full pay and benefits.” The department knew that Derek was a quality officer, who had shown tremendous potential from day one. They also knew that his errant and dangerous behavior would eventually get him or another officer killed.

“How long am I to stay away?” he asked the Chief of Police when told about his temporary assignment.

“Until you feel fully ready to be a part of this department again, or our counselors believe you are ready to return to active duty.”

All departments make occasional mistakes. Some forget to process paperwork correctly. Others make the mistake of not reading an arrested person their rights. Other departments neglect to ask an officer placed on leave for their service weapon. Derek left the department, drove to the nearest bar, then took himself and his modified Glock home.

The tears were streaming down his face as he sat holding a picture of Lucy in his arms. Beside him, on his nightstand, sat a bottle of Johnny Walker black and his fully loaded service pistol.

“I need you here. With me,” he cried. “I promise to be more quiet. And I promise to never let anyone hurt you again.”

He pulled hard from the bottle of black and danced his fingers over his pistol.

“I can’t see your face,” he sobbed, dropping the framed picture to the floor, sending shards of broken glass sliding across the hardwood floor.

He reached for another tug of black. As he slammed the near-empty bottle back on the nightstand, his hand held firm to the bottle as his gaze held firm to the gun.