The woman in the road

*Changed names and places; Triggers exist within this post. This post is serious and details an interaction we had with a victim of domestic abuse who stopped us seeking help. After careful consideration, I wanted to share it to get advice on the actions we took and to share what is a depressingly common occurrence. ------------------------------------------------------- Bethany and I were between Minneapolis and International Falls, in the middle of nowhere. Bethany was driving, and I heard her mumble, “what is this lady doing?” I looked up and saw a woman a ways up the road walking along the opposite shoulder with a dog ahead of her. The dog appeared to be off leash, and as we approached, I noticed the dog seemed to not just be walking, but bounding ahead of her. Next I noticed that the woman was actually running after the dog, apparently trying to keep up. Worried it had gotten loose, Bethany began slowing down. The woman then ran out into the middle of the road. Bethany braked harder and trailed off saying “Uh..what do I do?” The woman ran around to the passenger side of the car as I rolled my window down slightly. She was yelling “He's going to get me!” and tried opening the back door, which was locked. She was clearly terrified, and I said, “What? The dog?” as the woman ran around to the other side and opened the rear door on the driver's side. She crawled into the vehicle [up on the bed platform] as I quickly cleared room for her to get in. She sat cross-legged and hunched over. “What's going on? The dog was going to get you?” I asked, still trying to figure out exactly what was going on. The woman was taking shuddering breaths and raggedly crying. “He had a knife. He was going to kill me. I've got to get away from here.” I looked quickly to Bethany, “Wasn't there a little town not far back? Turn around and lets go there.” Bethany turned the car around, and as she did I looked to the driveway the woman came out of and saw a shirtless man come walking up the driveway towards the road. I saw him look at us and then we were driving back towards town. “Do you have a phone? I need to call my parents and go to their place.” the woman told us. Our US phones are shut off for the trip, and our Canadian phone didn't work in the states. I also wondered if she just wanted to get to her family and let the issue blow over. “We're going to the police station. You can call your parents when we get there.” I told her. As she broke down into sobs, I noticed she had a large bruise on her bare arm, and what looked like dried blood in one of her nostrils. I asked Bethany to pass me some tissues for her. “it's all right. You're safe now; we're getting you somewhere you're safe.” I told her. I put my hand on her leg as I said this, but wasn't sure if it would be interpreted as reassurance or if physical contact of any kind would act as a trigger. A few minutes later, as she settled down, I asked for her name. “Rachel* she said. “Rachel, my name is Ike; this is my wife Bethany.” Pause for a time. “Rachel, we're going to go to the police station so you can call you parents. You'll need to tell them what happened, and we'll talk to them too and tell them how we found you, ok?” Some part of my brain kept telling me that abusers often get away with their abuse because it's never reported. I wanted to make sure that didn't happen. “Do you want some water?” “I can't, I have a hernia.” “Are you hurt Rachel? Do we need to go to the hospital before we take you to the police station?” She shook her head. “He grabbed a knife but I ran before he could get near me.” We arrived at the police station about 10 minutes after picking her up. A small municipality, the police station was actually joined with the library and was closed. I went into the library, asked how to contact law enforcement, and dialed a number that connected me to dispatch. After explaining the situation, they said someone was coming from the larger town in the area. During the intervening twenty minutes before they arrived, I spent time talking to Rachel about where she grew up [nearby] and where her family was from, what it was like growing up in the area, anything to keep her from dwelling on what had happened prior to the police arriving. Rachel mentioned how her family is 5th generation loggers and her young sons have tried their hand at it a couple of times. Bethany went outside to meet the officer as he arrived. She was outside for a few minutes; the officer spoke to her first before coming in. The word 'frequent flyer' was used. Independently, when the officer first came in to unlock the station doors, I noticed that he said Rachel's name [a rather unique one] without any issue, as if he was familiar with it. Bethany and I pieced out afterwards that it probably wasn't the first time the police were contacted. “Did the man have any tattoos?” the officer asked me. I thought about it; “He was shirtless, and I kind of remember seeing the faded blue of an old tattoo on his chest, but I'm honestly not sure.” “Did you see a knife?” I sighed. “The grass along the road was too high, I couldn't see his hands. I only saw him for a second or two. Short hair, denim shorts, shirtless. That's about all I can remember.” The questioning took a couple minutes; we left our contact information with the police [of which there were now 6 present] and made our way to the vehicle and continued north. The whole event took less than an hour. I'm surprised how easy it was to compartmentalize the ordeal and forget it even happened. At the same time, I found myself thinking about it at odd times and how surreal, sad, and depressing it felt. Ultimately, I wanted to post this to let others have a chance to comment on what we could have done better and to perhaps help cast a light on how commonplace domestic abuse is and in light of having children, how difficult it can be for victims to escape the violence when they have children.