Chapter 3 CHARLOTTE

"You're a policeman."

He smiled. "And you're?"

"Charlotte", she replied

"I mean.. I'm an artist, a painter but my name is Charlotte"

He brought out a gun and hit the criminal on the back of his head before talking again.

"I'm Jon. And I can't remember when last I met a lady who watched soccer while stopping a criminal. Maybe you could show me how to multitask sometime?"

"Well, I don't really..."

Charlotte felt Sheila's sharp fingers dig into her skin and she turned angrily giving her friend the eye.

"You don't really what?"

"Its nothing", she smiled. "Here", she said handing him her phone. "Your number."

He took it from her, punched some digits in and returned it.

"Oui, call me", he said.

"Sure", she replied. "I'll be leaving now."

She turned and made her way up the stands and out of the stadium and as expected, Sheila was all over her immediately they were out of his sight.

"Are you out of your mind girl?", Sheila asked as they walked towards a cab.

"What did I do this time?"

"Seems you want to be a nun. You almost refused a date with a hot French guy."

"Its not a date", Charlotte sighed. "He probably needs help catching criminals or something and that I can't help out with."

Sheila stared at her and shook her head. "You're so clueless. Lord knows where you fell from."

She ended up calling him the next day and he was surprised to hear that she was in the US. They talked over the phone for months before they could finally fix a date and in no time, they were in love with each other. After 6 months of dating, they finally tied the knot at a local church in Manhattan and started living together at the Reeves family manson. It took him almost three months to get a job in Manhattan. The city sheriff was not impressed by the idea of having a French man joining the local police force and although his records in Marseille had been good, he was given the lowest rank. He never complained about it to her and she was all the more certain that she had found the perfect man. How could he so easily give up his former rank just to be with her? Then the first child came, a boy, and that was when she began to see the signs- signs that she may have made a mistake choosing him as a life partner but way too early to back out. It was just four days after she put to bed and she was rocking their little boy to sleep when he walked in.

"Little Harry, little harry, do do sleep", she sang. He paused on hearing the song. "What's that?" She raised her head up unsure of what he was talking about. "The song", he added.

"Ohh", she laughed. "I formed it myself."

"I mean the name", he said with a straight face.

"Ohh..Harry? I've decided to name him Harry, that was my dad's name. He was such a loving dad."

"Yeah", he said removing his jacket and dropping it on the arm of the chair beside her. "My dad was a loving man too. To his dogs though, not me. But still a loving man. We're not naming him after my dad are we?"

She stared up at him, too surprised to talk. In their ten months of marriage, he had never brought up an argument about anything she decided. Why now that she wanted to give her son a befitting name?

"His name is Martell", he added with a tone of finality.

Charlotte had always been the quiet and very much obedient wife but there was no way she was allowing him chose the name. She was the one that carried the child in her womb for nine months and eventually gave birth to him. Moreover, Martell sounded to her like the name of some old drug lord.

"It's Harry", she said not even daring to look up at Jon who had now unbuttoned his white long sleeved shirt showing off his rock hard abs.

"Martell"

"Harry", she screamed in protest.

He walked up to her, gently placed his arms on her shoulder and looked straight into her eyes. If this was some subtle plot to coax her into changing the name, it wasn't going to work she thought.

"You carried the child, but I gave you the child. Whatever I say is final and anyone with a contrary opinion automatically becomes the enemy. Now what do you do to your enemy?" She was too stunned to speak. She couldn't tell if he was joking around as usual or actually being serious. If he was actually serious, then he was taking it too far.

"What do you do to your enemy?", he asked again.

"I...I'll avoid them I guess", she managed to splutter.

"No", he shook his head. "You'll destroy them."

Charlotte gasped.

"But you are my lovely wife", he continued ignoring the shock written all over her face. "So I'll only discipline you."

"Discipline me?"

"Yes", he replied sternly. "Now drop my son Martell and stand up."

By now, she knew she had bigger problems to face so she ignored the name, dropped the child and stood up.

He raised his left hand high and brought it down so hard on her cheek that she staggered back a few steps and fell on the floor. Martell started crying immediately.

"Up", he commanded. She struggled to her feet whimpering and feeling her cheeks burn red from the slap. He slapped her again, harder this time and she fell down immediately and hit her head on the glass centre table. That was the last thing she remembered.

She woke up around 5:30 in the evening and found out that her baby was still crying. She ignored the blood stain on the floor that had come from a cut on her head when she fell and rushed to breast feed her baby.