My Story

My Will to Live – A Night of Terror

Several years ago I met Brian, a wonderful man who worked with me at the local hospital. He had blue eyes that would make a girl giggle, a captivating South African accent, and he was tall and well-built. He was a nurse, an RN, and was loved by everyone at the hospital. He had two precious boys whom he doted upon. Being the single mother of a daughter, I admired the way he loved his boys. Soon after we met, we began dating and fell in love.

Brian left me love notes, sent flowers, cooked dinner, and would fix candlelit bubble baths for me. He was definitely someone a woman could love and marry. He seemed to care for and love my daughter, Jenna as well. It was a house full of fun with his two boys and my college-bound daughter.

All was great until the summer of 2007, when I began noticing changes in Brian’s behavior, especially his sleeping habits. He would either sleep days on end, or be up all times of the night. When I asked about this change, his explanation seemed logical, as his work schedule had changed and thrown his sleep pattern off. By November, I knew something was terribly wrong. Brian finally confessed to me that he was taking large amounts of diet pills, steroids and growth hormones. He didn’t want me to say anything to others at the hospital, because he said he could handle the situation. Our relationship grew increasingly strained, and by the end of November we were separated. On January 11, 2008, he was served with divorce papers.

My last normal conversation with Brian was by phone on Friday afternoon, January 11, 2008. He called me at work to ask if I would sit with him at a funeral the next day. A nurse we all knew and loved had passed away. I told him I would be glad to…

NOW THE TERROR!

In the early morning hours of January 12, 2008, my life as I knew it changed forever. Never would I be the same person again.

I was awakened suddenly from a deep sleep. I heard a noise but wasn’t sure what it was. I thought it might have been my cat, Scratch, but she was beside me in bed. Then I heard something break. Scratch jumped on top of me and made a terrible hissing noise. I jumped out of bed and looked to my right. I didn’t have my contacts in, but I could see a man standing there with a shotgun in his hand.
I screamed as loud as I could and started running for the back of the house. The man yelled out “Stop!”, and it was then that I realized it was Brian.

I asked him what he was doing in my house. He immediately held the gun up, pointed it at me and fired. Instinctively I bent down, with my hands behind my head, and the bullet went across my right hand and grazed the back of my head. He then took the butt of the gun and beat me with it until the gun bent.

The next thing I remember is waking up in my bed. I asked him what the hell he thought he was doing, and he said “I am here to kill me and you”.

He asked where my .357 revolver was and I told him I didn’t remember. When he left the bedroom to search for it, somehow I was able to get to the phone and call 911. I had just had that phone installed that week…

When the 911 operator, Leslie Jones, answered, all I could say was, “Help! Help! Help!”

With Brian still searching for the pistol, even though my hand and both arms were broken, I managed to make it to the front door, unlock a slide lock, a deadbolt lock, and an old-fashioned key lock. I made it outside and called for help. But no one heard me. I collapsed and the next thing I remember is waking… back inside the house, on my bed, in my bedroom.

The 911 operator had called back numerous times trying to get someone to answer. Eventually Brian answered. He refused to let me speak with her, telling her that it had been a small domestic dispute and that I was now sleeping. She wouldn’t take “no” for an answer and realizing she would send law enforcement if he didn’t allow us to speak, eventually he brought the phone to me. She asked if I was okay, and in a very unsteady voice, though I feared for my life, I told her “I am okay.”

She asked if he had a gun and I answered affirmatively. When he figured out what was being discussed, he beat me again with his fists. While he was beating me, I had laid the phone aside and all the operator could hear was me screaming for my life.

Of course, the operator had already dispatched officers to my house. I don’t remember everything that happened after they arrived, but I do remember Brian yelling through the window to them. They asked him to let me come outside. At one point Brian taunted them, saying, “Come and get her if you’re brave enough.”

I begged him to let me go outside and he said, “I think I’ve already killed you. You’ve lost too much blood.”

By this time the pillows and bed were soaked with blood. He was sitting up in the bed with me, his back against the headboard as if nothing was wrong, still holding the gun. I began telling myself repeatedly, “I have to live for Jenna. I have to live for Jenna.”

With a broken nose, broken teeth and blood pouring out of my mouth, somehow I managed to be able to talk to him. I told him to think about his boys, and what his actions were going to do to them.

I don’t remember him placing me on the front porch, but I was told that he did. However, he would not let the deputies get close to me, and I couldn’t walk. According to the deputies, Brian crawled out the front door and placed the pistol to my back. Then he crawled back into the house. The deputies said I then crawled down the steps and Deputy Dustin Renfroe was in a position to reach me, while Sergeant Brian Thomas and Deputy Brian Scott covered for him.

When Deputy Renfroe picked me up, he was so warm it felt as though he had somehow breathed life back into me. Carrying me in his arms like a rag doll, he ran to his patrol car and laid me down in the back seat. Then he drove me to the awaiting ambulance, which was parked at the command area, a safe distance away from the gunfire.

I arrived at the Trauma Unit of the Medical Center of Central Georgia with numerous injuries – gashes to the back of my head which required 30 staples, numerous stitches on the side of my face and behind my ear, a crushed right hand, a nearly severed pinky finger, two main bones in my left arm were completely broken, and my nose and cheek bones were broken. I lost seven teeth, two of which I swallowed. Two were found on the front porch, and three were surgically removed from my gums…. gums which had to be reconstructed during surgery.

While I was at the Trauma Unit, Brian was in an eight-hour stand-off. GBI, county deputies, SWAT and hostage negotiators were all on the scene. The stand-off ended when Brian began firing at the officers. They fired back and one shot hit him, fatally wounding him.
My recovery was very long and painful. My home had been destroyed by Brian, inside and out, and I could not go home again. My best friends, Donna Brown and Bobbie Davis, offered to take me into their homes.

I was unable to bathe or feed myself, drive or administer my own medications. It was twelve weeks before I could sit in a tub and bathe myself. My brother handled the insurance and repairs on the house while I was recovering. It was the middle of July, 2008 before I could drive, and return home.

When I pulled up in front of the house, and walked up the steps, I felt numb. My life had been shattered, invaded. I didn’t know if I had the strength or courage to stay there, but one of the deputies had told me “Don’t let Brian win. Go back there and live.”

I couldn’t let him win. I kept saying that to myself, and I did just that. I stayed…

The siding in my neighbor’s house still has bullet holes, as does the fence. Though the exterior of my house shows no signs of that terrifying night, the interior of my house is pine wood, and there are still marks where bullets grazed the walls. My friends said that during his rampage, Brian had cut up the sofa, and had made a complete mess of things. There were no signs of that now…

The physical pain was intense. But after my body started to heal, even greater was the pain of the social aspect of the rumors and accusations that began to circulate around town. Everyone thought that Brian was such a nice man, a good father, and a good nurse. People had a hard time believing he could do this to me. I can only assume it was the drugs and alcohol that he consumed that changed him that night.

I still have psychological pain – fear when I see a truc that looks like his, or a man in scrubs. The memories and the fear come flooding back to me then….

I survived a brutal attack, and am here by the grace of God. I would like everyone to know, male or female, that no one should have to endure abuse of any kind. I want to stress to anyone in an abusive situation, or if you know someone in this type of situation, to please get help immediately. Things can happen without warning. And I don’t want anyone else to have to endure anything like what I went through…

Thank your local law enforcement, as well as your 911 operators. They saved my life. Yours may be next.

 

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