Two days later, Michelle was in Laurie’s room getting her ready for bed when John walked past the door.
“You’re ignoring me,” he accused.
“No, I’m not,” she said as she picked up their ten-month-old daughter. “Guess I’m just in a quiet mood.”
“You’re ignoring me because you think you’re better than I am. You and your highfalutin’ lawyer friends.”
All of a sudden John flew across the room and raised his cast-enclosed fist. Michelle was petrified. She screamed and turned her head just in time to save her face; his blow landed behind her ear. The pain was incredible. His punch shoved her backwards so that she fell with the baby in her arms. The child Battaglia professed to love was no deterrent to his rage. The room seemed to turn upside down as Michelle fell, and the bedroom’s pink-and-white plaid wallpaper spun around her. She clung to her daughter, trying to protect her, but as they both fell, Michelle heard the thud of her daughter’s little head bumping against the wall. Then, Michelle’s head smacked on the floor and she lost her grip on the child. Michelle could do little about her daughter’s screams as she herself lay on the floor, dizzy and disoriented. Her head pounded and she saw everything around her in double vision. Finally, she collected her thoughts and crawled to Laura and picked her up. As she tried to soothe her screaming daughter, she looked up and saw that Billy had come running to the bedroom door. His frightened face mirrored her thoughts. She was now convinced that if John attacked her again, he would kill her.
The assault erased any care she once had felt for John. It was the final alarm bell that she needed to force her out of this sick relationship. He was leaving today, this minute, and forever.
She grabbed both children and rushed to her next door neighbor’s, the Dicksons. For the first time, she told them about John’s beatings. They insisted on calling the police to make a report.
Even though Michelle was miserable, she still went to work that day. Once in the office, her secretary insisted on driving her to a Prima Health Care facility for treatment.
A week later, when she felt stronger, she would file for divorce.
SIX
John Battaglia kept Michelle under close scrutiny by renting a one-bedroom, lonesome-looking garage apartment only two blocks from where she lived on Bellewood. His apartment sat behind a house that was similar to Michelle’s, only now he was the boarder living in guest quarters that had been built over a detached garage. Its dismal appearance only added to his sour mood.
He paced the floor, thinking how furious he was that his wife had threatened to divorce him. But he’d shown her. As soon as he moved out, he’d hired an attorney, James Newth, and filed for divorce. He’d also followed his attorney’s suggestion and quit his job as a CPA so Michelle would have to pay him child support. Michelle only thought she was getting away.
Michelle finally sought counseling, which was her first step in gaining strength. She spent months at The Family Place, a privately supported community organization that dealt mainly with victims of domestic abuse. Her counselor, Susan Bragg, soon learned that Michelle had little control over her life with John Battaglia, and that she would cave in to him just to avoid mistreatment. The counselor urged her to stand strong against any of Battaglia’s demands, regardless of how difficult he became.
The court ordered Battaglia into counseling to curb his anger. At times, Michelle met with John’s counselor, Randy Severson, at Hope Cottage, an organization dating back to the 1800s. Severson also encouraged her to stand up to John.
In mid-September, a distraught Michelle LaBorde took Billy and Laurie and flew home to Baton Rouge to talk with her parents. Her parents’ marriage was one filled with love; she had never seen one second of abuse.
Michelle finally had to tell her parents the truth about her volatile relationship. She was embarrassed that not only had she married such a man, but she hadn’t left him earlier. Like most abused wives, she had always believed that somehow she could change him.
Sitting on a down-filled sofa in her parents’ living room, she tearfully began describing her life over the past year. Her parents shook their heads in dismay. Then her father, who was also an attorney, decided to act.
While Michelle wiped her puffy eyes, her father began calling lawyers he knew in Dallas. One suggested Josh Taylor, a specialist in family law. Her father hired Taylor, who promised to immediately file a protective order against Battaglia. Taylor assured her father that Michelle would finally be safe.
As soon as Michelle returned to Dallas, her baby-sitter, Odice Cooper, a large black woman who was warm and loving to her children, came running to her. Odice was anxious to show Michelle something in the master bedroom. Michelle hesitantly walked into the room and found hundreds of wire coat hangers clustered in a semicircle on the floor surrounding her bed. A wooden bat lay on the bed alongside an imprint the size of a man. Battaglia had obviously been waiting for her. If he had fallen asleep, anyone stepping on the hangers would have woken him.
Michelle was shaking as they searched the house for Battaglia, but he had apparently left. During the search, Michelle checked the closet shelf where John kept his gun. It was gone, and that terrified her.
Michelle could always feel John’s presence. Even if she couldn’t see him, she knew he was near, following her, watching her.
On several occasions, he hid in the tall bushes behind her house, waiting for her to drive home. When she pulled into the garage, and before the door closed, he’d scoot inside like a man hyped on amphetamines. Then he’d crawl behind her car and suddenly pop up at her driver’s-side window. Michelle’s hands would involuntarily fly up from the steering wheel and she’d gasp with fright.
Hearing her counselor’s voice in her mind, she fought to appear unruffled. She’d raise her garage door and point to the opening for Battaglia to leave. Sometimes he did. But sometimes he’d rush past her and push his way into her house.
On Monday, September 30, 1986, Michelle and John were with their lawyers in the family courthouse discussing their pending divorce. John had asked for child custody in addition to child support from Michelle.
Over the hum of the air conditioner, Michelle sat at the witness stand outlining Battaglia’s assaults, including the latest where he had apparently planned to beat her with a bat.
Suddenly, he became angry and screamed that she was lying. He ran to her like a wild animal, and tried to strike her with his cast-covered hand. The bailiffs grabbed and restrained him.
The following week, Judge Gibbs of the 256th Family District Court surprised no one by issuing a restraining order against John Battaglia for clobbering Michelle’s head as she held baby Laura. The order spelled out that John Battaglia was prohibited from directly communicating with Michelle or her son. The only contact he could have was when he picked up their daughter for visitations. He was forbidden to enter her house. Even so, Michelle panicked, for, given the rage Battaglia had vented on her and her son, what might he do to a defenseless little baby when he had her to himself?
If Battaglia violated the order, he could be fined as much as $2,000 or confined in jail for one year, or both. In order to collect evidence of future violations, Michelle began keeping a log detailing Battaglia’s harassment. When he phoned screaming curses and threatening her, she would automatically hit the “record” button and capture his calls on tape.
On October 26, 1986, Michelle was sleeping too soundly to hear the footsteps approaching her bedroom door that led to an outside patio. But the sound of a key in her lock and the door being pushed open woke her. Slowly, she fluttered her sleep-filled eyes and glanced over at her digital clock on the nightstand: 12:20 A.M. She looked up to see John Battaglia standing over her. Anxiety flooded through her. Unconsciously, she grabbed a wad of the sheet, twisting it with nervous hands.
John placed a hand on her shoulder to hold her down. Trapped, with