Silent support. She looks at Whitmore. this man with a badge and a gun and 1five years of unchecked power and she makes a decision.”Officer Whitmore, I’m going to reach into my back pocket now slowly to get my identification.” “Keep your hands where I can see them.” “My ID is in my back pocket.” “I need to reach for it.” “Fine.” “Slow movements.” Any sudden moves and he rests his hand on his gun. The crowd murmurs.

Someone shouts, “He’s threatening her.” Simone moves carefully, but as she shifts, her foot catches the garden hose. She stumbles slightly. The hose jerks. Water sprays up.

A few drops hit Whitmore’s pants leg, barely noticeable. A splash, maybe a tablespoon of water. He looks down, looks at the wet spot on his uniform. His face transforms.

Pure rage.”Did you just assault me?” “What?” “No, I tripped.” “You just assaulted a police officer.” “It was an accident.” “I saw it.” “You sprayed me deliberately.” “Officer, that’s not what happened.” He lunges forward, grabs the garden hose from the ground. His movements are sharp, violent. Mills runs from the patrol car.

“Derek, stop.” Whitmore twists the nozzle. The water spray changes from gentle mist to full jet. Maximum pressure. Simone sees it coming.

“Don’t you dare.” The water hits her face. The force of it stuns her. She raises her hands. Too late.

Water pounds her chest. Her shoulders cold, shocking, violent. She tries to turn away. He follows her with the stream like a predator.

“You think you can assault me?” He screams.”You think you’re special?” The water pressure knocks her backward. She trips over the rose bushes, falls hard onto the grass. He stands over her, still spraying.

Water floods her face. She can’t breathe, can’t see.”Maybe this will teach you some respect.” She’s on the ground gasping, choking on water. Her hands over her face.

It doesn’t help. 10 seconds. 20 30.”Stop it.” Eleanor screams, “She’s drowning.” 40 seconds.

Her blouse plasters to her skin. Her jeans soak through. Water fills her ears, her nose. Finally, he releases the trigger.

Silence, except for her gasping. She sits in a puddle on her own lawn. Water streams from her hair, her clothes. Mascara runs in black rivers down her cheeks.

Her briefcase lies open on the driveway. Papers float in puddles. Legal documents. Case files ruined.

Whitmore tosses the hose aside. He’s breathing hard, smiling.”Maybe that’ll wash some of that attitude off you, sweetheart.” The crowd erupts, shouting. Phones everywhere.

At least 10 people are recording now. The teenage live streamer screen shows 2,847 viewers. Mills stands frozen. His face is pale, horrified.

Eleanor sobs on her porch. Simone sits there, destroyed, humiliated, in front of her neighbors in her own front yard. Then slowly she pushes herself up. Water drips from every part of her body.