We have been called out to a domestic dispute between a father and his 16 year old daughter, where the daughter apparently made some sort of threatening gesture after an argument with her dad. The deputy meets us outside.
"He took away her cellphone after an argument. She got pissed and went home, and when he walked by in the hallway she shook a bottle of Aleve at him, and he freaked out and thought she had taken them. The bottle is still full."
"What an idiot. Jesus."
We go inside and get the story, the daughter still simmering with anger and crying. She raises her voice at the dad and yells at him a couple of times. The dad refuses to send her to the hospital, saying he would take care of the matter himself. The daughter's vitals check out and Dad signs the refusal, even after I explain that it may be in her best interests to get checked out at the ER. He still says no, and I get my supervisor involved, but the supe tell me to let it slide.
Everyone is out of the house now except for me, the daughter, and the dad. Apparently their screen door sticks if it closes wrong and is now locked in to place. The dad gives it a solid kick, but it stays stuck in its frame.
The daughter steps out of the hallway at this point, looking at her father. Her frustration is evident on her face, and tears are still drying on her cheeks. She walks into the kitchen, opens a drawer, and pulls out a large steak knife.
Then she starts walking towards me and her father with a determined look on her face.
Her father is still facing the door, preoccupied with getting it unstuck. A quick look around shows no other exits. The girl is still walking towards us. I think I could break through the frame of the screen door but I have to get through the father, who is maddeningly still hemming and hawing at the stuck door. The daughter still advances, feet whisper soft on the carpet, knife in hand, staring at her father's back.
7 feet. Definitely no way out now. My butt sucks up about half my underwear. She's big for 16, rivaling Serena Williams in musculature. She can probably get some serious torque on that stabbing arm.
4 feet. She's almost in range. I plant my feet shoulder with apart.
3 feet. Go.
I grab her knife-wielding arm as she walks by me, twisting at the wrist and squeezing, stepping into her with my hip and pinning her upper arm between my arm and chest. The knife pops out and, still holding the girl's arm, I trip her down onto the carpet, where she lands on her back with a confused look on her face. I kick away the knife behind me, towards the wall and near the dad
'WHAT ARE YOU DOING?" I yell directly into her face. A sheriff's deputy had been on the other side of the door and saw the whole thing, his pistol out and pointing over the dad's hunched form, trained on the daughter.
"It's for the door!" She yells.
The dad, incredibly, finally notices all the commotion, and turns around and stares at me and the daughter, who is sitting up and rubbing her wrist.
"Oh," he says. "Thanks, babydoll." He then picks up the steak knife and uses it as a wedge along the interior side of the screen door, which pops open deftly after he slides the blade down the length.
"That thing always sticks. Sorry, sir, thanks for the help this evening."
The deputy on the other side of the door is bent over laughing.
"No problem at all, sir," I say to him. "Have a good night."