Chapter 5: The Nightmare Begins & Gender Biases, Interrogating the Victim

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And the most terrifying question of all may be just how much horror the human mind can stand and still maintain a wakeful, staring, unrelenting sanity.

- Stephen King, from "Pet Sematary"

In the last couple of chapters, I have described a very bizarre and brutal event. I had been the victim of a brutal and bloody attack. 

As bizarre as this story is, it didn't seem like this would be all that complicated a story. Everything seemed clear. The perpetrator had left behind her phone. They would find her and she would be punished for the crime she had committed. 

If this was a normal story about victimization, I might be telling you how in the back of my mind I had always known that I needed to return to work as a clinical social worker. You might recall, dear reader, that I mentioned that I had worked as a therapist/Clinical Social Worker. Eventually, I would realize that this is my true calling and not web design or anything technically oriented. 

This story is far more complicated and the nightmare was only beginning. It seemed obvious to everyone so far - me, the police, the witnesses. I was the victim of a violent crime and with the perpetrator leaving behind her phone they would find the perpetrator. 

To be honest, I had a nagging sensation that things were not so simple and straightforward. Maybe it was because of how dark my entire life had been at the time that left me full of doubts that they would find the perpetrator and bring them to justice. I had not had any time to begin to soothe myself with thoughts about how easy it would be to find the perpetrator when the nightmare truly began. 

Please, dear reader, let me imagine you are with me as I tell my horror story and try to imagine the comfort that I need when I am so scared like now. Just telling this story decades later is terrifying.

Within just more than an hour, with the sun getting low now, the police showed up again. The most disturbing nightmare of my life was about to begin. It wasn't enough to violently assault me. The perpetrator of this crime had done something far worse and I was about to find out about that.

I noticed lights outside. The police were back. 

Then in my next memory, there was a female police officer in the doorway of the building next to the stairway that led to the second floor. It was a warm day, this October 1, 2004. The door to my apartment was about 8 feet away from where this officer was standing. 

I heard something repeated on the police radio that this police officer was wearing. The words I heard were that a woman had been sexually assaulted out here!

What! Oh, my God!

This is not happening! No, no, no.no.

The police were just here. They knew what happened. They witnessed the extensive nature of my injuries.

I was thinking, your fellow police officers were just here. They know what happened. No woman was hurt out here. I was the victim. 

Time moved at an excruciatingly slow pace. I was waiting to speak to someone and clear all this up. Surely, they would know what had really happened. 

Had they totally ignored all the evidence that had been gathered? 

I believe it was at some point while I waited to find out what was going on that I heard that the perpetrator was the landlord's wife. 

The perpetrator had gone to the police and had claimed that she was the victim! This was too bizarre to begin to understand. 

The Inquisition, Torture, And Humiliation

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