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
It seemed like time was frozen. I was desperately waiting for some opportunity to clear this up.
I was repeating the words in my mind "this is not happening." "This is not happening."
Then I remember another police officer that entered the building.
I struggled to speak. My mouth was dry, and I could barely draw a breath. I wasn't sure my words were being heard when I said, "no, I was attacked."
He explained that he was going to have to put me in handcuffs.
I was terrified beyond belief. I wasn't shaking but I was frozen. I felt dazed and confused. It seemed impossible.
This isn't happening, I was thinking as I walked as if somehow on autopilot.
Then I started to move from the frozen reaction of a trauma victim to the fight or flight stress response - a misnomer since neither fight nor flight was on my mind.
I was led into the police car, trembling.
On the ride with the policeman next to me, my female friend called me. My hands were shaking as I tried to pick up the phone. My heart was beating so fast, and I was fumbling with the phone. My voice was shaking as I said "Hello,"
I began to explain what happened to me. I wanted the police officer to hear me and the sincerity of my words.
I told her that I wanted to see her soon and that this will get all straightened out, but I didn't know about tomorrow.
She was shocked herself. I can imagine that she was desperately out of words to say to comfort me.
Choking on my tears I said, "I'm scared. I don't know how this happened to me."
She knew a little about me and so she recognized the concern in my voice. I heard compassion in her voice as she said how sorry she was that this was happening to me. I would never see or hear from her again but the moment of comfort she offered me was unforgettable.
I then hung up the phone.
I registered again the fact that someone had said that she was the landlord's wife. The landlord who had evicted me recently.
The police officer had handcuffs on me and took me inside a police station. I saw the woman who attacked me inside the doorway, and I said to the police officer with me, "she's the one who attacked me."
I was still holding onto reality.
They sat me down outside a room somewhere. I was asked to wait. It didn't seem like anything was happening. I tried calling the pre-paid legal provider firm as I had maintained an account with them. I never imagined I would need it for a criminal matter.
The legal firm was not very much help. I couldn't process what they were explaining to me. The law firm was explaining something about my benefits and whether I should speak right away to someone or if I should wait for a better time to talk to someone.
It seems in retrospect with years of reflection upon the matter that each and every such law firm should tell someone in such extreme distress something to calm them down enough to process what their options are and to tell the client not to ever say anything other than the words "I want to speak to a lawyer."
I have no clue as to what exactly was told to me and why it didn't include the words of advice that one must say "I need to talk to a lawyer." I profoundly regret that I didn't immediately ask to speak to someone at that moment as I sat there in that chair at the police station. Instead, the most irrational thing happened - I hung up the phone with no clear plan as to what to do.
I had never imagined a scenario even remotely like this in my worst nightmares.
I was naïve enough to still think that the police wanted to find out the truth.
We sat down in a room with them across a table from me. I re-enacted exactly what had happened with me going to the door of the room where I was with the police detectives and opening it to demonstrate what I had done and how said "I'm Bruce," and how before I knew what was happening, she was entering the room or apartment.
They didn't like that and so I tried to re-enact it again. I was confused as to what I had left out that they didn't like or wanted to hear.
They still didn't like what I explained.
I had no idea what they wanted to hear. I couldn't process the questions or make sense of anything. I was sitting in front of them covered in blood from face to feet and shoes. Every piece of clothing was soaked in blood. How is it even remotely possible that they didn't recognize this? Why were they treating me like a criminal in this matter? I was the victim.
Then they said that she was the landlord's wife and that her name was Ana.
I stated that I had briefly seen her with her husband in a pickup truck but that she had not left enough of an impression on me for me to recognize her when she showed up and attacked me.
One of the police officers was saying that I would not forget someone that attractive. I thought "what are you talking about? That woman we saw on the way in. You think she is pretty?"
She was about my size and build but younger, faster, and stronger.
She was like a frightening psychopath who had just brutalized me. I couldn't imagine how or why they would find her attractive. What they said about her being attractive made no sense to me.
None of what they were saying made any sense. It wasn't like they were giving me any clues as to what she had said or what they thought happened. So, I could not possibly make them satisfied.
The time went on and on and I lost track of how much time had passed. It felt like something from a book by Franz Kafka - bizarre, surreal, and nightmarish. Why? Mainly because I was sitting in front of them clearly appearing as the victim. What could be more obvious? And they wouldn't tell me what they wanted to hear from me.
I remember later using this analogy of this being like Franz Kafka's story "The Trial" but the person hearing me make this comparison said that in that story the individual had no idea what the charges were, only that the character was under arrest. I thought, "Okay, but when you look at a person drenched in blood and you treat the victim like the perpetrator who doesn't have a scratch on them, that's the same kind of bizarre and surreal nightmarish experience.
I wondered what kind of people am I dealing with? Why are they doing this to me?
I had never even been in a fight in my entire life! I had NEVER done anything remotely aggressive. NOT EVER! Can't they tell things like this? Doesn't their gut tell them when something is so obvious? Couldn't they contact someone to find out who I was?
It was clear that they thought I had done something violent to her. They wanted me to tell them what that was that happened. I had no idea what they wanted to hear, though because I was the victim.
It was like some bizarre fishing expedition with them offering bizarre clues and questions that went nowhere. Something about "things got out of hand and..." To which I offered nothing more than a dejected "no."
I was getting the sense that they thought I had done something violent to her but what that was I didn't know. At some point, I perceived that they were fishing for details about how a sexual crime had occurred. I had heard earlier while still at my apartment that a woman had claimed to have been sexually assaulted out there.
I imagine that I would have mentioned something about how I would never attack someone, which would traumatize a person. If they looked into my background, they would find out about how I had counseled or treated victims of violent sexual crimes.
It's so hard to even talk about the experience of being accused of some form of violent and sexual crime.
I can't believe I even have the courage now to tell this story.
I have been so terrified for the next decade and a half of the mere thought of you dear reader thinking for even a split second that I might have traumatized someone in that way.
It would be way after the case was settled in court (perhaps long after the statute of limitations has expired) before I could begin to talk about this matter.
This book opens with an account of how I was suicidal in 2019. It would take that happening before I could begin to heal enough to talk about what happened. I have to believe that something can be done someday.
How can anyone put the burden on someone like me to address this matter and seek justice in a more timely fashion? Now people talk about how hard it is to prove everything. A decade and a half later I found the courage to speak only to find out that it is too late.