Five seconds

Please, if you are easily offended do not read this work. It deals with an emotional issue that you may find offensive. After doing research into psychology, I came across some disturbing facts. One of which shocked me deeply. As is my way, I expressed this shock in words.

The following is, thankfully, not a true story. But that does not mean that it has not happened somewhere, sometime.

If you have experienced an attack of this nature, I urge you to do something about it. If you do not, then the events that you are about to read may well happen to someone you know. After all, many offenders are likely to repeat their attack…

**********

“Five seconds.”

To some, just a tiny slice of time, to others a stretching out of an eternity.

It never ceases to amaze me how five seconds can change your life. A mere moment of indecision can change things forever.

Ironically, I wasn’t even the one who made the decision that changed my life. Instead it was them. Just five seconds between them to wreck everything, leading me to a lifetime of pain and anger that I may never recover from.

“For me, those five seconds stretched out into a living hell. At first I struggled. When struggling was proven futile I hoped somebody would come and save me. But, as time wore on, I gave up hope and just wanted to die.”

“It all happened in spring. I’d just turned sixteen and was on a birthday high. I had everything I ever wanted. Parents who loved me, cared for me and supported me. Friends who did exactly the same and whom I enjoyed spending time with. I even enjoyed school where I was near the top of the class and was vice captain of both the netball and hockey squads.”

“I’d managed to keep a part time job going at a local restaurant. You know the American style one… where the waitresses come to the cars outside and the uniform is like a cheerleaders outfit?”

“Objection! Relevance?” The voice of Mr. Daniels, defending attorney, cut into my thoughts. He is a right bruit of a man. If I had the confidence these days, I would have accused him of having no heart or conscience. All he has is money and a big round belly. His face seems to totally lack smile or laughter lines..

“Overruled council.” The judge looks like my grandfather except my grandfather has a beard and sea blue eyes instead of brown. He also seems like he used to be a nice person once. But he has that look that I see every day in the mirror now. We know what the world is really like. He has seen the hell we live in by serving with distinction in war. I’ve seen it by walking home alone at night.

“Keep going Laura.” The soft voice of Miss Sherlock, the prosecuting attorney, my attorney, is calm and confident. But then again, she was not the one who had her life changed.

“Where was I?” I keep getting lost in my thoughts these days. My psychiatrist tells me that is perfectly normal. I’m glad something about me is normal.

“You’d just told us about the week before…” replied Miss Sherlock gently.

“Right.” I shake my head to try to clear it. It only makes me feel dizzy and sick so I have to sit quietly for a second. “Well, I’d seen these two brothers hanging around the restaurant for a while now. They were typical boys.”

“Objection.” The bruit again. Why can’t he leave me alone? This is hard enough without him and those two staring at me like I’m some sort of sub-human.

“Sustained. Can you provide a less broad statement miss?”

That caught me by surprise. I’m the victim here right? Why should what I say be brought into question? Why do I feel like I’m on trial now?

The words of my daddy surfaced in my mind. “You’re so strong honey. We can get through this together.” Am I strong? If I were then this would have never happened.

It also surprises me that I have started calling my dad daddy again. Perhaps I get comfort from it? I don’t remember if I do. I can’t even remember the last time I felt safe. “They were always wolf whistling at us.”

“Us… you mean the other female employees?” asked Miss Sherlock. Again, her soft voice draws my attention back.

I nod. “The older one once tried to put his hand up my friends skirt when she was handing over his food tray.” The thought makes me shiver. I remember that night quite well as I had comforted her and persuaded her to not quit. She, like me, was after money for clothes and we were determined not to spring our parents for a loan. We were trying to be independent.

“Objection. Relevance?” Again I feel like I’m on trial because of Mr Daniels. I can’t even muster any emotions to make myself hate him. All I have now is a hollow emptiness in my heart.

“Goes to the accused's attitudes and frame of mind your honour,” replied Miss Sherlock with the first tinge of annoyance I’ve ever heard in her voice.

“Overruled. Please continue miss.” I look to the judge. He looks back with those haunted eyes and I know that he feels sorry for me. But he also feels happier. I can see it. He is happy that one more person knows the living hell that is this world. Happy that, with another victim, this town has been torn apart and the reality of the world shown to the naïve people who live here.

“So the accused were known to you?”

“Yes,” I mumbled. “I’d seen them about and had heard rumours about them.”

“Rumours that we have already heard from other witnesses,” stated Miss Sherlock aloud to the courtroom. “Rumours that all but say these two boys hold no respect for women at all.” She said this to the jury as they sat and watched me with a mix of horror, pity and disbelief on their faces.

“Objection! Those rumours have been discounted as hearsay.” Again, I feel guilty. Again, if I had the energy left to dislike anyone, Mr Daniels would be rising to the top of that list. He would never make it to the top though. Not when that space would be held by them.

“Sustained. The jury will disregard prosecutions last comments and council will refrain from bringing them up again.”

“My apologises your honour. Now… Laura. What happened on the night of the 13th?” Miss Sherlock had moved to stand before me and her eyes were cold. She had made a mistake and she knew it. We both knew every mistake she made meant a point in their favour.

The 13th. The night it all happened. When five seconds went on to ruin my life. “I was working the late shift for some extra cash to buy a new dress. Mr Arnold, that’s the owner, was cashing up while I cleaned the grill. We were talking about what had happened earlier.”

“What had happened earlier?”

“Those two had been ordered off the premises by Mr Arnold after trying to grab my breast.” Another memory that makes me tremble with revulsion.

“Let the record show the witness is pointing to both accused. Sorry… keep going please.” Again I see into the professional side of Miss Sherlock. The side where she is a warrior battling to prove a point. I hope she wins. It might give me some peace of mind. Some.

“Mr Arnold got a page from his wife. She was going into labour and was heading to the hospital. He offered me a lift home, but it would take him in the wrong direction. I said I would walk so he could be with his wife.”

“How far is it from your home to the restaurant?”

“About ten minutes if you take a shortcut across the park.” I knew this well for I usually walk that way when I get off shift.

“Why cut across the park at night? Surely it would have occurred to you as being dangerous? Haven’t you heard that there were muggings and attacks in the past?”

“I normally walk across it with my friends. They include a few guys who work the kitchen. Besides,” I say suddenly defensive of my decision to go home the quick way, “there was a recent police action to clean up the park. There hadn’t been an attack of any kind in over three months.”

“How did you know that?” Miss Sherlock asked.

“I wrote an article about it in the school paper.”

“So you were going across the park. What happened?”

“I heard a car.”

“In the park?” Miss Sherlock asked in mock surprise.

“It was driving on the footpath.”

“What make of car?” she added with a slight nod at me that was, I guess, supposed to bolster my confidence for what we both knew was coming up.

“It was an old black pickup truck.”

“The same car that you had seen the two accused driving when they had caused their disturbance earlier?”

“Objection. Leading the witness.”

“Sustained.”

I swear Miss Sherlock almost flinched there as another point in lands their camp.

“Did you recognise the pickup?”

“Yes.”

“How?”

“It was the same one that they had been driving earlier.”

“Keep going Laura. Your doing great.” Miss
Sherlock says that. But I don’t feel like I’m doing so well. Infact, I feel sick to my stomach.

“They stopped the car and got out. I started to run towards the exit but it had been raining earlier in the day and the grass was slippery. As I reached the path, I fell over.”

“You didn’t get injured by falling onto the path?”

“When you play interschool netball and hockey with other girls, you learn how to fall so as not to hurt yourself.”

“Why did you run?”

“I felt scared.” That was a big admission for me. I had once, on a dare, climbed onto the school roof. It was a running joke that I was not scared of anything. Well, except for my head of year. He is just too weird. “They’d been nasty to me earlier. I just wanted to get away.”

“So, you were on the ground and they were approaching?”

“Yes.”

“What did they say and do then?”

“They were laughing at me. Saying…” I have to take a deep breath here, letting it out in a shudder. “…saying things like ‘the stupid whore belongs in the mud’.” I close my eyes against the memory as it all comes washing back. Closing my eyes does nothing but allow the mental pictures to snap into focus and squeeze the tears out. “I tried to get up but I was hit.”

“By what and where?” Miss Sherlock asked with a slight edge to her voice.

“A beer can. They shook it up and threw it at me. It hit between my shoulders.”

“I show the court exhibit F. A picture taken by the A&E staff showing the trauma to the back between the shoulder blades.” As Miss Sherlock held up the picture before the jury and I got my first look at it. I’d not seen any of these before and had only felt the injuries to my body. I hadn’t even looked in a mirror until recently, not wanting to see bruised eyes and cut cheeks looking back. Every time I saw my reflection now though, it was someone else looking back.

The jury looks from the picture to me and back again. I know what they are doing. They are trying to imagine me with that massive bruise on my body. The black, blue, purple and red on my pale skin. Now I feel like an art exhibit.

“This can knocked you back to the ground?”

I nod unable to speak for a moment as my breath gets caught in my throat. Miss Sherlock places a comforting hand on mine as it rests on the highly polished wood banister that runs around the witness box. “Are you okay?” she asks quietly. “Do you need a break?”

“No to both,” I reply. Normally I would have tried to crack a smile. I hadn’t smiled since that day.

“Okay,” Miss Sherlock says at the same time as she breathes heavily out making the word seem more like a sigh. “You were on the ground and hurt?” She was all business-like again.

I nod again. “One of them kicked me in the ribs. I remember screaming in pain and trying to crawl away from them, but they took a hold of my legs and dragged me back to their truck. They… they lifted me onto the back and climbed in too. There were some ropes in the metal case behind the cab which they used to tied my hands together and to the roll bar.”

Each memory coursed like a tidal wave, crashing into my mind. It was a nightmare in every sense of the word. Indeed, I had relived this torment every second of every day since.

I’d been put on powerful tranquillisers to help me sleep without dreaming. They made me sleep but I still dreamed. Only with the pills I couldn’t wake up. I was trapped in my nightmare just like I had been trapped in that pickup.

“They were laughing and calling me names. Then… then… the older one put his hand inside my dress and began to… to… crush my breast. I started to cry for help, but they only hit me.” Emotion now filled my voice and I was crying. Every word was little more than a sob as the remembered pain wracked my body again, as clear and as fresh as when it had happened. “Every time I made a noise they would hit me till I stopped. But I couldn’t stop! The ropes were cutting into my wrists and their hands were everywhere. Pinching, twisting, grabbing…”

“I don’t know which one did it, but they pulled my tights down to my ankles and tore my underwear in half. I was screaming when I saw them lift them up to their face and rub their nose… in… in… I’m sorry,” I plead in one big sob as I shake my head, sending my hair falling into my eyes, my hands hugging me as if I was freezing cold.

“You have nothing to be sorry for honey,” Miss Sherlock replied as she caught a box of tissues that her legal aid her thrown over .

She pulled one tissue out and passed it before my hung head so I could see it. I never even registered it was there. I just talked. “One of them was trying to get inside me. I screamed louder and tried to kick them or anything. But they just used me like a punching bag. Everything went black for a moment and when I came round, they had tied an oily rag in my mouth to stop me from screaming and… Oh god! One of them was going inside me! It hurt. I could feel blood between my legs. He was grunting as he moved in and out. Then he cried out and fell on top of me. He was crushing me and I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t say anything. I just prayed that someone would find me. Would rescue me. But no one came. They swapped over and him, the younger one, was inside me. He wrapped his hands round my throat and was strangling me. I thought I was going to die. He was lying on top of my chest and I couldn’t breathe. He was strangling me and I was going light headed. I could taste oil from the rag in my mouth and I felt like I was going to be sick. The other one rubbed his… he rubbed…” At a loss for words, I gripped the rail before me tight enough that my knuckles ached from the strain.

“He rubbed his penis over your face?” enquired Miss Sherlock.

I looked at her startled that she had put words to the horror that I recalled. I nodded. “Something got into my eye and stung.
Then, just before the world went dark, he fell onto me and let go of my throat.”

It was too much. I broke down into great wracking sobs. I heard a chair scrape. The courtroom was almost silent except for my cries. I could head someone else crying too. That was probably mummy. I’d told them that they should stay away while I did this. I didn’t want them to hear what had happened. But they’d insisted on it. My pain was their pain mummy had said.

“They raped me,” I whispered. “They raped me, they raped me!” I turned it into a cry for god. Why had this happened? “Why me?” I asked no one in particular. Well, maybe god. I was never much of a believer. Now, if he did exist, I cursed his name.

Five seconds it took them to make up their mind that they could get away with their crime. They almost did. I was in hospital in a coma like state for ages. But they hadn’t counted on my godfather. He was a big shot CID officer based in London. He pulled some strings and got assigned to work the case. A bit ethically questionable, but no one was going to stop him He worked for three weeks solid and dug up five times as much evidence as the local police who, incidentally, had a chief inspector who was friendly with their parents.

Five seconds to decide followed by, what I’ve been told, was fifty minutes of a waking nightmare till I was dropped unceremoniously in an alley to die, either from the punctured lung they had inflicted or from shame.

But I survived.

Physically intact to a reasonable degree. I lost my innocence to them and I still have the scars. Some of the wounds required surgery to correct.

I survived.

Emotionally battered and not having smiled, slept peacefully or even really set foot out of the house except to go to the hospital or come here, to court, since.

But I’m still here… For the most part.

I don’t know if the jury will convict those two monsters. I hope they do. It means that my suffering would be worth something if they never got a chance to do it again.

Five seconds… amazing isn’t it?

**********

A rape is reported every 6 minutes somewhere in the United States.

1 in 4 of these is committed by two or more people.

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My thanks to bj_monet for providing the following information in her R&R of my piece.

As a woman and a criminal justice major, I am fully aware of what the dangers are to be walking alone at night. You just don't do it. If you think about it, that crime clock you have at the bottom is inaccurate. The FBI works those
statistics up, and they only know about those rapes that are actually reported to the police. There's a whole lot more lost in what we criminologists like to call "the dark figure." And compared to theft (which happens every 6 secs
according to the FBI) rape is one of the harder crimes to study because the amount of cases that get unreported.

On the other hand, your stats imply too much when you consider that at least 75% of rapes are committed by people well-known to the victim (boyfriend, friend, etc). Stranger-on-stranger attacks like this, thankfully, are rarer. I'm not sure that women should know this or not.
Some, I would think, would develop a false sense of security, which is a dangerous mindset. (As seen by your victim's assertion that a police presence would mean no violence could happen in the park.) In my opinion, though, worse than walking at night alone is getting drunk. In a
majority of rape cases where a college-aged woman was the victim, the victim was under the influence of alcohol or drugs.

Just some thoughts after reading your story. Very
well-done!

-Becky-