Dreaming Dreams
For a moment time stood still. I was sitting in an unfamiliar room, unsure of where to go or what to do. I was being held prisoner, my soul felt heavy and weak. I was talking to a man, someone I felt I should have known. We were deciding in our own minds to get the little girl out. She was small, fragile, blonde, and completely innocent. The kind of little girl you see in commercials talking about juice or cookies, something that concerned a little girl. This didn't. She had no reason to be there except that our captor wanted to ruin her life. I was older, old enough to know that this girl needed help more than all the both of us combined. He had her in his room. My mind didn't even want to consider what he was doing. We waited until he left. We never saw him, we didn't know what he looked like, but I knew he was evil and I had to help that little girl. After he left, the man with me broke down the door, breaking the lock.
The girl was laying in a crib that had bars reaching far above her. The room was perfect, spotless, as was the crib she was in. We walked over to her and the man got her out. We looked into her eyes, and somehow we could see that she was okay, she hadn't been abused in any way. Her perfect golden locks of hair ringed around her face as she smiled a pure smile at us. She looked as if she knew God had sent her two angels to save her.
The man began to make his way out of the room, for some reason I stayed behind, looking over every inch of the room. I didn't want to miss a thing, maybe I was looking for someone else. Maybe I thought there was another little girl in the room. I walked out of the room after my curiousity was filled, and went back into the little hell hole the man and I had been staying in. White walls, dingy, but white. The whole house looked like a run downed abandoned house except for that one room. I don't remember what the outside looked like, either it had been so long since I had seen it, or I never saw it. As I was leaving, I heard him, our captor, now just my captor. The others had escaped. I quickly ran to a corner of the room where a dirty, worn out matress layed. It was disgusting looking, the kind of thing you would expect bed bugs to be on. I didn't care at the time, I just layed down and pretended to be asleep.
The captor came up the stairs and into the room. He saw the broken lock, but he didn't get angry. He was in control, he was the master, and I was the only slave left. He turned to me, and thought that I really was asleep. I'm not sure why he thought I could have slept through something like that, but he did. He grabbed me up, lifting me off of the matress and taking me into his room. He layed me in the crib where he had the little girl. I didn't get a good look at his face until I was in the bed. It was a bigger bed, the same one, just bigger. I felt like a small child, my mentality hadn't changed though. Maybe I felt like a scared child, but I knew I was still an adult and had to act like one. The captor asked me where the little girl went.
"I don't know... I don't know who did it." I told him.
"I do." He said as he fiddled with something on a desk.
I layed in silence, unable to lift my head from this overcoming feeling of weakness.
The man turned towards me and I got my first look at his face. He looked like any other ordinary person. Medium build, rather short, and bald with glasses. But there was something that set him apart from every other man. He was intrenched with evil. His calm demenor and the planning involved scared me senseless. I looked into his eyes, trying to find a trace of compassion, but there was none.
"She's just a little girl, she needed help." I told him.
"All little girls are evil."
My niece walked into my bedroom and I woke up startled and completely horrified.
"Hi KK." She said as she turned and left the room.
I looked around the room, taking in my real surroundings, making sure I wasn't still in that room with him. I knew why I had the dream, I even knew that this was my subconsciences telling me I should have done more. But how? I didn't remember much about him. I had told the police everything I knew, and from what I understood it was a damn good match to the man they suspected.
My real attacker, my real captor was now far beyond my reach.
I sat up in bed, rubbing my hand over my face. That day it all happened played back in my mind.
"You shouldn't take all of this." My mother told me early one weekday.
"I need to sleep." I told her.
"I know, but this... well, I just wish you wouldn't."
"I'll be fine," I said with a forced smile.
I didn't feel like smiling, I didn't feel like being lectured, so I took the handfull of pills that would put me out of my misery.
For years I had struggled with drugs and suicidal ideation. I didn't care what happened to me anymore. I just wanted to be numb.
I woke up, hours later feeling sludged and broken hearted. It was a familiar feeling, one I felt every day, all day.
I began to get up off of the chair and felt that something wasn't right. Looking down to the floor below me, I saw my underwear laying there. I thought that I must have taken them off in my sleep. Not thinking too much of it, I got up and went to the bathroom. I made the fatal mistake of wiping myself with a wet cloth after I was done. I just felt completely unclean on every level. I got up and decided to attempt to try and fix my hair. I ran my fingers in my short auburn hair, and as I did, I saw something most unsetteling. There was a bruise on my right arm- in the shape of a hand and fingers. I let out a screech and ran out of the bathroom. I didn't know what the hell I was going to do, or what was going on. I tried to calm myself down, thinking that it was just something else. How could it have been finger prints? No one was in the house.
I got the mail from our inside mail slot and took it the table. My mother always left a basket out to catch the mail as it came in, so I usually just grapped the mail basket because we get a crap load of it. I got the mail out of the basket and sat it on the table. When I went back to put the basket back... the front door was open. I hadn't done that, I knew I hadn't. Suddenly it all started to come together. The memories began to unload and fill my mind. Bits and pieces of things I had seen while in my deep sleep. It only got worse as time went on.
I grabbed the phone. First I called my mother, when she said she couldn't get out of work for awhile, I called my best-friend who told me she would soon be on her way. Once again I dialed my mothers work number and told her I would be leaving with my friend.
"Good, just get out of the house." She demanded.
I walked outside, closing and locking the door behind me. I paced up and down the street for atleast an hour, no one came. My knees started to buckle under me, so I tried to sit down on the pavement. It didn't help. I got back up and started to look down the street both ways. Eventually, I saw my mom coming down the road to get me.
I didn't have anything with me, no purse, no I.D., nothing. Quickly, I got into the car and started to sob even more than I had been.
"What happened?" My mother asked.
"Someone was in the house, I think... I think they attacked me." I told her.
"What?!" She gasped.
"I don't know, I only remember a little bit." I said.
"We need to go to the hospital then." She told me after seeing my bruise.
"Please Moma, don't make me go!" I pleaded.
"Honey, you need to. It'll help you." She told me.
I was weary of the police, my brother had always told me they were bad and only there to hurt people, not help. But I was a scared child, I wanted some form of help, I was willing to put up with them.
We got to the E.R. and my mom came in with me to help explain what had happened.
They quickly got me into a room and told me they had called the police and they were going to send in an examiner to do a rap kit. I was horrified, mortified, every kind of "fied" there is.
The police came in before the examiner.
"Okay, can you tell us what happened?" The policeman asked me.
I didn't want to, I didn't trust men in any way. My father was an abusive bastard, and my brother was a loser, con-artist, and drug runner. Not great male role models for a young girl.
I began to explain anyway.
I told them about the underwear and the door being open... but they wanted more than that. They wanted my memory which was never completely reliable, especially when medicated to that degree.
I gave a description as best I could. I can barely remember that now. He was leaning over top of me, smiling an evil smile, the kind that sends chills down your spine. Red hair, skinny, medium build, and a scar placed over his eye. It's so hard for me to remember, and I'm not sure why. Maybe my mind can't deal with it and I've shoved it away. Maybe it's because I was drugged off my ass. Who knows...
I wish I did in a way, part of me wants to remember, the other half tells me to leave it alone.
The police took the description and asked me if I could remember anything he said.
I did, but as soon as it registered, I didn't want to talk anymore. He had threatened me, he had threatened "the girls". I'm not sure how he knew about them, or maybe he knew my brother. But somehow he knew about my nieces and them spending time here. I was horrified and didn't want to say anymore. However, they made me tell them. Not with torture or abuse, but with emotional stress. What if he did it to someone else? What if he would come back? I didn't have any answers, only more questions.
I told them everything, I was completely honest. I let them into my house and let them search through every damn thing I owned. They were free to do as they pleased.
After the police left the examiner came in and did the rape kit. I was in horrible shape, which I suppose is to be expected. I stopped the woman half way through and asked if I was allowed to stop this.
"Of course you are, but it won't help you or the police." She said in a stern tone.
My mother urged me to go ahead with it. The pain was awful and I felt so degraded. How could this happen to me?
I layed in the bed, my knees bent in the sturrups and my pride bleeding out from under me.
She had me stand and went over every inch of me with a blue light that could detect seamen or any kind of fluids.
I don't know if she found anything, I don't think she did. In my heart I knew there would be no evidence, he would get away with this and come back to get me.
After all of that, I went home with my mother and saw the police crawling all over the place. I was so embarassed, all of the neighbors would know now...
My neighbor to the right of us found out what had happened and he joined the police looking for some kind of evidence. You could hear him muttering obscenities up and down his drive way.
A detail I found out later was that the gate to our backyard was opened. Now, this may seem like an extremely minute detail, but if you would consider what it took him to open it. We have a latch on it and a lock inside the bottom. We had made the gate in order for our neighbor to go in and out easily from the backyard.
We got rid of the chair, it was broken anyway, so no great loss. It's still in the basement, as if we're expecting it to fix itself. I wouldn't sit in it again for all the money in the world.
My mother was angry and in extreme denial about what had happened. But when she saw the back gate unlocked, she knew it was true.
I can't blame her for any of it, I can't say I wouldn't react the same way.
I sat with my shoes on for awhile. I was afraid he would come back and I would have to run. I didn't want to take a chance.
A day or so later I saw the man in the backyard. He was outside of the gate, peering in. I screamed and he ran. I tried to call the dective about it, but he wasn't in. He told me to call him if anything happened, but he never returned my call. It wasn't my fault.
I was soon alone again in the house. I didn't want anyone to help me. I didn't want anyone around me.
I woke up, most likely after having a seizure or black out, and found scratches on my stomach. They weren't tiny scratches, and now that I think back on it, it probably was me who did it. I have been known to hallucinate and do things to myself I normally wouldn't do if I were aware and awake. I had cut myself before, I had attempted suicide. I had lifted a damn cabinet off of the wall and held it for several minutes without knowing I did it. I wasn't the picture of mental health. Those were hard times for me. You can say it was a hallucination, you can tell me that no rape took place, that it was all in my mind. But I picked that bastards picture out of a photo aray and it matched this guy to a T. How could I have done that? How could I have these feelings and the scent of it stuck in my nose for over a year. I'll never forget that face and I'll never forget that smell. Stale cigarettes mixed with an awful cologne.
That day, I called the police on my mothers advice. I was paranoid out of my skull and wanted some answers. I expected to get them, but all I was treated with was hostility. I didn't do this on purpose, I didn't ask for it! I just wanted help.
"You probably know my brother." I told the on-duty officer.
I told him my brother's name and he immediately took offense to something I couldn't control. A damn name turned me into a liar.
"If you tell me what really happened, I won't press criminal charges." The man told me.
"Are you kidding?" I gasped.
"No... but you really do need to come clean, now."
"Get the fuck out! Get the fuck out!" I screamed at him.
They left as my mother arrived. He told her that they had been kicked out and had threatend me with criminal charges. If they found any evidence of me lying- they'd press charges.
I didn't care because I knew I wasn't lying.
The scratches on my stomach became "cat scratches", the officer told me.
I had lost my mind and it wasn't going to get better any time soon.
I am still angry with the police. I know they dropped my case the minute they heard my brothers name. Political, pias, arrogant bastards who think they can come into my home and call me a liar. That was the last time I spoke with them, the last time I told them anything. I will never call on them for help, I don't give a shit if I'm near death. I'll kill the son-of-a-bitch before I call them. That way they'll have their proof that he really did try to hurt me.
I don't really know what I've learned about myself or the people around me. I don't think I really learned a lesson besides closing and locking my doors and windows. I am terrified of people. Rarely do I come out of my house and around people. I am not even close to trusting anymore. There's no need for it. Never will I sit in my house in complete ease and comfort. I will never again trust police or the people around me. What have I learned? To become a recluse and hide in my hole. It's a sad existance and I'm still dreaming and thinking about it. I don't know when it'll end, if it ever does.
The girl was laying in a crib that had bars reaching far above her. The room was perfect, spotless, as was the crib she was in. We walked over to her and the man got her out. We looked into her eyes, and somehow we could see that she was okay, she hadn't been abused in any way. Her perfect golden locks of hair ringed around her face as she smiled a pure smile at us. She looked as if she knew God had sent her two angels to save her.
The man began to make his way out of the room, for some reason I stayed behind, looking over every inch of the room. I didn't want to miss a thing, maybe I was looking for someone else. Maybe I thought there was another little girl in the room. I walked out of the room after my curiousity was filled, and went back into the little hell hole the man and I had been staying in. White walls, dingy, but white. The whole house looked like a run downed abandoned house except for that one room. I don't remember what the outside looked like, either it had been so long since I had seen it, or I never saw it. As I was leaving, I heard him, our captor, now just my captor. The others had escaped. I quickly ran to a corner of the room where a dirty, worn out matress layed. It was disgusting looking, the kind of thing you would expect bed bugs to be on. I didn't care at the time, I just layed down and pretended to be asleep.
The captor came up the stairs and into the room. He saw the broken lock, but he didn't get angry. He was in control, he was the master, and I was the only slave left. He turned to me, and thought that I really was asleep. I'm not sure why he thought I could have slept through something like that, but he did. He grabbed me up, lifting me off of the matress and taking me into his room. He layed me in the crib where he had the little girl. I didn't get a good look at his face until I was in the bed. It was a bigger bed, the same one, just bigger. I felt like a small child, my mentality hadn't changed though. Maybe I felt like a scared child, but I knew I was still an adult and had to act like one. The captor asked me where the little girl went.
"I don't know... I don't know who did it." I told him.
"I do." He said as he fiddled with something on a desk.
I layed in silence, unable to lift my head from this overcoming feeling of weakness.
The man turned towards me and I got my first look at his face. He looked like any other ordinary person. Medium build, rather short, and bald with glasses. But there was something that set him apart from every other man. He was intrenched with evil. His calm demenor and the planning involved scared me senseless. I looked into his eyes, trying to find a trace of compassion, but there was none.
"She's just a little girl, she needed help." I told him.
"All little girls are evil."
My niece walked into my bedroom and I woke up startled and completely horrified.
"Hi KK." She said as she turned and left the room.
I looked around the room, taking in my real surroundings, making sure I wasn't still in that room with him. I knew why I had the dream, I even knew that this was my subconsciences telling me I should have done more. But how? I didn't remember much about him. I had told the police everything I knew, and from what I understood it was a damn good match to the man they suspected.
My real attacker, my real captor was now far beyond my reach.
I sat up in bed, rubbing my hand over my face. That day it all happened played back in my mind.
"You shouldn't take all of this." My mother told me early one weekday.
"I need to sleep." I told her.
"I know, but this... well, I just wish you wouldn't."
"I'll be fine," I said with a forced smile.
I didn't feel like smiling, I didn't feel like being lectured, so I took the handfull of pills that would put me out of my misery.
For years I had struggled with drugs and suicidal ideation. I didn't care what happened to me anymore. I just wanted to be numb.
I woke up, hours later feeling sludged and broken hearted. It was a familiar feeling, one I felt every day, all day.
I began to get up off of the chair and felt that something wasn't right. Looking down to the floor below me, I saw my underwear laying there. I thought that I must have taken them off in my sleep. Not thinking too much of it, I got up and went to the bathroom. I made the fatal mistake of wiping myself with a wet cloth after I was done. I just felt completely unclean on every level. I got up and decided to attempt to try and fix my hair. I ran my fingers in my short auburn hair, and as I did, I saw something most unsetteling. There was a bruise on my right arm- in the shape of a hand and fingers. I let out a screech and ran out of the bathroom. I didn't know what the hell I was going to do, or what was going on. I tried to calm myself down, thinking that it was just something else. How could it have been finger prints? No one was in the house.
I got the mail from our inside mail slot and took it the table. My mother always left a basket out to catch the mail as it came in, so I usually just grapped the mail basket because we get a crap load of it. I got the mail out of the basket and sat it on the table. When I went back to put the basket back... the front door was open. I hadn't done that, I knew I hadn't. Suddenly it all started to come together. The memories began to unload and fill my mind. Bits and pieces of things I had seen while in my deep sleep. It only got worse as time went on.
I grabbed the phone. First I called my mother, when she said she couldn't get out of work for awhile, I called my best-friend who told me she would soon be on her way. Once again I dialed my mothers work number and told her I would be leaving with my friend.
"Good, just get out of the house." She demanded.
I walked outside, closing and locking the door behind me. I paced up and down the street for atleast an hour, no one came. My knees started to buckle under me, so I tried to sit down on the pavement. It didn't help. I got back up and started to look down the street both ways. Eventually, I saw my mom coming down the road to get me.
I didn't have anything with me, no purse, no I.D., nothing. Quickly, I got into the car and started to sob even more than I had been.
"What happened?" My mother asked.
"Someone was in the house, I think... I think they attacked me." I told her.
"What?!" She gasped.
"I don't know, I only remember a little bit." I said.
"We need to go to the hospital then." She told me after seeing my bruise.
"Please Moma, don't make me go!" I pleaded.
"Honey, you need to. It'll help you." She told me.
I was weary of the police, my brother had always told me they were bad and only there to hurt people, not help. But I was a scared child, I wanted some form of help, I was willing to put up with them.
We got to the E.R. and my mom came in with me to help explain what had happened.
They quickly got me into a room and told me they had called the police and they were going to send in an examiner to do a rap kit. I was horrified, mortified, every kind of "fied" there is.
The police came in before the examiner.
"Okay, can you tell us what happened?" The policeman asked me.
I didn't want to, I didn't trust men in any way. My father was an abusive bastard, and my brother was a loser, con-artist, and drug runner. Not great male role models for a young girl.
I began to explain anyway.
I told them about the underwear and the door being open... but they wanted more than that. They wanted my memory which was never completely reliable, especially when medicated to that degree.
I gave a description as best I could. I can barely remember that now. He was leaning over top of me, smiling an evil smile, the kind that sends chills down your spine. Red hair, skinny, medium build, and a scar placed over his eye. It's so hard for me to remember, and I'm not sure why. Maybe my mind can't deal with it and I've shoved it away. Maybe it's because I was drugged off my ass. Who knows...
I wish I did in a way, part of me wants to remember, the other half tells me to leave it alone.
The police took the description and asked me if I could remember anything he said.
I did, but as soon as it registered, I didn't want to talk anymore. He had threatened me, he had threatened "the girls". I'm not sure how he knew about them, or maybe he knew my brother. But somehow he knew about my nieces and them spending time here. I was horrified and didn't want to say anymore. However, they made me tell them. Not with torture or abuse, but with emotional stress. What if he did it to someone else? What if he would come back? I didn't have any answers, only more questions.
I told them everything, I was completely honest. I let them into my house and let them search through every damn thing I owned. They were free to do as they pleased.
After the police left the examiner came in and did the rape kit. I was in horrible shape, which I suppose is to be expected. I stopped the woman half way through and asked if I was allowed to stop this.
"Of course you are, but it won't help you or the police." She said in a stern tone.
My mother urged me to go ahead with it. The pain was awful and I felt so degraded. How could this happen to me?
I layed in the bed, my knees bent in the sturrups and my pride bleeding out from under me.
She had me stand and went over every inch of me with a blue light that could detect seamen or any kind of fluids.
I don't know if she found anything, I don't think she did. In my heart I knew there would be no evidence, he would get away with this and come back to get me.
After all of that, I went home with my mother and saw the police crawling all over the place. I was so embarassed, all of the neighbors would know now...
My neighbor to the right of us found out what had happened and he joined the police looking for some kind of evidence. You could hear him muttering obscenities up and down his drive way.
A detail I found out later was that the gate to our backyard was opened. Now, this may seem like an extremely minute detail, but if you would consider what it took him to open it. We have a latch on it and a lock inside the bottom. We had made the gate in order for our neighbor to go in and out easily from the backyard.
We got rid of the chair, it was broken anyway, so no great loss. It's still in the basement, as if we're expecting it to fix itself. I wouldn't sit in it again for all the money in the world.
My mother was angry and in extreme denial about what had happened. But when she saw the back gate unlocked, she knew it was true.
I can't blame her for any of it, I can't say I wouldn't react the same way.
I sat with my shoes on for awhile. I was afraid he would come back and I would have to run. I didn't want to take a chance.
A day or so later I saw the man in the backyard. He was outside of the gate, peering in. I screamed and he ran. I tried to call the dective about it, but he wasn't in. He told me to call him if anything happened, but he never returned my call. It wasn't my fault.
I was soon alone again in the house. I didn't want anyone to help me. I didn't want anyone around me.
I woke up, most likely after having a seizure or black out, and found scratches on my stomach. They weren't tiny scratches, and now that I think back on it, it probably was me who did it. I have been known to hallucinate and do things to myself I normally wouldn't do if I were aware and awake. I had cut myself before, I had attempted suicide. I had lifted a damn cabinet off of the wall and held it for several minutes without knowing I did it. I wasn't the picture of mental health. Those were hard times for me. You can say it was a hallucination, you can tell me that no rape took place, that it was all in my mind. But I picked that bastards picture out of a photo aray and it matched this guy to a T. How could I have done that? How could I have these feelings and the scent of it stuck in my nose for over a year. I'll never forget that face and I'll never forget that smell. Stale cigarettes mixed with an awful cologne.
That day, I called the police on my mothers advice. I was paranoid out of my skull and wanted some answers. I expected to get them, but all I was treated with was hostility. I didn't do this on purpose, I didn't ask for it! I just wanted help.
"You probably know my brother." I told the on-duty officer.
I told him my brother's name and he immediately took offense to something I couldn't control. A damn name turned me into a liar.
"If you tell me what really happened, I won't press criminal charges." The man told me.
"Are you kidding?" I gasped.
"No... but you really do need to come clean, now."
"Get the fuck out! Get the fuck out!" I screamed at him.
They left as my mother arrived. He told her that they had been kicked out and had threatend me with criminal charges. If they found any evidence of me lying- they'd press charges.
I didn't care because I knew I wasn't lying.
The scratches on my stomach became "cat scratches", the officer told me.
I had lost my mind and it wasn't going to get better any time soon.
I am still angry with the police. I know they dropped my case the minute they heard my brothers name. Political, pias, arrogant bastards who think they can come into my home and call me a liar. That was the last time I spoke with them, the last time I told them anything. I will never call on them for help, I don't give a shit if I'm near death. I'll kill the son-of-a-bitch before I call them. That way they'll have their proof that he really did try to hurt me.
I don't really know what I've learned about myself or the people around me. I don't think I really learned a lesson besides closing and locking my doors and windows. I am terrified of people. Rarely do I come out of my house and around people. I am not even close to trusting anymore. There's no need for it. Never will I sit in my house in complete ease and comfort. I will never again trust police or the people around me. What have I learned? To become a recluse and hide in my hole. It's a sad existance and I'm still dreaming and thinking about it. I don't know when it'll end, if it ever does.
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