“All rise!”
Those were the only
words I heard. Everything else the judge said after that was lost in the
questions racing through my brain. What if no one believed
me? What if they thought it was my fault? What if he walked
away a free man?
Nancy startled me out of
my thoughts. “Dasi, you’re up,” she whispered.
I looked up, and saw the
judge watching me expectantly. I took a deep breath and approached the
witness stand. Once I was sworn in, I sat down, and Nancy smiled at me encouragingly.
“Good morning, Ms. S,”
she said.
I smiled
back. “Good morning.”
“Now, I know this is
going to be difficult for you, but please explain to the court exactly what
happened on the night of December 18.”
As if on autopilot, I
began to speak. Nancy had told me to stick to the facts, so I told my
story about that night. I talked about the work party, the drinking,
being approached to continue “partying” afterwards. Without looking at
the defense table, I then described how I was attacked. I could feel the
tears threatening, but I stared straight ahead and willed them not to
fall.
“He hit me. Over and over. He kept
saying ‘shut up, bitch.’ I was screaming and crying and trying to fight, but
I couldn’t. I couldn’t make him stop.” My voice shook and I cleared
my throat. “Then Jesus walked in. I kept screaming, begging him to
help me. But he didn’t. The defendant yelled something at him in
Spanish, and he left. He just left.”
I explained how once I
got out, I was disoriented and panicked. How I called the police and went
to the hospital. And finally, how I was able to identify my attacker.
“And is the individual
who attacked you here today?” Nancy asked gently.
My heart pounded as I
sought out his face. He was staring ahead impassively, like he had better
things to do. Like none of this mattered. I pointed my finger
directly at him and said, “Him. That is the man who raped me.”
He glanced my way
and gave a dismissive smirk, then looked away again. A wave of rage
surged through me. That asshole took something from me, he beat me, he
changed my life forever… yet he acted as though he had not a care in the
world. Well, I was going to rock his world to the core. I was going
to make sure his new world consisted of a concrete cell for a long, long time.
“Let the record show
that the witness has identified the defendant as her attacker,” Nancy
stated. The she turned back to the judge. “No further questions.”
The defense attorney
then stood. He approached the stand almost tentatively, and then
stopped. He smiled my way and nodded a greeting.
I nodded back. But
alarms were going off in my head. Nancy had told me to not let my guard
down. To not get upset, and to stay as calm as possible no matter what
happened. But the attorney standing in front of me now was wearing a
condescending grin that chilled me to the bone.
“Ms. S, it seems as
though you had a very – interesting night,” he began.
I opened my mouth
to speak, but Nancy shot me a stern look. Only respond to
questions, she had warned me.
“Isn’t it true that you
had been drinking substantially before you even saw the defendant?”
“Yes, but –“
“And isn’t it true that
you were flirting and laughing with not only the defendant, but with almost all
the men you came into contact with that night?”
I knit my brows and
shook my head slightly. “No.”
“You weren’t?”
“No,” I replied again,
more forcefully.
“But you came to the
party without your boyfriend. You came wearing tight jeans and a low-cut
sweater with the intention of having a good time without him, isn’t that true?”
I looked at Nancy.
“Objection!” she said
angrily.
“Sustained.”
The attorney paused for
a moment, then started again. “Did your boyfriend attend the party with
you?”
“No.”
“Were you angry with him
for not going?”
“No.”
“You weren’t?”
he raised his eyebrows in mock surprise. “He blew you off just as you
were about to go, and you weren’t angry?”
“Objection – asked and
answered.”
“Sustained.”
“Isn’t it true that you
were looking for a way to get back at your boyfriend, and having intercourse
with my client was the perfect way to do so?”
I was stunned.
“What? NO!” I said angrily. “He BEAT me! I was yelling
for him to STOP!”
The courtroom erupted as
the judge pounded his gavel. Nancy shot me a look, and I tried to regain
my composure.
“Ms. S, I know this is
difficult, but please limit your responses to yes or no,” the judge admonished,
not unkindly.
“I’m sorry, your Honor,”
I said meekly.
“You may continue,” he
told the defense attorney.
I sat there like a
statue as the questions rained down like bullets. Do you normally just
wander off with strangers? How much did you have to drink? Isn’t it
true you went with them for the promise of drugs? Are you a drug
addict? Was your sweater showing cleavage? Did you wear more makeup
than you usually wore? How can you be so sure of what happened when you
were quite obviously impaired?
“I’m sure,” I responded
flatly.
“But you couldn’t even
identify the apartment you were in when the police arrived. Maybe you had
intercourse with my client, then regretted it, and made up this whole scenario
in your head so your boyfriend wouldn’t break up with you,” he reasoned.
I couldn’t even
formulate an answer. I just sat there with my mouth open. There
were pictures of my bruised face, there was physical evidence, there were the
nightmares I would probably have for the rest of my life… but he was
suggesting that somehow I made this up?
“Ms. S, were you wearing
a belt that night?”
“Yes.”
“Did you at any point in
the evening take that belt off?”
“No. Well, I didn’t
take it off,” I clarified.
“So you are implying
that my client took it off, is that correct?”
“Well, yes,” I answered
cautiously, not sure where this was going.
“And when you said you
were struggling, how were you struggling? Were you kicking?”
“Yes.”
“Were you punching?”
“I was trying to, yes.”
“You were trying
to. Can you explain what you mean by that?”
“Well, he was pinning my
arms down. So it was hard to move them.”
He turned to me
intently. “He was ‘pinning your arms down.’”
“Yes.”
“With his arms?”
“I believe so, yes.”
“And you were kicking
the whole time as well?”
“Yes…” I answered
carefully.
“So how did he get your
belt undone if he was using his arms to pin your arms down and you were kicking
at him the whole time?”
“OBJECTION!” Nancy
roared.
“Overruled,” the judge
responded. “Please answer the question.”
“I don’t know,” I
responded. I felt the tears finally start to roll down my cheeks.
“I don’t know how he did it. All I know is that it happened. Yes, I
was drunk, yes, I shouldn’t have gone there… but it happened.”
“No further questions.”
I walked back to my seat
on shaky legs, and felt deflated. They don’t believe me, I
thought. Nancy put her hand on my arm protectively, and we waited.
The judge had gone back into chambers to make his decision.
“You did fine,” Nancy
told me.
I looked at her
sadly. “I don’t think so. They don’t believe me.”
Her eyes locked on
mine. “I believe you. They will, too. That
attorney is an asshole.”
I laughed in spite of
myself.
“All rise!”
I focused on the judge
while my mind spun. “Sufficient evidence.” “Case will be
set for trial.” “Remand the defendant to custody.”
Did we win?
Nancy was squeezing my
hand tightly, and I saw the officers taking out their handcuffs. Morcos
shot me a look of pure hate and I could barely hear the click of the cuffs as
they were snapped on his wrists. But it was the sound of that click that
washed relief throughout my whole body.
I watched him escorted
out of the courtroom and then hugged Nancy. “Thank you,” I said
emotionally.
“It was all you,
honey. The next step is trial. But I know you’ll do fine.”
She smiled at me. “You were very brave. And very sympathetic.
You just continue to be who you are, and we’ll get him permanently locked up.”
I smiled back, and
laughed inside. Be who I am? I thought. Sometimes
I wasn’t even sure who that was anymore.
