The Rape the Radio, The Shock

The Rape the Radio, The Shock

I had just bathed and fed my son and tucked him in for the night when my husband arrived home, late as usual. He came in and stood in front of the wall heater. I looked at him and my throat closed and I felt queasy. What had he done? His face was covered in scratch marks and his eyes were glassy. He had a smirky grin on his face that gave me the creeps. He had that look of a high state of arousal. When you see it you can't un-see it. It is unmistakable. How dare he come home looking like that with no attempt to cover it up? Was this some sort of defiant bragging or was he really that out of it. The only words I could muster were  "what is that on your face?"  I followed him as he went in to wash up and his chest and back shoulders were also marked up. Was I really seeing this? It was a bad dream a horror movie standing right in front of me! Could this be happening to me? Maybe if I blinked it would disappear. I knew what it looked like but my mind wouldn't accept it. There had to be some mistake. I wasn't able to put together the other 3 warning signs of rape before this one in order to form a pattern. My head was spinning with possible reasons or scenarios that were more palatable than this but unfortunately my instincts would not let me deny this. He tried to lie his way out of it by saying he was involved in a bar fight and some GUY with long fingernails had scratched him. I knew it was a lie. I wasn't street smart, as they say, but I could figure out that this looked more like rough sex or rape than guys fighting. All the air had been sucked out of the room. I had been gut punched and the wind was knocked out of me. I was staggering through life for a few days. It was never mentioned again. He acted as if nothing had happened.

Behind his back, I asked around if anyone knew of a fight at the bar on that night. I only asked people he didn't know who had friends that drank there. Nobody could remember any bar fights or altercations on that evening. My guts told me that this was bad, very bad. Still, I had no proof.

In a few weeks he was sulking and withdrawn, like he did now and then. I was learning that these episodes were a 'tell' that he had broken the rules or gone too far with risky behavior. I hadn't yet decided that he was a serial rapist but I was learning to read him more effectively. Sure enough, he went out and bought a little fishing boat and a car rack for it and went fishing. I didn't think much about it until he displayed the fish on a board like trophies and then sat by them, in a distant and brooding state. Then, to top that off, he asked me to take pictures of him posed by his fish display. I was sure he was nuts! These compulsions give him a sense of short-term relief to his anxiety or fear. This ritual of withdrawing and the repetitive pattern of becoming over involved with some other more conventional "hobby" after the crime were his remedy to replace the bad deeds with good deeds. This is not to be mistaken for guilt or remorse. He had none of that; he just wanted relief for himself. It was disgusting to see and I was getting sicker and sicker as my pre-eclampsia was back in full swing. I couldn't remember anything I had done to warrant this mess. Me?, living with a rapist and murderer? I had to accept that I just didn't have any options for change right now. No available options spell danger and I was deep in it.

Doctor visits were important right now since my water retention was increasing. I had to see him every couple of weeks. We were into September now and the Dr. was getting more worried about me with every appointment. He decided that I should have a fetal age x-ray done. I saw my baby for the first time on a large 14x17 film. I was so happy and I was so glad that I had made it this far with everything else that was going on. She was all there in beautiful form with all of her fingers and toes. It was love. The Dr. wanted me to get on bed rest for the remainder of my pregnancy because he wanted me to carry her as long as I could. I would go home and call my mother to see when and if she could come over and help me.


On the way home I decided to turn on the car radio. In a short second there was an announcement of a rape and murder in my area. This had happened recently and in a location that my husband frequented. He used to say he was training the dogs to hunt there and sometimes he even took his shotgun. A few times he would ask me to go with him and those excursions left me bored and nervous. I stayed way behind the gun but nothing would have prevented him from turning around and shooting me. There was nothing up there but a clearing on top of a hill. I always thought it was a strange place to spend time practicing hunting without a target. I didn't like the vibes. Now, I was frustrated because I had missed most of the information about the actual assault. I tried for days to get more news on it without raising his suspicions and nothing came up. I could never find any more about it. I needed to know. It seemed that he was always one step ahead of me. I trusted that if he was guilty of this that the police would catch up to him. This was too close for comfort especially if I did decide to call the police. If they investigated him and he hadn't done anything that might bring a penalty I was not prepared to meet. He might kill me for calling.  If what had happened a few weeks ago with my husband was incomprehensible, this was certainly guaranteed to scramble rational thought. Every day I was thinking the unthinkable. What would we do if he had killed someone? Did I marry a murderer? Am I bearing his children? These questions would never be answered. The police never came to question him; there were no inquiries of any kind. There were plenty of clues but nothing tangible. Those scratch marks are indelible in my mind and would be there forever. There certainly was some reason for them. I knew I wasn't crazy but I could be wrongly accusing him. Or could I?