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SOME OF THIS INFORMATION BELOW IS DISTURBING. READ WITH DISCRETION.
*Today is an important day. In regards to my attacker�s interview today at Jefferson City Prison, I am confident he will make himself out to be the pathetic individual that he is. All those at Jeff City who don�t know he�s a rapist and a baby molester will know now. I have no doubt he has just dug his own grave. It�s the weird code in prison among men. You kill another man and it�s bad. But you hurt women and children and you are a dead man. Most of these guys got a mother they love and kids they love. An honor code among felons exists.
They hate people like Rod. Rod*ney Lin*coln missed a few court dates because they beat him up so badly. Must�ve been torturous, but nothing compared to what my family went through. I didn�t feel sorry for him. I only felt sorry for his mother.
Yesterday at work, I got this news he was going to be interviewed. I tracked down Mr. Sweatpants and had a mini-panic attack. What am I afraid of anyway? I just guess I worried he might find some subversive way to victimize me again.
Rene� held my hand and comforted me, and told me, �Missy, I won�t leave you. Have faith that things will go well. You�re a child of God and he�s never left you either.�
I cried because I have known always that the incident was much worse than I was ever allowed to know. I also knew the time would come when I would be confronted with the complete and total horror of what he did. I would have to be strong and face it.
Yesterday afternoon, I went home feeling nauseus and shaky. I now know I was moving into an anxiety attack. I changed my clothes and stumbled around looking for my tennies.
I didn't feel like it but I had to go to Petco to get food for my gerbils. I went and the whole time I was very hot and weak.
When I got home, I suddenly felt the need to throw up. But when I hung my head down, only a little came up. I was very hot, very clammy and very weak. All I could think about was him making me look like a liar. Like he hadn't victimized me enough.
I sat down on the floor and told myself, "Melissa, get a hold of yourself." A few deep breaths later, I was fine.
My chance to learn abou the case has finally arrived. This pivotal person called me and said he had something for me. So, last night I went and picked up some very important material regarding the crime and reports from the coroner, the detectives, etc. I went to this person�s house at 9:00 so I wouldn�t be seen and stayed for an hour. This person told me that they had faith that I would come out on top in this situation. Maybe I�m not supposed to have these things, but this was my case and I deserve to know the entire truth.
As I waved to them and walked in the dark to my car, I noticed that this file was very heavy. Was it heavy because emotionally I knew what was inside would be hard to take? Or was it just because so many people worked diligently to make sure not a single clue was missed? I drove home in silence. Curious, every once in a while I�d look at the folder.
It was your regular sort of folder, brown, bound with a ribbon. Nothing spectacular, no notation on the outside about the contents...and yet, it was intimidating because there are certain things you can deny until confronted with infallible truth. The folder occupied the front seat like a whole entire entity of my own; silently tempting me with: �I know things you don�t know..�but I did not give in and pull over.
When I got home I was irked that Rene� wasn�t there yet. This really drives me nuts that he's always late. He knew I was upset. What he didn�t know was that I was starving. �He�d better hurry up, that buttwipe�, I said out loud as I was changing into my pajamas.
I also washed my face, because that�s what I do every night and didn�t want to have to do it after my �light� reading. The folder beckoned me from the couch. I could feel its draw.
After a while, I got pissed that Rene� hadn�t come yet. So, curiosity got the better of me and I ended up picking up the file.
I knew, slowly opening it, that I couldn�t go back to my childish impressions of that night. I knew I was going to read things that would be tough to think about, and I�m sure there would be things I repressed lurking in the file�s pages.
Immediately upon opening the file, I am confronted with Rodn*ey�s picture. I took a deep breath and brought it close to my face so I could study him. I talked to him, saying stuff like �You bastard�, �You coward� and etc. I noted his boyish haircut his short brown hair full and nicely styled, the tan skin, the strong jaw line and rogue good looks, and the big brown puppy dog eyes.
Yes, I saw why Mommy was attracted to him. It scared me to think he looked like someone I�d date. I then remember what I always tell people; child molesters, rapists and killers aren�t all ugly people. Financial status, jobs and even family status are not indicators of one�s true nature. We must listen to our gut feelings. People like him wouldn�t be able to get past our defenses if only we listened to that sixth sense a little more.
After putting down his picture I read reports from the detectives, the courts, interviews. I wasn�t prepared for the statement from the judge who ruled he should rot in prison.
There was a statement that made me gasp; I had repressed two very big things that happened that night.
One: I woke up as my mom was running from him. She had the broom in her already and he stabbed her twice right in front of me. When she was on the floor he proceeded to kick her in the chest.
Two: When he attacked Renee, my baby sister, I actually heard everything. I know this. But what I didn�t know was that the blood hit the floor right next to me. After he slit her throat, he dropped her on the floor next to me and stomped on her. I was hiding under her bed, so I saw everything.
Before he left, he repeatedly checked me and Renee to make sure we were dead. I played dead but Renee was comatose. When we were found, Renee was cold, blue and moribund. That means, Renee was in the throes of death. My baby sister doesn�t know how close she was to death.
I am so appreciative that my mind erased those two horrible memories. If I would�ve remembered my mama struggling to escape him with a broom inside her, and then seeing him stab her, I would be in a mental institution. If I would�ve remembered seeing him brutalize my sister, I�d be crazy.
The mind is a powerful thing.
I was also heartsick over looking at lineup pictures. I remember saying, �that�s the guy who did it.� But when they asked little Renee, who was just four years old, to tell them who the guy in the picture was, she covered her little eyes and cried. No reaction to all sorts of men in line-up pictures, but she sees his and she covers up her little eyes, like his picture could hurt her. That made me cry. I read the reports that he did in fact sever her carotid artery in her neck and she was cut so severely it went from the front of her neck to her vertebrate. That made me sick.
My injuries to my genitals were the worst the head surgeon had ever seen; Rodn*ey Linco*ln raped me with a butcher knife. What kind of life did anyone expect for us to have after that?????????????
You know, even after I did all that research, I didn�t have any nightmares. Course your mind does play tricks on you. I had a feeling Rod*ney Lin*coln was standing by my bed once, but Renee held me all night long so I wasn�t too scared.
I so appreciate him staying over. I wasn�t terrified once.
I�m sure for the rest of my life I�ll have these �Apt Pupil� moments. That�s what I call them. I�m sure as some Jews can visualize Hitler just like that; I too am occasionally assaulted by images of Rod*ney Linc*oln in my mind. Pure evil. The same blankness (or lack of soul) was also in Rodn*ey�s eyes. He was an instrument of evil.
12:33 p.m. - 2003-06-24
Recent entries:
What you missed - January 16, 2012
%%older_entries%%From hell - October 19, 2010
%%older_entries%%a rant from a few weeks ago - August 17, 2010
%%older_entries%%Tired - June 20, 2010
%%older_entries%%A beautiful lie - March 11, 2010
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