The Vengeance of Erin

TO THE READER: Although this story is written from the point of view of Erin Benning, its primary characters are Erin Benning and Jason Garrett. Therefore, I consider it to be part of the Jason Garrett series.

February 11th, 2005

It was February. It was cold. It was late. It was dark. It was the Fresno State campus.

I shouldn't have been out at that time of night. However, I had been helping my friends Tara and Andrea with their Form & Analysis homework. It was a particular bitch of an assignment, and I ended up not leaving their dorm until almost 11:30.

I knew I should've driven. Woulda, shoulda, coulda. The fact of the matter was, I didn't, and now I was walking across campus to my apartment.

As I walked across the campus, I pulled my coat tight around me to try to reduce my shivering. I passed by the music building, as I usually did at night. It was always well lit from the interior. However, I also usually walked past at no later than 9:00.

And as a result, just as I was walking past, the night janitor switched off the hallway lights, sending the music building to pitch black. This sucked. I could barely see in front of me. All I could see was the parking lot lights at the end of the path.

I increased my pace and kept walking. I was about fifty feet from the end of the building when I got hit by a freight train.

A MagLite came out of nowhere and clobbered me in the face. I staggered backwards, and lost my balance. I fell backwards, and landed on my ass. I tried to stand back up, but as I did so, I was backhanded across the face. I fell again, this time scraping my face on the sidewalk.

Oh no

, I thought to myself.

This can't be what I think it is.

I grabbed my purse and started digging around inside it for my pepper spray. I had my hand on the canister and was about to pull it out when my attacker grabbed the purse and flung it into the blackness.

Okay, plan B. "Please," I said. "My money's in my purse. Take what ever you want, just don't hurt me."

A rough, grating voice replied. "Oh, no, Erin Benning," the attacker laughed.

Oh shit, he knows my name.

"I don't want your money. I want something much better."

Oh God. I'm going to be raped.

This was something that I had feared since my cousin Maria was raped in Italy six years ago, but when it never happened, I began to let up my fear. But now it was happening.

I tried to say something, but my mouth went completely dry. I tried to scream, but no sound came out.

"Can't scream, huh, Benning?" my attacker grated. "Don't worry – even if you could, there's nobody around to hear you."

I heard his pants unzip.

Shit. It's actually happening.

Seconds later, I felt him grab me by my hair. Dragging me across the cement, he pulled me up until my mouth was level with his cock. He roughly shoved it into my mouth. It tasted vile. I didn't do anything, in the desperate hope that if he wasn't satisfied, he'd leave me alone. Instead, he shoved his cock all the way into my mouth.

When it hit the back of my throat, it triggered my gag reflex. My stomach lurched, and I vomited all over his cock, his pants, and his shoes.

"You fucking BITCH!" he shouted. He hit me in the head with the MagLite. I fell to the ground, dazed. I saw stars and bright spots of light.

"I'm going to do something to you I've wanted to do for a long time, bitch," he snarled. Grabbing my skirt, he violently ripped it off of me and threw it into the darkness. Then, he grabbed my thong.

Oh no

, I thought.

Not this one

. The black thong that I was wearing that night had been a Christmas present from Jason – a very expensive one, I might add, from Frederick's of Hollywood. It had a matching bra, which I was also wearing.

But yes. There it went. I heard the material rip, and it burned me as it tore across my leg. He threw what was left of the thong into the darkness as well. Then he mounted me.

Feebly, I kicked at him, trying to fight him off, but I was no match for the man who had to be at least fifty pounds heavier than me. Pinning my feet with his knees, he lunged forward, pushing his cock all the way into my pussy with one fell swoop. With an inhuman howl of victory, he began thrusting with all of his might, in and out.

Maybe it was the actual act of being violated that revitalized me. As he began his thrusting, I punched him in the nose, as hard as I could. Then, I began slapping him with both hands. To no avail, though – his disgusting cock stayed in my pussy, and he continued thrusting. But apparently, I was just annoying enough.

"Stop fighting me, bitch!" he shouted. Then, I saw a flash of gold, a ring imprinted with "AC"; I felt a hard impact against my face – and then, merciful blackness.

When I awoke, I couldn't see anything. The only thing I could hear was the occasional car driving past, which told me I was near a road. When I sat up, I felt dizzy. My head hurt. It was excruciating to breathe. My pussy felt like it was on fire. On top of that, it felt like something was still in my pussy – and it felt like there was something in my ass as well.

After a moment, I was able to come completely to my senses. When I did so, I realized my head was covered with something. Pulling it off, I realized it was my purse – emptied and shoved over my head. However, when I took it off, it instantly became easier to breathe. Taking a sniff of my purse, I realized that my attacker had emptied the entire pepper spray container into it.

At that point, I realized I was entirely naked. Looking around, I didn't see my clothes anywhere. However, I could still feel whatever was in my pussy and my ass.

Reaching down, I pushed one finger into my pussy. I felt something cold and hard. Grasping it, I slowly pulled it out – the key to my car. There was still something in there, though. Reaching in again, I felt something else that was hard, but felt plastic. Grasping it as well, I slowly slid it out – my cell phone, covered in semen, blood, and urine. That seemed to be all that was in there.

I turned my attention to my ass. Squatting as though I was using the toilet, I contracted my sphincter, trying to push whatever was in there out. Slowly, I felt one, two, and then three objects slide out and fall to the desert floor. Turning around, I saw that my attacker had shoved my Chapstick and two of my lipsticks up my ass. Whoever this was, he was one sick fuck.

I picked up my cell phone. I didn't hold out too much hope for it – it seemed pretty wrecked. Nonetheless, I opened it and turned it on. The screen didn't work, but lo and behold, the keypad lit up! Almost crying, I dialed the first number I thought of.

Pick up, pick up!

After three rings, the phone was picked up. I heard a very sleepy, "Hello?"

I started sobbing. "Jason… Jason…"

He became fully alert immediately. "Erin?! What's wrong?"

I was sobbing almost too hard to speak. I pulled myself together. "Jason… I was attacked… and… and raped… and then I was dumped somewhere."

Where was I, anyway? Moving closer to the highway, I saw a couple of signs. One said California Highway 99, the other said "Fresno – 17 miles".

"Jason," I continued, "I'm near the northbound 99, at a sign that says seventeen miles to Fresno."

Nothing came from the other end for a moment. Then, when Jason finally did speak, his voice cracked and broke as he spat out, "Motherfucker. DEAD motherfucker."

Composing himself, he said, "Erin, I'm going to call the police. Then, I'm going to head out there. I'll be there in fifteen minutes."

With that, he hung up. I huddled myself on the ground, staying far enough from the freeway that nobody driving past would be able to see me, but close enough that I would be able to see Jason's car or a police car.

The following fifteen minutes seemed to take forever. It was cold, and I couldn't stop sobbing. To occupy myself, I gathered up all of my personal belongings and put them in my purse. Some of them would probably be usable as evidence.

After about fifteen minutes, I heard an enormous squeal of tires come from the southbound side of the 99. Then, I saw a huge cloud of dust rising up from the median, and then, like Jaws popping out of the water, Jason's Impala flew up over the edge of the road onto the blacktop. Skidding across all three lanes, he came sliding to a stop on the dirt next to the shoulder.

The door flew open, and he hit the ground running. "Erin!" he shouted. "ERIN! Where are you!"

I stood up, and started staggering toward him. He saw me, and came running toward me at top speed, carrying one of the airline blankets that he always had in the back of his car. When he reached me, he wrapped me in the blanket and embraced me as though I had died and come back to life – which was about how I felt.

Gently and slowly, he led me to the Impala, where he sat me inside, on the back seat. Climbing in the other side, he reached up to the front seat, turned the car on, and turned the heat up. Then, he reached for me, pulled me to him, and just held me.

As Jason embraced me, I just lost it. This was not simply crying, this was not simply sobbing. This was howls, cries of despair, as I just let loose into the night. He continued to hold me, gently rocking me back and forth, occasionally kissing my forehead.

A few minutes later, blue and red strobe lights pierced the interior of the Impala as the first California Highway Patrol cruiser pulled up. An ambulance followed shortly. I was loaded into the ambulance, to be taken to the hospital for a full check-up.

At the hospital, an E.R. doctor did a through examination on me, being very careful about the removal of my attacker's semen. He put that in a test tube, which he sealed. That would be delivered to the Fresno Police as evidence.

It was almost 3:00 AM when the doctor finished. "Your right cheekbone is broken," he said. "You have a mild concussion, and numerous contusions to the interior of your vagina. However, for the most part, you are physically intact and fit. Psychologically, however, it is probably an entirely different story.

"Now, we're going to keep you overnight for observation. I have scheduled you for an appointment with one of our psychologists at 4:00 PM. Will that work for you?"

I nodded. "Alright, then," he said. "Just so that you know, the Fresno police would like to speak with you later today – they said that they'd come by about noon, provided you were up for it. Do you think you will be?"

I just nodded again. "Okay, then," the doctor replied. "That's all for my end. Now, there's a gentleman named Jason outside who's been here since a few minutes after you got here who wanted to see you as soon as I was done. Should I let him in?"

One final nod. The doctor left, and Jason came through the door.

Jason looked like shit. He looked like somebody who had been awakened after just a couple hours of sleep. He had bags under his eyes, his hair was a mess, and it was obvious that he'd been crying. Nonetheless, he had never looked more beautiful to me before.

Without saying a word, he crossed to me, and being careful not to dislodge any of the IVs or monitor leads, he gathered me into his arms, and just held me for a few minutes.

When he let go of me, I felt like I was being eternally separated from him – but he kept hold of my right hand, as if he knew how I felt. "The doctor told me you're going to be alright," he said. "He also told me that the police are going to come by to see you later, and that he's referred you to a psychologist."

"Yeah," I whispered.

When he heard my voice, Jason broke down again. With tears streaming down his face, he looked at me and said, "How could anybody do this to you? Why would they do this to you?"

I shook my head. "I don't know."

Jason couldn't say anything else. He just gripped my hand. I squeezed back, and then I laid my head back on my pillow. He was still holding my hand when I fell asleep.

When I woke up, the sun was streaming in my window. I looked around for a clock – 11:15 AM. Then I noticed that Jason was still holding my hand. I looked next to my bed – he was asleep in the chair. "Jason," I whispered.

It didn't seem to get his attention, so I tried to speak. However, I found that my mouth was completely dry and I couldn't get any louder than a whisper. So, I whispered again with all my might. "JASON!"

That one woke him up. He came to with a start, and then looked around, apparently not realizing where he was at first. Then, as he got his bearings, he calmed down a bit. He stood and looked at me.

"How are you feeling?" he asked.

"Thirsty," I replied, truthfully.

He laughed a little. Then, he turned around, grabbed a squeeze bottle of water off the cart, and handed it to me. Gratefully, I started sucking it down, but before I had drunk even half of the bottle, Jason had taken hold of it and was taking it away from me.

"The doctor asked me to make sure that you didn't drink too much water," Jason explained. "I didn't exactly understand it, but apparently with the combination of drugs and nutrients in the IV, too much water could screw it up. So, you're not allowed to have more than twelve ounces of water every half hour."

Oh. At least I could talk now. Not that I really did. For the next forty-five minutes, Jason just sat next to me, continuing to hold my hand. Then, just after noon, the duty nurse knocked on the door. Poking her head in, she said, "Ms. Benning? You have a couple of visitors."

Two police officers came in – one wearing a Fresno police uniform, the other wearing a suit. "I'm Sergeant Fred Templin," said the one in the uniform. "This is Detective Martin Backer."

"May I ask who you are?" Detective Backer asked Jason.

"My name is Jason Garrett," he replied, perhaps a little too defensively. "I'm Erin's boyfriend, and I'm not going anywhere, so don't even think about asking me."

Backer looked at me. "Is that alright with you?"

"Most certainly," I replied. Hmmm, I was getting a little defensive as well. "You don't think I'm going to ask my boyfriend to LEAVE, do you?"

Detective Backer raised his hands. "Alright, alright, he can stay."

He pulled out a small tape recorder and turned it on. "12:10 PM, Saturday, 12 February, 2004. This is Detective Martin Backer. I am conducting an interview with Ms. Benning, Erin, rape victim of 11 February. Present is Sergeant Templin, Frederick, and…"

He looked at Jason. "Garrett," said Jason.

"And Mr. Garrett, Jason, the victim's boyfriend.

"Alright, Ms. Benning," he said, turning his attention to me. "Can you please describe to me, in as much detail as possible, last night's incident?"

I started from the time I left Tara's dorm. I told him about initially being struck with the MagLite, about how the attacker knew my name, about how the rape itself took place, and ending with waking up in the middle of nowhere.

"So, Ms. Benning," Backer said, "you said the perpetrator knew your name. Apparently, this is somebody you probably know, if he knew your name."

"Yes, that makes sense," I replied. "I just don't know anybody who would actually do such a thing."

"Okay, Ms. Benning," Backer continued. "Now, bear with me here. Since it's possible that you knew the victim, is it possible that you may have, in a sense, led him on and provided catalyst for the rape?"

WHAT?!

was the resounding thought that echoed through my head. Jason vocalized it.

"What the fuck are you talking about?" he practically shouted.

"I'm just voicing a possibility," said Backer. "It's my job to do these things."

"Oh, horse shit," Jason replied. "It's your job to investigate crimes, not to try and belittle victims."

"Jason-" I started, but I was cut off by Backer.

"I'm not trying to belittle anybody here," Backer replied, his voice rising. "I'm just saying that it's possible that this rape may have been, if entirely unintentionally, brought on by Ms. Benning's own actions."

I thought Jason was going to rip Backer's head off, but instead, he said, in a very tight, controlled voice, "Detective Backer, this interview is over. You may leave, right now."

"What are you talking about?" Backer protested. "I'm just trying to get some answers."

Jason's face turned bright red. "What you are DOING," he snapped, "is asking my girlfriend, who is lying in a hospital bed as a result of a RAPE, if she thinks that it's at all possible that it could be her own fault!"

"MISTER Garrett," Backer replied, becoming visibly angry himself, "it is a VERY valid theory – I have seen it MANY times."

That was the straw that broke the camel's back. Jason shot to his feet, and Backer immediately went into a defensive posture. "THAT'S IT," Jason shouted. "GET THE FUCK OUT, RIGHT NOW, OR I WILL POUND YOUR ASS INTO THE FLOOR."

Backer didn't say anything. He just slowly stood up, and backed out the door. After the door shut behind him, Templin turned to look at Jason, shaking his head.

"Mr. Garrett, I don't know what you were trying to accomplish there," he said in disgust. "Angry or not, threatening a police officer with physical harm is not a good way to make friends and influence people. Really, I should arrest you right now for doing that, but because I realize the stress and emotional turbulence you're going through right now, I'm going to forget it happened. I'll make sure Detective Backer forgets it happened as well, because in reality, he was way out of line asking that question."

With that, Sergeant Templin turned and walked out the door. Jason sat down, shaking his head. His hands were trembling.

"Jason," I said, "that was really unnecessary. You didn't have to threaten that police officer."

"Oh, come on," he replied. "I couldn't just sit there and let him bullshit you-"

"BUT," I interrupted, "nobody's ever done anything like that for me before. You were willing to be arrested to protect me. That's like nothing I've ever experienced before."

Jason stared at me, at a loss for words. Then, he said something that I had been waiting for him to say for months, but that I had never expected to happen under these circumstances.

"Erin… it's… it's why I raced out into the desert last night to find you. It's why I was here all night with you. It's because… it's because I love you."

And that was the first time he had said those three little words to me. But, with all the emotion built up inside me, I couldn't help it. I broke down and began crying again. He picked me up and held me close to him, as tight as if he would never let go.

I buried my face in his chest and cried until I could cry no more. When I finally finished crying, I looked up at him. "Jason," I said, "I love you, too."

A faint smile broke across his face, but then he started crying too. And apparently, I could cry more, because that set me off as well. He just stood there holding me, as we both cried out the emotions running through both of us.

February 28th, 2005

It had been two and a half weeks since the rape. My routine had returned to fairly normal, although Jason had not let me walk alone after dark once since then, always making sure he or one of his friends was with me. My cheekbone was healing and my bruises were fading. I was seeing a counselor once a week, and she had asked me to bring Jason with me.

But there were some things that were different. Jason had spent almost every night at my apartment since the rape, only spending the nights that he was on-call at his dorm. He seemed almost afraid to let me out of his sight.

We hadn't even tried to make love once since the rape, until last night. After we had gone to bed, he had kissed me, and that had turned into a gentle make-out session, which had followed what was, for us, the usual progression, to sex. However, something seemed to go wrong.