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Message-ID: <62256asstr$1342656602@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: Uther Pendragon <nogardneprethu@gmail.com>
Subject: {ASSM} "Why Me?_3" -- Uther -- MF wl
Lines: 786
Date: Wed, 18 Jul 2012 20:10:02 -0400
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Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
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If you are under the age of 18, or otherwise forbidden by law to read
electronically transmitted erotic material, please go do something else.

This material is copyright, 2012, Uther Pendragon. All rights reserved. I
specifically grant the right of downloading and keeping one electronic copy
for your personal reading so long as this notice is included. Reposting
requires previous permission.

If you have any comments or requests, please e-mail them to me at
nogardneprethu@gmail.com.

All persons here depicted, except public figures depicted as public figures
in the background, are figments of my imagination and any resemblance to
persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.


Why Me?_3
by Uther Pendragon
nogardneprethu@gmail.com

nosex


Eric Stewart drove carefully home on the evening of Nov. 8. If he got a
traffic ticket, he would pay it, but the others in his office might find
out anyway. When you prosecute in traffic court, a ticket could be an
embarrassment. With the weather blustery and wet, driving carefully was a
good idea, anyway. When he got to his apartment, the answering machine was
blinking. The third message was from Carolyn. They were in choir together,
and he was godfather to one of her sons.

"Eric? This is Carolyn Pierce. I've something related to your job. Could
you call me at home after 5:00? Thanks."

'Why me?' he thought. Everybody in Chicago had a friend who could fix
things. Want a tree removed from in front of your house or a pothole fixed?
You didn't call the city, you spoke to a friend who had a friend who could
get the job done. Well, if cop fixed a traffic ticket, it was a minor
offense even if someone interested in stopping it found out. If a
prosecutor fixed a traffic ticket, it was a conflict-of-interest violation
of legal ethics. Guys did it, but he knew he'd be caught if *he* did it.
When there was no other way out, he paid his friends' fines rather than
take the risk of fixing their tickets. He just hoped it wasn't DUI. That
required court appearance; you couldn't just pay the fine. Well, he called
Carolyn and she answered.

"Who has the ticket?"

"Nothing like that," she said. "I have a student in class who was raped.
She needs to talk with somebody. She's balking at cops, but she said okay
when I said I knew somebody in the States Attorney's Office."

'Why me?' He was in the States Attorney's Office, but not in the sex-crimes
section.

"Raped in class?" That didn't sound possible. "Your class?"

"No. She's in my class three days a week, but she wasn't there when she was
raped. Apparently, it was after a dance." That sounded more possible, if
less attractive to prosecute.

"Date rape?"

"Yeah."

"It's not really my department, Carolyn."

"Yeah. And my job description for teaching doesn't involve law enforcement,
either. But she came to me, and I tried to do something. Can you talk to
her? I thought here." Well, Carolyn had asked him to be Paul's godfather.
He enjoyed the boys, and he could do something for a friend of a friend
after all.

"Well, the longer it waits, the worse it looks. When did it happen?"

"Saturday."

"Ouch. You want it there? Tonight?" He might not prosecute rape cases, but
he heard gossip from guys that did. The ideal victim screamed while it
occurred. Preferably the victim was a white girl on the way home from
church; the perp was a black stranger with a record; the location was a
dark alley.

"I don't think I could get her tonight. Tomorrow? I'll serve you some
dinner."

"And twin time?" Might as well get something out of it.

"That's no problem. Tomorrow, Bill will go to the finance-committee
meeting." Bill tended to prefer dealing with the kids himself. Carolyn was
always willing to have somebody else deal with them.

"Okay. Six?"

"Thanks, Eric. I owe you one." Or he owed her one less.

Tuesday, he considered raising the issue with Margaret Murphy, the head
prosecutor for rapes. He didn't, however, have any firm information, even
the name. He'd speak to Murphy when he could tell her something. He left
the office on the dot. When he got to the Pierce home, he couldn't see
which cars, if any, were in the garage. He parked on the street instead of
blocking the driveway. Before he got to the door, though, he heard kids'
screams. That sounded like Bill was home. He rang the bell, and Bill came
to the door while carrying John upside down.

"States Attorney's Office," he said. "We have reports of serious child
abuse here."

"Well," Bill said, "they abuse us horribly, but nobody here is serious." He
came in and closed the door.  "This is Miss Wharton." Carolyn had said that
she had a student, and she'd said that the student had been raped. She
hadn't said that the student was a stunning beauty.

"Eric Stewart. I'm sorry for the humor. I didn't know you were here yet.
I'm Paul's godfather as well the position you've heard about." He was
babbling, and he hung his parka in the closet to hide his confusion.

Well, there were the boys as a focus of attention to avoid the other
problems. Soon, there was a dinner, too. Bill sat at the head of the table.
Carolyn, as usual, sat with her back to her picture and the boys sat
between them. Miss Wharton sat between Bill and him. She had a lovely
profile, and she turned her attention from the food to the kids and back
again. She barely looked at him.

After Bill left for the meeting of the finance committee, he took the boys
into the downstairs john to wash their hands. Then they all sat on the sofa
to read some books. Miss Wharton stayed to help Carolyn clear. Then they
both came in to watch him and the boys. Finally, Carolyn called time.

The boys kissed him good night, and then kissed Miss Wharton good night. He
was a little jealous of them. Miss Wharton called the boys by name. A lot
of people got them confused. It seemed to him that it was more myth than
experience. 'They're twins. So there is no way to tell them apart.' There
were all sorts of ways to tell them apart, even physically. Behaviorally,
it was even easier.  His godson was the leader. He kissed Miss Wharton
first, which meant that he saw that kiss as desirable. Well, Uncle Eric
agreed.

"She wants me down here before the conversation gets serious," Carolyn
said. Well, they should discuss something else while the boys dawdled.
'have you always been such a beauty?' might not be appropriate. He finally
thought of something.

"Well, Without getting into anything substantial, maybe I could get some
background. You're a student of Mrs. Pierce?"

"Yeah. Freshman Economics."

"You're a freshman?"

"Yeah."

"18?" The age of the victim -- especially a teen-age victim -- was
important in rape cases. That wasn't a personal question.

"19. I had my birthday this September. You're a states attorney?" Finally,
an answer which didn't feel like pulling teeth. And while it was generally
more polite to talk about the girl than about himself, she probably dreaded
the talking about herself which would come up all too soon.

"An assistant states attorney. The States Attorney is Carey. Illinois is
divided into judicial districts, most of them covering more than one
county. Cook is nearly half the state, population-wise, and the district
court is about the largest court of first instance in the nation. The
States Attorney's office handles all the prosecutions for any criminal
cases in the county, not counting federal prosecutions." He was sounding
like a civics text, but he didn't know what else to say. "We go from
parking tickets to murder. There are one hell of a lot of us, and we mostly
specialize. I don't handle..." She had specifically asked to avoid the
subject of rape until Carolyn came back. "That is to say, I prosecute
traffic cases." What else was there to say? "When I'm not in the office, I
sing in the church choir with Mrs. Pierce and am godfather to Paul." She
wasn't going to help. Maybe he should read *Horton* to her until Carolyn
got back.

"What other courses do you take?" he asked finally. She looked comfortable
answering his factual questions as long as he stayed off the recent past.
Finally, Carolyn started down the stairs. Well, how should the questioning
be set up. They damn-well didn't want Miss Wharton -- what was her name
anyway? -- facing a panel consisting of Carolyn and himself.

"Look, you want her present. Do you want her close?" She nodded. "Why don't
you and she take the sofa while I get a chair?" When he was well away from
the sofa, she went to it. He got a dining-room chair and sat in it. Carolyn
sat down far enough from Miss Wharton to establish the latter's
independence, but close enough to be available.

"Look," he began, "this is painful. I know it. But it's not going to get
less painful with more delay."

"Mrs. Pierce tells me that you were raped, he continued. "Tell me about it."

"I was stupid..." That was the wrong way to begin. She was blaming herself,
and the defense -- in the unlikely chance that this got to trial -- would
be blaming her. She should start out blaming the perp.

"You were, are, a college freshman," he explained. "That's not being
stupid; it might be being less cautious than an older woman might be.
That's not the point. Where were you? Who was with you? What did he do?
Start where you want. If I need more details, I'll ask for them."

"I was at a dance with this boy. He had taken me there on a date. On the
way home, he invited me to his apartment for a drink. I said yes. Anyway,
one thing led to another. We were making out. I wanted him to stop, but he
wouldn't." He could picture it, but she hadn't articulated the key details.

"Did you tell him to stop? When?"

"When he took my panties off, and my pantyhose." He could see it, and he
wished he couldn't. "He ignored me. Then, later, I found that he was naked,
too. I tried to stop him, but I couldn't."

"He wouldn't stop?"

"No."

"You told him to stop?" That was one of the requirements.

"Yes."

"There was intercourse? He was inside you?"

"Yes."

"Okay. That's rape. Unless, of course, you're married to him."

"I'm not." She was serious. He'd been too lawyerly.

"I didn't think you were. It's just the law. If you don't like that, write
your state legislator. Anyway, you've been saying 'he.' What was his name?"

"Jerry Lambert."

"BMOC," Carolyn said suddenly.

"Like Prof. Pierce says, he's important." She started to tear up. Well, he
had enough to take to Murphy. He wouldn't push her, except maybe for her
first name. But she didn't know he wasn't going to push. She cried and
Carolyn held her. After a bit, Carolyn looked like she was shielding the
girl from him.

"Look," he said, "I'm not the enemy."

"I didn't say you were."

"No, but Mama Bear was protecting you from me. Anyway, this isn't the end.
Did you report this to the police?"

"No." Well, Murphy would talk to her on what he had. Speaking of a mama
bear, that woman might appear for the state, but she felt like the advocate
for the victims. Well, this girl needed an advocate.

"Well, you're going to have to tell this all over again. At least you'll be
telling it to a woman. Can I make an appointment for you?"

"If you have to."

"Look, I repeat. I'm not the enemy. This MF, Jerry, is. Nothing's going to
happen to him if you hide yourself away. We're not putting you through this
because we're evil. He's putting you through this because of what he did
and because that's the only way that he'll suffer at all. Anyway, I know
the woman at the States Attorney's Office you should talk to. I don't know
whether she's on trial tomorrow. How do I get in contact with you? And
when? Are you going to be home tomorrow?"

"I don't want to be home. I haven't told Mom." This didn't sound good.

"Well, sometime, you'll have to. Why don't you give me your phone number,
and when you'll be home tomorrow. We'll assume an appointment sometime
Thursday. I'll call you tomorrow night with the time and the room number.
You know the County Building? It's really the same building as City Hall,
only we have the east side." She wrote down the information she asked for
and handed it to him. He checked it out of habit before pocketing it. It
was a phone number and evening times.

"Take my work phone, too." He gave her his card. "That way, if you call me
in the early afternoon, you can learn the appointment without my calling
you and raising questions at home."

"Anyone want more desert?" Carolyn asked. Carolyn wanted to end this, and
who could blame her? He wasn't sure how to offer Miss Wharton a ride home.
"Somehow," Carolyn said, "I don't think this is the night to suggest a few
hands of gin rummy." She was being really heavy handed, but Miss Wharton
probably needed it.

"You have been awfully kind already," the girl said.

"I could drive you home," he said.

"Really, I can..." She was scared, scared of him. He should defuse that as
much as possible.

"I won't take it personally if you would rather ride in the back seat. You
have a damned good reason to be off men, but don't think of me as a man;
think of me as a driver." That got her moving. When she got outside,
though, she went to the front seat.

She was named Candy, and she lived in Belmont-Cragin. He got on the road
west, figuring to turn south at Central. Then it was time for more
conversation. He decided that the Carolyn he new was too distant from the
Carolyn she knew. The kids seemed safe, and they both liked them. Besides,
she'd separated herself from the herd there.

"You really can tell the kids apart? Or was that a lucky guess?"

"I can tell them apart when they're both present and standing still. Can't
you?"

"That's the easy part. And they're seldom standing still, as you might have
noticed. I can tell them apart. It's just that lots of people can't. After
all, I'm Paul's godfather. I can't wait 'til the boys see the movie. I'll
hear about it then. As I said, the hard part is getting them to stand
still."

"You seem to have had no problem getting to stand still -- sit still --for
their books. Prof. Pierce seems proud of them." And that was an
understatement.

"She is. She has been from their birth, if also a tiny bit overwhelmed. You
saw the picture?" She'd been sitting facing it for the meal. Bill had taken
Carolyn to the portrait studio with her doctoral robes and the twins.

"Yeah."

"She wrote her dissertation while carrying twins. Bill is proud as punch
about that accomplishment -- those accomplishments. Bill was notorious in
the church for cuddling other people's babies. Then she gave him two of his
own. He hasn't quite given up other people's infants, but he is still a
hands-on parent. I may tease him about abuse, but the boys not only love
him, they love his treatment of them."

"Yeah. He was holding them upside-down when you came."

"Carolyn," -- that wasn't a good name for discussing her with a student --
"You call her Prof. Pierce, don't you?" She nodded. "Prof. Pierce would
really prefer a little less roughness. The boys love it, though. They try
to get me to pick them up that way. I don't trust my strength enough.
They're head down over a floor, and they wiggle like mad. Theologically,
I'm supposed to have a special relationship with Paul. Actually, I try to
treat both the boys equally." He did, sometimes, spin around while holding
one boy right-side-up. That was the extent of his physical play. They knew
he did better at reading books to them.

They continued in that vein. The conversation was fine, great considering
the occasion, and the trip was uneventful. Parking was scarce on Fletcher,
her street, but that only meant that he walked her to her door.

That night, he had a wet dream starring Candy. This was disturbing, but he
showered the evidence off in the morning and went on with his day. Before
going to court, he managed to get a short conversation with Miss Murphy.

"Last night, I spoke with the victim of an unreported rape. I sort of
promised her that I would get her an interview with you."

"When?"

"The rape was Saturday, Saturday night almost certainly."

"She should have reported it earlier. Do you know what a defense attorney
would make of that."

"I know. She definitely should have taken advice of counsel. These girls
never take lawyers along on their dates. I can't see why." Murphy glared,
but then she relented. She wouldn't piss on him if he were on fire, but she
would go out of her way for any victim.

"Okay. I'll see her. At least, we can get it reported. You know what's
hell? The best thing that you can do to lower rape occurrences is to get
them reported. Getting them reported raises rape statistics. Politicians
are loathe to do that, for obvious reasons. I'll see when today I can clear
my schedule."

"I'm not in good contact with her. Can you look on your schedule for
tomorrow?"

"Don't you have a phone for her?"

"She's a student and at college now, Circle. I have her home phone. She's
skittish as hell."

"Yeah. The victims feel a lot more guilt than the perps."

"Well, I haven't seen the perp. She's feeling guilt, and shame, and fear."

"And anger?"

"I didn't see any." Candy was a good woman, and a frightened girl. He would
have been happier to see some anger. He gave Murphy what he had, including
Candy's address and phone.

When he got back from court to the office to eat his lunch, the time of the
Thursday appointment was on his desk. Candy called soon thereafter. She
said that she would keep the appointment.

Sunday, Carolyn and he didn't discuss the matter in choir. He still hadn't
heard anything about Candy. When he got back from court Tuesday, he decided
to ask. The woman cop outside Murphy's office, said she had a negotiation
with a defense attorney. She'd tell Murphy that he wanted to talk with her
and call when she was available. The call came about 5:20. The sex-crimes
section worked late more often than traffic did, but he got caught up on
some reports while he waited.

"Sorry to keep you, Margaret," he said. "But I started this, and I wanted
to know how it came out. Is there anything you can tell me about the Walton
case?"

"There is now no Walton case. The perp denied it, claimed consent."

"You believed him?"

"I never talked to him. You know the issue isn't what I believe, but what I
can prove. I'd catch hell if I went before a grand jury with this."

"But you believed her?"

"What wasn't to believe? She said she went back to his apartment with him.
She drank with him. She had foreplay with him. Look, we don't see many
false claims. Maybe daddy comes home too soon and darling daughter tells
him it was rape, but that doesn't get to the cops, much less here. There is
damn little upside for a false police report of rape. And, if a woman is
going to lie about it, she'd lie about saying no much earlier than this
woman claims to have said no."

"Yeah, Her first words to me were that she'd been stupid."

"Yeah, Truer words were never spoken. Hell of it is, what she described
sounded smooth. It wasn't fumbling which didn't stop soon enough. It
sounded like the perp had planned to rape her. Probably I put that too
brutally, but he planned to have sex with her willing or not -- had
considered how to deal with her unwillingness. Now, if I can't prove rape
with him denying it, I sure can't prove that degree of premeditation. She
doesn't even allege it, and if she did, she wouldn't have any grounds."

"Smooth operator. Sheet?"

"Traffic is all -- your section." If the guy was a serial rapist, he hadn't
been reported before. For all the pain that Candy had gone through
reporting him, that would be one thing she had done. "That's part of why we
can't take it to the grand jury. No priors, he fucking-well took her home
afterwards."

"He did?"

"Smart perp. Girl had been raped; she was in a section of town she didn't
know; it was after midnight. Her choice was accepting his ride or catching
a bus. Were the buses in that neck of the woods still running? If so, where
were they? If she was carrying cab fare, she still would have to had find a
cab in a strange neighborhood that might not, for all she knew, have many
cabs. He offered, and she accepted. But play defense attorney with that
fact: 'Now, Miss Walton. You say that you and Mr. Lambert had sex late
Saturday night or early Sunday morning. After that sex, did Mr. Lambert
drive you home? About how long after the sex act would you say that you got
in his car with him?' The jury, assuming we got an indictment, would never
believe she'd been raped."

"Well, thanks."

"For what? And I should thank you for what? You did the right thing, at
least sitting on it would have been the wrong thing, but it's not going to
do the perp any harm unless a second girl reports him. I heard one more sad
story I'm not going to be able to do anything about."

He left Murphy to her bitterness and drove home. He was fairly bitter
himself. The prettiest girl he'd seen in a long while, the prettiest girl
he'd really met as an adult, was now out of his life. And she was
frightened of him, had good cause to be frightened of men. He had her
address and phone number, but not the slightest excuse for calling her.

Thursday night, he got back from court to find a note. Carolyn had called
from her office. He called back.

"Economics, prof. Pierce."

"Carolyn?"

"Eric. They said you were on trial. I didn't even know that you'd been
arrested."

"It means involved in the courtroom. Not only defendants are on trial; so
are counsel." Was he being pedantic?

"Anyway. What's going on at your end with the Candy Walton deal. I'll tell
you somebody's throwing some weight around at my end. Are you feeling the
heat there, too?"

"No. Get some perspective." Things could get fixed. This was Cook County. A
Thompson relative, even a Daley relative despite the politics, was likely
to walk. But a basketball star of a second-rank basketball school? "He
might well be a big man *on campus* as you said. He's not a big man in the
county. Fixing a rape is as hard as fixing a murder, maybe harder
considering Miss Murphy. Anyway, there is no reason for anyone to throw his
weight around. She spoke to Murphy, and then she filed a police report. The
perp denied it, and there wasn't much else the cops could do. Some people
are bad witnesses, and Candy is one."

"They didn't believe her?" That wasn't what he'd said, and that wasn't what
he wanted her to believe. In the first place *she* should believe Candy;
Candy needed her. In the second place, if she thought that the States
Attorney's Office was doubting Candy, Candy might get the message and think
that *he* doubted her.

"Oh, they, that is to say Murphy, believed her implicitly. What she didn't
believe is that she could convince a jury. Some very bad people are good
witnesses; some very good people are bad witnesses. Anyway, there is a
police report on file. The next time he rapes some woman, the cops will
pull the file and know that neither report is bogus."

"Assuming, of course, that the next woman reports it." Carolyn had hit the
nail on the head.

"Yeah. Murphy thought that he was a repeat offender, and Candy was just the
first girl brave enough to come forward. This was, however, speculation.
She would never go to the grand jury with that."

The weekend and the next week went without any communication about Candy,
however second-hand or however negative. Wednesday, he took out Candy's
phone number. He had not one God-damned excuse for calling, but he stared
at the phone for an hour before putting the number away. That night, he saw
the rape in vivid detail in a dream. It was a wet dream, and he awoke
covered with sweat as well as other fluids.

Sunday, though, she was in church. Carolyn hadn't been in choir, and Gladys
had said that she had a guest in church. From the choir loft, he saw her
and Bill with several women, and one of them looked like Candy from that
distance. After the service, he stopped on his way to the choir room to see
if he were dreaming, and he wasn't.

"Uncle Eric, Uncle Eric," the boys said. Paul held out his hand to be swung
around.

"Now, you're in your church clothes, and so am I. Church after service is
not the time nor the place."

"I owe you an explanation," he said to Candy. "Let me get this robe back to
the choir room, and I'll drive you home. I can explain on the way."

"We're taking her to lunch," a girl said. She was Claire something, a grad
student whom he'd seen at coffee hour.

"Well, I can do that." Indeed, he would be happy to take Candy to lunch.
But Candy turned to Claire.

"You are?" she asked.

"The 3 of us." There were 2 other girls with Carolyn and Bill. One of them
was Jane, another grad student. He didn't know the other.

"Thanks," Candy said to Claire. "Sorry," she said to him. She didn't sound
particularly sorry. He watched the group leave, and went to trade his robe
for his parka. Well, he'd blown that one. On second thought, it wasn't too
awful. He had established that he expected to give her an explanation.

Maybe he could call her. If he did, though, she would want the explanation
over the phone. If he called her to set up a time to give her the
explanation in person, she would suspect that he wanted the meeting more
than he wanted to give the explanation.

The next Sunday, Candy was back in church. He hadn't seen her from the
choir loft, and he almost missed her. Normally, he went out the outside
entrance from the basement with others who didn't have family waiting
upstairs. Today, that entrance opened onto a mushy puddle, and he went up
the inside stairs. There she was, waiting for him at the top. Actually, she
looked vaguely startled when he greeted her. She had probably been waiting
for Carolyn, but Carolyn had 3 family members to greet, and he could deal
with Candy.

"Miss Wharton." He finished climbing the stairs and walked closer. "I still
owe you an explanation. Do you have something else scheduled for this
afternoon?" Was Joan going to invite her to lunch again? The girls looked
at each other.

"Well, if you have something to tell me..." Candy said. That was the
acceptance, now for the practics.

"Wait here. My car's two blocks away, and the weather's miserable." He got
the car and turned on the heat before driving to the spot in front of the
church. The loading zone was always busy on Sunday noon, and he had to wait
for Charlie while his family piled into the sedan. Then he pulled into the
spot and went for Candy. As she was already out the door and coming towards
him, he merely opened the door for her. He pulled out, marshaling his
thoughts.

 "Just a second," he said. Traffic was tricky, if slow, and he was heading
north. He got them in the right direction and stopped for a traffic light.

"The short answer, he began, "is that the office has decided not to
prosecute."

"She didn't believe me?" Her voice sounded ashamed, and she was taking this
as further punishment -- punishment from his side, too.

"Miss Murphy believed you 100%. 'What,' she asked me, 'is there to
disbelieve?' What she doesn't believe is that she could convince a jury.
And, to be fair to the jury, they're supposed to require evidence beyond a
reasonable shadow of a  doubt. You say one thing; the perp says something
else, and unless all 12 are convinced beyond a reasonable shadow of a
doubt, the perp walks."

"Perp?" He'd been using the office term.

"Sorry. Professional jargon. Perpetrator, the guy who did it. Anyway, do
you eat Chinese?" If Claire could take her to lunch, so could he. She was
thinking, not rejecting it, but not accepting it yet. He doubted that she
would have accepted faster if he'd said Italian. "I gave you the short
answer. There is a longer one, and you deserve it."

"Well..." Another long pause. "Thank you." So he got them to the
restaurant. She was out of the car before he came around, but she let him
seat her at the restaurant. The order was a more comfortable topic for both
of them, but his excuse for the time with her was his report.

"Okay." he resumed when they had ordered. "The Perp said it was consensual.
Do we believe it? Does Miss Murphy believe it? Not by a long shot, but what
lawyers believe and what they can prove are two very different things."

"What should I have done differently?" She was still feeling guilty. Murphy
was probably right. She was feeling guiltier than the mother fucker was.

"Aside from not going on a date with the guy in the first place? You should
have definitely acted on legal advice." He was trying to show her how
ridiculous her guilt was. "If you'd had a lawyer with you on the date, he
would have told you that when you said 'no,' you should have screamed it.
At least the second time you said 'no' should have been a scream. When you
got up and got dressed you should have knocked on all the doors of other
apartments and asked them to call the police. You knock on a stranger's
door late at night, and they're reluctant to let you in. They'll usually
call the police.

"I'll be blunt," he continued. It wasn't Candy's fault. It was the mother
fucker's fault, and it was a little the police's fault, too. "You're robbed
and you report it the next morning, they'll investigate. You're raped and
you report it later, the police are more reluctant to act. In that, for all
you waited too long, for all that I'm a weird guy to talk to, you finally
got to Miss Murphy. An ASA asks the cops to investigate, and they
investigate. And, from her standpoint of course, there's always the chance
that the perp will break down. 'I didn't mean to do it. I don't know what
came over me. I'm terribly sorry.' The weird thing is that the guys with
consciences are serving time while your sort of perp is walking."

"My sort?" Not 'her sort' her sort of perp.

"Well, the guy who attacked you. Others like him." Okay, let's get this
more general. "You ever watch a TV show with a murder trial?"

"Yeah."

"Well, in any prosecution, you have to prove two things. You have to prove
that the crime occurred, and you have to prove that the defendant did it.
Usually, not always, one of those is a piece of cake. The TV shows don't
handle the dull part. The guy is blown nearly in half by a sawed-off
shotgun. The ASA calls witnesses to testify that the guy is dead and that
the death was violent. The defense attorney says, 'No questions, your
honor.' Date rape, the issue is whether there was a crime. 'The victim has
misidentified my client as the guy with whom she had the date,' isn't
likely to fly. You know who you attended the dance with."

"Yeah." She was agreeing with something, maybe that she knew who she dated.

"So, he has two chances. He can claim that no sexual relations occurred, or
he can claim that they were consensual. The first has all sorts of possible
problems. He doesn't know what you did after you left him. So, the smart
perp goes with the second. He might have had legal advice, though I doubt
it. Generally, you don't quite tell your lawyer that you did the crime.
Most of them know, but you don't tell him."

"If they know, don't they have to tell?"

"Not really. Lawyer-client confidentiality. On the other hand, there are
ethical problems with bringing somebody to the witness stand when you know
that he is lying. So, you tell your client to not tell you outright. 'If
you can produce someone to testify that you were somewhere else when the
robbery occurred, that will counteract the eyewitnesses -- somebody who
knows you well.' So there is an alibi. You haven't told him to lie about
the alibi, but you wouldn't bet on the accuracy, either."

"Sounds cynical."

"Is cynical. Prosecutors play defense lawyer all the time, but we don't
like them. On the other hand, they don't like us, either. And the rest of
the world doesn't like any lawyer. 'I practice corporate law, but I tell my
kids I'm a pimp so they won't be ashamed of me.'"

"You have children?" That had been a lawyer joke, and she hadn't got ii. He
definitely spent too much of his time with lawyers.

"No, and I don't practice corporate law either. That was a silly joke.
Sorry." Then the food came, and they talked about that.

"Thank you, Mr. Stewart," she said after the meal. Well, he was still 'Mr.
Stewart.' He'd had one meal with her. That meal had used up his excuse, and
he really doubted that he could make up another. She was happy talking
about the twins, but she would think him weird to suggest a meeting to
discuss them. Go for broke; he didn't have anything to lose but his chains.

"Look, as I said, the case isn't going forward, right?"

"Yeah."

"That means you don't have any business with the States Attorney's office
any more?"

"No."

"So, you don't have any business with Mr. Stewart." He took a deep breath.
"Do you think you could call me 'Eric'?"

"Thanks, Eric." And 'Eric' got less formal wording than 'Mr. Stewart' did.
Well, push forward.

"I know you're not the greatest fan of the male sex, right now. Do you
think that you might be ready to go out to eat with a guy sometime?"

"And the guy you have in mind?" She got it.

"Yeah. I was thinking of me. You already had one meal with me, and I didn't
crawl over the table to attack you." While she had reason to fear and
distrust men, he was somewhat safer. On the other hand, she went to a
school full of guys closer to her age and interests. On the other -- maybe
the third -- hand, she didn't know how the younger guy would react to the
news she'd been raped; she didn't have to worry about telling him.

"Is this because you think...?" Shit! She thought he was setting her up.
That was the other side of not having to tell him; he knew and she thought
he was judging her as a fallen woman. Did women fall in 1979?

"I might not be the brightest guy in the world," he said, "but I'm not a
total idiot, either. If I were after sex, you would be the last woman in
the world I'd pursue. Nuns and married women would be more available. I
know that. It's just that you're quite attractive. I feel a total heel
pressing you right now. I know I met you for the absolutely wrong reason.
But I did meet you. You came into my life. If you're going to go out of it,
it's fucking well not going to be because I didn't try." She didn't
respond. He'd lost her, but he'd never really had a chance with her.

"Now, I've offended you," he finished. He'd finished his statement. Had he
finished the relationship?

"Well, no," she said. "It's nothing about you. I'm just not ready, yet."
Well, that was clear.

"I'll tell you what. I don't want to be your stalker. That's something that
you don't need right now, and I don't think they ever win, anyhow.
Sometimes you go to Aldersgate." He was really grasping at straws, now.
"Why don't I give you my card again. I'll write my home phone on it. The
next time you want to go to church, if you want me to drive you to church,
give me a call. I'm on trial much of the day, but I'm home most nights, and
the answering machine is on the rest of the time." She didn't agree, but
when he wrote his home number on the back of a card and gave it to her, she
took it. He walked her to her door and watched from the bottom of the porch
stairs as she walked through the door and closed it behind her. That was
closing the door on him, probably forever.

That night, she starred in another wet dream. That would probably be his
relationship with her for the future -- she'd be in his dreams, but not in
his waking life.


The end
Why Me?_3
by Uther Pendragon
nogardneprethu@gmail.com
2012/07/16


These same events from Candy's perspective, can be read in:
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Uther_Pendragon/www/Gjt/ste_01f.htm
Candy's experience

Another perspective on some of these events:
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Uther_Pendragon/www/Gjt/pie_19f.htm
"Why Me_2"


The index to almost all my stories:
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Uther_Pendragon/www/index.htm
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