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In the last chapter, I was describing how I sat drenched in blood being asked to provide answers to two detectives. The answers they were seeking were beyond my grasp and ability to infer. I was an innocent victim that had been minding my own business. I was attacked in my home.
These detectives had heard a story from the perpetrator. Their own fellow officers had no problem on the scene in response to my 911 call observing and understanding what the evidence showed. All the evidence showed that some unknown person entered the building asked for me and then brutally assaulted me. The first responders didn't know as far as I could tell that the perpetrator had planned this attack out and then went to the police to play the victim.
More time had passed but I was losing track of how much time had passed during this interrogation. You know how on TV and in the movies every person being interrogated asks a question like "what did she say happened?"
Everything about this entire bizarre day was so surreal so it shouldn't surprise you, dear reader, if I wasn't acting or responding as you see in the movies or on TV. I was just totally confused and disoriented. Nothing I said seemed to satisfy these two police detectives.
I would have told them anything they wanted to hear if I had the first clue as to what they wanted to hear. That's not entirely true. Clearly, they believed I had done something criminal - something violent which had a sexual component to it. Even if they coached me, I wouldn't say that I had done something violent to this person.
Again, she was the perpetrator that brutally attacked me and I was the victim. Regardless of what the perpetrator told them, those facts remain and I needed to hold onto reality and truth.
It was hard to wrap my mind around the idea that I was covered in blood from my face with blood on my somewhat dark shirt, on my shorts, on my socks and my shoes. Where they not curious about this? The perpetrator had left without a scratch.
I couldn't imagine a scenario where viewing me as the perpetrator made any sense.
My initial impression that the truth would emerge during the interview/interrogation... that the police were genuinely interested in finding the truth. That belief had evaporated at some point.
Then I heard one of them ask to speak to "Brucie."
I was speechless at first.
Now, I knew that this was a well thought out intricate plan. I had spoken to Jimmy, the landlord, and husband of my attacker. I remembered how I had discussed Dissociative Identity Disorder (DID) and used the example where if I had DID, maybe one of my personalities might be named "Brucie."
No, I don't have multiple personalities. I just had used that name as an example in a discussion with Jimmy, her husband. I forget how the topic came up but so many people find Dissociative Identity Disorder (DID) or Multiple Personality Disorder (MPD) to be fascinating. So, the fact that I had worked with people with this condition had been interesting to Jimmy at some point in the past.
Logic and rational thinking had seemed to have left this interaction at some point – how long had passed, I don't know. With the police, seeing them as authority figures you try to do whatever they want. I was thinking about what to do. By this point, I was so exhausted and overwhelmed that I would have pretended to be Mickey Mouse if they asked me.
Again, as long as they were not asking me to entertain a notion that I was anything other than the innocent victim and Ana was the perpetrator, I would say and do anything they asked.
Forget logic, forget rationality. Anyone can pretend to have a different personality. We can change our voice tone and demeanor and pretend to be a little boy or girl. When I was very young my Grandpa called me "Brucie" and I was so insecure as a little boy that I would say "I'm Bruce."
In my discussion with Jimmy sometime prior to this I had said that if I had a different personality, an alter personality, maybe that other personality might have a name like "Brucie" to distinguish it from the adult personality that was me or my host personality. If I had that condition, I might have created a child alter named Brucie. This was just an example that I used to explain things.
These detectives were not asking me to admit to being the perpetrator, they just seemed to be having fun with me or something like that. It also occurred to me that somewhere in the lies that Ana had told them - by now I knew her name was Ana - she must have stated something about me having different personalities including a personality named "Brucie."
I had no idea where this was going but I knew that these two detectives wanted to talk to Brucie. Again from the story, I shared with Jimmy sometime prior to this moment, I had imagined Brucie to be a little boy.
I said "I'm Brucie" in a soft voice that a personality that was a child might have. It was just a last-ditch effort to make these two detectives happy. If they had asked me to quack like a duck I would have done what these authority figures were asking me to do.
This seemed like their game - a sick and twisted game for their enjoyment - and I was being asked to play along. This had nothing to do with investigating a crime for which I was the victim and Ana was the perpetrator. These two detectives were the directors of a bizarre game that made no sense to me.
I am sure somewhere in my mind I was clinging to a hope that the game would end and I could tell them how Ana, the perpetrator, had harmed me.
I had said "I'm Brucie" in a child-like voice. This seemed to be what they wanted me to do.
When that didn't satisfy them, they showed me a statement that they wanted me to sign. I looked at what one of the police officers had written and I was shocked. He was asking me to sign a confession. I asked, "that's what you think happened?"
"I'm not signing that," I answered. "That didn't happen."
The next thing I remember was that they brought me in front of a magistrate. I felt a feeling of horror, unlike anything I had ever experienced. It was when I was taken in front of the magistrate that I learned what the charges were. I was being charged with second-degree kidnapping and second-degree sexual offense. This was so terrifying that I could not process the events that were transpiring.
I was the innocent victim and now they were charging the victim with a crime - no two different crimes!
I still didn't know the extent of the lies told by Ana. I only just a few minutes ago had seen a statement written by one of the detectives describing what they thought happened.
They were arresting, charging, and jailing the victim of a brutal crime!
These two detectives surely had ignored every single iota of evidence collected by their fellow police officers who arrived in response to my 911 call.
I thought I would state that I was suicidal as a desperate cry for help. I wasn't planning anything suicidal at this point. I was just terrified of everything that was happening and I wanted help. Maybe if I told them I was suicidal I could get help from someone with skills in dealing with psychological or psychiatric issues.
This was indeed extremely traumatic and disorienting. Even if I wasn't suicidal, I certainly was not well in any sense of the word. It was a cry for help. I was desperate to find some support, some help... or to find someone who cared.
Humiliation and Jailing the Victim
I was stripped down and put into a strange outfit that I guess is for people who are suicidal. Then they took photos of me. I thought I was being taunted like Jesus had been before he was crucified.
At some point, I was taken to the hospital where they drew blood. I wasn't worried about that. I had a bit of hope that didn't last long. Maybe I was thinking something along the lines that all the blood evidence would point to my victimization. The perpetrator didn't have a scratch on her as far as I could tell and as far as the witnesses had reported. Therefore blood evidence couldn't possibly incriminate me in a crime. It could only set me free or so I hoped.