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The Vengeance of Erin

By: Moonraker_Bond007



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.


The Vengeance of Erin



Jason had started, and I had tried to respond with the vaginal responses that Tara had taught me, but something was just not right. I started crying – something that I hadn't even done when I had lost my virginity.

Jason looked at me. Realizing something was not right, he pulled out and laid down next to me. Embracing me, he just held me until we both fell asleep.

We had an appointment with my counselor, Dr. Lund, today. She asked us how the rape had affected our relationship. Jason told her about the incident with Detective Backer at the hospital. She nodded, saying that it was normal for him to be angry, emotional, and above all else, protective. Then, I told her about what had happened the night before.

"Yes," said Dr. Lund. "Again, that's normal. You still have deep emotional and mental scars. Lovemaking is an act that your mind and body probably both associate with the rape, preventing you from actually being able to follow through. It often takes weeks, even months, before a rape victim can recover to the point where they are comfortable with sex again and can actually enjoy it."

When we walked out of Dr. Lund's office, I felt very depressed. If I couldn't even have sex and enjoy it, then things were worse than I had thought. Jason promised to pick me up from class later that afternoon. He hugged me – as if he would never let go, the way he had since it had happened. Then, he left.

It was time for Form and Analysis with Dr. Mitch Cadiz. This was the class I hated most, partly because it was an absolutely horrible class, and partly because Dr. Cadiz was a horrible teacher. He thought he was just the absolute shit, and made no bones about it. When he spoke, it was almost as if slime was oozing off of his tongue. I didn't like him, and I didn't like the class.

At the end of class, as I was walking out, my friend Kara walked into the classroom to say "Hi." A former music major herself, she had just gotten out of the choir she was still in, and seeing me, walked in, and gave me a hug. As she was embracing me, Dr. Cadiz walked up.

"Ms. Benning," he oozed, "I'm sorry to interrupt, but your homework from chapter seven is two weeks overdue."

Overdue homework? I never had overdue ho-

Oh, wait a second. That's what I had been working on that night with Tara and Andrea.

"Uh, Dr. Cadiz," I started, "I'm sure you heard, but I was uh… raped a couple weeks back, and when it happened, the homework was stolen out of my purse, along with about half the contents of it."

He looked at me with a disgusted look on his face. "Uh-huh. Right. Whatever, you still need to do it. If it's not in by Friday, it's a zero."

Kara looked at him and shook her head. "Jesus Christ, Cadiz. You're a bastard. And the music department wonders why so many of your students leave the department – like I did."

With that, she turned and headed for the door. I followed suit. We were almost out the door when Kara turned around and said, "You know what, Cadiz? Why don't you go fuck yourself."

"You can't talk to me that way!" he started to reply, but she slammed the door shut on him.

And with that, for the first time since I had been raped, I started laughing. I couldn't help it – I was laughing hysterically. I had to sit down on a bench in the hallway. Kara was dying from laughter as well.

After a few minutes and more than a few odd glances, we both recovered and composed ourselves. "Damn," I said, drying my eyes. "Telling Cadiz to go fuck himself – that was one of the funniest things I've ever seen!"

The good feeling was enough to last me through dinner, but as night set in, I started becoming more and more depressed, as was the norm for this time of day. Even when Jason spontaneously did Cartman's German Dance from South Park while holding a bowl of spaghetti, I could only manage a small laugh – and that was something that usually made me lose it in laughter.

Dr. Lund was right. I had a long road ahead of me.

March 21st, 2005

I was awakened on the morning of the twenty-first by my phone ringing. I woke up, and said, "Jason, answer the phone."

I got no response, and the phone kept ringing. I said it again, and then remembered – Jason hadn't slept here the night before. Or the night before that. Or the week before that.

On March 11th, the first day of Spring Break, Jason had sat me down for a "talk."

"Look," he said. "I love you. I care about you like none other, and nothing will ever change that. I will always be here for you, as your anchor. But right now, I think it might be easier for you if I wasn't around as much. I was talking to your counselor, and she said that she thinks you've grown dependent on me, possibly because I was the first person to reach you after what happened. She says that I should spend a little time away from you, and though it will be painful at first, she thinks that over a couple weeks, the dependency will end, you'll begin to emotionally recover, and we can begin to rebuild our healthy relationship.

"I think you can do this, because you're a strong woman," he had continued. "You've shown amazing resiliency in the last month. But if it ever gets to be too much, if you can't possibly go on another minute without me, just call me, and I'll be here right away."

He was right. I had been dependent on him, and I needed to take care of that, because as long as I was dependent on him, our relationship would not have the "give and take" that it needed. So, I hadn't seen him once the last ten days, nor talked to him on the phone, although we had exchanged several e-mails.

E-mail is, well, more impersonal, he had written. I still want to know everything that's going on, but I think – and the counselor agrees – that if you actually heard my voice, it might weaken your progress, whereas e-mails are just text on a screen.

He had promised that he would take me out for a "recovery" date on March 31st, three weeks after our separation period had begun. I was counting down the days until that day, although every day I felt less like I absolutely NEEDED him to be around, and more just that I wanted him to be.

And so, when I realized that Jason wasn't in my bed, I rolled over and picked up the phone. "Hello?"

"Erin Benning?"
"Yeah."

"This is Detective Backer with the Fresno Police," the voice came over the phone. "Uh, we got the DNA test back on your attacker's semen. Unfortunately, it doesn't match with anything in the FBI database, which means that he's never committed a violent crime before – or at least, never been convicted of one. We also checked it against the databases that the Red Cross and United Blood Services have, but that came back negative as well. That's also not much of a help, unfortunately, because over half of the adult males in California have never donated blood."

"What about his blood type, though?" I asked. "You can tell that, can't you?"

"O positive," was his reply. "The most common blood type."

"Yeah," I said, "but you said that since he called me by name, he probably knew me. Doesn't that help at all? Can't you narrow it down with that?"

"Well, we could," he replied, sounding a bit uncomfortable, "but the fact of the matter is, there's probably at least 10,000 men in this town who would know your name. Since you're in the FSU Master Chorale, you've been seen at every choir concert FSU has had for the last three years, and those generally tend to average one to two thousand people in attendance. Any one of the men at any of those concerts could've seen you, and recognized you enough to call you by name."

I was crushed. If one of the goth-punk weirdos who I saw down in the art studio had been raped and called by name, the police probably would've been able to identify their attacker almost immediately – but since I was a "high-profile" figure, my chances went straight down the tubes.

I thanked Detective Backer and hung up. After a moment of just staring at my feet, I got ready for the first class of the day – Diction. With Satan, uh, Mitch Cadiz. Oh joy.

As I sat in Dr. Cadiz's class that day, I was practically falling asleep. I was doing my best to stay awake by just drawing random sets of musical notation on my notes, when suddenly Dr. Cadiz said something that brought me fully alert.

"I was having trouble with my car this morning," he was saying. "It just wouldn't start, so after the fourth frustrating try, I just said, ‘Stop fighting me, bitch!' and lo and behold, it started!"

The class politely laughed, but I felt like I had been punched in the gut. Stop fighting me, bitch! resounded in my head, in my attacker's voice. It all started flashing back – gagging on my attacker's cock, having my clothes ripped away from me, the ring hitting me in the face…

The room started spinning, and then I slipped out of my chair. Everything went black.

When I came to, Dr. Cadiz and several students were gathered around me in a circle. "Welcome back to the land of the living, Ms. Benning," Dr. Cadiz said as he lifted me to a sitting position. His left hand was supporting my head, his right hand my shoulder as he brought me upward. I looked to my right – and there it was. The ring. The ring that said "AC."

"Do you want me to call an ambulance?" he asked.

No, I want you to call the police and turn yourself in, you monstrous FUCK! I thought. But I really had no evidence. At least, I didn't have enough to make it stand up.

"Um… uh, no, that's okay," I replied. "I think I should probably go home, though," I continued.

"Alright," he said. "If you think that's best."

I just nodded, collected my stuff, and walked out the door. Zombie-like, I staggered through the halls of the music building. When I reached my car, I just collapsed in the driver's seat and began crying. How could this have happened to me? Why, God, why? Not only had I been raped by one of my instructors, but I couldn't prove it!

Then I had a flash of inspiration. With an energy I didn't think I had, I got back out of my car, quickly walked through the halls of the music building, and pushed into the office of my advisor, Dr. Rochell Harris.

Dr. Harris is the coolest woman on the planet. She's fifty, from Detroit, Michigan. Growing up African-American in the slums of Detroit, she had experienced more abuse, racially, physically, and sexually in the first fifteen years of her life, than five people would in a lifetime. But despite that, she decided to move on with her life, and try to change the lives of other people.

Now she was the director of choral studies for Fresno State. She was always willing to listen and talk to her students – and there was nothing she didn't know. If something was going on with any of the students or faculty in the school of music, she knew about it.

When I walked into her office and sat down in a chair in front of her desk, she was working on something on her computer, but immediately stopped when I walked on. "Miss Benning," she said, "are you alright? You look awful!"

Instead of replying, I just jumped right in. "What can you tell me about Mitch Cadiz?"

"Mitch Cadiz," she said. "Mitch Cadiz is a hyena. He stands aside and laughs as people are brought down, and then when they're down, he jumps in and destroys them. He's destroyed the careers of at least two instructors at this school, not to mention the lives of countless students."
"How?" I asked.

"He's a drug dealer," Dr. Harris replied. "One of the biggest cocaine dealers in Fresno. The only problem is, nobody can prove it. The police have never been able to find anything, nor have any of his customers been able to unequivocally identify him as their dealer.

"Beyond that, I think he's a sick, sick man. I don't know what's wrong with him, but there's just something there, and I think that someday he's going to snap, and it's all going to be over, because he probably owns more guns than the Fresno Police Department. And that's the story on Arthur Mitchell Cadiz."

Arthur Cadiz? AC!

"Why do you ask?" Dr. Harris said.

Taking a deep breath, I voiced my suspicion. "I think he's the one who raped me," I replied.

Dr. Harris was speechless for a moment. Then, raising an eyebrow, she said, "That's a very serious allegation. Do you have anything to back it up?"

"No," I replied in frustration. "All I have is that he said something in class today that my rapist said. On top of that, he has a ring that says AC on it – my attacker had a ring that said AC on it."

"Was it the same ring?" she asked.

"I don't know," I replied. "It was practically impossible to see during the attack – it was almost pitch black. But I looked in the Fresno phonebook – there's over 5,000 men in Fresno with the initials AC. I don't even have enough for the police to force him to submit to a DNA test."

"What are you going to do?" Dr. Harris asked in a very concerned tone.

"I don't know," I replied. "I'm going to pray – pray that something will turn up that will be evidence."

"Please keep me updated," Dr. Harris said as I left. I promised her I would.

I hadn't been completely honest with her, though. I knew exactly what I was going to do – I was going to wait until I had something more, something that would make me absolutely sure that it was Mitch Cadiz – and then I was going to kill him.

"Something more" came on Wednesday, once again in Diction class. Dr. Cadiz came in wearing a Red Cross armband. When one of the students asked him why, he said he'd taken part in a blood drive to replenish the supplies that Army hospitals in Iraq had. It was the first time he'd ever given blood, he said. "Apparently, I'm type O positive."

O positive, Detective Backer had said. And now, I was positive. Dr. Cadiz was my attacker. Now I just had to plan how I was going to do this.

March 30th, 2005

At 10:30 PM, Andrea knocked on my door. She was going to drive me.

We were both dressed in black. Andrea's car was black. There was heavy cloud cover that night, so no moon.

The plan was for me to break into Dr. Cadiz's house, shoot him with one of his own guns, and then spread drug stuff around his body to hopefully make it look like a drug-related murder. The only problem was, Andrea was going to have to park several blocks away, and I would have to walk in, and hope that I could get in without Dr. Cadiz's alarm going off.

It had started raining by the time we reached Dr. Cadiz's house. "Wow, nice house," Andrea said as we drove past.

"Yeah, it's amazing what you can do on the drug money of coked-out college students," I said tightly.

It was then that lightning struck. Literally. A lightning bolt struck a power transformer at the end of the street, sending the entire block into pitch blackness. Dr. Cadiz's house went completely dark. Andrea and I just looked at each other. Yeah, this was going to work.

Andrea parked three streets behind Dr. Cadiz's house. Keeping to the alleys behind the houses, I quickly made my way to the alley behind his backyard. I scaled the fence, and landed softly in his backyard.

I made my way around his pool, being careful not to slip and fall in in the darkness. When I reached his back door, I tried it – and it was unlocked. I wasn't going to have to break anything.

There was an alarm panel right next to the door – dark. And hanging on the wall just a few feet from the alarm panel, a gun. And not just any gun – an Israel Military Industries Desert Eagle .50 caliber. It would put a hole the size of China in anybody who was shot with it.

A saw a flicker of light, and made my way toward it. Turning around a corner, I saw him. Dr. Mitch Cadiz, surrounded by several bags of cocaine. He was cutting it at his living room coffee table, with candlelight lighting his way.

I raised the gun and aimed it at his head. "Hello, motherfucker."

He looked up, not seeming to be the least bit startled. "Why, hello, Miss Benning."

I walked toward him. "You're a dead man."

"Ah," he said with a laugh. "I see you figured it out. What a smart girl, figuring out who her rapist was with no help from the police."

"You won't get away with this," I hissed. "You're going to die."

"Hah!" he barked. "I've gotten away with this EIGHT TIMES before – three times in Boston, twice in Portland, three times in Phoenix! I've raped EIGHT of my students before you and never been caught. Of course, none of them ever figured it out… but you did. So you have to die."

"I'm the one with the gun," I said.

"Oh, please. Do you really think I'm so stupid as to leave a loaded gun right next to my door where any and everybody who walks in can grab it and shoot me with it? No, it was in case somebody like you walked in the door and got a bright idea."

NO. This couldn't be. I aimed at his head and pulled the trigger. Click. Twice more. He was right. It was empty.

Moving with the swiftness of a cat, he leapt to his feet, smashed the gun out of my hand, and hit me in the face. I was knocked to the couch, and when I looked up, he was aiming a Beretta 9MM at me.

"Oh yes, Ms. Benning," he said. "I enjoyed fucking you. I enjoyed leaving a hot, steaming load inside of you. And now, I'm going to enjoy watching you die."

At that moment, the lights chose to come on – and a voice said, "Eat shit and die, motherfucker."

Then, a muted "pop" – a red spot appeared on Dr. Cadiz's forehead – and the back of his head exploded.

I jumped up from the couch and turned around – and there was Jason, standing in the doorway, a gun aimed at where Dr. Cadiz had just stood.

"What?" was all that came out of my mouth. "What?"

"Dr. Harris called me last week," he said. "She told me about your suspicion – so I've been following you ever since to make sure nothing happened."

I was stupefied. Jason had been near enough to me for the last week and a half to know everything, and to protect me should anything happen – but I never knew.

And then rage overcame me. I grabbed the gun out of Jason's hand – a silenced Colt 1911. Aiming it at Dr. Cadiz's crotch, I fired and fired and fired again – until the gun was empty, and the area where his cock had been was a bloody, mangled mess. Then, I dropped the gun – and fell to the floor, sobbing.

Jason picked me up and held me. But it was much too soon when he let go of me and said, "We need to get going, before the police get here."

"There's one more thing I need to do before that happens," I replied. Turning, I swept all the cocaine off the living room table. One bag burst when it hit the floor.

Then, leaving through the back door, Jason and I snuck back to where he had parked his car. I called Andrea.

"Did it go okay?" she asked. "Are you on the way back?"

"Yeah, it worked, and then some," I replied. "You can go, though – I'm with Jason."

"Jason?!"

It was then that I remembered. When I called Jason the night that it happened. Motherfucker. DEAD motherfucker, he had said.

"Yeah," I said to Andrea. "Everything's gonna be just right."

That night, Jason and I made love for the first time in over a month. He was gentle, tender, passionate. The sweetness of it was almost overwhelming, but I felt no emotional pain. All I felt was love – and ecstasy. When I came, it was, if not the most impressive orgasm I've ever had, definitely the most electric.

As Jason lay there that night, just holding me, I fell asleep with a smile on my face. For the first time in a month and a half, I was at peace once more.

The next morning, between classes, I received a call from Dr. Harris. She asked me to come by her office around noon. When I arrived in her office, she didn't say anything – just motioned for me to sit down, and then put a tape in her VCR.

It was the morning news broadcast. "Dr. Mitch Cadiz was found dead this morning," the reporter was saying. "A neighbor was alerted that something was amiss when they noticed his backdoor standing open at about 4:30 AM. The Fresno police discovered Cadiz's body in his living room. He had been shot multiple times. Police also found about ten pounds of cocaine scattered about Cadiz's living room. Currently, they are treating it as a drug-related murder.




The Vengeance of Erin



"In a related story, a DNA test performed on Cadiz during his autopsy has revealed him to be the attacker in the February rape of FSU student Erin Benning. Police do not consider her to be a suspect."

Dr. Harris turned the tape off. "Somebody was very angry," she said.

"Yeah," I agreed.

"Now, I don't know who did this," she said. "And I don't want to. If I ever found out, though, I would never say anything to anybody, because Cadiz deserved what happened."

I was silent.

"Now honey," she continued, "you need to understand that whoever did this –" she looked straight into my eyes "- is going to have to live with the demons of having done this for the rest of their life."

I looked straight back. "That may be so," I said. "But the fact of the matter is, he's one demon that no woman will ever have to live with again."

With that, I got up and left Dr. Harris' office, not looking back.

That evening, Jason and I had what was originally planned to be our "recovery" date, but which we now were privately referring to as our "victory" date. Afterward, we made love almost all night. I still had a ways to go, but the worst of the recovery was behind me at this point.

It was a very good night.