No Way Out

availed himself of this knowledge to take the first delicate steps towards moving on from the pain of the past.

“It could be important.”

“Isn’t it supposed to be the Sabbath?” she asked with a girlish grin, as he reached for the phone

“Don’t be cheeky,” he said, picking up the phone with one hand and smacking her bottom playfully but firmly with the other.

“Hallo,” said Alex, his greeting almost masked by Martine’s squeal of pain, or delight.

“What was that?” asked David.

“Oh, er hi David. Nothing. I was watching the TV.

“That’s not like you. You’re usually all work and no play.”

“I guess the case is taking it’s toll. Anyway it’s not like you to phone this early on a Saturday.”

“I know, it’s just that I’ve had some results looking at the jury selection program.”

Alex sat bolt upright and signaled Martine to be quiet. David’s tone had been ever so calm and measured that anyone else hearing it would not have known how tinged with excitement is was. But Alex Sedaka had known his son for 26 years and he could tell when he was gripped by excitement.

“What did you find?”

“The solution! To the jury selection software problem! I’ve found out how the software was rigged! I mean I’ve discovered what the tampering actually does.”

“So tell me!”

David’s tone took on the aura of embarrassment.

“I’m not sure if I can explain it to you.”

Alex wasn’t in the least bit offended. He was, at worst, mildly irritated.

“Oh don’t do the old ‘ignorant father’ routine. I need to know.”

“Okay, but look, it’s hard to explain it in words alone. I may need to show you some things. I can drive round there.”

Alex didn’t want David coming round there now. Obviously he would have to tell him at some point about how the relationship with Martine had progressed. But now was not the time.

“Can’t you eMail them over? Besides, Andi needs to hear it too.”

“Maybe you can get her to come round as well. That way I can show you the print outs and diagrams and everything.”

Alex had to think quickly.

“I’ve got a better idea. Let’s do one of those three-way video conferences that you’re always on about.”

“Okay. We can use Oovoo. Phone Andi and tell her to log in, then you log and I’ll log in and I’ll invite both of you. You just have to accept the conference and we’re up and running.”

Saturday, 22 August 2009 — 09:30

It was Saturday morning and Bethel was miserable. Last night she would normally have been out on the town with her friends. As a double rape survivor she kept trying to tell herself that she had almost recovered. Almost, but not quite. The experience of testifying at the trial and listening to the other witnesses, brought it all flooding back. And now when she should have been out having a good time, she was sitting at her friend’s home feeling miserable and depressed. She was staying with her friend Linda for the duration of the trial. At the end of the trial she would go back to her parents and try and get on with her life. Not that she was sure what “getting on with her life” meant any more.

She had planned to go back to college. But the idea no longer held its appeal. She couldn’t face people after the rape — the second rape. She couldn’t face men. She had gone out on a few dates since the rape, but they always made her feel cheap and dirty. Not that they were aggressive. Most of them went out of their way to be respectful, almost to the point of timidity. But the kid gloves treatment reminded her that she was damaged goods. It was as if they were saying to her that they didn’t want to touch her. Or if a few of them became bold enough to touch her, she flinched away from them.

And this rape had in some way affected her more than the first.

The first was date rape. It had hurt her deeply at the time. But somewhere along the line, she had seen it coming. Orlando had been building up to it the whole evening. Although she didn’t want to have sex with him, she had been mentally prepared for the rape as she saw Orlando’s frustration steadily degenerate into anger and then violence when he didn’t get his way, like a frustrated child throwing a tantrum. And because he was such a big child and she was alone with him, it was obvious long before it happened that she wouldn’t be able to hold him off.

Also, she knew that Luke Orlando had suffered for it too in some ways. He had lost friends as a result of it: his friends knew full well that he had raped her — just as they knew he had raped the other girl who came forward at the time, but whose case was never heard.

But this time it was different. When she got into the Mercedes with that smooth-talking man, she hadn’t expected it all. She had heard all the racist generalizations, but it was precisely for that reason that she was determined not to be intimidated by them.

The last time she was raped, some of the men she knew had even offered to “beat up that bastard”. But that did nothing to ease her pain. They were seeing it in terms of revenge. But they were missing the point. What she wanted was not revenge but empowerment. Perhaps, in a way, that was really what men wanted too. Perhaps revenge made men feel empowered.

But in any case, the feelings of empowerment eluded her. When she had testified in court, she didn’t feel empowered, in spite of all the pep talks they had given her at the rape crisis enter. The opening bars of “For what it’s worth” rang out from her cell phone.

It startled her out of her thoughts and jarred her into awareness of her surroundings. More to the point, it brought her down to earth and made her realize that in the real world she was just a weak little girl. She looked at the display and it showed a number, but not one that she recognized. She wondered who was calling. She didn’t like answering the phone when was alone. Since the rape she had been afraid of strangers. Even strangers at the other end of the phone frightened her.

And so now, listening to the phone ring, the apprehension grew inside her as she wondered who it was. Her hand tried to find the phone, fumbling its way around the low table. But fear held it back. Eventually, her curiosity overcame her fear. She picked up the receiver.

“Hello?” she said abruptly, putting on a Mexican accent that she could hide behind, in case it was some one she wanted to avoid, by pretending to be some one else.

“Is that Bethel?”

It was a woman’s voice… a familiar voice… but it sounded distorted.

“Who is this?”

“Who wants to know?” would have sounded corny.

“You don’t know me. My name is… you can call me ‘Lannosea’.”

“What do you want?” Hearing such a strange name made Bethel nervous. Anyone using a name like that had to be a weirdo. And the she didn’t need a weirdo in her personal space on top of all her other problems. But the fact that it was a woman was reassuring.

“I want you to know that Claymore isn’t going to get away with it… and neither is Alex Sedaka.”

“What… what do you want?”

“I want you to know that there’s some one out there fighting for justice… fighting to give you justice.”

“You said… Alex Sedaka.”

“He raped you too, figuratively speaking.”

A streak of terror went through Bethel like a lightening bolt. This woman was reading her mind. She was telling her the thoughts that had been going through her head only a few minutes ago.

“What are you going to do?”

“I intend to make sure that all those who have harmed you are punished. I intend to give you the justice that the system has denied you.”