Kathryn Fox - Without Consent

Grabbing at the covers, she slowly lifted them up to her shoulders as her entire body shook. The window was key-locked. He’d see her if she tried to leave the bedroom. Too paralyzed with fear to move, all she could do was listen. The fridge door opened, followed by the clink of bottles.

Oh God, he’s staying. He’s getting something to eat!

After what seemed like hours, he came back and sat on the bed.

“Don’t look at me.”

This time his voice sounded calm, which scared her more. For sure, he was getting ready to kill her. He pulled off the bedclothes and stared at her half-naked body, twisting the knife in his hand.

Then he rolled her onto her back and pressed the blade hard against her breast. He unzipped his pants, climbed on top and raped her again. This time the smell of beer and garlic doused her with each grunt.

When he’d finished, he made her take a shower in the en suite and forced her to scrub all over.

“Now, where’s that handbag?” he said, while the shower still ran.

When he returned, through a misted screen-door she saw him shove something into his back pocket.

Cat-like, he pounced and opened the screen-door, pulling the cap further over his eyes. “I have to go now, but I’ll be watching from around the corner.”

Ashamed and still afraid, she tried to shield herself from his burning stare and turned away. “Please don’t hurt me any more.”

“Listen, bitch. I know everything about you. If you call the police or tell anyone, I’ll be back. If you try to hide, I’ll find you. And next time, I’ll finish what we started.”

Anya stared at the Department of Healthdirective that instructed all physicians to photograph assault victims on presentation and during examination. The accompanying consent was in addition to the other two forms that victims had to sign before evidence could be collected. No wonder victims’ groups demanded better treatment.

Anya wished she’d argued better at the meeting. Survivors were different from murder victims in two important ways. Unlike homicide victims, they had a choice in whether or not to come forward. Secondly, they remained alive and vulnerable, often feeling as though the offender had committed “unfinished” murder.

Mary Singer entered the tearoom.

“Thanks for coming in again. The poor girl seems more terrified about how her mother will take it. Apparently, her mum was mugged last year and has been over-the-top protective of her kids ever since.”

Anya could relate to that. Having a four-year-old son was worrying enough. She tested the charge on the digital camera and put it on the trolley outside the examination suite.

Inside the room sat a straight-backed young woman, with mascara smudged around her eyes and a large swollen bruise on the left side of her face. She wasn’t crying now.

“I’m Anya, the unit’s doctor.”

“Melanie,” the woman uttered with a hoarse voice.

Mary Singer sat in the armchair next to Anya’s.

“I’m here for two main reasons,” Anya explained. “The most important thing is to look after you; to make sure you are safe and all right. The second reason is to conduct a forensic exam, but only if you want it. I won’t do it unless you consent to it. You do have power and choices here tonight. Your attacker may have tried to take them away from you, but you are in control now.”

Melanie looked intensely at Anya. “What does a forensic exam involve?”

“An examination to see whether your attacker transferred any DNA material from his body to yours. That means taking cotton swabs of areas he might have left some of his ‘genetic fingerprint,’ if you like. That happens if he licked, bit or kissed you, or even pressed hard on your skin with his fingers. It can also be left in the form of semen, hairs, or if you scraped his skin with your fingernails.”

“I think he used a condom the first time. It sounds stupid, but I’m not sure about the other times.” Her voice trailed to almost a whisper.

“Nothing you say will sound stupid. You’d be amazed how many people don’t know if a condom was used. How could you when you weren’t able to see?”

“The police already know I was attacked. I didn’t know what to do, so I called emergency. A policewoman brought me straight here and said I’d have to be examined.”

Anya referred to her clipboard and booklet. “There is no ‘have to’ here. I won’t do anything without your permission, and you can change your mind at any time at all. But, if you think you might want to make a police statement, it’s better to look for any forensic evidence now rather than later. If you go home and decide you don’t want the police involved, we can dispose of the evidence. If you agree to my collecting evidence, you have time to decide whether or not you want it handed over to the police. I can’t do anything with it unless I have your written permission.”

“I’ve never even had a Pap smear.”

“I wouldn’t do that tonight, but it’s important to check you for injuries and treat you if necessary. We need to talk about the risks of pregnancy and infections as well.”

Melanie bit her bottom lip.

“If I let you examine me, is that all?”

Mary Singer cleared her throat. “We offer you medical treatment and ongoing counselling whether or not you have an examination. There’s no pressure either way.”

“It might help if you can tell me how you were attacked, and where you were hurt,” Anya added.

Melanie paused. “I just got home after catching a late train. The power went off and I checked the fuse box and came back inside. That’s when he grabbed me from behind. I thought it was my boyfriend kidding around. Then the knife dug into my face.”

Anya noticed a small wound on the right cheek and a stream of blood heading toward her chin. She was upright when the knife pierced the skin.

Melanie continued talking, and, taking brief notes, Anya documented key points of the story.

Anya asked, “Have you had any bleeding since the assault?”

“Kind of like a heavy period.”

“It’s important that we look at that, to make sure you haven’t got any damage to your bladder or bowel as well.”

“I didn’t fight him. I was so scared, I couldn’t move.” Melanie hung her head. “It was like being paralyzed.”

“Whatever you did during the attack was the right thing,” Mary emphasized. “You survived. Don’t ever forget that. You did the right things.”

The young woman gazed at the pot plant on the coffee table and seemed to drift into a daze.

“I once saw one of those wildlife shows where a surfer was attacked by a shark. He said that out of the corner of his eye he saw something gray, then felt a tug on his leg. When he looked down he saw blood in the water but didn’t know he was missing half his leg. It didn’t even hurt. It was as though the first bite wiped out all feeling of fear and pain.” Her voice faltered and her hand dabbed the swollen cheek. “He paddled to the shore and didn’t collapse until someone helped him onto the beach.” Her voice became raspier, but she kept talking. “Maybe it’s nature’s way of trying to help animals that can’t save themselves.”

The calm facade started to slip. She bit her lip again. “That’s kind of how I felt after he started to rape me the first time.”

Melanie Havelock sat forward and stared at the pot plant for a good few minutes before making her decision. “I survived for a reason. I want to have the forensic exam.”

Anya admired the strength of this woman. She should do well with support and counselling.

After signing the consent form, Melanie asked about the other forms. Anya explained what they meant, and how she documented the findings. “This last one,” she added, “is a request to photograph your injuries, and what you look like now.”