A Night of Terror

(This was a speech given by me on May 16, 2006 in response to a request by the Division of Corrections in my state. I am submitting it as a written article to test my writing skills.)


I was a victim of domestic violence. The violence that I lived with took almost every form possible over a ten year period. During the course of my marriage, there were several promises made to me in addition to the abuse already being perpetrated. Those promises: "Someday your knees will hurt, Lynn. Someday your legs will hurt, Lynn. Someday your hands will hurt, Lynn."

On February 14, 2002. I decided to obtain a protective order and enter a battered women's shelter. An hour and a half later, I began to understand what torture and terror were all about. Forty-five minutes after that, my mind and body fully comprehended both torture and terror. Let me explain.

In entered the shelter somewhere around 4:00 p.m. with my then four year old son and my nine week old daughter. We settled in our room and then went to the dining area for dinner. I will never forget that meal. Potato soup and tuna salad sandwiches.

After dinner, the clients staying at the shelter along with our children returned to the residential side of the building. The children staying there immediately began alerting the shelter manager there was a man outside. They weren't taken seriously until an adult saw this man and described him. The alarms were then set and the main doors were locked.

My babies were on opposite sides of the L-shaped residential area. My little boy was playing in the childrens' lounge on one side and my daughter was asleep in the crib in our room on the other side. A decision had to be made about the best area to put my children for their safety. I looked out the window in our room to see where this man was. My heart sank to the pit of my stomach. The man in question was my husband. He was standing there with a long metal pipe in his hand and rage on his face.

I turned to run and paused only for a split second in front of my baby's crib. Instantly and instinctively, I decided she was better off in the baby bed than if I tried to pick her up and run with her. At that very moment, the sound of glass breaking marked the beginning of total chaos. He was inside the building and coming for me.

As I began to run up the hallway, I heard the sounds of women and children screaming, my baby crying, and the alarms sounding. My husband was right behind me. I was brought to a sudden and painful stop when he hit me in the back of my right knee with the pipe. "I'm going to prison, Lynn. I have nothing to lose" were the words I heard over all the other noises.

The next several minutes are sketchy in my memory. I can't tell you much about what was said. All I remember about that frame of time was that the lights in the building appeared to be intensely bright. I cannot tell you why I don't remember. Maybe it's just too painful.

My memories are more vivid for some of the other times he hit me. I remember the heartbreak and physical pain I felt when he hit me in the left wrist and broke the watch my son bought me for Christmas. The flesh was dangling. Blood was running up my arm and down my hand as I continued to try to protect myself from the person who was supposed to protect me. He was laughing. I was crying.

I continued to try and run to escape him. Each time I ran, he caught me again and the beating resumed. The pipe struck me in the left side. I thought I was hemorrhaging as i felt something warm running down my legs. I knew I hadn't had enough time to heal from my recent C-Section. These were surely my final moments. "How does it feel to shit on yourself, Lynn?", he asked. I immediately realized I was not bleeding but had lost control of my bowels and bladder. At one point, he struck me in the right leg and the bone snapped like a dry twig. "Ooooh, I heard that one break, Lynn" he laughed. The next several blows targeted my legs. Each time he would laugh and say, "Did that one break, Lynn? Did that one break?"

Somehow I ended up trapped in the floor. He split my head with the jagged edge of the pipe and blood began to run down my face. A woman came out of the restroom near me with the only weapon she could find -- a plunger. I was glad to see her. I hated to see her. I didn't want anyone injured or killed because of me. Nevertheless, she ended up in a tug-of-war with my husband and his pipe. Ultimately, he tried four times to hit her in the head and four times she threw up her hand to protect herself. Her hand split open from her middle finger to her wrist. Her blood shot upon the ceiling.

Then he returned to his business with me. I was feeling faint at this point. I don't know whether it was the loss of blood or the concussions but I did know I had to stay awake. He then gently took my glasses off and placed them carefully on the carpet. With a smile on his face, he took the end of that pipe and hit me in the mouth splitting my lip and shoving my teeth upward into my gums. He then pinned my right hand down with his foot and positioned the pipe to drive it through my hand. I pulled away. He pinned it again.

Before he could destroy my hand, he became distracted by something and walked down the hallway. I looked around and found myself totally alone. It was my only chance to escape. The resident's room door directly behind me was unlocked. I entered the room and locked the door behind me. I heard him returning, singing as he hit each door on his way up that long hallway. "Lynn, Lynn, where are you? I'm not finished with you yet." He began beating on the door I had just locked and was digging a hole in it in order to unlock it. I knew it was escape or die.

I quickly looked around the room and noticed an adjoining room. I decided to go into the next room. The only hope I had left was if, by chance, I could get the window open. I did. I managed to climb through the window and jump to the ground below. I felt the broken bone in my leg move when I landed.

I knew to stay in the dark as much as possible. The blood was sloshing in my shoes as if I had stepped in a deep puddle. My vision was blurry now, but the cold air helped me stay alert. I managed to round the corner of the building and saw an ambulance parked next to the front gate. I knew I had to make it to the ambulance.

The shelter had fences ten feet high with barbed wire on top. The electronic gate was locked and it was impossible for me to get out without the shelter manager unlocking it from the inside. There was a buzzer on the other side of the gate that was often used to contact the shelter manager's office to get the gate unlocked. The paramedic tried using the buzzer but failed to get the manager's attention. He even tried to find a way to climb the fence to no avail. The shelter manager was hidden under her desk and wouldn't come out long enough to hit the button located right above her to open the gate.

Once again, my husband found me. I stood again to try and escape him but, by this time, I was too weak and couldn't flee. My right hip and leg were his targets this time. He was toying with me as he had done throughout this whole event. As he raised his pipe to deliver the final blow, he asked me the question, "I'm going to prison, Lynn. I have nothing left to lose. Why shouldn't I just kill you?" The reply I gave was the only thing on my mind, "Because the children need me."

At that very moment, the police arrived. He looked at me calmly and said, "Well, the cops are here." He threw his weapon over the fence, held onto the gate and waited calmly for police instructions. It was over. This Valentines Day was over.
I had survived.

A question remained in my mind. What was the distraction that allowed me to get away? My son was the distraction. His dad picked him up and said, "I love you, Son, but Mommy has to die. You stand right here while I kill Mommy and I'll come and get you and your little sister out of here.

That Valentine's Day will live on in my memory forever.