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A man at a red light sits quietly with his wife and children, listening to his favorite music. A sound in the distance makes the hair on the back of his neck stand up. He fills with fear, for he has heard the sound before, and he knows what it brings.
“Don’t look,” he warns the family.
A group of men on motorcycles pull alongside the Buick. The man, petrified, stares straight ahead and prays to his maker for the traffic light to turn green before something happens.
Because something, he is certain, will happen.
The light turns, and he speeds away.
Is he right, or is he wrong?
At a bar the motorcyclists stop. Once inside, they notice a woman. A woman who is alone. One-by-one, they take their turn, raping her. They rape her of her innocence, of her trust, and of her ability to sleep at night. They rape her of her life.
Yet, somehow, she survives.
She stumbles through her days and nights that follow, not knowing how – or even if – she’ll ever survive.
The rapists are eventually caught, taken to court, and tried for the horrific crime they committed. After a lengthy trial, they are convicted and await sentencing. On judgment day, they receive six months in the county jail – in protective custody.
Even jailhouse justice is impossible. They’re protected from harm.
The girl, once again, is raped.
By the judicial system.
Downtrodden and beaten, she stumbles to the bar, hoping to dull the pain. Halfway through her first pitcher of beer, she hears a familiar rumble. Through the window, she confirms her suspicions.
A motorcycle club.
In fear for her life, she attempts to grab her things and go. Before she is able, however, they are upon her. Slowly, and without expression, one of the men approaches her. She cowers in her seat. He reaches for her.
She flinches.
And he picks a piece of lint from her coat.
“We heard about your case,” he says. “Don’t worry. Justice will prevail.”
She swallows hard, and attempts to acknowledge his presence, but the words do not come.
He physically looks no different than the men who haunt her dreams, but somehow she feels that he is.
With a glimmer of hope, her eyes meet his. Memorizing and blue, they provide her with comfort.
Embarrassed for her initial fear of the club’s intentions, her eyes fall to the floor. When she looks up, the men are gone.
She hears the rumble. Through the window, she watches as the taillights fade off into the darkness of the night, and her heart fills with warmth.
Is she right, or is she wrong?
Six months later, on the eve of their release, the rapists leave their protective cells. One by one, they walk away.
And one by one they meet their fate.
When the woman gets the news, she feels justice is served.
Right, I ask you? Or wrong?
For the first time since that horrific night, she falls into a deep uninterrupted sleep.
