Casper's Insanity

Shortly after I was released from prison on parole in Seattle in 1994 I got a job working as a telephone sales rep (telemarketer) for Time Life Libraries, Inc. (or TLLI, pronounced «Tilly» for short). The workplace, a large central room with rows of five foot high partitioned booths each with a phone and computer terminal (actual terminals, not real computers like nowadays), was a rumormill. So, as soon as I was hired everyone there knew that I was a «registered sex offender» and on parole. But, I didn't know that everyone knew (I certainly didn't tell anyone except the person who interviewed me for the job, I guess that was enough), and I certainly didn't understand back then the effect such information has on the type of friends I would meet. Nobody wants to be a «sex offender's» friend for the sake of friendship alone; everyone who spoke to me at work did so because they had to (as part of the job) or because they wanted something, usually sex (of the three men and four women I met at TLLI who were willing to associate with me outside of work, all but one man and one woman wanted sex), including Casper. But, the kind of sex that Casper wanted she never got; at least, not from me. Casper wanted to be raped.

She didn't tell me this herself. In fact, I didn't find out that this was the real (and only) reason she befriended me at all until long after she physically attacked me in my own apartment one day after which I stopped associating with her. I found out about her true motices from another friend I met at TLLI named Dee (who initially befriended me because she wanted to get pregnant, so we had lots of sex, but ended up becoming good friend, too). I thought Casper was just a naive young girl who needed a mature friend to help her along in the world, so that's what I tried to be for her.

To be honest, that wasn't all I tried to do. Casper was not only young (22 years when we met) and pretty, she was also very innocent looking and spoke with such a soft unassuming voice that it made her terrible at selling books and CDs over the phone, but excellent at seducing men, which she admitted to me on several occasson that she did frequently. So naturally I wanted to have sex with her. And I thought I might actually have a chance if I was patient enough. And yet, I was perfectly willing to accept our friendship as platonic, if that's what she wanted. And according to her, it was. At least, that's what she kept insisting when the subject came up, and somehow it came up at alot --- more than I should have expected if I had been only a little wiser.

The first day we met she had invited me to accompany her to her bus stop downtown after work, which was no trouble for me since I lived within a ten or fifteen minute walk from there and her stop was not out of my way at all. Besides, I didn't know that she knew I was a «sex offender» (i.e. I hadn't told her, yet), so I thought I was making her feel safe by seeing her onto the bus that would take her out of the city safely to a residential neighborhood in Bellevue (if I remember correctly) where she lived with room and board in exchange for chores and babysitting services for a family there (according to her). But, when her bus came she suddenly started screaming and hitting herself on her head with her fists for no apparent reason. As I got to know her better I learned that this was basically how she reacts when she's not getting waht she wants, or things otherwise aren't going her way, a classic tantrum, only bizarre for the fact that she was twenty-two, not three.

At the time, though, I didn't know what to think. I stayed with her though and smiled reassuringly at all the people around to let them know everything was okay while Casper calmed herself down. I could tell this was not new behavior for her (it was clearly something practiced) so I was careful not to respond with alarm or judgement. Instead, as soon as she appeared coherent again I simply asked if she was okay. She claimed that it was an «attack» she has sometimes and has no control over when it happens. I asked if there was anything I could do to help, and she suggested innocently that if I accompanied her home on the bus it would make her feel much better. So I did.

We had to wait for the next bus though because her «tantrum» had caused her to conveniently miss the one that had already come. I rode with her to her stop in Bellevue, then got off the bus and walked her to the house she was staying at. It was well after dark, and the route she took me on to the house followed many dark streets, an abandoned playground, and even a short stretch of trail through some woods. When we got to the house she assured me she could let herself in but didn't want the family to see me so I should go, which I did. I killed a little time wandering around the neighborhood while I waited for the return bus and found an easier (and better lit) route back to the stop, where I eventually boarded the bus and went back to Seattle and home to my own apartment, much much later than usual, but feeling like I had done a good deed and maybe even made a new friend. Boy, was I naive.

After that first time I ended up walking with Casper to her bus stop many times, often making deturs to shop, or get something to eat, and lots of conversation. I soon learned that she had come to Seattle from some small mid-Western city against her parents wishes in order to pursue a «relationship» with the drummer of Nirvana (the popular rock band based in Seattle) who she had «made love to» after a concert near her own home town. The only problem was that the drummer apparently wasn't interested in a «relationship» at all. She was convinced that she could find a way to change his heart and make him fall in love with her, if she could just get his attention somehow.

So, many of our walks together ended up being expeditions to various locations related to her Nirvana quest. She gad read that they rehersed in a private studio that overlooked Lake Union (the TLLI offices also overlooked Lake Union at the time, just above Gasworks park, though they've since been moved to a new highrise downtown). So some of our earliest walks together were around Lake Union in search of the Nirvana studio. One time she took me into an alley behind the offices of the record company that produced Nirvana's albums while she climbed on top of a dumpster to look through the windows. The significance of the fact that she often lead me to secluded locations that were near places where her beloved drummer might be, or at least had been, was lost to me. In hindsight I came to realize that she probably thought that if she got raped near a Nirvana «hotspot» that word of the rape would reach the drummer and she'd win his sympathy and attention that way, or maybe «guilt» him into at least acknowledging their «relationship». But, at the time, I just thought it was like a hobby for her to track down the drummer, so I ignorantly went with her anywhere she asked.

I remember once I even rented a car and paid for a fairy trip across the sound with her and to a rural residence where she said the drummer's parents lived (and where he grew up). It was after dark when we got to the property and watched as she climbed a low fence and disappeared into a field by herself (she insisted on going alone). She was gone for about thirty or forty minutes, which seemed like a really long time as I waited in the car parked by the side of a secluded and unlit road. When she finally came back she was out of breath and seemed exasperated. I asked her what happened but she didn't say much except, “He's not here,” implying that there was no reason for us to stick around, so we left.

One day she called me and said she had found the studio where Nirvana rehersed. She was very excited and wanted me to come with her to «check it out». She said she had learned from a music magazine interview that the studio was in an old real-estate office. So she went to the library and asked for old phone books from the reference desk and looked for real-estate offices that overlooked Lake Union. She found one, and quickly confirmed that it was no longer a real-estate office by checking an updated phone book.

I was doubtful that she had really found their private studio, but went along just to spend time with her, which I always enjoyed doing. When we got to the location (by bys) she lead me into some bushes (unkept hedges) next to a small fenced-off residence-like office building that appeared abandoned, especially if you were just driving by. But, I could clearly see a sophisticated alarm panel through the glass next to the main entrance with flashing LEDs indicating something important was being protected. Casper was 100% certain that this was Nirvana's secret recording studio, but I wasn't convinced yet.

I told her to wait there (in the bushes) while I looked closer. I approached the chainlink fence, which was almost brand new, and followed it along the North side of the building to a point where it, and the building, stopped at the edge of a cliff. I could see from there that on the side of the building face out over the ciff (and looking over Lake Union) was a large picture window. Because of the cliff I was able to lean out and look up into this window.

It was mostly dark inside, but in the back I saw a light on, and a man sitting in front of a computer and lots of other electronic equipment. I also saw other band quipment, like microphones and instruments. This was definitely a music studio! I was shocked, and excitedly returned to Casper's hiding place and told her what I saw, with new respect for her sleuthing abilities.

There were no cars parked near the building, so Casper wanted to hang out for a while to see if anyone showed up. But no one ever came or went, so we eventually left.

Once, I asked Casper if she'd like to come with me fo ra drive (in a rental car) up to Snoqualmie Falls to see the waterfall at night when it is romantically lit by large spotlights. To my delight she agreed to come, but when we actually got on the road (it was about a forty minute drive to the feet of the Cascade mountain. Northeast of Seattle, if I remember right) she began acting strangely.

She said she wanted to go with me to the falls, but in the car she kept saying things like, «I'm not sure this is a good idea...» and, «I'm not comfortable with this...». Then when we actually got to the town of Snoqualmie, just a few miles shy of the falls, she suddenly said she was about to have an «attack», and asked me to stop, so I did.

I pulled into a marked parking space along the main street. It was a well lit shopping area with modest traffic. I asked her if she wanted me to drive her back, but she said no. Then I asked if she still wanted to see the falls, and she said yes, but quietly and uncertainly. So, I suggested that we continue on then, assuring her that the falls were very close, but she said, no, again!

After several more minutes of this confusing and indecisive behavior I made the decision for her, and without announcing my intentions I simply put the car in gear and pulled back out onto the road heading toward the falls. I remember thinking that once we got ther eand she saw how beautiful the falls were (and, perhaps, that they really existed) she would feel better. She didn't seem to resist my decision at all; if she had I would have turned around and driven her home. So we drove the rest of the way to the falls as I reassured her that soon she would be happy she came when she saw the falls.

When we got there we got out and walked part of the way along the well lit scenic path that lead to several semi-private alcoves with views of the falls. She seemed a little impressed and less anxious when she saw other people around. But she was still unusually nervous for some reason that she still wouldn't divulge, and before long she said she was ready to go. She seemed eager to get home, so I suggested we take the less scenic freeway back to Seattle, which was much quicker than the route we had taken to get there. When she didn't argue I assumed that was what she wanted, but after we got back in the car and I headed off further into the hills away from Snoqualmie, which was necessary to get to the I-90 freeway, she started acting even stranger than before.

She started asking a bunch of nervous questions that to me made little sense; things like (but not exactly this, because my memory isn't THAT good)...

«Where are you going?»

… «I told you, to the freeway, it's quicker.»

«Why are we driving into the woods?»

… «This is the way to the freeway.»

«Are you sure?»

… «Yes, I've been here before.»

I again offered to turn around, sensing she didn't trust me as she proclaimed, but she still refused to make any kind of clear decision, so I just drove on.

It was about ten minutes through the wooded hills on an unlit and twisting road to the freeway, and Casper seemed on the verge of completely freaking out the entire way.

From the freeway it was a twenty-minute shot to Seattle (or fifteen to Bellevue) and as soon as we got on it and headed west she got very quiet. But as soon as the freeway windened to five lanes in order to accommodate city traffic she suddenly had one of her «attacks» right there in the car (i.e. she decided to throw a tantrum). Of course, in hindsight it seems clear that the tantrum was because she once more wasn't getting what she so desperately (and secretly) wanted; to be raped in order to get sympathy (not just from the Nirvana drummer, but also from her parents, who refused to support her financially when she left home chasing after him). But, at the time I just thought it was strange.. and dangerous. It clearly wasn't safe to be driving on a busy freeway with her freaking out like that in the seat right next to me. So, I pulled over to the emergency lane and turned on the blinkers.

Apparently that wasn't the reaction she expected. Her «attack» suddenly ended and she asked, «Why did you pull over?» I told her that it was unsafe for me to drive while she was freaking out like that, not only because of the obvious distraction, but she could also easily crash the car if she panicked and grabbed the wheel, or me for that matter. She seemed to concede my point ad told me she was okay so we could continue, which I did.

She remained quiet for the rest of the way «home». Wherever that was I don't recall --- she never lived in any one place for very long. She was kicked out by the family she was staying with for reasons I can only guess, though it'd probably be a good guess to say it was somehow related to her «insane» behavior. She bounced around a lot, staying with various «friends». And, twice while I knew her, she actually rented her own apartment, but then lost them the first time rent came due.

I frequently encouraged her to find her «passion in life» and had hopes she would when she once invited me to go with her as moral support to an interview with an enrollment counselor at the Seattle Art Institute. I sat and listened as she was told in no uncertain terms that she could start classes almost immediately and the school would make all the financial arrangements (i.e. loans and grants). But, she never returned to the school; so I'm not even sure why she went to the interview in the first place, or asked me to come along. Perhaps it was merely to appease me (I don't think she expected to be accepted so easily).

She was a terrible telephone sales rep, so couldn't make much more than minimum wage at TLLI. So, I also encouraged her to find a job that paid better (non-commission), and she did get hired to work at a small futon sales store. I helped her «move» (if you can count two suitcases and a small box of stuff as «moving») to an apartment near the store that she «rented» somehow. It was a potentially sustainable arrangement for her (i.e. she should have been able to make rent and support herself easily if she kept the job) so I once more had hope. But, the first day that she was supposed to open the store for business (they only had a handful of employees and each apparently took their turn opening the shop throughout the week) she failed to show up and consequently got fired. I remember this clearly because for some reason (guess) she made sure I knew she was supposed to open the store and would be «all alone» there for several hours until the other employees arrived. She even pointed out how easy it would be for someone to take her into the back of the store and rape her, and asked if I would come help her on that day to open up (the store). I assured her that her «fears» were completely irrational, and told her I had other obligations, which I did (I had gotten a new job myself in Bothel by this time and was no longer working at TLLI either). So, I didn't show up to «help» open, and she for some reason decided not to show up either.

She soon lost the apartment and was once more looking for a place to crash. It seems the hospitality of her «friends» (whom she never once introduced me to) had worn thin, so she asked if she could stay with me, «for a few days». Of course I said, Yes! I thought that maybe she was finally learning that she could trust me, as a friend. But, the more likely truth is that moving in with me was just her final desperate attempt to get me to rape her. It didn't work any better than any of her other attempts, though it did finally end up ending our friendship, and breaking my heart in the process.

She only brought one suitcase with her. The rest of her stuff was stashed at one of her «friend's» house. Our first and last night together started out peaceably enough, she seemed happy to have someplace to stay, and I did everything I could to make her feel comfortable and safe. My apartment was only a studio though, so I offered her the queen-size hide-a-bed and told her I'd be perfectly comfortable sleeping on the floor using the sofa cushions for a bed. But she insisted that the bed was big enough for both of us. I stammered, of course, if only out of propriety. It didn't take much for her to convince me though.

Was it possible that she wanted to have sex? The possibility excited me, even though she had told me over and over that she was not interested in having sex with me, and she even reaffirmed this before she came to my apartment. But, maybe having sex with me was her way of showing her appreciation; I certainly saw nothing wrong with that! And then when she stripped down to only a T-shirt and panties (or maybe bra and panties, I don't remember exactly, except she definitely took her pants off) and climbed under the covers I thought for sure, «this is it!»

But, of course, it wasn't. With Casper I had learned that I could never be sure about anything, especially sex. So, after I took my own pants off, and keeping my underpants on, I climbed into bed on my side and waited for her to make her move. I don't remember exactly what happened next anymore --- whether or not she asked me to «hold her», or if I asked her and she merely consented, for example --- but I do remember that even though she consented to spooning, in our underwear, she still insisted that she was not interested in having sex with her. Needless to say (I hope), I was more confused about sex at that moment than I had ever been in my life (and I served an extra seven years in prison because the parole board thought I was «confused» about sex!). Rape was the last thing on my mind though. In fact, the entire time I knew Casper I never once thought about raping her. I mostly just wanted to be her friend, even more than I wanted to have sex with her. So her «consent» was the most important thing to me at that moment, and I couldn't tell what she wanted at all.

So, after several minutes, after she seemed to have fallen asleep, I got out of bed quietly, put on my pants, then sat silently in my favorite reading chair which I also used to meditate (remember, there was no other room for me to go to, or I would have). I put on the pants simply because it was more comfortable for me to be dressed, and I sat in the chair because I needed to sort out my feelings about what was happening (i.e. meditate).

But, a moment later my respite was interrupted when Casper woke up for no apparent reason (she didn't stir when I got out of bed and got dressed, and when she seemed to wake up I was just sitting quietly with my eyes closed --- perhaps the silence is what woke her up). With a practiced soft and innocent voice she asked me if something was wrong; why was I just sitting there?

I remembr considering my answer for several seconds, then deciding to just tell her how I honestly felt; which was completely confused by her seemingly seductive behavior and contradictory intentions.

I don't remember exactly what I said, but I clearly remember that she did not respond well. She jumped out of bed, still half-dressed, and started yelling and screaming about how all men are only interested in the same thing; namely sex. I was hurt by her accusation, especially after putting so much effort over the entire time I had known her into assuring her that her friendship --- even if it remained completely platonic --- was the most important thing to me. But, I kept quiet and let her vent her feelings, which I thought was better for her than beating herself in the head with her fists.

At some point I must have moved from the chair to sit on the floor. I don't remember why (possibly to be less threatening), but that's where I was (sitting on the floor) when she tried to kick me. But, before she did that she had flipped over my coffee table, almost breaking its glass top against the metal frame of the hide-a-bed. It seemed she was doing all this to get some kind of reaction from me, but I wasn't reacting, at least not until she actually tred to hurt me physically.

I loved her enough to let her hurt my feelings; enough to let her accuse me of only caring about sex; enough to let her totally embarrass me in earshot of all my neighbors; and even enough to not get mad when she tried to break my furniture; but I guess I didn't love her enough to let her kick me in the fact while I sat and did nothing. I wasn't afraid of her hurting me --- if she did so accidentally I would have instantly forgiven her. But, it was the deliberate attempt to cause physical harm at which I drew the line with anyone.

I was able to deflect the kick with little effort. It wasn't very powerful, but it was enough to get me to react. I got up and grabbed both of her wrists so she couldn't try to hit me, then I pushed her down to the floor, still holding her wrists, and held her there. She suddenly got quiet and became completely submissive; she must have thought I was finally going to rape her. But, instead I just told her --- with as much ice in my voice as I could muster over my emotions --- «Get your stuff and get out!» (And I do remember those words clearly, because it hurt a lot for em to say them.)

It must have taken a moment for my words to sink in, but eventually I could tell that she understood, and seemed willing to comply. So, I let go of her wrists and let her get up. I don't remember if either of us said anything as she got dressed and gathered her things. But she did just that and then left my apartment without further incident.

I was instantly worried about her safety at that time of night in the middle of the city. So, a few minutes after she left I left too, and followed her without letting her see me for several blocks. She made a beeline for downtown, the least safe direction she could have chosen. I soon lost sight of her and returned to my apartment. I then became more and more worried, especially by the direction she took. Seattle is a city that sleeps at night, so the streets downtown are mostly deserted and relatively unsafe, especially for a young and attractive woman. Maybe she was still hoping to get raped, if not by me then by some stranger. I don't know, but I was sincerely concerned about her, so I called 911 and tried to ask for the police to make sure she got someplace safe.

The police came to my apartment building instead, so I met them out front in order to avoid bothering my neighbors. I told them there had been an altercation, but no one was hurt. But when they questioned why I had called the police if no crime had occurred I started to cry and it became hard for me to speak without choking on my words. I just wanted them to make sure Casper was safe, because I couldn't protect her myself any more. But they started treating me like a suspect, especially after I started crying. When I realized that they thought I had hurt her and were now trying to solicit a street confession I told them that I had nothing else to say and returned to my apartment, where I probably cried myself to sleep with a badly broken heart.

I didn't see or hear anything about Casper again after that until more than a year later when I returned to TLLI part-time for extra money after I was released back on parole after a completely unrelated parole violation. She had gone back to work ther ealso, and one of the floor managers told me that when she saw me being interviewed she threatened to quit if I were hired. Well, I was hired, but she didn't quit. But, neither did I pay her any attention. I spent most of my breaks with my lady friend, Dee, who had become a good friend by then. When I told Dee about Casper she told me what she heard about Casper's ploys to get raped. Casper herself had apparently told several people that she wanted to get raped when they tried to warn her away from me because I was a sex offender. But nobody ever tried to warn me about her!

I was lucky that Casper never realized how easy it would have been to just falsely accuse me of raping her. Such false accusations are far more common than the System would have you think, because it completely undermines their whole, «we protect the innocent» facade. And for a «sex offender» on parole, like me at the time, the words, «innocent until proven guilty» are completely meaningless. I would have been arrested and returned to prison without even a trial. And even if she recanted her accusation I still would have been found guilty of some parole violation just to prevent me from filing a civil action. That's just how the «System» works, and anyone who thinks not is plainly ignorant.

 

[J.D. January 3, 2015]