The Liberation Of Father Mortimer
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Quality Time
by Ellie Dauber © 2017
Brenda Horner snuggled down into an overstuffed chair in one of the
"quiet" rooms set up for study groups in the Taite College Student
Center. Not quiet tonight, though; the music from the Term's End Mixer
came right through the wall, though it was much softer here than in the
room where the band was actually playing. Something didn't seem quite
right to her, but she decided that it was just the beer. To be exact,
the one - or two, maybe - more beers than she should have drunk this
evening.
She'd left the party to give her head a chance clear, but things were
still... fuzzy. 'Might as well head back to the dorm - and bed,' she
told herself. 'There's nobody special waiting for me in there." She
glanced over at the door to the auditorium where the dancing was. 'And
the _last_ thing I need when I start cramming for my finals tomorrow is a
hangover.'
It was the walk of no more than ten steps until she was outside. It was
a warm spring night. The sky was clear with a few stars that were
visible through the haze of lights from the surrounding buildings. A
light breeze carried scents from the formal garden over by the Biological
Sciences Buildings. She decided to walk back to her dorm by way of the
garden. 'It's not the quickest way, but I'll be spending too much time
inside the next few days, hitting the books. A little fresh air'll be a
nice change. Besides, I-I love flowers... don't I?'
'No,' she answered herself. 'I never had much use for... for... flowers.
No, that... that's not right. I've loved them since I was a little... a
little girl?'
She shook her head in confusion. "Must've had more beers than I
thought." She frowned. "Or somebody put something _in_ one of them."
She sat down on the steps of the building, hoping to clear the jumble of
her mind.
"Smells nice, doesn't it?" Brenda looked up at the sound of the oddly
familiar male voice. The boy was tall - six two, she knew somehow - and
slender, wearing jeans and a gray Taite Athletic Department T-shirt. He
gave her a sort of half-smile as he offered her his hand.
He smiled. She'd always liked that sort of a smile, boyish it was,
happy-go-lucky. Always? She shrugged. "Yeah, I guess." Who was this
guy? Why did he look so familiar?
"You know, the garden extends around the side of the building. There's a
bench towards the back. We can sit and just... smell the flowers, if
you'd like." He offered his hand. "I'm , by the way."
Brenda knew he had just given his name, but, for some reason, she hadn't
understood what he'd said. It was a nice name, though. She knew that.
"Brenda," she answered, shaking his hand. She rose and took his arm, as
they walked towards the building.
They sat down on some steps, a delivery entrance, which was most of the
way to the rear of the building. He sat next to her, _very_ close, and
put an arm around her waist. She looked around. The curve of the hedge
around the building hid them from view for anyone walking by the lane
she'd been on. Not a good situation. "I-I have to go," she said, trying
not to sound nervous.
"No, you don't," he said in a confident tone. "Besides, we just got
here." He moved even closer. "We need some time to... to get to _know_
each other. " It was a line that always worked--and how did she know
that?
Or know what he was going to do next, when he suddenly pulled her to him
and kissed her.
It was strange... wrong. She never - did she? "No!" She broke the kiss
and tried to push him away.
"You damned tease." He was strong, much stronger than her. But how
could that be? She was an athlete, a strong, forceful... girl?"
He kissed her again. Hard; trying to force his tongue between her lips.
His arm was still around her waist, holding her so she couldn't get free
- couldn't run. The other hand slipped up under her blouse and began
group at her breast. She squirmed, frantically trying to escape.
"Not comfortable, baby?" He leered. His hand came out from under her
blouse and grabbed her wrist. He stood up, pulled her to her feet. Then
he gave a sudden, firm yank on her arm. She stumbled and fell to the
grass.
In an instant, he was on top of her. His weight held Brenda in place,
while his hand yanked at her short skirt - oh, Lord, why had she worn
such an odd garment? He pulled it far up her thighs. He reached beneath
it and found her panties - panties? He plucked the flimsy thing from
her, exposing her privates. Somehow, he had opened his own pants.
Something hard and so _very_ male pressed against her yielding flesh.
She was not aroused, and it _hurt_ going into her.
"Oh, yeah, baby." He didn't care. She loved it. He knew she did. And
she knew what he thought she knew. He began to pump, groaning, ignoring
her screams of passion - or were they screams for help?
Help came. He wasn't on top of her any more. Three boys, students that
she didn't know, were holding, while he twisted and turned and cursed,
trying to break free. A fourth boy took off his t-shirt and draped it
over her for modesty.
A few more people appeared. One of them was a campus rent-a-cop. He
handcuffed the would-be rapist, led him to a nearby car marked "Security"
under the Taite College logo, and locked him in the back. A few female
students, some of them surprisingly cute in Brenda's mind, formed a
circle around her. She got to her feet as best she could and rearranged
her clothes for public view. Then two of the women offered to help her
back to her dorm.
"Be better not to go there yet," the rent-a-cop told her. "Not till they
check you out at the med center." He used his phone to call for a second
car to take her there. She wanted to argue, to just head for the safety
of her room, but he insisted; so did the two women, who had offered to go
to the dorm with her. They, all three, wound up in the back of the
second car headed for the campus medical center.
The driver of the second car was a matronly woman in her mid forties, as
best as Brenda could tell. She waited while Brenda discovered the joy -
didn't she know before this? - of a gynecologic exam. The female intern
explained every step as she "took evidence of what that bastard did."
The driver took the three girls back to their dorm. Brenda promised to
go to Campus Security the next morning to file a report - and press
charges. The two other girls knew Brenda; they lived on the same floor
as her, but their names were lost to her; on the tip of her tongue as
they say. They told her that she could talk to them anytime she needed
to and hugged her goodnight.
She undressed, giving some thought to throwing away the damned miniskirt
and panties. Then a warm shower to help with the soreness in her muscles
from fighting to break free. She went back to her dorm room and changed
into a pair of light green, cotton pajamas. They weren't anywhere near
sexy, which is why she chose them. She slipped into bed and turned out
the light on her desk.
And froze in panic. Dark! _Too dark_! She clicked the light back on
and lay, shivering, in her bed. When she finally fell asleep, more than
an hour later, the light was still on.
It stayed on during the times she awoke in fright from nightmares. They
were all the same. All _him_ and what he had done to her. Reliving it
was as bad as the original experience.
* * * * *
It was a very tired and very nervous young woman who went to classes the
next morning. Her hair was uncombed, and she wore almost no make-up.
Instead of a short skirt, shorts, or jeans that the other female students
wore, she was dressed in a loose pair of sweat pants and an oversized top
that all but hid her figure.
She wasn't taking any chances that somebody might think of her as
attractive.
The story was out, but in a hundred different versions, and, in many of
these, it was _her_ fault. She was asking for it, the way she was
dressed. She was drunk. She has passed out - from liquor or rugs, take
your choice -- and she'd screamed "rape!" when he found her and tried to
help. She had seduced him. She had tried to seduce him, but he was a
good boy, and she faked the whole thing to get back at him.
The boy was popular, a good student and the captain of the swim team. He
had many supporters.
Brenda stayed in her room as much as possible, talking to no one she
didn't have to. Her schoolwork suffered. It felt to her like every male
- student or faculty - was looking at her. Staring at her. Undressing
her with their eyes. Raping her in their minds.
The trial - evidentiary hearing, actually - was torture. He had loads of
character witnesses. Friends from the swim team told what a right guy
and a good leader he was. Professors reported on his academic success.
And several women - righteous babes all, she caught herself thinking -
swore that he was a gentleman who would _never_ - force himself on a
girl. A couple suggested - at best, hinted - that his prowess as a lover
was such that he hardly had to prey on an unwilling partner. A boy she'd
dated once before she broke up with him for being "creepy" testified that
she was "a horny bitch who just couldn't get enough." Odd, since she'd
never gone beyond letting him kiss her on the cheek.
Finally, the boy's father, wearing the pin of the Taite Alumni Boosters,
spoke. One earned the boosters' pin by donating at least 25 thousand a
year to the school. The man admitted that his boy was, perhaps, a bit
rambunctious, but did the hearing committee want to ruin his son's life:
expel him from school, perhaps even send him to jail, for a few minutes
allegedly improper behavior?
The committee didn't. He was found guilty, but just barely, and
sentenced to a six month suspension (that included the three months of
summer break) and a year of probation. The father thanked the committee
for its fine judgment, assuring them that there would be no repetition of
the incident. That evening, in private, he thanked the chair of the
committee, the chairman of the political science department. In a more
personal way, a check for one thousand dollars to help fund the research
for book the professor was working on.
Brenda Horner was given a "Pass" in most of her courses. She did manage
to take two final exams some week later, and she almost got the grade her
professor expected her to get in one of them. She barely passed the
other. She was spending more time in counseling at the Taite University
Women's Center than she did studying.
Then she met Dr. Anandha Sheppard, a professor of anthropology - or
_something_ - at the Women's Center.
* * * * *
Hecate Wroth glanced through the Plexiglas window of the holding tank.
Hecate - "Cat" to her friends -- was a junior in the Anthropology/Magic
Department at Taite. She was tall with a trim, athletic body and jet-
black hair that was now tied in a ponytail by a sea-green scarf that her
current boyfriend said matched her eyes.
"So that's Brent Horner," she said rather smugly. "Where do his parents
think he is?"
Dr. Sheppard smiled at Cat. "Spending his summer probation snorkeling
with friends in the Florida Keys; one of our people sends irregular but
glowing letters home telling them all the fun he's having." The Eurasian
woman ran her fingers through her long, light brown hair. "He was easy
enough to catch."
"And to process, I expect."
"Indeed." She rose and joined Cat at the window. Inside the tank, Brent
Horner lay, tied to a hospital bed. His eyes were tightly closed, though
his face was convulsed in terror. He pulled at the bands holding him in
place, desperate to escape.
"Once we had Mr. Horner securely in place, we brought in his victim. The
poor thing was in a state of exhaustion from her experiences. It was a
simple enough spell to transfer her memories of the entire experience to
him. She remembers what happened, the horror of the rape _and_ the
horror of the aftermath, but it's like something she read or heard about,
not something she actually had to suffer through. I'm told that she's
almost back to being the perky co-ed that she was the day before it all
happened."
"What about him?"
"It's hard to tell. The experiences repeat in his mind about every
sixteen hours - time compression in a dream state."
"I read your paper on that last fall."
"Yes; and the results of this 'experiment' will make an excellent follow-
up. He'll be 'Brenda' Horner, reliving that rape and what followed
almost fifty times before we release him. It should be interesting to
see the sort of person Brent Horner is after all that."
* * * * *
Inside the holding tank, a sort of magical CD re-set itself to begin
another replay.
Brenda Horner snuggled down into an overstuffed chair in one of the
"quiet" rooms set up for study groups in the Taite College Student
Center. Not quiet tonight, though; the music from the Term's End Mixer
came right through the wall, though it was much softer here than in the
room where the band was actually playing. Something didn't seem quite
right to her, but she decided that it was just the beer. To be exact,
the one - or two, maybe - more beers than she should have drunk this
evening.
And so on and so on and so on...
* * * * *
Author's note: This story is based on the case of Brock Turner who
escaped a severe sentence for rape because his father argued that his
life shouldn't be ruined for twenty minutes of bad behavior. I disagree.
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