Crash Into Me_ A Survivor's Search for Justice - Liz Seccuro [76]
WORRELL: I just ask the defendant’s bond be revoked and he be taken into custody now.
THE COURT: All right.
WORRELL: Is he ready to go ahead and be remanded today?
QUAGLIANA: Your Honor, I think our expectation was that if the Court imposed—
THE COURT: An active sentence, he’d go ahead and be remanded today?
QUAGLIANA: Thank you, Your Honor.
WORRELL: One more thing I’d ask.
THE COURT: Yes.
WORRELL: No contact, please.
THE COURT: No contact with the victim or her family, yeah, and I thought that would be a request and—all right. All right, folks, so we’ll—anything else? Does that do it?
WORRELL: Yes.
THE COURT: All right, we covered it all? All right, good luck to you, Mr. Beebe. Good luck to you, Ms. Seccuro. All right.
The gavel slammed down and it was over. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw William Beebe steal a glimpse at me and I turned abruptly toward my husband for safety. My back to the defense table, I missed the moment, but I heard it. The click of the metal handcuffs around his wrists. No one can describe that lonely feeling—it’s not a happy day for rape victims to have their perpetrator go to prison. As victims, we are never really free. We understand what freedom is. To be partially responsible for someone else’s losing his freedom did not feel good. But I felt it was right, was just, was warranted. That cold click sent a shudder through me as I realized there was an end to this part of the story and a new dawn on the horizon.
Mike and I stepped from our bench and walked up the aisle toward the front entrance. I avoided coming face-to-face with Beebe. I didn’t see him being loaded into the waiting van that was to whisk him to the local prison. As we stepped into the foyer, we were met by the media. I had hoped to make my statement in court, to the parties involved in the case. But I was left making a statement to the media. I removed my sunglasses, revealing eyes that were rimmed with red from crying. I started crying again as I read my statement. I thanked everyone who had worked on my behalf and supported me, and I talked about healing and hope. The whirr of the shutters clicking and the boom mikes just above my head were immensely disorienting. I stumbled through my statement, at one point handing it over to Mike so that he could read it in my place. There were a few questions. Then we got in our car. We were going home.
The sentence felt light to me, but I understood it was the law. Two years was what I had expected after our discussions with Worrell. I could understand the judge’s sympathy toward Beebe, based on the testimony regarding his life in the past decade or so. It was clear that Hogshire did not believe Beebe to be a continued threat. I could not be sure; I really knew very little about Beebe’s life, either before or after the attack. But I knew for sure that he had committed a violent crime, and I felt that, for now, prison was where he should be. Furthermore, I felt uneasy at the notion of Beebe’s doing community service on college campuses and, specifically, the University of Virginia, the scene of the crime and the site of an investigation that was still ongoing. I understood the judge’s impulse: community service in general is not a bad idea, and I think the judge believed that Beebe’s sharing his story on campuses might prevent similar crimes. But there was a certain “fox in the hen house” feeling to sending him back to the University of Virginia. Besides, as I had begun to speak on campuses around the