Thank you

Thank you to those who took the time to read thru my journal. I know it is a hard and difficult read. It is all true. It is everything I have been thru since February 22nd. http://www.facebook.com/susan.hunter.1865.  I am on Facebook for any one who wants to reach out and talk to me, or ask me questions. I have had many people reach out to me with their own experiences and there is a strange comfort in knowing there is a quiet connection to so many random strangers on this planet. Sort of a messed up club of good people who have had bad things happen to them. I continue to fight. I will hopefully have other updates as time progresses.
I have started a petition at change.org. http://www.change.org/petitions/to-the-fda-and-dea-of-the-united-states-of-america-amend-the-date-rape-drug-prohibition-of-2000.
I am asking that GBL also be listed as a schedule 1 controlled substance. Kits are purchased online from overseas suppliers and at home chemists decide an unsuspecting victims fate. I am asking that the current law be amended to stop the sale of the industrial cleaner used to make the street level GHB. I know it is another battle, but it is one worth fighting.
And to Naylor, I just want you to know someday you will do time in prison. Maybe not for my rape, or any other rape you have committed, but you will someday be behind bars where you belong. It is a statistical fact. And also know I thoroughly enjoyed beating your ass. Your lucky I was pulled off of you or it would have been worse. I also enjoyed calling you out for what you are at the other bars. Whats wrong? Ashamed of who you really are? A coward who drugs and rapes women because that is the only way you can have any pride in yourself? Your life is so pathetic. I'm sure your family would be so proud to know what you really do.
To everyone else. Thank you for all the support along the way. It means more than you will ever know.

Susan Hunter

THE COST OF JUSTICE... PAID FOR BY "OUR" TAX DOLLARS

Please help support Susan Hunter and RAINN. Susan Hunter is facing some turbulent times due to standing up for rape kit processing, including her own. Her go fund me account for financial contributions is at - http://GoFundMe.com/hamncc. Thank you for your donations. They mean a lot.

If you or someone you know is the victim of a sexual assault, please reach out and contact RAINN. They believe you. They can help you.

JOIN PHOTOGRAPHER SUSAN HUNTER as she SUPPORTS RAINN (Rape, Abuse, Incest National Network) 

The Nation's largest anti-sexual violence organization:

http://www.rainn.org 

(1-800-656-HOPE)

Please feel free to call elected senators and congressmen and ask for mandatory 13 year sentences in all states for rapists. 
Or, since it is an election year, just wait for them to call you :)"


SILENCE IS NOT AN OPTION... (Until we SEE RAPE for what it is) "I WILL NOT SHUT UP!!! 

Your VOICES Count. My VOICE Counts. "OUR" VOICES COUNT. 

Order UP! JUSTICE BEING SERVED. Paid for by "OUR" Tax dollars.

I WILL NOT BE SILENCED... THE DRUGGING & RAPE OF SUSAN HUNTER (2/22/2012)

CHAPTER 1 

It’s hard to know where to start with something like this. There are so many levels of just plain crazy, that if I wasn’t in the middle of it, I probably wouldn’t believe it myself. I have told a few people, and I am honestly scared at losing their support as this situation only seems to get worse. I can’t tell many people because of the barrage of questions is so frustrating. I feel in some way I have to protect the man that did this to me because I can’t risk not putting him on the stand, or losing my day in court, over one heated moment. Not like I haven’t weighed the pros and cons of getting this piece of shit off the streets and protecting other women out there since the service from the LAPD has been less than overwhelming.

I like to think I am a good person. I like animals and children, have bought food for homeless on the street asking for money, fought to make my neighborhood a better and safer place. I work hard and want to make sure clients actually have an enjoyable experience at the studio. I pay my taxes. I guess I can start at the beginning. That one precious moment when the drugs had started to wear off and I came to. When I didn’t know yet what happened or just how screwed up my life was going to become. That one precious moment when everything was as I thought it should be and I was still safe. I’ll never have that moment again. I came to on my bed. I was naked and my legs were spread apart. I was aware of a bad taste in my mouth. I thought, this is strange; we are still at the bar so how can I be here? I was so convinced that everyone else must still be at the bar that I got up to put my clothes on and go back. It was literally like closing your eyes for five seconds after dozing off and then opening your eyes and being someplace else. Like you do when you have a desk job and it’s after lunch. Imagine when you start to shut your eyes waiting for a big attachment to download onto your desktop and you didn’t even realize your eyes had shut for five seconds. Except, when you open your eyes, you’re not at work. You could be in your own bed, in an alley next to a dumpster, in the back of a car. And the worst part is you’re naked.

I got up, not aware of the deep hurried scratches in my back where he had dug his nails into me trying to get my clothes off. I really did think if I went back to the bar, they would be there having a beer saying “Hey Sus, where have you been?” I remembered I had to open the studio at 7am. I checked the clock, it was 3 am. I decided that even though the guys were waiting for me, it was too late. I should just go to bed and wake up for work in a few hours. I checked my phone and found the disgusting texts from Ed about sex. I decided I didn’t want to go back to the bar anyway. I went into the bathroom and started to brush my teeth to get the bad taste out of my mouth. I went to take out my contacts. I opened the holder and realized they were already in there basking in saline solution. The two unexplained blue dots looking back at me. That’s when I knew something was wrong. If I had just come back from the bar and passed out, I wouldn’t have taken my contacts out. I didn’t remember taking them out. I looked around the bathroom like the answer would be written on the wall or something. That was when it slowly started to dawn on me. I didn’t remember taking out my contacts, I didn’t remember walking home from the bar, I didn’t remember being at the bar. What did I remember?

I remembered 5 PM. I remembered it because that was when I got my call sheet for the next day. I remembered two beers and one shot, and ordering another round. I remembered Naylor, and Ed and three other guys that came in for a beer and left. They played AC/DC’s “For those about to rock”, and I exchanged emails with one of them who owned a limo company. I remembered that Naylor didn’t like them. That was all I remembered. What the hell happened to me? I felt the scratch from the dug in nail on my shoulder and felt horror sinking in. I put in my contacts. I drove myself to the hospital. It hurt to sit down. That pain would get worse throughout my ordeal of the next 12 hours. I got to the hospital at 3:30. I was crying uncontrollably. The nurse behind the window asked me to explain what happened. It’s hard to explain when you’re not even sure, especially thru nine little holes in Plexiglas. There just to allow enough communication and no contact. “I was drugged and raped” I tell her. My last memory was ten hours ago. “Do you want to press charges?” she asks. I do. She wants more details. I see the sign that says my patients’ rights are to discuss in private what I feel to be a private situation. This would seem like that time to me. I don’t want to have to talk any louder into those nine holes so the whole waiting room can know what happened to me. I’m taken back to triage by a sweet nurse. I can barely make out her face thru the tears that won’t stop flowing now. She says she will get me a private room and not a curtained one.

That would happen five hours later. I had to sit in that waiting room with crazies and homeless looking for a warm place to sleep for five hours. The precious evidence of the drugs used on me is slowly dissipating. The bottle of water I came in with is taken away from me because it could wash away evidence as the now increasing dry heaves are kicking in even stronger. I would also notice the allergies or head cold I had would return with fervor. It had subsided during my blackout and I could feel the difference between it and the never ending supply of tears from horror and humiliation. Five hours is a long time. Even longer for a “non- acute” rape victim. I was not allowed to eat, drink, piss, or defecate in case I washed away evidence of the rape. My body is feeling worse. By seven am, I have now been interviewed by four police officers. I have been texting Ed who I had gone to the bar with. I told him I had been raped, had no memory of the bar, and I needed answers.

He called back. Finally I thought the answers I have been looking for. “No, your mistaken”, he says. “You weren’t raped, it was consensual”. My stomach fell. The dry heaving intensified. How could he say that? “No”, I say. “Ed, I have no memory, this wasn’t consensual”. Looking back on it now, I should have realized he would never use words like that normally. Consensual wasn’t in his vocabulary. I woke up to his appalling texts referencing sexual acts. I will never forgive him for that. The word consensual appeared nowhere in them. I have told every nurse, doctor, and police officer the same thing. Got home from work, went and had a big lunch with Ed, he bought me a Claritin from the store next door, we went to his place, smoked weed and went to the bar around 4 pm. Ed had gotten into a fight with our slumlord landlord. He was pissed off and wanted to have some beers to blow off some steam. I fought thru my head cold/ allergies and said ok. We went to the bar. I still love that place even after all of this and I really do hope I can get back there someday without the fear of running into Naylor. It was the first bar I ever went to in Hollywood. Its façade beckoned me in. I was part of the family. I miss that bar and the people who go there. We had a beer and a shot and we were halfway thru the second beer when Naylor got there. It was before 5 pm. He sat awkwardly at the other end of the bar by himself. Ed saw me looking at him. Yes, I admitted, I had slept with Naylor about a month or two prior. I hadn’t been to the bar much and hadn’t seen him since. “He probably thinks you’re on a date”, says Ed. “Should I invite him to come sit with us so it’s not so awkward?” he offers. “Yes” I said. He flip flopped over and invited him back. Naylor looked somewhat relieved I wasn’t with another guy on a date. He sat to my right, Ed to my left. I told Naylor I had a head cold or allergies, I’m not sure which in response to his question if he will get to see more of me tonight. I don’t want to get you sick. He doesn’t care. I do. A snot nose isn’t exactly sexy. He is free to sit and hang out with us, but that’s all that’s going to happen I inform him. I guess he didn’t like that answer. Three loud guys enter the bar. They play AC/DC and Ed poses with them as I snap pictures never leaving my bar stool or my beer. Things started to get a little dreamy. A little far away. Naylor doesn’t like the guys and plays Nirvana thinking it will shut them up. It doesn’t. “Just have fun and who cares what they do” I say to him. Not aware of how much dreamier things were getting. I remember exchanging emails with one of the guys about his limo company. I would love to use one in a photograph. The next shot is ordered with ED and Naylor. I remember putting the shot glass to my lips. Then it’s all gone. Until I come too ten hours later. Naked on my bed with my legs spread apart.

THE DRUGGING & RAPE OF SUSAN HUNTER - CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 2

The first set of police officers were not Hollywood division. It was a cop and a rookie. The cop was more engrossed in trying to not kill the rookie. The rookie tells me I need to be more careful in how many beers I drink. The tears start up again. “Well, you definitely didn’t deserve this”, trying to recover. “You seem like a hard working girl”. So are prostitutes, I think to myself. If everyone had the work ethic of a hooker, things would be pretty different in this country. Do they deserve this? Does anyone? No one does. The second round of cops has to take my statement again. The same words pass my lips. It’s not any easier. The one cop could care less. It’s too close to the end of his shift. His partner is a sweet guy. He tries to make me laugh. He tries to alleviate some of the terribleness. I realized I hadn’t checked to see if there were any other text messages on my phone. There were. Texts, face book, photographs I took. I had done all this and not remembered a thing. I was shocked and showed it to the nice cop.

“It’s just like the movie ‘the Hangover’, it’s just a black void” he says, not shocked at all. I step outside and call my boss. I know it’s early, but I don’t think I’m making it into work today. “Do what you have to do, take a week off, and contact me when you want to. You know we are all here for you.” He swears he won’t tell anyone. I go back inside. One of the homeless women in the waiting room is there so often, she knows all the employees by name. She keeps trying to talk to the cop. He jokes with her including me. It does help to know someone cares. “Another set of cops will be coming; you should really have a female with you”. Says could-care-less cop A. The sweet guy looks on empathetically. He knows they are dumping me, but it’s probably for the best to have a female cop anyway. I have been close to calling the whole thing off. I am about ready to say I can’t take any more of the waiting room now that a crazy homeless man has decided to pull his pants up and down and claim they stole his wallet. I don’t know if he will go really nuts and start throwing chairs around. I have watched the sun come up as the windows in the waiting room glow with a false hope. It is now 7:30 am. Half an hour later I am walking back to the room promised to me earlier.

 “We can’t do a rape kit here. You will be cleared for transport and taken to Santa Monica to the rape clinic there. They are really good”. Even the last guy I dated, a cop, says so. I texted him what was going on just so there wouldn’t be any surprises. We hadn’t seen each other in a long time. You’re going to have a rough day he promises me. A doctor came in the room, listened to my heart which still was beating, and cleared me for transport. He then left. I laid there on the gurney. The other cops had shown up and Sparks (the female) was talking to the doctor. The male cop, Jenks was in the room with me. He was eyeballing the row of purple medical gloves in all sizes affixed to the wall. The temptation became too great. He snagged a pair of larges. “You’re going to make me report you, aren’t you?” I asked, a faint smile finally appearing on my face. He shrugs a little sheepishly realizing I was awake and had caught him. “They don’t give us supplies, so we have to get them where we can” he explains. The nurse comes in. “Didn’t they tell you to get dressed?” I had laid there another half hour. “I have to pee and I can’t hold it anymore” I finally declared. I was allowed to pee, but not wipe. I had to take the sample with me. I was dry heaving all the way to the rape center.

For the privilege of spending five hours in the waiting room to be told they couldn’t even do a rape kit, and just to have a doctor make sure my heart was beating, $250.00. Insurance will cover $150. The pricks. We had one stop before the rape center; My apartment. They had to search it and collect as much evidence as they could. They took the underwear I had been wearing and told me to bring another pair as the two pair would be taken permanently for evidence. I would be notified before they were destroyed if I wanted them back for any reason. Not really I thought to myself. First the rape, now strange people just looking at the underwear I wore before and after the rape. The underwear I sat in for five hours in a waiting room. It had pears on them. I never wanted to see them again or acknowledge they ever existed. Sparks says they have to take my sheets, pillow cushions, and comforter. I stared crying and grabbing garbage bags. I can’t afford another comforter. What am I going to sleep on? A stripped down bed? Like I can walk into bed bath and beyond and ask if they have a rape discount so I can buy new bedding and be able to sleep tonight. It’s too much. I begged that they don’t take my comforter. Sparks looks around some more. “We don’t need the bedding” she says. She found the used condoms in my bathroom garbage. One is full. The other is empty. I think back to the bad taste in my mouth when I came to. I’m starting to breathe again knowing my trip to bed bath and beyond is postponed until I can deal with it. Sparks asks for Ziploc bags to put the condoms in. I hand some to Jenks. “Do you need gloves?” he asks Sparks. “Because if you do, he lifted some from the hospital” I rat him out. His eyes got huge, his mouth fell open at the fact I rated him out to his partner. She tries to cover for him and I laugh like I haven’t laughed in hours at the look of shock on his face. “After all we have been thru” he says. I’m still laughing, shaking for once from that and not humiliation. Thank God for his kindness and letting me laugh at him. I will never forget that moment. He cracked a big grin too.

The back seat of a cop car is hard molded plastic shaped like the favorite couch of an obese aunt. It’s designed like a roller coaster seat for those lucky enough to ride and pee or puke everywhere. It’s easier to clean than upholstery, I imagine. Just open the back doors and hose it down. It’s also the most uncomfortable ride for a rape victim. There is no padding. It’s a 45 minute drive to the rape center and the sun is in full blast. The seat is black and my head is spinning, my stomach churning with dry heaving. I wish someone would shoot me and end all this misery. Tears keep flowing down my face. People in other cars stare a hole in my head. Sparks talks about a red headed tyranny in the area keeping cops on their toes. I told them about the photos I don’t remember taking. “Is there a picture of the rapist” they ask. There is. ... A bunch with him and Ed. They genuinely want to see them, to study his face and learn his features. It’s the only time anyone in the LAPD will make me feel like there is any concern. We actually drove a little past the street with the entrance to the rape center. Jenks just puts the squad car in reverse and drives down the middle of the road. “Of course”, I said, “first theft, now driving like a madman”.

I imagine he’s actually the funny guy at the bar. We get out of the car and my dry heaving goes into overdrive. I know they are concerned that if I puke, it could wash away evidence. “I don’t know why I keep doing that” is all I can say between takes. The inside of the clinic is warm, and kinda dim. The second we walk in there, I’m bathed in heated blanket and kindness. They swab my mouth so I can drink water and take something to stop the dry heaving. Oh thank God. It’s from the drugs used to dose me, they inform me. Sparks takes my report and I go into much more detail than the hospital. She says if I remember anything later on to let her know so she can add it to the report. You won’t, says the counselor at the clinic. The drugs didn’t allow the memories to form at all, so they will never resurface later. I will never have a memory of my rape. Good or bad for what it is. I’m not sure which. I have to go thru the physical examination. I have to strip naked as they look at my body all over. They find the bruises and deep scratches in my back. I didn’t know about all of them. I see them in a mirror and start crying again. I’m trying so hard to be strong and yet disconnect from all of this. It’s impossible to do either. They have to photograph the bruising and swelling of my vagina from the penetration. Up close photographs are taken of all my injuries. They are so nice to me thru the whole terrifying ordeal. Even the cut on the inside of my mouth, I still have a scar there. , and one on my back too. They will always be there. They photograph a weird mark on my inside wrist drawn in with ink. I didn’t recognize it then, it was so misshapen and I was still drugged. I drew it there. I hadn’t in a long time. It’s a symbol for protection. I only draw it when I feel I’m really in danger. It didn’t click then.

After the painful examination, I’m allowed to shower and eat as they black light my clothes and take my two pair of underwear. ... Then the counseling session. I like my counselor. She knows what she is talking about. “I don’t understand, why waste the drugs if I have had sex with him before”. It’s not about the drugs or the sex, she says. It’s about the control. He knows ten hours of your life you will never get back. I get a sinking feeling in my stomach. She’s right. She also tells me the best advice I will hear to help me deal with this and everything else that will happen in the near future. “What if he took pictures or video of me?” I cried again. “Just hang on to the truths, don’t fill in the blanks with what you don’t know. Only deal with what you know to be true”. She would help save my sanity with that one. I’m slowly eating the minestrone soup and toast. There is a basket of cookies and snacks. They want me to eat, a lot. I don’t really want to eat anything. She tells me of the process and the victims fund that I can apply for. The only thing I want is sleep. I’m given two handfuls of pills to take in three days. Jenks and Sparks take me back to the hospital where my car is parked from driving myself in so many hours earlier. I don’t know what time it is. It doesn’t really matter anymore anyway. I had snagged some chips and cookies for them from the basket. It thought Jenks would appreciate the thieving gesture. I could tell the basket had been gone over anyway. He was probably already there. Outside of the cookies and chips for them, and explaining the dry heaving was from the drugs, the rest of the ride is in silence. I get home and strip the sheets off my bed and put down new ones. I think about those sheets as I dose off to sleep. My sheets... He raped me in my bed on my sheets. My clean sheets; I wouldn’t let him have them. They are mine. I will clean them until they are mine again. I don’t have to go back to work for a week. All of my coworkers will think I’m out sick with the flu. February 22 is a day I will never forget.

THE DRUGGING & RAPE OF SUSAN HUNTER - CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 3 

 “Good new Ms. Hunter, we didn’t find any drugs in your system so you weren’t drugged and you weren’t raped. You’re just mistaken”. I’m in shock again. This can’t be happening. “That’s not true”, I argue back, “How do you explain me not having any memory for ten hours? That’s not normal, has that ever happened to you?” I ask Detective T. “I wouldn’t know Ms. Hunter; I don’t drink the way you do”. I am now in shock twice. “You drink to a blackout, and this guy is lucky enough to take you home and you want me to put him away for that?” Shock to infinity... I kick the white fence I’m standing next to. “How am I supposed to do a background check on him, I only have a first name and a photograph”. Did the photograph make the pre text phone call? You have his phone number, I think to myself. “You’re full of horse shit” I tell him. I want a new detective. He stutters his bosses’ phone number. I don’t care if he is mad. He’s not listening to me. Someone will. I’m tired of this guy. How is he a detective? Does his mother know he talks to rape victims like this? He had already upset me a lot during the pre-text phone call.

About a week after my rape, February 28th, I went into the police station to call my rapist while the police listened in. It’s called a pre text phone call. The detective led me into a small room with sound proofing. There is a tape recorder on the desk. He locked the door behind us. I didn’t like that. I had to get Naylor’s phone number for him. I didn’t have it before the rape even though I had hooked up with him once before. “Then you will have to go back to the bar and get it” Det. T told me. I had told Ed I was going to have to go back and get it. Ed had Naylor’s number from that night. The hair raised slightly on the back of my neck. He never had a phone number of any guy I dated or was in a relationship with. One time of hanging out with Naylor and he had his phone number. “I don’t know Jeezy, he seems like a really cool guy to me. I didn’t see anything that wasn’t consensual. We were all really drunk”. I didn’t think more of it. Of course Ed was on my side. He was like family to me. Like a brother. We had been friends for 8 years. I can hear the pencil scrapping across the yellow legal pad from Det. T’s heavy hand. It reverberates back into my phone that is wired to the tape recorder. I try to motion to him to write lighter. He ignores me. Whatever... I have never done anything like this before. I need all the help I can get. How little did I know how little help I really had?

Speaking to the man who raped me on the phone was probably the most surreal moment of my life. He can’t know something is up. He does. “You wait six days to call me” he says. Who counts days like that? (A fourteen year old girl maybe.) “You already had your top off when I came out of the bathroom”. I think of the scratches buried into my back. “I had to get your pants off of you”. “I only left because you started screaming at me to get out”. I’m in shock again. I have never screamed at a man to get out after sex. ; Drunk or not. He tells me about how someone ruffied him once. Nothing happened. He just woke up on the same couch he had passed out on. I see Det. T’s eyes get big at some points. That has to be a good sign. He tells me other things that involves Ed that Ed failed to mention. It’s an ongoing investigation and I can’t say what they are. Naylor wants to know when he will get to see me again. My head turns hard to the right at the thought of it. I can only picture his naked body on top off my unconscious one. It makes me ball up my fists. I hate this man so much. I finally get off the phone. “I don’t hear a rape” Says Det. T as soon as the tape recorder is off. I’m in shock. I’m starting to hate this feeling, but it’s the only one I will know for a while. 

“What do you mean? The part about the pants and me screaming?” I am fixated on the table. The tears starting again. “Well, he says all of you were drunk. In the state of California, if a man and woman are both intoxicated, it can’t be rape”. “But I was drugged” I whimper trying to defend myself. “We will see what the toxicology says, but I don’t think this case will be strong enough to present to the DA”. The tears are full stream. I want out of the room. He has to unlock the door. I am practically running out in shame. “If the DA is even interested, would you be willing to do an interview with them?” He yells out behind me. I sort of nod my head. I’m shaking as I walk briskly out of the station. The next two nights I walked in my sleep. I have a deep gouge in my right leg from running into something. I’m not sure what, but it didn’t wake me up. I was turning an overhead fan off, and messing with other lights. I hang a bell on my doorknob in case I wander out. I peed my bed one night. Every morning after that I had to pinch my arm to make sure I was awake and not peeing my bed again. I think back to the lights and how I found them when I came to. The overhead fan light wasn’t on. It’s the main light in the room. Just a bed side lamp and the bathroom light were on. It was dark in here when Naylor left. He couldn’t figure out how to turn on the overhead light. It was strange lighting to me when I woke up, not at all like I normally have it. It seemed darker than usual. I keep hanging on the thought that they will find drugs in my system at some point in time, that this rapist can’t be allowed to walk. That I won’t let them shut down my case.

Are they giving me an “out” of I’m mistaken because I’m white, or because I work in the industry, or do they do this to every woman who walks thru the door? A coworker snuck up on me at work. Not on purpose. He didn’t know about what had happened. I freaked out hard, just knowing that someone was behind me in a dark room and there he was. I almost hit him with a heavy object, and then I realized who he was. I flew out of there like a wet cat; More concerned with the fact that I almost took someone out. I had a two week follow up at the rape center. I tried to not cry but I did, the whole way out there. I was twenty minutes late. I wanted to leave before I even walked in there. They want me to give a urine sample. I just want out. I give them my blood sample and go. I can’t even sit thru the therapy session. They pegged me as a goner. The therapist tells me it’s ok. Most women don’t make it back. That stuck a cord with me. I can’t be like most women. The second visit was after the phone call from Det. T that there were no drugs in my system. Shock was a constant state I was in. I had already made up in my mind that when I was strong enough, I would call back and schedule the appointment for the one month with the rape center. They were the only ones who seemed to care and want to help. So many things in my life are a jumbled haze right now.

THE DRUGGING & RAPE OF SUSAN HUNTER - CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 4 

 I receive a phone call from a Detective M. He wants me to come into the Mid-Wilshire station. He is Det. T’s boss. Or so I think. He will look at the facts and determine if Det. T is doing his job or not, and if I should be assigned a new detective. I go in March 20th. I’m already not liking the station. Both times I walk in there; the uniformed officer at the front desk is watching daytime TV on a cart parked in the middle of the reception area. “I don’t know who that is, you will have to call them” each time I try to check in. The front desk officers have no idea who works there or where. I always have to call for them. “He is one of my best, he had been doing this for twenty years” Det. M tells me in a conference room. Strange, Det. T told me he had been doing this for ten years. My file is spread across the desk. A copy of my driver’s license sits on top of my blood alcohol report. I grab that and look. It reads 0.0000. That’s a lot of zeros for someone who was supposedly in a drunken blackout and tested less than 12 hours later. “Well, it’s normal to have a small reading as there is normally some alcohol constantly in the blood stream”. “But I have all zeros. Does this mean the test is wrong or something?”

He moves on. I continue to press him. Where is the THC? I smoked weed the day I was drugged. The toxicology is wrong if it didn’t find the THC and the drugs. In my mind they are linked, find one and you will find the other. Find none, and your test is damn wrong. We will do a retest he tells me. Let’s see what it says. If drugs turn up, then we can issue an arrest warrant right away, if not, then this case isn’t strong enough to go before the DA. I agree and walk out of the station. I am hopeful because once they get the new results in; they will see that I’m telling the truth. He says he will listen to the pre text phone call tape after I have left. He will call me and let me know what he thinks. He does. “Ms. Hunter, I don’t hear a rape here. Both of you were drunk. You weren’t drugged, you weren’t raped, and there just isn’t a rape here. You’re mistaken”.

Hello shock, my old friend. April 9th I start emailing him. It’s been two weeks since we met up. I am waiting for the retest of my toxicology. Two weeks since the phone call where I have to defend myself yet again. No, you are mistaken. I’m hanging onto the truth. I know how I came to that morning. I am sick of all of these men telling me I’m wrong. I’m not fucking wrong. I’m not going to listen to the rapist, or the person who used to be a friend that wants to side with the rapist, or the two detectives who want to listen to these two men over a victim. These lab results will prove everything. My advocate is concerned that I am fixated on these test results. ; That I can’t allow myself to move forward with healing because of it. I tell her I don’t know which way to heal. If he walks and nothing ever happens to Naylor, I have to process that. If I have to go to court and sit in a room full of strangers and tell intimate details of what happened to me to help put his ass away, then that’s a whole different process I have to go thru. I’m in limbo until I know what the results are. I don’t know which way to focus my brain. The detective still doesn’t respond.

Finally on the 13th Det. M emails me back.

 ----------------------@lapd.lacity.org
 Apr 13 to me I have been off, I will get back to you by Monday or Tuesday. --------------, Detective-III. OWB-SAD
4849 West Venice
Los Angeles, CA 90019
Stop 920 Direct ---------- Main ----------

I’m going insane. A barrage of psychotic emails comes from me including getting a lawyer. The back and forth continues. On the 17th, after a sobbing call to the rape center, he finally gets back to me. 

--------------------@lapd.lacity.org
Apr 17 to me
The second report came in this morning, nothing other than the drug Desloratadine (Clarinex) was located, this test was conducted by the Los Angeles County Coroner's Office. We are actively working your case and will let you know when the case is presented to the District Attorneys office.
----------, Detective-III. OWB-SAD
4849 West Venice
Los Angeles, CA 90019
Stop 920 Direct ---------- Main ---------- >>>> 4/17/2012 7:02 AM >>>

Why hello again shock. It is raining and the gate at work gets stuck. I’m furious and now I have to deal with this. The pouring rain is at least hiding my tears that keep running down my face. An event is loading in and I could give a shit less about someone’s party. I go home early. So what does any insane girl do when no one will listen to her? The next day I call the LA coroner. Why is the coroner working on a drug test anyway? Last time I checked, I had a heartbeat. That’s even what the doctor at the hospital said after he cleared me for transport after the rape. The coroner is a really nice guy. He says he has to make some phone calls and will get back to me. He does. The LAPD tells him only the detectives should be dealing with me. He doesn’t agree with not calling me back. He does tell me he is not authorized to tell me the details of what he found. Only the detective is authorized to do that. I understand and we talk.

“Ms. Hunter, this was by no means a re-test. This test was requested March 7th. The results were turned back into the LAPD crime lab March 26th”. I met with Det. M about getting a new detective and him ordering the “re-test” March 20th. He probably already had the results and then sat on them for three weeks. Guess who is back again. Yup, shock. How many times can the human body go into shock before something major happens? Can I get stuck in a constant state of this? Like someone smacking the back of your head if you make an ugly face? “He said they didn’t find any drugs except Claritin in my system, I’ve told everyone I smoked weed. The THC should be in there” I tell Mr. A. “What?!? Ms. Hunter, I only tested what I was asked to look for. If you feel that these detectives are not being honest with you or doing their job correctly, you have every right to pursue this and get help. Get someone to listen to you. The squeaky wheel gets the grease”.

Was he not asked to look for THC? Shock finally starts dissipating into fighting again. A willingness to fight. I haven’t felt that in a long time. My awesome friend A tells me I can get a sample tested on my own at a lab. I call my doctor. Who else can I call and say I’m fighting with the LAPD, can you recommend any labs? “We don’t handle that” says the office manager. She can’t get off the phone fast enough with me. I understand, but I need her to give me as much info as I can get. “I’m not in the medical field” I tell her. There has to be someplace. Labcorp she replies. Thank you. My friend S who has recently come back in my life calls and gets the info for me. It’s a process I just can’t deal with right now. “Its $65 to do a urine test for weed, $385 to check blood. But here’s the thing, if you don’t smoke all the time and maintain a certain level, it won’t read. It’s the same thing for any other drug. If you don’t do it all the time to a certain level, it won’t show up.” This is why they couldn’t find the THC or the date rape drugs. They didn’t turn the volume all the way up on the stereo. It’s not that it’s not there; they just aren’t looking hard enough to find it. That’s how it works. We won’t really look, but we will be quick to tell you that you weren’t drugged. Why? You can’t be bothered to collect all the evidence properly?

-------------@lapd.lacity.org Apr 17 to me
Usually you would need to present me with a court order, however in this case I will take it under consideration. For chain of custody reasons we would need the information on the lab that would be picking it up. Our Criminalists have the procedure, we are an investigative unit not criminalists. We must follow approved scientific protocols for this as is evidence.
---------, Detective-III. OWB-SAD
4849 West Venice
Los Angeles, CA 90019
Stop 920 Direct ---------- Main ----------

My friend M tells me over lunch, “Yeah, you can have an outside lab test for it, and they will probably find it, but it’s not admissible in court. If it’s not thru the LAPD, it won’t be allowed in”. “So even if I find it, the only thing its good for is to prove the LAPD levels of looking for date rape drugs aren’t high enough”. “Yup” she says, taking another sip off of her homemade juice. I can fall into this pit of never ending money spending to prove what I already know and have it go nowhere, or I can scream bloody murder until they find it themselves. M has been a steadfast friend thru all of this. She can only comment on the penis size of the detectives involved, but her phone calls have gotten thru to enough people to keep the case open. It’s more than what I could have done on my own, even if her style is somewhat more “the government is out to screw us” then mine. I love her fiery attitude and it has done a lot to keep this case open. She will find out more info on the people involved in my case and get me as high up the ladder as she can. She also can’t allow this rapist to walk knowing what she knows.

THE DRUGGING & RAPE OF SUSAN HUNTER - CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 5 

It’s less than two months after the rape. April 16th. I’m asleep in bed. It’s around 2 in the morning. I hear Ed and his on again/ off again girlfriend come in the front door of the building. We hadn’t talked since the rape. I told him we couldn’t talk because of the investigation. I was mad at him for a lot of things and I was debating on letting him back into my life. Was it a series of bad judgment calls on his part that was just plain stupidity? Could he have really helped the rapist get me back to the apartment building with no idea of what was going on? If he was really my friend, how could he have said I was wrong when I told him about the rape? He told me to my face he was the one who invited Naylor back to the building “to check him out”. He never once said anything about what Naylor told me in the pre text phone call, and why he had Naylor’s phone number. The disgusting texts I had to read when I came to after the rape. My gut was suspicious about how all of this was panning out. Why was he holding back the truth?

According to Ed, he had told me I wasn’t capable of standing up when all three of us were back at the building. That Naylor was the one who had to unlock my door. Naylor said he had to pee and went into my place to use my toilet. Ed tried to tell him to use his place because I was saying I didn’t want to sleep with him, that I just wanted to pass out, and then I would say I do want to have sex with him. That seemed odd to me. If a friend was hooking up with someone, I wouldn’t tell the person they were going to have sex with to use my bathroom. Ed said I got up and went into my place. He says he asked me if I was sure. I laughed and slammed the door. He said I had flipped flopped about wanting to sleep with Naylor the whole night. None of this sits right with me. I don’t flip flop. I do or I don’t. Ed was supposed to have my back. He should have told Naylor he wasn’t allowed back at the first sign of doubt that Ed had. He didn’t. He says he egged us on about making out. Two beers and a shot are not going to put me into a blackout. I had never acted like this before. Ed either was more concerned about getting back to his place, or knew more about what was going on than he led on. Naylor didn’t have a job that I was aware of. If he had access to date rape drugs, I’m going to guess he has access to other drugs too. That’s probably what Ed was interested in.

Ed had been doing more and harder drugs in the last couple of years. I figured it was a phase he would get over. He had just started a new job. The front door of the building slams. Ed comes in with on again off again girlfriend. “I didn’t rape you” they yell playfully at each other. They stomp up the stairs, outside my door, “Fuck you”, they yell at each other, and to me, thru my door. They walk down the hall giggling at each other. I am mortified. I lay in my bed unable to believe what just happened. How could he do that to me? How could he tell her what happened to me? I have never really liked his on again off again girlfriend. They would get into fights at 7 in the morning and she would end up standing outside my door screaming back down the hall at him. I asked him multiple times to not do that. Keep the fighting inside your place, or outside. She thinks the only way to communicate is loudly. She is obnoxious and immature at best. I wouldn’t put it past the both of them to do this. It’s been decided for me. Ed is out of my life.

A weight is lifted off of me. He texted me the next day. I responded that I was angry, angry with him inviting Naylor back, angry with the text messages I had to wake up to after the rape, angry that he and his girlfriend thought they had a right to do this outside my door when what I need is comfort and support and healing. I can’t say anything about the pre text phone call. Ed doesn’t know I know about it, and that he wasn’t telling me or probably the detectives the whole truth. A texting fight ensued and the friendship was ended. I thought. A few days later a barrage of text messages started up. One hour on the 23rd and one hour on the 24th. 40 text messages in total he sent me. They were horrible. I call the police. Come to the Hollywood police station and we will get a restraining order put in place. I was so exhausted when I called I told them a guy who used to be a friend that helped the guy who raped me to get me home won’t stop texting me. I sound crazy. I know I do. How do I explain all of this to anyone in a timely and calm manner and have them understand.

The dispatcher was horrified. I get dressed and walk to the Hollywood police station. It’s only a few blocks away. The uniformed officer behind the desks hears my sobbing story. I’m finally starting to calm down. He comes back out with the report paperwork and says he is trying to get a special restraining order for trying to persuade or intimidate a witness. He could be in jail today. Then the SCU detective at their station calls me into the back room. I should have seen it coming. My advocate tells me anytime I have to go to a station to call her first. It’s early and I’m there for a restraining order. I didn’t think to call her first. She probably isn’t awake yet.

“Ms. Hunter, they didn’t find any drugs in your system. You weren’t drugged, you weren’t raped, and you’re mistaken”. Hi shock, how have you been? It’s been what, a week? Yes, much too long. I’m sobbing again. He is so mean when he says it. “I’m not lying”, I tell him. “I never said the word lie, I said you were mistaken. You have sex with this guy and now you want us to go after him?” “These are all lies”. I’m getting hysterical at the thought of another man telling me I’m wrong again and not believing me. I’m slamming my fists into the desk. “The first time was consensual, the second time wasn’t”. “You need to calm down Ms. Hunter, your yelling and being hysterical”. Of course I am. The name of the cop I used to date is posted on some paperwork on the wall. He has been promoted to detective. He is probably in this office somewhere hearing me be hysterical. If he is, he does nothing to help me. “The test is wrong, it didn’t find the THC so it can’t be trusted” I inform him thru tears. “Well, I’m not a scientist, but the test says there are no drugs in your system”. “Then you’re not a scientist and you can’t just believe what parts of the test you want to, the test is wrong, there should be THC there too.” “Well, it doesn’t matter about the drug test anyway; you gave us a bogus number for the rapist. It’s a cold case; there is nothing we can do to find him” He tells me angrily.

“These are all lies, you can find him, you just don’t want to”. I’m somewhere between anger and hysterical. “What if the tables were turned Ms. Hunter, what if he drank to a blackout and tried to say you raped him?” I replied” Well, if you were the cops looking into it then I wouldn’t be worried because I would know I would get away with it. What I should be doing is buying drugs and murdering or robbing people because I would get away with it, I guess working a real job is pointless”. I storm out. They trashed my report. Det. M is emailing me. He wants a fresh start. I email him back. If you want me to trust you, help me get a restraining order. Nothing he can do about that, but he did call the rape center to see what they could do. The piece of shit worthless asshole. Your legal, not them I replied. All of these detectives can go fuck themselves. I know fourteen year old girls with better empathy and detective skills than the crap I have had to put up with from the LAPD. I have to go downtown to the courthouse and get a restraining order on my own. My friend S had recently resurfaced in my life. She had been thru a lot and was doing really good. I was glad to have her back in my life. I am so distraught. She tells me how to block Ed's number so he can’t text me. Block him on face book too she says. I do. Thank God that the barrage is over. He still lives in the building up the hall from me. I have seen him escalate in a fight and slam a woman into a wall before. I don’t want that to happen to me. S goes with me. She picks me up from work the next day and takes me downtown. She had been thru so much, she pulls into a parking lot and the attendant knows her. She doesn’t have to pay. It is a three hour ordeal. At one point S is chanting,”Be aggressive, be be aggressive”. She keeps a grin on my face.

At one courtroom we have to run in to get in line. The system is so screwed up. To make people race like that. The paperwork is overwhelming. It has to be submitted to the judge on the 7th floor before 3:15. We get in there at 3. The bailiff looks over my paperwork. It needs more detail he says. I start sobbing. The last three days have been Hell again. His eyes get big. He tells S to help me. It’s been four rooms, three lines, and two people telling me there is nothing I can do to fight the system. You can’t take on the hive that is the LAPD. Even to stop a rapist. The court approves the restraining order. It’s a temporary one until the court date. Both of us have to appear and stand before the judge and I have to explain why the court order should stand. I have until five days before the court date to serve the notice, and then turn in a copy of the order with a proof of service to any police station. S gladly tells the bailiff she will serve him. We get back to my place. I grab a bag and pack it to stay with S for a few days after the serve. She stands outside his door. He talks to her but won’t open the door. We call the Sheriffs who say to hire a service. We leave and go to S’s place. She finds someone and gives him her address. He shows up that night. I hand him the paperwork and $50 in cash. He emails me a receipt right away. It is raining again. Big raindrops. He knows this service stems from a rape. My rape. “God bless you" he says as he walks away in the big rain drops. It’s done, I think to myself. I’m not sure what to feel.

My friend S rescues dogs now. “Pick one”, she says. All kinds are here in a place much better than where they came from. Some are waiting to fly out in the next week to other states. Some are sick or special needs. One has a missing eye. He and the pit bull mix are my living blankets. They sweetly lick the tears off my face. I’m back at home thinking everything is ok. My life feels like it’s starting to get back to normal. One down and three to go, I tell myself. One person who thought they could wrong me is out of my life. Now I just have two detectives and a rapist to focus on. The last thing I hear from the detectives is they have an outside service they are using to get to Naylor’s background. It’s not a cold case. It will take at least a month. The next day that I’m at work is a good one. I’m happy. I haven’t been happy like this in a while. Then S texts me. She found the defendants copy of the notice in her house. I call the server and email him. Nothing. I start panicking. I call the sheriffs, nothing they can do. I call the courthouse. I get directed to someone. Nothing they can do. “Please” I beg “please tell me what I can do to fix this”. I have three days including today to get him served. I can feel the court clerks eyes roll over the phone. “You have extra copies, right? They gave you one for your home, one for your car and one to keep on you at all times. Just print out a new proof of service form, give him one of your copies, and give the police another one. You only really need one for yourself. The proof of service is the most important part”. I thank him for the information.

How could the processor do this to me? I had a receipt, his website looked legit, and he knew the terminology. How could he take my $50 and never serve Ed. I looked at the address on the receipt and went there. It was raining again. What was up with the rain and the really bad days? It was an apartment building. I was outside the gate scanning the numbers for the call box. A David D was listed for the number. Another tenant went in and I snuck in behind him. I got to the door and there was no doorknob. I wasn’t the only angry person that had been here. The light was shining thru the peephole. That means no one lives there. No window treatments. My friend S calls. She has been calling him. She got thru as he told her there were computer problems and hung up on her. He did the same to me and responded to David when he answered the phone. I sent him a text. What else could I do? I have a rape I still haven’t dealt with let alone fighting with two detectives in the LAPD hive that wanted to let the rapist walk. I’m trying to serve someone that used to be a friend that did nothing to stop my being raped and now is on the rapist side. What am I really going to do about this guy and my $50? Nothing.

One of the guys I work with says he will serve Ed. He knows some of what is going on. Z knew something was up after the rape and pressed me about it one more time out of concern. I told him the jumbled basics thru tears. I print out the necessary paperwork and Z served him the next day. I was so grateful it was done. I was shaking. Z will forever be a personal hero to me. So for right now, here’s where I am at. I have a court date against someone that used to be a friend who took the side of a rapist. I have overcome so much already, but I have prepared myself for the worst. The most likely outcome is this guy walks and there is nothing I can do about it. I have fought every part of this that I can. I know who my amazing friends are that have stuck with me thru this craziness. I have a hard time in crowds, especially with a lot of strange men standing around me. It’s scary for me. I also have a hard time understanding what people mean when they say things. It’s hard to explain, but I take things the wrong way at first and I have to ask more questions to see what they really mean. I constantly look behind me terrified that one of these days I will turn around and Naylor will be behind me. But the only thing I can do is fight.