In the dead of night and in the middle of a strange dream I felt a bump against the bed. I was awake in a flash, and panic set in. There was only one reason for that feeling...someone was there. I was lying face down, and in an instant a male was on top of me pushing my face in the pillow with one hand and trying to pull my arm behind my back with the other. I fought and struggled and screamed. He then grabbed both arms, his knee deep in my back, and I felt a cord being wrapped around my wrists. I fought the hardest at that moment and suddenly felt a sharp burning pain. He had a knife, and my fingers had just been slashed open, to the bone. I relented. After securing my wrists he flashed the bloody knife in front of my eyes and told me I would die if I didn't cooperate. I believed this was the end for me. He then stuffed a sock in my mouth and pulled the pillowcase off the pillow next to me and covered my head with it. It was the most humiliating and frightening moment of my life. I have never felt so helpless and hopeless.

I'll spare the play-by-play of the next three hours. He raped me 3 times, each time getting more and more frustrated because he couldn't "keep it up" anymore. He called me every disgusting name he could think of, blaming me for him not being able to perform. He ran the knife along my thighs, taunting me, laughing at me as I shivered in fear.

After some time, his mood (I was sure he was on drugs) seemed to change. He was more interested in robbing me than raping me. He began going through all my things, talking out loud to himself. He was pissed because I didn't have any cash in the house, and only modest jewelry, nothing that he felt was worthy. He then picked up my car keys and started jingling them around. He made me tell him which car was mine. I kept thinking...take it...just please leave. He finally sat down beside me on the bed and let out a long creepy sigh. He asked me "If you were me...would you let you live?" He leaned over pulled the sock out of my mouth through the pillowcase. I was frozen with fear. My hand had been bleeding constantly since the first initial cut. I couldn't feel or move my fingers. I needed medical attention and I wanted him gone.

I began to talk very passively to him. I even sounded somewhat like a friend, which utterly killed me inside. I said "Well, I haven't seen your face, I know nothing about you, what you look like or even if you are black or white. If you take my car they will be looking for it and that would be bad for you. You would get away much easier if you just slip back into the night. Even if the police come, there is nothing for me to tell. They will never find you and you know it".

He laughed pleasantly upon hearing this. He said "you know what...you are right. Tell you what...you count back from 100, very slowly. I'm going to walk out the front door and I'll be watching you from a distance to see if the police come. If they do, I will come back and kill you. You got that bitch?"

I agreed, and began to count backward from 100. He stood there for a moment, as if to be sure he could believe me, and then he said this..."next time, don't leave your patio door unlocked. That is why I picked you", and then he left. I counted down to about 80, then I took my chances and ran to the front door and locked it. I ran to the patio door and locked it. I called my best friend and broke down on the phone and asked her to come get me. I called the police from her house, though I had no real hope of them ever finding him. The police met me at the hospital, where the emergency staff sutured my fingers as best they could. My hand would require a specialist to repair the tendon and nerve damage. The rape exam took 9 hours. I was numb all over but felt good that the officers had said I had a lot of good information.

I realized that even though I didn't see him, I smelled him (he smelled of coffee, which was the key in catching him it turns out). I also knew he was no taller than me when he was lying next to me in bed. I could tell he was "on" something by his mood swings, which helped lead the police to investigate known drug users with a record. I saw the knife, which was unique in shape and style and only sold in a few shops. They found a dark hair on my bed, which helped with hair color. He spoke well and didn't seem like an uneducated person. As best as I could tell he was Caucasian, and had no accent be it foreign, northern or southern US. I suddenly felt hopeful in assisting the police in finding him. I went on Fox 7 news and did an interview, warning all women to be very careful, and no matter what…make sure your doors are LOCKED.

It took two more years, and 9 other women being raped, but they did finally catch him. I was at his trial. He tried to plead insanity. The 14 women in the courtroom who had been raped felt insane...with rage. His attorney finally buckled under the weight of the evidence and he then changed his plea to guilty. It was finally over.

I found this article doing a web search to see if there was any news on Mr. Dye. I was shocked over the above comments from people who actually knew him. I felt compelled to tell the only way I knew him. I have lain in bed many a night wondering if I really did leave that patio door unlocked or not. The police said he broke in, and he probably said that to make me blame myself. I guess I will never know. Knowing that so many of his friends, roommates, and associates could not tell what kind of monster he could be, seems almost impossible, but at the same time, makes me feel less guilty about anything I did or have ever blamed myself for. I was a victim, plain and simple. I survived, and that is all that matters now. Thank you for all of your comments. At least at some point in his life he was a normal, productive person, or at least seemed like it. Who knows what went wrong, I'm sure he had horror stories of his own. I just wish he would have found help and not taken it out on innocent women.

My hand has never regained all its use. I had surgery to try to repair the tendons in one of my fingers that suffered the most damage. I can no longer play the violin, but at least I can type, which is part of my livelihood. I would do it all over again. At least I tried to get away. I couldn’t live with myself if not.

Onward with life, I am a very adjusted and happy person now. The worst thing you can do is remain a victim. Then they have really won.

Thanks,

Cindy in Austin, TX (Nope, I never moved. This is MY town)