Thursday, January 29, 2009

My Rapist- How the Law Failed Me





The two pictures at left sum up the attitude of Patrick J. Lillis. The confident actor- in more ways than one. The cocky businessman, the "chip off the old block" as he liked to brag, as "respectable" as his father, the man he worshipped more than any other.

Except himself, of course.

When Patrick J. Lillis came to my apartment one night after a fun evening of bowling with friends, it was clear he was "hyped up". He'd always acted "crazy", it was part of his charm, like he wasn't afraid to act the fool, and this such a relief in a city with so many "me centered" and "ultra serious" actor types. Hadn't I dated them all! But Pat was such a fun friend.

That wasn't enough for him, though.

He'd been drinking, and was sweating profusely. "Lighten up, you're too conservative," he said, and went into my kitchen without asking and found some red wine. It made me uncomfortable. I'd never seen him like this. The next thing I knew, he'd poured some of the Merlot into a juice glass, and demanded that I join him, in a "toast". We sat down on the couch, and that was when my terror began. He moved closer and closer, drinking the entire time, and I just wanted him to leave.

By the time he was trying to kiss me, I was in a panic of fright. I knew this was bad. Pat was so aggressive, he was pinning me down and saying "Whatever, what's wrong with you, give some to old Patty!" When he said "You give to everybody else! Why the fuck not me!" I knew I had to resist. I pushed Pat away, while my little dog Mr. Pibb barked furiously in the corner. Amazingly, I was worried Pibby might wake the neighbors. It was late, after midnight, and we live in a "quiet" building, since a lot of writers have chosen to live there. I thought it sounded so romantic, a "writer" building in LA, like if Raymond Chandler was upstairs pounding away on his latest dark tale. All of those silly dreams have been destroyed by Pat Lillis. Instead of begging for the neighbors to hear my assault and DO SOMETHING, I was only worried about waking them.

Pat got violent after I remonstrated him to stop, that I wasn't "into him" that way. He slapped me and pushed me into the couch. Then he raped me. He tried to enter me from the back, but by some small miracle couldn't. He called me a "tight ass Jew bitch" and said he must have heard the "stories" about what a "whore " I'd been wrong. Sure, it's shocking. No one was more shocked and horrified by this behavior than me. But I'm only telling the world because I WANT THE WORLD TO KNOW!!!

Mercifully, he finished, threatening my little doggie on the way out the door, but not being man enough to follow through with his threat to "fucking slaughter" Mr. Pibb. I was violated, with my pants and panties down by my knees. He had some weird obsession with my breasts, but couldn't get my bra off- almost like he had never removed a bra from a woman before, it was strange- and instead just kept pushing the cups up, gouging the fabric into my skin with his inept attempts at "seduction". I was cut all over my chest. When he had been trying to enter me from behind, to sodomize me, Pat got very frustrated and had punched me several times in the back of the head, making these animal-like growling and grunting noises, the pit of total frustration that this little man couldn't anally rape his victim. I don't believe a "man" like that can be considered fully human.

I've talked about what came next- bloody and battered, my head ringing with pain from his violent punches, I called back East to talk to my daddy. "We'll get the bastard," he said, and as I've written, it was the only time my daddy ever lied to me.

Because Ira Freykis had no idea the intransigence of the law system in the lovely state of California.

"O.J." taught an entire generation of women that you can do pretty much whatever you want to a "bitch" if you have enough money. What some people might not know is that crime was doubly troubling to Jewish Americans. I remember how my daddy shook his head, thinking out loud how the fate of Ron Goldman was barely ever mentioned by the "talking heads", how this handsome Jewish boy ended up with his throat cut so deeply he was essentially decapitated. "You can still get away with murder so long as it's a Jew," my daddy said, and I thought he was a little overwrought at the time. Little did I know that I'd learn just how little the rights of a woman could be compared to her "respectable" rapist, how I was "doubly trash", a Jew and a woman and still further degraded by being a rape victim. Pat Lillis took full advantage, and his lawyers were merciless in making it seem like I "wanted it".

Thinking how people ignored me, or looked at me strangely, how it angers me to this day. This is why I insisted, to my therapist, to myself, for the memory of Ira Freykis, my daddy- I insisted I would write this blog, and no matter what happened to me, I would continue to publish it here or anywhere else. PATRICK J. LILLIS WILL HOLD ME HOSTAGE NO LONGER. The courts wouldn't hold him accountable, but I will let the world know that I did NOTHING to deserve the beating and violation I received from this cowardly little man.

Patrick J. Lillis never served a day in jail for his crimes. When he began "bragging" to our mutual friends that I was a "nut-job" and a "psycho bitch" for reporting him, I was so crushed and embarrassed that I retreated from life, and the next two years were a blur.

I am recovering now. I am strong enough to talk about this nightmare of violence, and tell the world: NEVER AGAIN, PAT LILLIS! NEVER AGAIN YOU COWARD! YOU DO NOT OWN ME ANY LONGER WITH YOUR VIOLENCE, LIES AND TERROR!!!!!

My Rapist- The Face of a Psychopath



This is Pat Lillis. He likes to call himself "Patty" and thinks he is a very priviliged person. So priviliged, in fact, that when he wants something, even sex, he'll do whatever he can to get it.

Always the "center of the party", I was charmed by him- at first. As a friend. Then, when it was clear my interest did not extend to physical intimacy, he "date raped" me and later joked about it to my friends.

The Crime

What I remember the most is calling my mother back in Hoboken at 2 am after my rapist had left my apartment. I remember most him cursing at my little dog Mr. Pibb that he'd "kill the fucker" if he didn't shut up. I lay on the couch, bloody and humiliated, crying as quietly to my pillow and begging to the God of Moses whom I had been raised to love and fear, "Dear God, please just make him go away!"

And it seems so silly now but- please, please Mr. Pibb, don't bark anymore. Just go get your ball. Don't make him kill you.

Don't make him.

Don't do anything that gives him the excuse a violent coward like this needs.

I only was thinking in terms of what made him happy. Don't resist. Don't cry. Don't even bark.

Because I really thought it was my fault.

That's why I'm coming forward, and in such a public way. To tell the Pat Lillises of the world- YOU are the criminals, and I did NOTHING wrong! And I want justice.

At long last, JUSTICE.

* * *

He left. Finally. My little dog kept barking. But the coward, contrary to my worries, never bothered to kill my little dog. Maybe he was worried this was one creature who would fight back.

I got up from the couch and went to my phone, the same "Princess" telephone my daddy had bought me so many years ago. Not much of a phone, but I almost always used my cell phone for my work, and kept the old "Princess" phones, in bright pink with Barbie on the head-set, for "kitsch" value, I suppose- but also for my daddy, who I still loved as much and as purely as I did when I was fifteen.

I couldn't think where the cell phone was. But I KNEW where the old clunker lay. So I stumbled over to the phone and picked it up, and called back to New Jersey, where it was after five a.m. Now that my parents were older, they still had several hours to sleep, not like in the old days when daddy rose before dawn to go to his job in Manhattan to give me the best life a little girl could ever want.

"Mom," I said, hearing my tired mother's voice on the other end of the line, "it's Amy. Please get daddy, okay?"

"Sweetheart, what's wrong?" she said, through the early morning haze and three-thousand miles of confusion.

"Just get daddy," I said. I couldn't bare to tell mom what had happened. It was so shameful.

"Sweetheart, your father is asleep, you know how his blood pressure is..."

"MOM! Goddammit, wake daddy up! Mom, don't you hear me? I was RAPED!!!!!"

The phone hit the floor and I heard mom start crying. Then I heard daddy coming to the phone, to his thirty-something daughter so far away, needing him one more time. "Baby, my God- what happened out there?"

"Daddy," I said, hating myself for what I was saying, "Your little girl is dead."

And we both just cried for a few minutes. With mom in the background, screaming and wailing.

Then I told him what happened. And he said just what I wanted my daddy to say.

"You are still my little girl, and I love you- and whoever did this, they didn't kill my little baby. You're still here. And we're going to see this bastard pay. You and me. I promise."

And when daddy died just a year later, after Patrick J. Lillis walked free and clear from his crime, I lost all faith in the world, forever. Because it was the first time that my daddy didn't keep a promise to me.

I guess I learned pretty late in life that some promises can't be kept by daddies, or anybody else.

Not when the evil person who had violated you had seemingly everything on his side.

This blog is my attempt to get justice, at long last. For me, yes. But for my daddy to. Patrick J. Lillis, wherever you are in Los Angeles tonight, you're going to face SOME kind of justice, even if the "law" looks the other way because of your high priced attorneys and clever stories.

No one will ever stop me from getting justice from Patrick J. Lillis, no matter what they threaten or do.

Daddy, this is for you.

Okay, here goes...

Whew. This is gonna be tough.

My name is Amy Rachel Freykis, and I am from Los Angeles, CA. Yes, that is my real name. Yes, I know I am opening myself up to all manner of freaks and weirdos, but I can't ignore the past anymore, and I can't be a recluse for the rest of my life. I'm "going public" with my story because there has to be a time when the Fear ends and the Living can begin. Again.

My name is Amy Rachel Freykis, and I was raped.

Violently, with no regard for my worth as a human, with contempt for the law and hatred for me. And, I believe, all women in general.

The "man" who raped me is Patrick J. Lillis, of Los Angeles, CA. He has never served a day in jail for his crime, and indeed mocked me and treated me like garbage fit to be thrown into the gutter after his vicious act.

I have suffered enough, and long enough, in silence. I know that he may attack me- he has promised to do so in the past, if I didn't "shut the fuck up" like the "bitch" I was. But I am no longer afraid. I am willing to face whatever this cowardly "man" can bring, because TRUTH is on my side, and I am no longer willing to silently suffer.

To all women: You don't have to take it. You don't have to be a victim. Even if you have been victimized, you don't have to silently take what this society thinks is "appropriate punishment" for the "crime" of being born not a man.

This is my story. For all who wish to join me, please come along and let us learn- together.

Pat Lillis still stalks the streets, with his jokes and clever conversation. And I will not rest so long as I know that there is a woman out there who doesn't know what a monster he is.

This blog is dedicated to my dear brothers Richard and Danny, and my other sibling Jojo. All of you kept me from the bottom of the abyss with your compassion and love.

To "mom", Joanna Freykis- your love kept me strong. And to the memory of Ira Freykis- my all-time very best daddy- how I miss you, and how I will always love you so much. The violence hurt, but never did take away all of the love that there is in this world for me. How humbled I am by you all. Mega kisses, my family and friends.

I love you all. - Amy