held captive

This week at work we received some very disturbing news. Which has been, as a therapist friend of mine would say, "renting space in my head." As I just lay back to meditate, my thoughts continued to return to this. Which indicates that it deserves examination.

In February I was introduced to a new client of mine as he sat in the HSU (Health Services Unit) on suicide watch. As per usual, I did not read the details of his crimes or watch the news stories until after meeting with him... so I did not know that he was a serial rapist. Or that he had held a woman captive in her own home, torturing and raping her for hours while her child slept in the next room. Nor that he had forced her to drive him to the store for cigarettes, as he cut off his GPS bracelet. I met him with unconditional kindness.
All I knew was that he wanted to die. That he was "probably going to get life," and "wasn't going to do it." But he decided to live. For his mother, who still believe that he was a good boy and could not have done these horrendous things. He covered his face in court and made no apologies.
The next month, when his mother unexpectedly died and he returned to suicide watch, it took him surprisingly little time to say that he felt fine. That God had forgiven him, his "girlfriend" was standing by him, and that he would spend his life behind bars and still be able to get as many ladies as he wanted. He returned to segregation, where he had been housed from Day 1 because of the high-profile nature of his case (no place in population would be safe for an inmate like him), and we proceeded with our regular therapy sessions.
Initially respectful, he began to devolve into his predatory sociopathy. He chose to speak to me about how he would have "gotten with" me on the street, that he had no need to rape since he could get "all the pussy" he wanted any time, and made snide comments or kissing faces at me. I largely ignored his advances, or told him simply that he was being inappropriate. I chose to reflect this behavior back to him, and discuss why he felt so fixated on sex.
He behaved well in segregation. So well, in fact, that after six or seven months he was given a transfer to the Gardner facility. At Gardner, known generally as "a sex offender camp," he would be able to go to population while awaiting trial. Work, get treatment, go to programs, etc. He had caused no problems at Concord. He had earned it.
On Monday we were told that he raped an English teacher at Gardner. That he set a trap for her in a staff bathroom, and that she screamed for 30 minutes before being heard. We were told that it took three large men to remove him, one small man, from her.
Hearing this, I felt as though I might be ill. I thought about how "creepy" he had become with me during our last sessions, and realized just how lucky I was that he was in segregation at Concord. Because of this, he was always escorted to our meeting in waist chains and leg irons, cuffed behind his back and shackled into a metal chair, bolted to the floor. If he had not been, the rape victim most certainly would have been me. My memories of treating this predator, this "monster," with unconditional kindness seemed foolish and naive. I immediately wondered if I should have been more chastising with him. If I should have complained about his behavior and had disciplinary tickets written, perhaps preventing his move. But I know that all of this is futile thought and I am in no way responsible.
Still, continual exposure to this sort of brutality affects your soul. Your trust and your belief in God, in good. It is difficult/uncomfortable/frightening to sit with these horrors, twisting and turning them, examining them from every angle, looking without looking away.