Snatched off the street
every woman’s nightmare
My friends and I raised our glasses in a toast.
‘Here’s to a good night!’ someone said, while the rest of us cheered.
It was October 1999 and I was out with my boyfriend, my sister and a few of our mates.
A few drinks later, at 1am, I was ready to call it a night.
My boyfriend and I started the five-minute walk home.
But, on the way, we started arguing over something silly.
Annoyed, I stormed off and headed to my sister’s place. She lived close by, but she wasn’t home.
So I turned around and headed back to our place again.
On the way, I had to walk past a park and it was so dark, it looked a bit eerie.
I’ll run, I thought to myself.
But then I heard footsteps behind me.
‘You got the time?’ a deep voice asked from the shadows.
I turned to answer but, as I did, the stranger grabbed me and forced his hand over my mouth.
The next thing I knew, he was dragging me up the road.
‘Get off!’ I tried to cry out, struggling with him.
But the man was so big and strong, he overpowered me.
My heart was pounding with fear as he forced me into a nearby derelict house.
I opened my mouth to scream but nothing came out. I was silenced by fear. The man pushed me upstairs. ‘Just do what I say and you’ll be alright,’ he hissed.
Pushing me to the floor, he climbed on top of me. I was wearing a skirt, so he lifted it up, ripped off my knickers.
He’s trying to rape me, I realised in horror. I was terrified.
Mustering all of my strength, I somehow managed to push him away.
Seeing my chance, I leapt to my feet and tried to escape between his legs. My attacker caught me, though, and forced my face into his crotch.
‘Just do what I say,’ he kept demanding.
Then, suddenly, there were loud footsteps outside the house.
The sound spooked my attacker and he started to back away. Next thing, he’d fled from the house. Shaking like a leaf, I pulled
m myself up and bolted from the house.
A woman was walking her dog outside.
‘Are you OK, love?’ she asked, seeing the state I was in.
‘I’ve just been attacked,’ I sobbed, breaking down. She gently led me home. By the time I got in, I was totally hysterical. I told my boyfriend what’d happened and he was sickened.
‘I’m so sorry, I should’ve protected you!’ he said, torturing himself.
I phoned the police and reported the attack.
And I had to go to a clinic so they could take swabs of DNA.
‘We’ll catch him,’ an officer told me reassuringly.
But days turned to weeks and there was no news.
The police couldn’t find any DNA matches from the
The stranger grabbed me, forced his hand over my mouth
samples that they’d taken.
And then, unfortunately, the investigation went cold.
It seemed my attacker had got away with his crime.
I was in bits, knowing he was still out there.
I became depressed, a nervous wreck.
I hated going out alone and suffered terrible nightmares and flashbacks.
What if he comes back for me? I fretted, worrying myself sick.
In the end, it got too much, and my boyfriend and I split up.
Over the next few years, I tried my best to be strong.
Slowly, I began picking myself back up.
But I never stopped looking over my shoulder, never felt safe.
In time, I met someone, got married. And, in 2006, I gave birth to my little girl.
But, three years later, my happy bubble burst.
One day in 2009, two police officers knocked at my door.
My heart was in my throat.
‘What’s happened?’ I asked.
‘We’ve got him,’ an officer started. ‘We’ve found your attacker.’ My legs almost gave way. By now, it’d been more than nine years since that beast attacked me.
But memories of that terrifying night came flooding back to me instantly.
The derelict house, the man dragging me, his hands on me…
It turned out my attacker had recently been cautioned over a minor skirmish.
And his DNA had come up as a match to that found on me.
His name – Delmore Mitchell – meant nothing to me.
After all this time, I was just relieved he’d finally been caught.
My husband already knew all about the attack.
‘You’re finally going to get justice,’ he reassured me.
In January 2009, Delmore Mitchell, 54, appeared at court.
When I saw him, I could feel my skin crawling in revulsion.
He was convicted of attempted rape and indecent assault, was jailed for six and a half years and required to sign the sex offenders register for life.
‘It’s over,’ I sighed, feeling as if a weight had been lifted and that I finally had closure.
My attacker had escaped justice for nearly a decade, but now he’d got what he deserved.
Since then, I’ve put the attack behind me.
I can’t pretend that it’s been easy to do.
I’ll never forget the terrifying ordeal that Mitchell put me through.
But I’ve finally stopped looking over my shoulder.
Memories of that night came flooding back...