After asking a few questions about how the light was that night and where the rape took place, he asked me the question he had warned me I would have to answer.

"Can you tell us in your own words what happened at that time?"

I tried to take my time. Ryan frequently interrupted my account. He asked about the lighting again, whether there was a moon out, whether I struggled. He wanted details of whether blows struck were open-handed or close-fisted, asked whether I feared for my life, and questioned me about how much money the rapist had taken from me, and whether I had given it willingly or not.

After I described the fight outside the tunnel, his questions turned to the events inside the amphitheater.

"Describe to me, from the time he took you into the theater, what force he used and what you did prior to the act of sexual intercourse that occurred."

"First he brought me up to his face with his hands around my neck and kissed me a couple of times and then said to take my clothes off. He tried to take my clothes off first. He couldn't get my belt undone. He told me to do it and I did."

"When he told you to take your clothes off, was that before or after he told you he would kill you if you didn't do what he told you?"

"After-and I was bleeding at the time-my face wasn't in the best of shape."

"You were bleeding?"

"Yes."

"From falling down?"

"From falling down and him hitting me and smashing my face."

"Prior to the act of sexual intercourse you described, he struck you?"

"Umm-hmm."

"Where did he strike you?"

"In the face. I couldn't breathe for a while. He kept his hands around my neck, he scratched my face. Also, he just generally punched me around when I was on the ground and he was sitting on me to keep me from going anywhere."

"All right," Ryan said, "and after this you mentioned he was having some difficulty having an erection for some period of time, is that right?"

"Umm-hmm." I had forgotten the instructions from the judge. I was supposed to clearly enunciate a yes or a no.

"What happened after that?"

"He wasn't able to have an erection. I didn't really know if he had or not-I'm not familiar with that. But, then, before he came into me and had intercourse, he stopped once and made me get on my knees and he was standing up and he told me to give him a blow job."

"Did there come a time after this you eventually did get away from him?"

"Yes."

"How did that come about?"

"After he did come in me, he got me up off the ground and started dressing and found some of my clothes and gave them to me and Ï put those on, and he said, 'You're going to have a baby, bitch-what are you going to do about it?' "

I detailed how the rapist hugged me, apologized, then let me go, only to call after me.

Ryan paused. His next few questions were my only rest period. What was taken from me during the incident? What was the rapist wearing? His size? His appearance?

"I don't recall whether you mentioned whether he was white or black," Ryan said before closing.

"He was black," I said.

"That is all, Your Honor."

Ryan turned to sit down. The judge called, "Cross," and Mr. Meggesto stood and approached.

Both defense attorneys who represented Madison over the course of the year shared certain traits. They were shortish, balding, and had something fetid going on on their upper lips. Whether it was an unkempt mustache as in Meggesto's case, or grainy beads of sweat, it was an ugliness I focused on as each one cross-examined me.

I felt if I was going to win, I had to hate the attorneys representing him. They may have been earning a paycheck, or randomly assigned to the case, had children they loved or a terminally ill mother to take care of. I didn't care. They were there to destroy me. I was there to fight back.

"Is it Miss See-bold-is that the way it is pronounced?"

"Yes."

"Miss Sebold, you said you were at 321 Westcott Street on the night of the incident?"

"Umm-hmm."

The tone of his voice was condemning, as if I had been a bad little girl and told a lie.

"How long had you been there on this evening?"

"From approximately eight to midnight."

"Did you have anything to drink while there?"

"I had nothing at all to drink."

"Did you have anything to smoke while you were there?"

"Nothing at all to smoke."

"Did you have any cigarettes?"

"No."

"You didn't smoke that evening?"

"No."

"You had nothing to drink that evening?"

"No."

That tack not having worked, he moved on to his next.

"How long have you worn glasses?"

"Since I was in the third grade."

"Do you know what your vision is without glasses?"

"I am nearsighted and can see very well close up. I don't know exactly, but it isn't that bad. I can see road signs and such."

"Do you have a driver's license?"

"Yes, I do."

"Do you need your license?"

"Yes, I do."

"You maintain your driver's license?"

"Yes."

I didn't know what he was doing. It made sense to me that he might ask if my license required me to wear corrective lenses. But he didn't. Was I a better or worse person with a license? Was I firmly an adult and not a child, making it less a crime to rape me? I never figured out his reasoning.

He continued.

"Is it a fair statement to say you wear your glasses all the time to be able to see?"

"No."

"When don't you wear them?"

"When I'm reading, and basically when I am just doing most anything."

How could I explain, on the stand, a battle I had had with my eye doctor? He said I wore my glasses more than I needed to. That in my desire to be so clued in, I was ruining my vision and making my eyes, as they are now, dependent on corrective lenses.

"Did you think you needed your glasses on this evening in October?"

He meant May, but no one corrected him.

"It was night, yes."

"Do you see poorer at night?"

"No, I don't."

"Was there any special reason you brought your glasses?"

"No."

"Is it a fair statement to say you wear your glasses when you leave the dorm all the time?"

"No."

"Was there any special reason you wore your glasses that evening?"

"Probably because they were a week old and I liked them. They were new."

He jumped on this: "New prescription or just new design of frame?"

"Just new design of frame."

"Prescription the same?"

"Yes."

"Prescribed by whom?"

"Dr. Kent of Philadelphia, near my home."

"Do you recall where these-do you recall when that was?"

"December 1980, I think, was my last prescription."

"Prescribed and made in 1980, is that correct?"

Could he know that he was making his point and losing it simultaneously? That my prescription had been updated six months before the rape. I didn't know what he was doing but I was going to follow him at every turn. He wanted to back me into a maze I couldn't get out of. I was determined. I felt I had what Gallagher had-mettle. I could feel it in my veins.

"Umm-hmm," I said.

"And I believe you say that, at some point during this struggle, your glasses were knocked from you, is that correct?"

"Yes."

"It was a dark area, is that correct?"

"Yes."

"How dark would you say it was?"

"Not that dark. It was light enough so I could see physical features-face, plus the fact that his face was very close to mine and since I am nearsighted and not farsighted, my vision is good up close."

He turned to the side and looked up a moment. For a second, adrenaline pumping in my veins, I watched the court. Everyone was still. This was business as usual to them. Another prelim on another rape case. Ho hum.

"I believe you said at some point this individual kissed you?"