Tuesday, December 10, 2013

Feature: The Knowing

Date Published: 11/27/2013
Non Fiction - Spiritual Memoir

Dubbed the “Sweetheart Rapist,” Aaron Goddard terrorized and raped more than a dozen women in northern California in the 1980s before authorities caught him. The attacks struck fear into the hearts of lovers everywhere as he targeted isolated spots where couples went to be alone. With a ski mask and a gun, the Sweetheart Rapist ordered men into the trunks of cars to listen helplessly while he raped their female partners, usually petite blondes. 
The Knowing: Awake in the Dark is the true story of a young woman's love for a man who becomes a notorious serial rapist. Her unique, clairvoyant gifts warn her that he is a violent predator. Journey with her as she struggles to find her own self-worth, dignity, and love amidst deception and self-doubt, and learn how to use the power of intuition and conscious intent in your own life.

Nita Lapinski
I have been working as a clairvoyant-medium for the past three decades, giving psychic readings to hundreds of clients all over the United States. I teach meditation classes and lead workshops on forgiveness, releasing judgment, and finding one’s intuition. I am a certified hypnotherapist and have studied integrative breath work and bio-energy. I am also a high-school dropout who barely earned her GED at the age of thirty. Against all odds, I taught myself to write at the age of forty-eight when I decided it was time to tell this story. I live in Arizona with my husband.

       Falling mist floated sideways on the breeze, its evidence visible in the soft yellow glow of the street lamp.  An invader with malicious intent hid behind a truck, equipment fixed to the bed.  His face covered with a mask. Only his eyes shone through the carefully cut out holes embroidered with bright orange thread on a black knit ski mask.  parked at the end of a building, the man had a clear view of an alley where the rear doors of its businesses sat firmly closed to the dreary weather and darkening night.
       Rain pooled in the asphalt’s potholes, its fresh scent mingling with the pungent smell of wet rubber rising up from the tires. Craning his neck, the man peered around the truck.
      His neck muscles pulled and I felt the ache in his arm and knee and the dryness that filled his mouth. He was antsy and impatient hiding in the dark. His heart pumped steadily with excitement. I heard his rambling thoughts as if they were my own.
       That bitch better hurry up, he thought.  I don’t have all night.
       His jaw muscle popped as he ground his teeth and rubbed his elbow to relieve the throbbing there.  The alley remained dark and deserted with only a hollow echo of water dripping from the roof to the blacktop below.
     Without warning, the sharp scraping of metal against the pavement rang out. I saw the dark tip of a woman’s high-heeled shoe and felt her toe wedged between the shop’s heavy door and its frame. Her breath floated in the mist as she struggled to squeeze through.
      In that moment, beneath the mask, the man smiled, his teeth exposed as they rubbed against the stretchy fabric that tightened across his lips.
         Suddenly I became aware of my surroundings. I sat squeezed onto the corner of the couch, absently fingering the frayed, dirty pages of a worn paperback. I was having a vision. A sick feeling of dread lodged itself in my swollen, pregnant belly. The man in the mask felt familiar. Do I know him somehow? I thought as my mind searched for a clue. Fear restricted my ability to breathe. This is not real, my mind repeated again and again, I’m imagining things again. I always do.
      Just seventeen-years-old and five months pregnant, years would pass before I sat sweating and afraid interviewed in front of a female sheriff’s deputy. She was short with dark hair and eyes. Her gaze demanded my attention. She leaned forward and pushed a tape recorder toward me.
     “Please state your full name.”
“Nita McKenna,” I’d said, feeling stupid and uncomfortable.
      The officer sought to establish my connection with a serial rapist who, it would turn out, I knew very well. We would talk about his crimes, but I would not reveal my vision, afraid to admit I knew.     
        Pictures, as I called them or visions, had been happening randomly since early childhood. The vision of the man in the mask was not my first, and the realization of what I’d seen would haunt me for years. I was young and disbelieving when the vision came. I’d rejected it. I was afraid. I couldn’t cope with the truth of what it meant. I would eventually realize who I saw, but it would take two decades before I fully understood the sickening significance.


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