Conquering Darkness Memoir of the Serial Killer's Wife

by Crystal Reshawn Choyce-Lige

  At first, I was reluctant to talk with William’s lawyers because at the time he was already in jail and serving eleven years for two cases of rape. I figured if he could rape twice, he was an unequivocal rapist. I mean, how do you mistakenly rape someone? And I wondered…what in the hell do they want from me? What does my life with William have to do with anything? The ONE they need to talk to is his girlfriend, Lisa. I’m not the ONE!

  But I decided, after much thought, that I would speak to Lorna Patton Brown, William’s primary attorney. An appointment was set and we met at her office near Lake Merritt. Lorna presented herself as an attorney who was serious about advocating for her client. I respected that. But if I hadn’t felt comfortable with her over the telephone, I would have never consented to speak to her without a subpoena.

  THE ISSUE OF SEX with William was the dominating theme of most of my discussions with Lorna and the investigator working on the case. Why? That was a no-brainer; William had been charged with four additional counts of rape and of murdering three women who were characterized as prostitutes–of course they wanted to know how he was with me!

  Well, here’s the deal? My first time being sexually intimate with William was no different than the last time I was with him. What we did behind closed doors and under the sheets?was our business. At least that’s what I wanted to tell William’s attorneys when they asked. I tried to figure out what our so-called sex life had to do with William raping and murdering other women.

  It didn’t take long for me to see the relevance; I have studied the behavioral sciences and I do understand the complicated nature of the human psyche and its intricate capacity to be influenced by factors such as people and the environment. Guess I was in the People category. So, I came to accept that Lorna indeed had a bona fide reason to explore what my sexual life was like with William.

  “Yes, we had sex. First time was awkward. I didn’t feel loved. He seemed to be inexperienced…just wanted to cut to the chase. He would turn his back on me after sex. Why? IDK. Gentle, yes, except one time…Yes, he asked me to put the handcuffs on and he even asked that I participate in wife-swapping. No, he didn’t hit me during sex. Anal sex, hell no! Oh yeah, I kept getting sexually transmitted diseases which he denied responsibility for. Act like what? No! He never asked me to beat him, urinate on him…nothing like that… Oh…something strange… throughout our whole marriage? Hummm…I would cringe when my husband would want sex with me. Why? Because I knew he cheated, but most times I couldn’t prove it until I found him in our bed with a woman I had seen on the streets. Yeah….and I can’t forget the time when William’s sex drive was out of control. I was about to faint; he was insatiable after I tried to get away from him. He didn’t care. Damn near had to fight his ass off of me…He acted like an animal. That was in 1978. He scared me. That’s when my psyche said…enough with the sex thing! Something ain’t right here. And yes, I married him anyway; he was my daughter’s father. What? Yes, sexually, I became frigid and afraid of him. Didn’t I say that already? All the time I thought something was wrong with me. William’s touch peeled at the skin of my soul. IDK. Maybe my turning him away, in turn, sent him to prostitutes. No. No….No! What? No!

  INTERVIEW OVER.

  I read the trial transcripts. Even if I would have flipped myself inside out for William’s pleasure and had 20 ½ spare vaginas, and Gumby legs, he would not have enjoyed me unless I was tortured and tormented. I learned that was the only way he could get off… Sick.

  13

  Sweetest Desire

  IT WAS THE SUMMER OF 1975.

  As far as I knew, William and I were still together. I wonder now whether we had actually perfected the long distance relationship before it was even fashionable. IDK. Initially, I thought that such a relationship would not work for me. But it did because as my time became more and more consumed with the business of school, it worked that I didn’t have to worry about the day to day maintenance issues of a “real time” romance. And although we did not have a spirited mental connection over the years and had space between us, I think that William and I both accepted the idea that we needed to be part of one another’s life— no matter how tenuous. It was like we both lived in this fictional world where love and closeness were only pursued in the abstract.

  Then—

  Something changed inside of me.

  Literally!

  It was almost overnight… perhaps it came out of the same kind of fog that tried to swallow me up when William took me to Fort Ord.

  I WANTED TO BE “WITH CHILD.”

  It was an imperative bearing down on me.

  It was a psychological and mental mandate.

  It’s not logical, I told myself time and time again.

  But I believe that I am the only one in the whole, wide world who will ever know and understand the emotional aching that consumed me— until my body was good and pregnant.

  And the daddy was none other than William.

  He continued to be the now you see me, now you don’t, boyfriend.

  When did it happen? It was the summer of 1975, at his grandmother’s house.

  Shhh…

  William stayed there while he was home on leave. He basically had the whole front of the house to himself. He called it his “crib”. He paid his grandmother a nominal amount of rent, but I didn’t agree that this entitled him to bring me there for something other than a visit. He disagreed, and I listened to him against my better judgment. And even if this is not the most immoral thing that I’ve done in my life, I’m still sorry, nonetheless. But, I felt inextricably compelled to procreate; it didn’t matter where it happened.

  No! William did not know that I was going to try and get pregnant.

  I went back to college with “my baby” inside me. I couldn’t have been happier. Graduation was just around the corner and soon I would have someone to hold close to me. It was a beautiful, beautiful September.

  …

  William and I didn’t have another visit together until I came home for Christmas in the following winter of my conception. I wrote to him about my pregnancy, and I expected that he wouldn’t write back. He didn’t. He called and wanted to assure me that I would have his support for me and “the” baby. I heard no happiness in his voice. Oh well!

  I had all the time in the world to be pregnant and happy. I went to school every day. Got bigger and bigger. I filled myself with my daily cravings for McDonald’s French fries, corn on the cob, and ice cold milk. Happy. Happy. Happy. I was confident that my concern for William’s whereabouts, and whether or not he was “befriending” prostitutes, was not going to impede the time I relished alone with my baby inside of me and my studies toward a Bachelor’s Degree.

  In my mind, I just let him go.

  But nearly one week past my expected delivery date, William drove for eight hours straight from Oakland to La Jolla, CA. It was in the evening when he just showed up at my door—out of nowhere. Mr. Mysterious, again. Apparently he must have felt something about being a father; he had come to be with me during the birth of our child, or so I thought. But, as soon as William was in my space, I felt soured and angry; I remembered something that my brother, Arthur, told me. It was something that bothered him deeply. I felt the necessity to share what I had learned with William.

  “WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL YOUR PARENTS THAT YOU WERE EXPECTING A CHILD?” I asked William without looking up from the vegetables I was chopping for salad.

  He had only been in my apartment for a few minutes when I pursued my right to ask some simple questions of him. I had gotten word from my brother, Arthur, that William’s family didn’t even know I was pregnant. It was somewhat disheartening. This was perhaps yet another sign that something else wasn’t normal about the man I had unilaterally made the decision to have a child with. Granted, it was an unplanned pregnancy, but it seemed minimally proper for the father to tell his own parents of his impending parenthood, especially since he knew about it.

  “… I was going t
o tell them,” William’s voice trailed off.

  “WAS?!” I tried not to get annoyed. “How much time did you—” I cut myself off.

  Inside I was hurting. I was curious and quietly daunted by William’s presence which felt even more extreme and invasive after he sat down. This just piled on top of the feeling I had that the soon-to-be father of my child might have been embarrassed by my pregnancy. It never mattered to me whether he wanted the child or not— until he was in my space. How foolish I was. His desires didn’t matter. Besides, he had had his way through our whole three year relationship. We got together on his terms. We had sex when he wanted to. We didn’t get too deep into conversations (about love) — like he wanted.

  William sat back as deep as he could into the sofa in the small living room of the apartment where I was living. He massaged his temples; applying the full pressure from his index fingers and thumbs. Then, out of almost nowhere—yeah, again!

  “…hum…I don’t know, Alice”, he paused to remove his keys from his pocket. “I FIGURE THEY WOULD KNOW SOON ENOUGH.”

  What? Oh… he’s talking about his parents not knowing that I was pregnant.

  After I composed myself, I let the issue drop. It was the first time I didn’t feel like eating up everything in the house. But, before the evening was over, William was gone. It was just as mysterious as his arrival. He had brought no comfort for me. He had not nurtured an inkling of concern— as far as I knew— about what I was experiencing during my pregnancy. How could he possibly know ME or what I was about? He never tried. William never asked if he was really the father of my child. Are you sure? I never heard those words. IDK— maybe those words might have been a relief for me.

  The door shut behind William, bringing the coolness of the outdoor air inside. I was relieved to be alone again with the life inside me. But it was totally unclear whether William left because I refused to have sex with him (at 9 ⅓ months pregnant). Did he leave because I refused to serve him like I was his slave? Did he leave because he really felt that I just didn’t want him anywhere near me?

  Either way…IDK, it didn’t matter.

  Hello, Chocolate Sunshine!

  I gave birth April 23, 1976 to a baby girl after thirty-seven hours of harrrrrrd labor. I named her Crystal Reshawn and I gave her her father’s last name, Choyce. And just as I was possessed with an unexplained desire to get pregnant and give birth, I was, only seconds after I had delivered, convinced that I would never put my body through such an excruciating ordeal, ever, ever again. And, I didn’t…even after marrying William— two years later.

  14

  Home Again, 1976

  WHEN I GAVE BIRTH TO MY DAUGHTER CRYSTAL, I WAS JUST ABOUT SIX WEEKS FROM graduating with my B.A. Degree in Urban and Rural Development or Planning, as it is more commonly conferred today. I had completed all the requisite classes and only needed to turn in the assignment detailing my internship with the San Diego Sheriff’s department; it was supportive of my major interest in criminal justice. Dr. Thomas, my esteemed professor, who had guided my course of study, gave me permission to return home so that I could be near family as I cared for my newborn. My mother, who was more than prepared to help me along my maternal journey, had flown in from Oakland to pick me and her grandchild up. I was so happy to have my new bundle of love, and it was during this early time of bonding that I thought very deeply about what I needed to do to begin building our lives.

  The time of my new happiness coincided with the feelings that William was definitely dispensable. It was totally encompassing and bewildering, and if I experienced these feelings before, I wasn’t able to pull that memory forward. Was this supposed to happen to me? I really wanted to know. The physical distance that had existed between William and me for most of our relationship, even the part leading up to our daughter’s birth, was less profound, I thought, than the mental distance. But things changed and it was all I could do not to embrace this new reality of mine? I didn’t want William around; his absence made me feel safe and peaceful.

  Damn, my life was full of foreshadows! How could I have known?

  …

  My Post-Partum Depression didn’t make life any simpler. It seemed to first flare up when William’s mother and her so-called sister came to my mother’s home to see my daughter, her granddaughter, for the first time. Mrs. Choyce, as I would still call her today— if we had occasion to be in the same place at the same time— held my child up like she was weightless. Then she looked her over from head to toe. I got bad vibes then, but, again, like so many of the mysteries surrounding William’s life and family, it would be years later before I understood her scrutiny. She was looking to see signs of her son’s blood in my child. I’m glad that this information was not available to me back then, though I was mildly suspicious. I had not learned how to suspect the worst of people. But that would come later.

  William’s first visit with his first child was also interesting. He looked amused— much like someone who had never seen a baby before. Still, he seemed quietly delighted. I watched him carefully and made a conscious effort to try and discern my feelings for him in the moment he held our child. Nothing— he might as well had been a total stranger. I felt no bond with him at all. It was the final sign of doubtlessness about my feelings for William; I had battled with these feelings for years. But why?

  And suddenly it became important that I remember whether he had ever held me tenderly or approached me with a passion that wasn’t sexually motivated. Yes. Only when we were “new” and he was trying to show me that he was someone he really wasn’t. Then I tried as best I could to not contemplate my daughter’s misfortune; her parents weren’t meant to be. They would never be as one.

  But, my mother, always the peace-maker, tried to tell me that I needed to give myself time to heal before telling William I wanted no parts of him. In the background of her words I heard concern for me and her granddaughter’s welfare. She liked William a lot, and I knew she wanted my daughter to be raised by two parents. My mother pretty much raised five children on her own and I’m sure she reflected on that and regarded it as something she wouldn’t want for any of her children.

  In a matter of days, things between me and William went from bad to worse, and I wondered if coming back to northern California was the right thing to do. We argued about everything that had to do with Crystal. He thought he should be able to take her out by himself. I said she wasn’t ready. When he called me crazy and obsessive, I told him he couldn’t come to see his daughter again. He threatened to call the police. I believed him.

  To end the verbal and sometimes venomous sparring, my mother would show William the front door. It would be days before he returned. In the absence of reciprocating malice between two new parents, there was silence. I so enjoyed the peace I had with my baby. I think that if William had never come back again, I would not have cared.

  A month passed and William had only seen Crystal when I was not around. Then, out of nowhere (again) he came with news that he wanted me and Crystal to move in with him. At the time, he had a one bedroom apartment. He said he wanted to make things work, AND I wanted some space away from my mother’s busy house. It was a compromise that I would regret time after time, but the longer Crystal and I stayed with William, the more I felt it would be an injustice to deny my child the benefits of being raised by two parents… Notice, I didn’t write “happy” parents.

  I soon reasoned that the advantage of being/living with William and later marrying him would help with some of my confliction. I was torn, much too late of course, about having a child out of wedlock. No matter how I tried to reach for a scenario where I would raise my daughter without William, barriers came up. First, I didn’t want another man to raise her who wasn’t her father; that would have been a problem. Second, I feared William would really fight me if it came down to him needing a custody agreement in order to see his child. This came up during my first week home with our daughter. I was so protective, I think it scared him. Thir
d, I wanted my child to have what I wanted all my life—her mother and “real father”.

  But how could I have known that the seeds of poison from William’s childhood were steady growing inside of him, not only to make him a mal-prepared father, but an abuser of his own children and a rapist and murderer who would walk the Oakland streets every night for new victims to help him quell the hunger…?

  15

  Early Betrayal, 1977

  ONE NIGHT, I CAME HOME WHEN I WASN’T EXPECTED AND I FOUND MY THEN FIANCÉ, William, in bed with a woman. I had seen this woman from afar when she was walking up and down the streets near where we lived on E18th Street, close to Lake Merritt. It was instant recognition. I saw her whole brown and oval face after kicking down my own bedroom door. I knew our eyes had met before. I had wondered about her—why she walked so much. And there she was tucked neatly under my sheets like she had washed, dried and folded them with her own hands.

  ALL I SAW WAS RED.

  AND THEN, BAMMM!

  Any other time, I believe William would have been strong enough to prevent me from getting past him like I did. I was a bulldozer. But he must have been weak with lust, fear and God knows what else. Maybe his demons, those that I wouldn’t learn about until years later, were weighing him down. He stammered to keep his balance as I moved against him, against the bed and against the woman underneath my nice, clean sheets.

  “WHAT IN THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU GIRL?!” William tilted his head sideways as if a new angle would give him a better understanding of things, or perhaps he was trying to make a prediction of what was coming next. At any rate, he didn’t seem to appreciate the madness swirling around him. A madness that he had created. Maybe he was trying to be in denial like I had been for so long.