What would happen to her if I got hooked?
Weeks later, when William asked me if I had seen the vial of cocaine, I told him I had thrown it in the garbage. He would never know how he had nearly ruined my life by introducing me to something that could have easily changed me from a mother and a wife into a monster for all time.
What was he thinking?
What in the hell was I thinking?
After William and I were divorced, I found myself in a totally new reality of unlimited freedom. And yet, there was something in the fabric of my existence that tied me to him no matter how tenuous. I wondered if there was more that I could have done to save my marriage. I wondered whether refusing to have sex with him after 1982, contributed to him turning to prostitutes. But what was I to do with a man whose touch felt like it could kill every ounce of the good in me? There were times I thought I had very little good left, especially after I was able to use cocaine.
Who am I? It was more than a question. I kept asking because I didn’t know. I was doing things I thought I would never do. I learned how to be good to myself and when I did, I was so grateful and delighted to imagine that I could live the rest of my life without being sexual with a man ever again. It was a good feeling. No man, no drama.
I knew that I had sexual desires even when I was with William, but they were only for men I did not know. They were for men I would see from a distance and admire because they seemed normal, or because they looked like they would not have to leave their homes every night with a gun in their coat pocket. But when I thought about William, he probably looked like he was normal— to other people. This longing for the attention from other men was so terribly consuming that at times I thought I would lose my mind. I didn’t want the feelings, but I couldn’t get rid of them.
Once, when the longing and misdirected passion became so intense, I had no choice but to give in to my husband. But oh my God! While I was pretending he was someone other than who he was, he was right on top of me doing the same goddamn thing! Together, we were living fantasies at the other’s expense, except that I never fantasized about causing anyone harm.
The irony of it all is haunting to the twentieth power.
It has taken me years and years to get comfortable with just being Me. I think my stepfather had a lot to do with trying to snatch my confidence, pride and love of self before they could mature. Behind my mother’s back, he told me I was nothing.
“YOU DRESS LIKE A TRAMP SO THAT THE BOYS WILL LOOK AT YOU.” His tone was one of condemnation.
The words came straight for my thirteen year old head. I tried not to look at Pops. That’s what we called my stepfather. His meanness which was mixed with a little bit of love seemed to commence with the budding of my breasts and the thickening in my hips. First, he started with the insults and when I would cry, he would promise to take me shopping. I would not tell my mother because I was afraid that like my father, my stepfather would leave and my mother would be alone to take care of five children. So, he had the upper hand and I think he knew that.
When he bought me a new dress, I was grateful, and I soon came to understand the complex simplicity of our relationship; he would rub up against me WHEN I WAS DOING THE DISHES OR WHEN I WAS TRYING TO GET PAST HIM IF HE WAS STANDING IN THE DOORWAY OR TRYING TO GET IN THE CAR SO THAT WE COULD GO SHOPPING. I WILL NEVER FORGET THOSE DAYS. And as compensation, I would get a new dress or some new shoes.
The texture of that illicit relationship with my stepfather was so emotionally binding and entrenched in my soul that when I married William, the only way I could feel even remotely sexual towards him was after he had taken me on a shopping trip to get the things I REALLY WANTED. But when he became ill with the Devil’s work and I could feel that something was terribly, terribly wrong with him, even a shopping trip to Rodeo Drive wouldn’t have helped me force an intimacy with him.
OMG!!!
Who am I?
I had long been separated and divorced from William when the full impact of my troubled childhood and then my life with a man, who later became a menace to the society of women, came down on me. It was 1999; it was the same year my granddaughter was born. I was obsessed with keeping her safe. I felt that I had failed my daughter. It was the year I was pursuing my first Master’s Degree full time as well as working full time. I was also providing care to my mother who was ill. In that same year, I discovered that the second man I thought I loved was keeping secrets just as William had. It was the third time I had been betrayed by the men in my life. First it was my father, then William, then Marvin. (That’s another story).
I was on a motherf**kin’ roll.
33
After Separating from William the 2nd & Final Time
Freedom felt good at first.
I didn’t have to worry about walking through my own front door after work and being pushed in the face with an immense tension that had grabbed onto my legs as I walked up the stairs. It was a warning of sorts. For many of the years that I had been married to William, it had been difficult to be around him without feeling stressed because his energy was so negative. Near the end of our so-called marriage, it was insurmountable. He always seemed to be upset about something he either couldn’t or refused to put into words. There was always a barrier that he threw up to conceal signs or hints that might have reflected what really was going on inside of him. Only once had he relented to tell of his mother’s betrayal.
And perhaps throughout most of the years we were together, there was rarely a time when we agreed on how to raise our daughter. Like his mother, William was almost anal about the inflexible manner in which children should be disciplined. The prescription for even the most minor of behavioral infractions was to beat the child. I forbid him to strike my child, but he found a way; it was from behind my back. And, we argued almost incessantly about everything that had to do with Crystal— how she should dress, when she should do homework, what grades she should get in school and who she should socialize with. I used to think my head was going to bust because of his discontentment with almost everything that Crystal did or did not do. His grumbling was like a never-ending story. Our strong differences in this area, more than anything else, finally led to our final breakup. The way William treated our daughter once she reached the age of ten, was frightening. I honestly believe that he had an unfounded fear that Crystal could turn out to be like some of the young women he was secretly paying in exchange for sex. IDK.
After a few months of being away from William for the first time since 1976, I began to try and envision myself in a relationship with another man. I couldn’t. I thought I had lost my ability to trust. I had lost my ability to trust men. Could I or should I put myself through another emotional gauntlet such as the one I endured with William? I was pretty sure I couldn’t.
The time came when just being separated from William was not enough. I needed to end our marriage completely. But he seemed intent on keeping me anchored to him legally. When we parted in October 31, 1988, it was with the understanding that we might reconcile and resume life together in a more healthy form. In my heart, I believed that William wanted us to be a family again. But I also felt that he was beyond repair. I WANTED OUT!
A year passed. We were still separated. I had asked for a divorce on a number of occasions. William was adamant; he wanted us back. I didn’t want to fight. I knew William wasn’t being faithful, which was ironically—the very thing he wanted from me the most.
34
“Crazy as a Bessie Bug”
THE TIME CAME WHEN I ABSOLUTELY HAD TO KNOW WHETHER WILLIAM WAS LYING TO ME about his true intentions with respect to me and Crystal. In all honesty, I think I just needed an excuse to do something that I had already made my mind up to do— I wanted to divorce him. I had given my husband the time and space to heal or hang himself.
When I heard about William being out with two and three women at a time, I was shocked and hurt. I told myself not to worry. I gave him his space until I couldn’t giv
e it anymore. But I had no clue how dramatic the end of Mr. and Mrs. William Jennings Choyce would be. There was going to be a showdown; it would one that both William and I would regret.
How could I have known?
It happened like this—
It was the second winter after our separation. I was lonely for the companionship of a man; I wanted to go out and have some fun but I was still married to William. I was still his “lawful wife”. But, I figured the least I could do to lighten my emotional load was to let him go once and for all. I needed CLOSURE, CLOSURE CLOSURE in the worst way. I had a good idea, or so I thought. I went over to William’s apartment because something told me —at 2pm in the afternoon— that he was up to no good. I didn’t call or anything. Something also told me that I could be finally free from the man who wouldn’t let me go without a fight. An uncontrollable anxiousness consumed me.
Thirty minutes passed and I was in San Leandro where William lived. He was home but he would not open the door. He must have known that I was possessed with the determination to be free of him. Like a maniac, I paced back and forth near his door for hours. William would come to the door to talk to me, but he wouldn’t let me inside. It was the strangest thing.
Standing there in the cold, I remembered all the times William had come to my apartment unannounced, and I didn’t make a big deal out of it. There were times he thought it was his right to climb into my bed, and when I refused him, he had the nerve to get angry. He would say that WE WERE STILL MARRIED. I would correct him and note that it was only I who was acting like a married person. I knew he was between another woman’s legs before the ink was dry on his new apartment lease— on the same day of our actual separation.
When I couldn’t take the nonsense of talking to William from behind his door, I kicked it in. Bammmmmmm… It was so cold outside. And it was a good thing that my bones were frozen, else I would have felt monstrous pain in my leg that attacked William’s front door. I had reached a point of anger that I had never known before. William was playing with my mind and my feelings. I think he perceived that he could exercise some kind of control over me because we were still married. NOT!
Once the door was opened, I could see the shock on William’s face. Maybe it was the first time I had seen that particular look on his face, and for a moment, I think that I allowed myself to be amused. I looked all around the apartment with my crazy eyes that had followed the lead of my crazy legs. I was crazy as a Bessie bug. And I was ready to fight after I saw that a woman’s clothing were scattered all about his living room.
As I kept looking, I embraced the thought that I would not have gone over there if I hadn’t felt like William was trying to hold me in our marriage. He had this thing about acting like I was being impatient. But I had waited and waited, not for him to come back to me, but for him to let me go. And the longer I waited, the more I became sure that I was done with William.
“WHO IS SHE William?” I was breathing hard as fear pumped me up.
How could he think I was so stupid that I wouldn’t recognize what was going on. I knew he wasn’t a damned cross-dresser.
He jumped back. “Who is who…girl?” William tried to cover himself with a towel. “ALICE, YOU’RE TRIPPIN’.”
“NO. NOT TRIPPIN’. I’M JUST TRYING TO GET ON WITH MY LIFE.”
“…ain’t no woman in here?”
“WELL THEN WHOSE CLOTHES ARE THOSE?”
“…oh, they belong to my friend’s wife.” William was stuttering. “We played cards last night.”
…this fool really thinks I’m stupid!
“SHE LEFT HER PANTIES ON YOUR COUCH…HUH?” I moved towards William’s bedroom. I could see the panic in his face. “How stupid do I look right now?” I really didn’t want that question answered.
“You’re better than this, Alice.”
He was trying to use reverse psychology on me. It wasn’t going to work.
“AM I? REALLY?”
“Why are you acting like a crazy woman?” Then he was trying to appeal to the sensibility he had seen all the time he had known me.
Once William realized that I wasn’t going anywhere until he brought the woman out where I could see her, he called to her— much like a man would call his dog.
“Nikki!” He paused. “COME OUT HERE!” His voice was stern and cold.
I braced myself. “Oh, you’re tired of lying, huh?”
A few atomic moments passed. And it was as if my life was moving in slow motion at first. Then things just blasted off. I didn’t know what was coming next because every moment that passed seemed so surreal. My heartbeat drummed all the way up to my head. I was shaking as I had never felt myself shake before. And just before I thought I was going to pass out—a stout woman came from behind William’s bedroom door at his command. She had his robe on.
How dare he?
My new acquaintance was in the same room with me. I took her physical essence in and immediately felt bewildered. The woman was thick. Like William likes women. She had big breasts. William must like that, too. She is the opposite of me. William likes that? She used her breast to prop up her arms and her attitude. I looked carefully at her, hoping to meet her eyes. But she would not look up at me. I looked at William with a disdain that was building itself into a mountain from the past. I wanted to faint and throw up on him at the same time.
William was right, I thought. I was too good for what I was doing.
“IS THIS WHO YOU WANT, WILLIAM?” I posed the question to my husband as if it were the most important thing he would ever be asked in his life. I pointed to the woman with her head held down. I didn’t want her in my space, but I knew I couldn’t hate her. He was, I reasoned, probably lying to her, too. He hadn’t told her that he was still married, or maybe she was like him; she didn’t care.
William looked like he was going to cry. “Alice, please…”
“TOO LATE, William!” I looked at the woman. “You need to take your ugly ass back in the bedroom and continue doing what you were doing.” I was shouting. It’s clear to me now that I could only be so mean because I was in a mean space.
Nikki did not look back at me. She said, “PLAN TO!” Then she walked back to William’s bedroom.
The woman’s words echoed in William’s small apartment and still to this day, they free float through my mind time and again. Those two words were all I needed to hear. After that, I told William that I was going to file for our divorce the next day, which would have been Monday. By then, fighting was in my blood. I didn’t want to put my hands on anyone though. I knew a fight was just beginning for me to keep my sanity. For as much as I knew William was poison for me, I also felt that I had somehow contributed to the failure of my marriage. There was pain at every intersection of the time we were together, and most of it was sponsored by his infidelity and his tip-toeing demons and God only knows what else.
And surely I would be remiss not to acknowledge that I carried my own baggage into the relationship; the issue of my own abuse haunted me too though not as much as it could have if my stepfather hadn’t been repentant.
When I left William’s apartment after the confrontation, it was the first time in my life that I felt like harming myself. The thought came out of nowhere. YOU SHOULD DRIVE YOUR CAR INTO THE TELEPHONE POLE. I was hurt so deep with William’s newest betrayal. It was one that did not have to exist. Time after time, I told him that if he wanted to be with someone else, he could just tell me. But the torment I would suffer, even after my divorce from William, would be manifold.
But how would I know?
On January 15, 1990, the legal ties that had existed between William and Alice for nearly twelve years, were cut.
35
A Coward at Heart
WILLIAM DIDN’T JUST BLOOM INTO A SERIAL RAPIST AND MURDERER BY happenstance. Whether his nearly invisible rise to monsterdom was partially attributable to the charting in his DNA, or to the weakening social fabric of the community he grew up in, or if indeed, as
his defense team advanced, he was the product of a multi-level dysfunctional home that was piloted by an abusive and domineering mother— it should only matter that William knew right from wrong. He could have easily made the choice to get help for himself before he began his reign of terror. And I’m sure that in the simple analysis, the jurors, who sentenced him to death, must have come to the same conclusion. They must have also seen him for the murderous coward that he was.
I can call my former spouse a coward for several reasons. First, he preyed on the innocent and the weak, beginning with the abuse of his own child. Only cowards exact their frustrations out on those who cannot defend themselves. The fact that he intimidated and terrorized our daughter behind my back is evidence that he feared the consequences of my discovering his ill deeds. What he did is not only unforgivable; it defied the very essence of parenthood. But he had learned from his mother, the queen of cowards.
Damn!
I HAVE A STORY TO TELL.
IT WAS THE SPRING OF 1993. I had just arrived at my hotel in Bedminster, NJ when the telephone in my hotel rang. At first, I couldn’t understand what the female caller was saying; I did not recognize her voice. I remembered that I had only shared my itinerary with Crystal. So, it was strange that someone other than her or her father was calling me.
“ALICE!” the voice shot out of my receiver.
I was startled so much that my heart began to pound. Then, I became frightened. My first thought was that someone was calling me because there was something wrong with either my mother or my child. I sat down slowly on the bed behind me.
“WHO IS THIS?”
“IT’S LISA.”
Lisa was William’s would-be common-law-wife.
“Lisa….what’s wrong?”
“WILLIAM HIT CRYSTAL AND SHE HASN’T COME HOME YET.”
Conquering Darkness Memoir of the Serial Killer's Wife Page 14