Woman tells judge: I am in my own prison
"I am in my own prison."
With these six words, the woman savagely beaten in the "nanny cam" case spoke for victims of violent crime everywhere.
Criminals go to jail, penned by walls and bars. Victims, too, live confined, by fear and distrust.
"I am in my own prison."
She said this during her victim impact statement, just moments before Essex County Superior Court Judge Ronald Wigler sentenced her attacker, Shawn Custis, to life in prison.
The woman's implied message to the judge was this: I am in prison for the rest of my life, so he should be, too.
In a clear, strong and unwavering voice, the victim described her emotional jail cell to the judge, one declarative sentence at time.
"I continue to live in a constant state of anxiety."
"I haven't opened a window in my house for two years."
"When the doorbell rings, I cringe and look for the phone to dial 911."
"I spend more time in therapy than I do with my family."
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And then there are the physical injuries.
She spoke of the constant pain in her back from cracked vertebrae. On the 3-minute video of the attack, Custis is seen straddling her as she lies face down. He pulls back and punches her three times in the kidney area, hard.
"I can't sit in a car. I can't drive my children to school."
She spoke of nerve damage to the right side of her face. On the video, the left-handed Custis begins every sequence of beatings with a punch or kick to that side of her face, before he shoved her down the cellar stairs.
"I no longer have feeling on that part of my face," she said, gingerly touching it as she spoke.
She also spoke of the loss of energy, drained by the oppressive fear only someone brutalized in this way can know. Fear now runs her life - she did not want her identity revealed by the media nor did she want to be photographed.
This is what Custis did to her.
And much more. She uprooted her family and left their Millburn home, where the attack occurred. She was forced to leave her job. She wonders how the child who witnessed the attack is haunted by it -- now and forever.
She lives with all that, in a prison of her own.
"My life has been dark and difficult. We have moved. I haven't been able to work."
She made these wrenching admissions without hesitation or whimper, exposing her physical and emotional wounds to the court.
The only time her voice wavered was when she described the Mother's Day cards her children made her.
"I thought, 'What would their lives be like without me?' " she said.
It was her way of reminding the judge of how close Custis came to erasing her from their lives.
Only when she returned to her seat, did she begin to silently sob, laying her head on her husband's shoulder.
Essex County Assistant Prosecutor Jamel Semper, who tried the case, said he was "amazed" by her composure.
"She exceeded all of our expectations," Semper said. "I continue to be amazed by how strong she is, at her core."
Semper said the strength the victim exuded in even surviving the beating carried her through the trial -- including the day she looked at Custis and identified him as her attacker during her testimony.
"She was very scared to come to court to face this man," Semper said.
But she did. Once as a witness, then to hear the verdict and again yesterday to read her statement.
And while she had the courage to face Custis all three times, he didn't have the courage to face her.
Custis opted to stay in the court holding cell when the jury announced its "guilty" verdict four weeks ago. Yesterday, he hid his face behind a document holder as she spoke.
Some tough guy.
"It's never a fair fight," Semper said during his statement in court yesterday. "He goes after women and children, the most vulnerable."
Semper was finally able to air the fact that Custis, 45, was convicted of a similar incident in 1993, when he beat a young mother during a home invasion the year before. In that one, he pushed the woman down the stairs while she was holding a baby.
It was part of the "massive, crushing weight" of Custis' prior convictions that Semper noted, in asking the judge to impose a life sentence.
"Since 1988, he's had as many felony arrests as he's had birthdays," Semper said. "Thirty-eight arrests, 17 felony convictions, 12 prison terms ... half-measures and leniency didn't work with this defendant. He goes right back to doing what he did before."
Wigler agreed, saying Custis' prior record was "rather staggering."
Then he began to read the sentences for each count in the case. When he said the word "life," the victim's sobs intensified and she began to cry audibly.
Not tears of joy, not tears of relief, but some combination of those and an abject emotional breakdown that defies description.
Semper tried.
"She was very excited about the prospect of putting this behind her," he said.
But he knows she never will, not completely.
She is in her own prison.
And now, Custis is in his.
Mark Di Ionno may be reached at mdiionno@starledger.com. Follow The Star-Ledger on Twitter @StarLedger and find us on Facebook.