I watched.

God help me, I watched in silence, with the dumb, lazy interest of a child sprawling across my infant face. I was barely two; all I knew then was that mommy didn't wake up. I didn't know what they'd done. Couldn't see his horrid, twisting grin as they held her down. Violent shadows and muffled screams--in the doorway stands a stupidstaring toddler, a blanket in his hands, his head cocked to one side, mouth open just a crack. The impotence of children is disgusting.

I've been told since that it's a crime of power, not lust. A crime of power. A crime of weak and spineless men smokeslipping through the cracked first-floor windows in the middle of the night, their faces masked.