To help others, Newark woman tells of 3-hour beating

Emily Hill will never forget what her ex-boyfriend said while sawing off her hair with a knife still sticky with her blood.

“I’m going to make you so ugly that no one ever wants you again.”

It was in the middle of a vicious three-hour beating, one Hill didn’t expect to survive.

She had already blacked out once when Wayne Carter’s hands wrapped around her neck. Her arm gushed blood where he had stabbed her when she tried to escape from the apartment. And her ruptured eardrums rang as blow after blow from a cable cord, a tote bag strap and his fists left her dizzy and temporarily unconscious.

“I’ll never forget his face at that moment and the rage and the anger that I saw in his eyes,” Hill said. “It didn’t feel like that was the same person I had loved for a year and a half. At that point, I felt like a stranger had come into the house and was doing this all to me.”

In 2015, six people died from domestic violence in Delaware. Last year, police recorded more than 14,000 criminal accounts of domestic violence, according to the state’s Domestic Violence Coordinating Council’s Fatal Incident Review Team. The state's domestic violence hotlines received 3,500 calls for help last year, turning away just as many victims as they were able to offer services.

These instances of abuse are experienced mostly by women and often go unreported for years. It can take many attempts by police, prosecutors and advocates to successfully intervene.

"These can be truly muddy from the beginning," said Detective Michael Watson, the Newark Police investigator assigned Hill's case. "Initially, everything is heated but shortly thereafter, it all falls apart. The victim goes back to the abuser or you're not getting the cooperation you need for a prosecution."

It took nearly three hours for Hill to convince Carter to let her live, promising to explain away the ligature marks on her neck and the bruises on her stomach as a violent robbery by someone she didn’t know.

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Carter finally believed her, kissing her and reminding Hill how much he loved her one last time. Then he wiped the bloody knife on his pant leg and placed it back in the kitchen block.

“I knew I would never forgive him,” Hill said, recalling the constant ping of her cell phone on her way to the hospital that night as Carter asked who she had told.

Today, Carter, 26, lives in prison, serving a 25-year sentence for the three hours of torture he inflicted upon Hill, the mother of his child. Delaware courts granted Hill, now 25, a protection from abuse order that will last her lifetime — well past the date Carter will leave his jail cell.

The prison term surprised investigators, who say they rarely see such a strong sentence for domestic-related crimes not ending in death. Prosecutors had hoped for 15, maybe 20 years.

"On the best day, I never thought we would get 25 (years)," Watson said. "But I believe the judge saw through him ... how cold and calculated he was, and that any act that he would put on in the courtroom was just that – an act."

Fighting for life

On the night of Feb. 12, 2016, Hill came home from work with plans to shower and fall sleep.

She had been living with a friend in Newark for about a month. She and Carter had had a rocky few months that included a breakup and escalating violence.

Their son, Harlem, was 4 months old then and Hill wanted to do everything she could to co-parent with Carter and remain a civil family.

Her own family split up when she was a child and Hill longed to see her son grow up in a home where both parents got along. Deep down, she still believed that the man who had once loved her wouldn't resort to violence, especially with their son in the picture.

Their interactions had become more difficult in the last few weeks. Carter would appear in her rearview mirror out of nowhere, following her to run errands. When she went to pick up her son, he pushed her down the stairs and into glass tables.

"I didn’t call the police," Hill said. "At that point, I was just trying to have a relationship with him for our child and that was it. ... But it got to the point that I would stop going home because I didn’t want him to show up at my house.”

Then one day, she Carter snuck up behind her vehicle and reached through the open window and slammed her head into the steering wheel. She pulled away, and rolled up the window, but even as she dialed 911, he pounded on the car and smashed his fists against the glass.

By the time police arrived, he was gone, Hill said, and so was her desire to see Carter in jail.

Fast forward to the night of Feb. 12. Hill had taken her shower and was getting ready for bed. Her friend was spending the night in Philadelphia.

Shortly after midnight, Carter appeared in the doorway of her bedroom. Hill asked him what he was doing there, he was supposed to be watching their son that night.

She coaxed him to the back door and had convinced him to leave.

Then her cell phone rang, setting off Carter's rage.

He wanted to know who the man was who was calling her. He demanded the password.

Then he tackled her to the ground and began to beat her, starting Hill's three-hour ordeal.

“I remember everything going black and my body just going limp,” Hill said, recalling the moment Carter pressed his hands around her neck. “And I never imagined that strangulation would actually be as peaceful as it was. And it was almost like an answered prayer at that point because I thought it was over.”

It wasn't.

Carter continued, using the strap of a tote bag and then a gold light fixture chain to choke her again and again. When neither was successful, he reached for a body pillow, smothering her face with the fabric.

Hill remained resilient. She fought back, squirming away and running for the door. But Carter was faster and caught her. He grabbed a cable cord whipped her entire body.

“He was either going to kill me or kill himself or both of us," Hill said. "I did not expect to make it out."

After the whippings, Carter drove a kitchen knife into Hill's arm when she made another escape attempt. Soaked in blood, he brought her back to the futon where he cut off her hair in giant chunks, throwing the handfuls onto her.

Hill kept fighting back and finally convinced Carter she wouldn't go to police. He left the apartment.

Shaken from the hours of abuse, Hill wouldn't hang up with the 911 operator until police arrived.

Regaining control

More than a year has passed since that terrible night and Hill knows what prompted Carter's rage.

"He couldn’t believe that I was actually leaving," she said. "It was finally setting in at that point that I was truly done.”

Experts say women in abusive relationships face the most danger when they try to leave. In many cases, those suffering from violence don't know where to turn or what resources are available to them.

“When you become aware you're not alone and other people are experiencing what you're experiencing, it creates a safer environment for you,” said Stephanie Staats, CEO of YWCA Delaware, which offers programs for families seeking shelter. “You find this community that lets you know it’s socially acceptable and safe to talk about.”

As they treated her injuries, doctors and nurses at the hospital surrounded Hill with support, matching her with advocates, a victims' services representative and a police detective. Watson still considers Hill to be as close to a "perfect match" as investigators ever hope to get in a domestic violence case.

Because of the intimacy and nature of the crimes, it isn't uncommon for those experiencing violence to change their mind about pressing charges or moving forward with prosecution, Watson said. Perpetrators often violate Protection from Abuse orders and continue to contact their victims, he said.

In Hill's case, Carter kept calling, writing and employing friends to relay messages to Hill as his trial neared, Watson said. The actions "really sold his frame of mind, how cold and calculated he was," Watson said.

These threats and contact are enough to keep those who have been abused from asking for help, said Sue Ryan, executive director of the Delaware Coalition Against Domestic Violence.

"Abusers are very effective in isolating victims, terrifying them with threats if they seek help," she said. "Victims may be afraid that law enforcement will be unable to keep them safe. They may be afraid the abuser will take their children. They may be afraid that they will lose their home, especially when the abuser controls everything in their life."

Hill's trust in Watson proved effective, but the detective knows that isn't always the case. In many ways, what occurs within the criminal justice system can't be the sole focus of those working with victims of domestic violence. For many, a short prison sentence or a protection from abuse order isn't enough to stop the violence.

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Hill still struggles with the fact the family unit she wanted will never happen, and her son will grow up without a father.

"When you do these [cases] over the years, it's not just about the prosecution," Watson said. "It's about giving the victim back control – control over their situation, control over their life again. We have to be a part of that."

How to forgive, let go

Hill wants to be an advocate, an example of what exists on the other side of abuse.

In telling her story, she has been able to move forward and recognize where Carter's violence against her began. It is an important step to end the stigma of abuse and help those in need find shelter, Staats said.

"We, as the community, can do a better job as advocates and educating on domestic violence," Staats said. "[The YWCA] has certainly worked with some families that didn't even realize they were being abused because these were behaviors they saw their mothers subjected to... To them, it's normal."

Hill knows now that the abuse she endured from Carter is not normal. She wants to help others who are still in that situation.

Harlem, now 16 months old, sees his father once a month behind bars at Young Correctional Institution in Wilmington. Carter's parents take him. Hill doesn't want to take away his right to a family, and until he's old enough to make that decision for himself, she won't intervene.

Prison walls and a 25-year sentence separate her from Carter, but she finds pieces of him everywhere.

“It definitely is hard looking at my son every day," Hill said. "I see the face of the same man that almost killed me.”

Yet Hill forgives him.

She forgave him at his sentencing, when a judge handed down an unexpected sentence. And she forgives him every day for the mental health issues he was unable to work through and instead took out on her. It doesn't mean she accepts the violence, she said, but she has to forgive in order to move forward with her own life.

“When you choose to forgive those who hurt you, you forever take away their power,” Hill read aloud at Carter's sentencing last month. “I forgive him for coming into my personal space and attempting to kill me."

"Forgiveness is also a sign of letting go," she said, "and that’s what I’m doing today.”

Contact Brittany Horn at (302) 324-2771 or bhorn@delawareonline.com. Follow her on Twitter at @brittanyhorn.

How to get help

24-Hour Domestic Violence Hotlines & Shelters

New Castle County: (302) 762-6110

Kent & Sussex Counties: (302) 422-8058 or (302) 745-9874

Domestic Violence Court Advocacy Program

New Castle County: (302) 255-0420

Kent County: (302) 672-1075

Sussex County: (302) 856-5843

National Domestic Violence Hotline: (800) 799-7233

DE Child Abuse Hotline: (800) 292-9582

Rape Crisis Contact Lifeline

New Castle County: (302) 761-9100

Kent & Sussex Counties: (800) 262-9800

DE Victim Center 24-hr Hotline: (800) VICTIM-1