CONTENT WARNING
This article contains explicit references to sexual assault, physical violence, abduction, trauma, stalking, and institutional betrayal. Reader discretion is strongly advised, especially for survivors of sexual or domestic violence. This post is a very real and personal one, as the subject is me.

I want to start with a truth that should not need defending: I am alive. But not because the system protected me. Not because justice prevailed. I am alive despite them. Despite police delays. Despite court inaction. Despite a Constitution so warped in its selective interpretation that it now shields rapists, stalkers, and serial abusers better than it shelters the people they destroy. I am alive, but I have not been safe. I have not been free. I have not had peace.

On March 10, 2025, I was drugged. I was taken against my will out of state. I was physically assaulted. I was raped. I was robbed. My car was stolen. When I came to, I was in a disgusting hotel room with the heat cranked up to ninety degrees. That detail is burned into me—not just physically, not just metaphorically. I believe the man who did this thought I was dead and wanted to confuse the coroner. That heat was not incidental. It was intentional. It was part of the plan.

His name is Justin William Carlisle. You can look him up. His record is public. It tells a story prosecutors and judges should have paid attention to long before he got to me. He has a history of domestic abuse, operating while intoxicated, possession of drug paraphernalia, criminal mischief, trespassing causing injury, absconding from supervision, and most chillingly: fleeing to avoid prosecution. That is not a list of missteps. That is a blueprint for escalation. The kind of escalation that ends in a body bag. Or in my case, just a hair’s breath short.

Two days after he left me for dead, Justin Carlisle was arrested with the stolen car. He has essentially moved into the vehicle – clothes, clean and dirty, weapons, and drugs were all found in the vehicle. Think about that. The police had him. He was in custody. And then? The unraveling began. Slowly at first, then all at once.

Despite the brutality of what happened to me—an abduction, a sexual assault, an attempted cover-up, and a stolen vehicle—he was allowed to call me from jail. He threatened me. Directly. A no-contact order was issued on April 4, 2025. It was violated four times.

1. April 6, 2025: He texted me. He called me. Direct, documented violations.
   
2. Next violation: He used a third party to message me through Facebook.
   
3. Third time: Another text. Another disruption to what little healing I had managed.
   
4. Fourth: A phone call. Brazen. Mocking. Re-traumatizing.
   

Every single violation was reported to the Davenport Police Department! Every one should have triggered consequences. Instead, he was released. Again. And again. And again. Finally, he did what his record guaranteed: he fled. As of this writing, Justin William Carlisle is missing, likely on the run to avoid prosecution, last seen in Rock Island, Illinois. And I am left with a scarred body, a fractured nervous system, and a justice system that looks at me and sees little more than a footnote in his story.

Who Is Justin William Carlisle?

Known aliases: None reported
Last known location: Rock Island, Illinois
Current status: Fugitive
Pending charges: Theft, robbery, auto theft, assault

Prior convictions include:

• Domestic abuse
  
• Operating while intoxicated (OWI)
  
• Possession of drug paraphernalia
  
• Criminal mischief
  
• Trespass causing injury
  
• Absconding from supervision
  
• Fleeing to avoid prosecution
  

He is not a first-time offender. He is not a misunderstood man. He is a violent, escalating repeat offender with a documented pattern of abusing, evading, and violating.

The Lie of Constitutional Balance

This is where people start quoting the Constitution. “Due process.” “Presumption of innocence.” “The Eighth Amendment prohibits excessive bail.” And while those phrases have merit in the abstract, what they have become in practice is horrifying. They are now tactical weapons in the hands of defense attorneys and the worst kind of men.

They say, “we cannot hold him without bond, that would violate his rights.”
I ask: What about mine?

They say, “we cannot silence him completely.”
I ask: Then why am I the one who cannot sleep, who cannot eat, who cannot invite guests into my home anymore without fear?

They say, “he has the right to defend himself.” But when he uses that right to terrorize me, who defends me?

And what of the judges and prosecutors who let it happen?

Named and Complicit

Let me name the people involved. Not because I want revenge. Because I want accountability.

• Judge Michael E. Motto Jr.
  
• Judge Mark Fowler
  
• Judge Stuart Werling
  
• Kelly Cunningham, County Attorney, Scott County, Iowa
  
• Ryan McCord, Assistant County Attorney, Scott County, Iowa
  

These officials had the facts. They knew the record. They saw the violations. They were notified each time Carlisle reached out. And they let him go. They gave him the opportunity to flee. He took it.

Meanwhile, I stopped hosting dinners. I stopped opening the door. I started looking over my shoulder in grocery store parking lots. This is not liberty. This is not justice. This is not balance. This is terror imposed by the state through its inaction.

The Rock Island Police Department and the Davenport Police Department handled the reports. I reported every violation. I filed statements. I called in fear. I demanded to be heard. Each time, the reply was some version of: “we are doing what we can.” No. No, you were not.

The Fear That Follows

This is not just about Carlisle. It is about a system built to prioritize the legal cleanliness of the process over the moral urgency of the moment. What I needed was protection. What I got was policy. What I needed was enforcement. What I got was evasion.

I have lived in both Iowa and Illinois. I have seen firsthand how violence is negotiated between jurisdictions until nobody takes full responsibility. I was abducted across state lines. But that did not make me a federal priority. I was sexually assaulted. But that did not elevate my case to any special status. I was stalked, harassed, violated. But the only one who has had to go into hiding is me.

The home I once loved now feels like a holding cell—not for a criminal, but for the survivor who has been asked to “understand the limits” of the justice system. I do not accept that. I will not be quiet. I am not the one who should be afraid.

The System Is Not Broken. It Is Working Exactly As Designed.

Let us stop pretending the justice system is broken. It is not. It is functioning exactly as it was built to function: to prioritize the accused, protect property, and minimize liability. That is not justice. That is white-collar cowardice wearing a robe.

It is time we stop giving courts a free pass for this repeated betrayal. The idea that “the Constitution protects everyone” is a dangerous half-truth when applied in isolation. The Constitution has never fully protected marginalized people—rape survivors, Black and brown communities, queer and trans individuals, disabled people, or anyone caught in the crosshairs of systemic abuse. It was not written for us. And it is now being used against us.

Let me be clear: Due process should not be due cruelty. Presumption of innocence should not mean presumption of release.

The next time someone lectures me about “constitutional rights,” I will ask how many no-contact orders that piece of parchment has enforced lately. Because I have yet to see it physically show up and stop a man like Justin William Carlisle from dialing my number at 2 AM to tell me what wants to do to me again.

The reality is this: he was given more freedom after his arrest than I have had since his crimes. That is not justice. That is complicity.

What You Can Do

Outrage is not enough. I am asking for more. I am demanding action. And I am calling on you to stop tolerating this.

Here is what you can do:

1. Call out your local judges and prosecutors. Ask them how many protective orders they have enforced this year. Ask what their process is for handling violations. Demand answers.
   
2. Push for legislative change. Iowa and Illinois both lack consistent enforcement guidelines for no-contact violations. That must change. Write to your representatives. Demand a victim-first lens.
   
3. Support survivor-led advocacy. Share articles like this. Fund community-based support organizations. Stop centering the narrative on rehabilitation for predators and start talking about repair for survivors.
   
4. Reject lazy interpretations of constitutional rights. The Constitution is not a holy relic. It is a legal document—and one that must evolve or it becomes a weapon.
   
5. Help find Justin William Carlisle. Share this. Share his record. Demand his arrest. Ask why, in 2025, a man with a multi-state record of abuse was ever free to contact his victim.
   

Wrapping It Up!

I was not supposed to live through what happened on March 10. I believe that. I believe Justin William Carlisle thought I was dead. I believe the heat turned up to ninety degrees was part of that plan. I believe every court and agency that let him walk again did so knowing that if he hurt me again, my death would not be his first.

So no—I do not want sympathy. I want justice. I want action. And I want you to help make that happen. Because this is not just about me. This is about a system that still thinks my trauma is worth less than his rights.

And I am done being quiet about that.