by Lee Cockburn
Susan struggles and manages to roll onto her front, pain coursing through her body; she reaches up to her face, but what she feels is not familiar, it is swollen and deformed, unrecognisable; she can’t see properly because her eyes are swollen shut. She tries to pull herself away from him, trying to crawl, but her body just won’t work. His assault on her has been so violent, so damaging that her injuries are too bad to overcome. She can only slump down and lie there, her spirit finally broken and all her fight gone.
Stripped bare, Susan lies face down on the bed, blood soaking through the sheets; hours of torment bleeding from her every vein, the beauty beaten from her face, clumps of her beautiful hair lying beside her, blood spatters up the walls from the sustained beating. Sexually violated in every way, forced over and over to perform depraved acts with him, eventually giving in to his strength in hope he would spare her life. Panting, her breath is rapid and shallow, her pulse weak as if life is slipping away from her. He sits up at the side of the bed, feet on the floor, and calmly speaks to her; she jumps, as she thought he had already left.
“You made me do that, you tease people, you slut, you deserve everything you got, bitch, and more.” Her eyes are awash with tears, mucus smeared over her face, her hands now bound behind her back with cable ties, a task he had carried out when she lay unconscious. A helpless lamb now waiting to be slaughtered, unable to defend itself; her hands are numb with lack of circulation. She feels his hand grip her hair for the last time, wrenching her head back, exposing her slender neck. He licks her, his rough tongue tracing up the taut muscle exposed by his cruel grip. He bites out a small chunk of flesh from her; a soft moan is all that can be heard from his victim, now so weak her senses are dull from his constant abuse. He throws her mutilated face hard against the pillow, like a cat that has finished playing with a mouse. The fun is over, no more pleasure to be had; he pulls up the fierce looking blade and casually plunges it into her already scarred and bleeding back. The evidence of his depravity gouged into her, he rips the knife back out and stands up, staring at his work, his face like stone; an emotionless statue frozen in her room, signs of his trespass left for all to see. He smiles at her, teeth rotten and stained with her blood, and he spits out the small piece of flesh from her neck as one final act of depravity as he turns to leave the room. “Now where the fuck is that shit of a cat?” he hisses.
Like a shadow in the night he skulks through gardens and empty streets, being careful not to be seen by anyone; a careful mind does not risk anything that will tie him to the scene of his private party. He is aware of the CCTV coverage of the area; his weeks of checking which houses have private cameras has provided him with a safe route in and out of the area and back to his lair undetected. The long walk is worth every minute, an untraceable journey that provides no evidence, no path or leads for the filth to follow. He has never been in trouble in his life and, with British law being so liberal, he knows DNA is only taken from those that have been caught and convicted of certain crimes, leaving countless crimes unsolved because not everyone is on the database, just in case precious human rights are infringed.
He climbs the back wall of his garden and enters through the rear door of his house; no one must know he has been out tonight. He is triumphant at the night’s spoils; he enjoyed every minute, the power he feels still coursing through his veins. She’s not that powerful now, is she! Weakened by my physical strength, no words or money could have prevented the inevitable. As he enters the house he taps the metal drum at the kitchen door and mutters, “This is just the beginning.” The beginning of a long campaign of revenge and violence against all of those women who haven’t afforded him the respect he believes he is entitled to.
Chapter 2: Detective Sergeant Taylor Nicks - Detective Constable Marcus Black
One am on Saturday morning, Taylor trailed her hand over the silky contours of her lover’s shoulder, running her fingertips through the long shiny auburn hair, breathing in the heady scent of her musky perfume. Planting soft kisses on her forehead; Taylor teased her awake for another kiss. Kay’s head turned and a smile emerged from beneath the duvet, her hand reached for Taylor’s head, pulling her softly to her, their mouths touching, lips slightly parted as their kiss developed into passion, their tongues meeting, a soft caress, teasing, then devouring, taking one into the other with a floating sense of desire burning from within. Taylor’s long fingers gently stroked Kay’s breast, before gripping her nipple firmly with her finger and thumb; a slight moan of pleasure as Kay stroked Taylor’s back, holding her head as it went lower, her mouth covering her breast, licking, sucking, gripping the now taut nipples, stiff with anticipation. Her mouth searched the firmness of Kay’s stomach, her lips softly brushing against her, tasting her flesh as she followed the delicate lines, the natural path to her intimate pleasure. Kay arched her back in delight as the soft experienced mouth explored her, Taylor aware of what she was doing to her, of what Kay was feeling, a little different from her normal sexual partners. Kay’s soft mound was visible just before her, with a fine strip of dark hair leading to the glistening haven. Kay moaned loudly as the wait was over; she writhed backward at the tingling sensation of Taylor’s first touch, which was too consuming to control. Her tongue teased her softly at first, creating a plateau of pleasure, an orgasm that teetered on the edge. Taylor’s fingers delved deep inside, deepening the pleasure, preventing an uncontrollable and premature orgasm. Her fingers moved with Kay, pushing deep into her, rocking with the motion of her hips, one hand gripping her smooth and curvaceous buttocks, Taylor’s mouth creating wave after wave of dreamy ecstasy. The first orgasm was powerful and spiralled throughout her feverish body, the next a desperate and frantic affair with the final pleasure unfathomable, a euphoric sensation and long awaited fulfilment; pure unadulterated satisfaction.
Kay relaxed her taut frame and sank back onto the bed, panting from the effort expelled in the raunchy exchange of flesh and sweat, their kisses now calm and complete, Taylor no longer hungry for Kay’s pleasure. Kay pulled her to her and helped her unwind, relieving Taylor, pleasuring her in her own naive and inexperienced way. Kay cuddled into Taylor, laying her head on her olive skin, her perfectly formed breast just before her; she kissed her softly with her arm loosely round her waist as she drifted off to sleep, her body spent with contented exhaustion, head still spinning with her dreamy first experience of a woman’s pleasure.
Taylor Nicks was a 34 year old Detective Sergeant in the Major Crime Unit. She had been there for the past four years, based at Fettes Police Head Quarters in Scotland’s capital. She was part of a large team dealing with all of the extraordinary serious crimes in Edinburgh and the Borders, those which needed a dedicated team to fulfil the requirements that every unique and notable crime demanded. Taylor was tall, athletic, slim and very beautiful, a powerful woman in a man’s world. She had striking features, brown eyes, with long, dark, wavy, shoulder-length hair and she was a popular presence for both men and women, a fantasy for some and a reality for others. She was smart, forthright and humorous. A very confident and astute woman, Taylor was perceptive and quick-witted. A capable woman in her field, she was keen and inventive, believing no problem was too difficult to solve; she was a hard worker who would never give up, always fighting for the rights of the innocent.
Her personal life, on the other hand, was not so controlled: no regulations, no rules; she was flighty, careless with love and until now incapable of commitment, a free spirit who had broken many hearts on her directionless journey through her hectic love life. Her work was her safety net when her feet needed to be planted firmly back on the ground.
Her partner, Detective Constable Marcus Black, was 29 years old; he was a tall handsome man, with an athletically muscular frame, a firm jaw and well-groomed designer stubble. Tanned with short gelled dark hair and a smooth deep voice, Marcus was witty, intelligent and a very popular member of the team. He had a pleasant and honest personality, with a persuasive manner when dealing
with people; a genuinely kind man, always polite and respectful to all of those who deserved it. He regularly worked side by side with Taylor, an accomplished duo, rank never being an issue between them; an efficient pairing with a proficient and experienced background, both suitably qualified in their field. He had a long term partner, Maria, and a young son David, and he loved both deeply. He was the opposite of Taylor, a faithful and loving man who lived for his family, but enjoyed the thrill of work.
Detective Inspector Martin Findlay, on the other hand, was a rotund chap; a little dishevelled, his clothes stretching to fit his ever-growing figure. His hand was never too far away from the common household doughnut. He relied heavily upon his far more experienced team surrounding him, one of the boys’ club promoted beyond his ability. An aggressive man when challenged by his subordinates, a weakness in his personality and failure to lead effectively. An old school cop, one who thought women should never have been introduced to the force - and gays, well that was another story altogether. He preyed on other people’s success, reaping the rewards it brought, taking ownership of the team’s hard work. He was also married, but regularly suggested he was unhappy and was only with her because it was too expensive to leave her. He had had affairs in the past, but his appearance these days now limited his chance of much success. He letched over any women in the office, rubbing close at any opportunity and making sleazy unwanted comments when he could get away with it. He found Taylor attractive - a waste of a good woman, he had been heard to say to his peers of similar backgrounds - and thought gays shouldn’t be allowed in the force.
Chapter 3: Survivor
Susan opened her eyes; the room was still dark. She took a shallow breath and a gripping pain rippled through her lungs, so sharp it made it painful to breathe, her deep internal wounds rupturing afresh as she moved. Her hair was matted with dried blood that clung to her scalp like glue. She slowly looked around the room, terrified in case he was still there, watching her lying on the bed, enjoying her taking her last breath. She listened for a few moments, motionless, making sure she was alone, then tentatively she rolled over, reaching backwards with her tied hands to her bedside table; she had put her phone there before she went to bed. “Please, please, please, be there.” Her fingers fumbled across the surface, groping for the familiar shape; she recoiled in agony as the countless wounds pulled apart as she moved. Blood oozed from the freshly opened tears and brutal stab wounds all over her, the bed now soaked through with her blood. She pulled herself gradually to the edge of the bed, fresh tears running down her face. The pain intensified as she leant backwards over the edge; the phone just out of reach. She yelled, “GOD DAMN YOU, just a few more inches, please!” She flopped from the bed, thudding full weight onto the floor.
She paused for a second, gasping for breath, phone in hand, disbelief that her nightmare might soon be over. The bruising tumble had reengaged all of her pain receptors; face first with her tied hands behind her, she had been unable to break the fall. With her bound fingers shaking uncontrollably, she used her touch memory and eventually managed to dial 999. Her heart leapt as she heard the voice of safety faintly at the end of the phone.
“What service do you require?”
Voice quivering, she replied, “Police.”
“Could you speak up please?”
“POLICE, POLICE! I NEED HELP, HELP ME! Please, I’m dying.”
The phone was behind her and she worried that her words would not be heard by the operator.
“Just relax, we’ll get to you, what is your address?” the call taker continued, but there was no reply, just the sound of weak breathing barely audible from the end of the line.
“Just you stay with us, don’t you put the phone down, hold on, hold on, we’ll get someone to you right now, you’ll be alright!”
A loud crash was heard from down the stairs. The front door crumbled beneath the door ram, as her rescuers burst in, shouting, “POLICE, POLICE.” Officers spilled into the house, systematically searching each room, calling out to her as they made their way towards where she was lying. Susan was unconscious on the floor beside the bed where she had fallen, barely visible from the doorway as she was collapsed behind it. The young copper first on the scene entered into her room and just stood in the doorway mouth gaping wide open as he switched on the light; he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Blood and hair covered the bed, walls and furniture. It was like a scene from an abattoir. He snapped out of it sharply as he saw a foot protruding from the end of the bed, bloodstained and petite. He rushed to Susan’s side and called for assistance. The medical teams accompanying the officers came rushing into the room as soon as the area was deemed safe. They quickly knelt down beside Susan, checking her vital signs, wondering if it was possible to survive injuries like those before their eyes. The young cop, still staring down at this poor soul, beaten beyond belief, was frozen to the spot with the macabre sight before him. The Sergeant came into the room and took his shoulder gently, guiding him outside, making sure that only those required were permitted to be there.
The room was now a major crime scene. Every piece of evidence inside it would be vital to the capture of the merciless person responsible for such depraved behaviour.
The paramedic shouted out loudly, “SHE’S ALIVE. God knows how, but she is.” The medics did all that was necessary to sustain Susan’s now fragile life, taking all the essential measures to prevent it slipping away from her during the short journey to the hospital.
The Sergeant arranged for a fast police escort; every second counted as Susan had lost so much blood. She lay on the trolley bed, barely breathing, a helpless soul, her life hanging in the hands of caring professionals who desperately wanted to save her and desperately wanted her to survive this nightmare.
On the way to hospital, the paramedic in the rear of the ambulance had to commence CPR when Susan’s heart arrested; her body finally giving up on her. He called through to the driver to update him on what was going on. His partner informed him he was going as fast as it was safe to do so and offered to stop and help his colleague but was told to keep driving as the medic in the rear continued CPR.
“We can’t save her without blood, she needs blood, every time I compress her chest the blood is just pumping out of her from everywhere.”
The police officer accompanying them felt helpless; she was there in case the victim came round and divulged anything of evidential value. She offered whatever help she could to the medic, who told her to give the inflations with the bag, to allow him to continue with uninterrupted compressions.
The ambulance screeched to a halt in the bay at the emergency department; the crash team already there waiting and prepared to take over. They rolled Susan out from the rear of the ambulance and started working on her before the trolley had even hit the ground. She was rushed into the emergency room where the specialist team and lifesaving equipment awaited them. The team worked frantically to save her; blood, fluids, surgery, hundreds of stitches, sweat and 100% commitment from all involved went into saving her life.
They were not going to let her die; she had fought so hard to live until now and they were not going to let her down if they could help it. The police officer standing in the corner of the room willed her to live; tears glistened in her eyes as she watched in bewilderment, feeling herself engulfed with sadness at the terrible thought that they may lose her after all she had been through. She clasped her hands together and whispered to herself as she looked up to the ceiling; she had never prayed in her life, but this lady needed all the help she could get.
Hours passed with relapse after relapse and many life-saving surgical procedures undertaken to stop Susan bleeding. Her spleen was removed; she had eleven broken bones, no sight in one eye, a fractured skull, hundreds of stitches and she had lost over half of her blood. Her lung was punctured and her heart muscle superficially incised as the final plunge of the knife had crunched through her defenceless ribs; a blow that had been meant to kill her bu
t had failed to reach its intended target. One of the surgeons stopped on the way out of the emergency room and spoke with the officer still patiently waiting there.
“It’s a miracle, an absolute miracle! But she’s still here, and I think she’s got a good chance to make it now, fingers crossed.”
¤¤¤
Taylor moaned as the phone rang out loudly beside her in the night; it was dark and she had barely been asleep for two hours due to her enthusiastic visitor.
“Get in as soon as you can. You won’t believe this one!” She looked at Kay, longing to share her wonders one more time before she had to leave. Instead she told her that duty called and she had to leave. She laid the spare key on the bedside table beside Kay, and kissed her full on the lips. Flutters raced through her body as the kiss deepened but Taylor pulled herself away; the temptation was deep filled with the reality of what might happen if she stayed longer, the excitement almost clouding her sense of duty and responsibility.
