Thread: Scaremonger (Mr Quixotic & Lait)

They displayed no mercy not a one of them. As Cole kneeled on the floor, holding the bottle to her mouth, he glanced at Dave. Fucking help me. The two stared at each other for a moment, then his friend did as ordered, with the remaining two watching Max from his seat on the bed, and Ian standing at the door. You sure wrecked the bitch, Cole. Whore won't be walking for a fucking week. Laughing as they drank. Cole increased the pressure of his fingers, and indicated for his buddy to grab her head. A second set of digits hooked into the hair at her scalp, what was left of it, and jerked it roughly to stretch her neck, and open up her airway, then Cole shoved the bottle down her throat, and tilted it. The liquid gurgled and bubbled through her ragged breaths, and spilled from her lips. A quarter of a gallon was dumped into her bloodstream in less than ten seconds. You still awake, slut? Cole released his grip to slap her cheek, then splashed the dregs from the bottom of the bottle over her bruised, bleeding, and scratched face. The burning pain of the alcohol, akin to salt being poured into an open wound, would soon let him know if she were still conscious, and retained enough energy to put up a fight, or crawl away from where they intended to deposit her. When he detected no reaction, or at least not one with enough strength to be of concern, Cole stood, and nodded at Ian, Check the Hallway, then spoke to Dave and Max. Let's lose the bitch. It must have been their lucky night, for when the door opened, the hallway was clear. Cole had been to the residence a number of times, and knew the layout. It was only a short distance to the back entrance, and the man ensured each of his buddies took an arm or a leg, and dragged her along the carpet. They were in this together, and none was to be allowed to escape culpability if things went awry. Two minutes later, the back door had been pulled open, and the woman - they hadn't even gotten her name not that it mattered -, man-handled down the steps, planted face-down on the concrete, with the glass of a smashed liquor bottle scattered around her head, and dress hiked up over her thighs. Didn't daddy ever warn you about accepting drinks from strangers. Cole laughed, as he used a spare bottle to pour some liquor on to the ground, then as a final thought, reached down, and tore her ripped panties off completely. Only a slut, looking to get laid, would attend a party without underwear. Fucking whore. The guys followed Cole's lead and threw a few insults at her, as he slipped the garment into his pocket, intending to dispose of it later, and appraised the scene to ensure nothing had been missed, then looked up to him. She was drunk, and came asking for it. Got a bit rough, which she was totally into, and banged her head on the mirror. After we were done, she walked off, and that's the last time we saw her. Cole's intense gaze moved from one to the other. Understood? He waited for each to acknowledge the question in the affirmative, then turned and headed back up the stairs. It wasn't the first time his buddies had been required to cover Cole's ass, or he, theirs, and all could be trusted to keep their mouth's shut. By the time the high-pitch screams of the ambulance were heard outside, Cole, Dave, Max and Ian were downstairs, with a drink in their hands, sharing jokes, and chatting up girls. By the time she'd woken up in the Hospital, screaming, with an IV in her arm, they were all tucked up in bed the raped woman they'd left laying unconscious at the foot of the back stairs but a distant memory, recalled only through a haze of drugs and alcohol. --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Sir, we have a possible sexual assault, and battery. A woman in Mercy Hospital they've requested we attend. Kyle Evans, the thirty-one year old police dispatcher, held the phone to his ear, mouthpiece covered with one hand, and spoke to Sheriff Brock Douglas, who'd left his office, and was in process of adding sugar to his coffee. Blue eye's met blue eye's when the large, broad-shouldered male with the wind-weathered features of one who enjoyed the outdoors, calloused hands the size of hams, and crooked nose which told of either a sporting career in his younger days, or a propensity for physical violence, turned with spoon in hand, finished stirring, took a sip of his hot beverage, and rested against the counter. Send Hernandez. Kyle shook his head, and glanced at the roster taped to his monitor. Hernandez is on an RDO, unless you'd like me to call her in? Douglas' gaze held the younger man's, and his lips pursed momentarily. Send Noakes and Edwards. Are you sure? The Sheriff wasn't a man to be questioned, but Evan's ignored the narrowing of the pupils, and tenseness of body, his query had caused. The ex-army veteran with the short back-and-sides had seen more than enough in Afghanistan to no longer be intimidated by anyone, or anything. Although he'd only been in the job for three months after breezing into town on a whim, and his position was not one of authority, he'd gained the respect of the Sheriff for the inherent steel Brock Douglas sensed in the normally quiet, and soft-spoken, younger male. Little did Douglas know what Kyle Evans was truly capable of, and that he stared into the eyes of a stone-cold killer. I'm fucking sure. Just do it. The normal protocol in cases of alleged sexual assault was to send a female police officer, and Hernandez was the only one they had, however it was within Sheriff Douglas' power to make the call, and after a few seconds, Evans acquiesced with a nod of the head, and picked up the radio to contact the patrol-men. Brock, like his son Cole, wasn't exactly a ladies man, full of charm and chivalry, and it had taken him less than a second to make a decision. Fucking bleeding-heart females who automatically believed the 'victim', regardless of the story, and blamed men for only doing what came naturally. More than half the women who claimed rape, according to Brock's experience, were either drunk or stoned, or simply sluts and whores, who asked for it. What was a guy supposed to do if he was cock-teased all night, and she said no when he attempted to take it further. Accept it, and walk away? How many young men's lives had been ruined by false accusations, or a simple misunderstanding? Even if they had been raped, whatever the hell that meant the definition seemed to change every damn day, and always to the detriment of the male they'd most likely deserved it. Parading around in short skirts, and tits hanging out of their blouses. Not that Sheriff Douglas would ever express his true opinions aloud it could impact negatively on his candidancy for the Mayor-ship. Without another word, he returned to his office with the expectation that his directions would be followed. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- What have you got for us, Doctor? Deputy Edwards, a fifteen year veteran, and elder of the two policeman, took the lead as they arrived at the Hospital, and followed her to the room where the alleged victim was sedated. Noakes, a relative newcomer, who'd graduated from the academy barely two years previously, walked in silence beside them. Found outside at a house party. Broken ribs, nose, scratches and bruises, contusions, and two dislocated shoulders. At first glance, we assumed she'd fallen down the steps where she was discovered, but when she awoke, she claimed to have been raped. Vaginal tearing and semen confirm that as a possibility. Alcohol? Drugs? The Doctor stopped abruptly when asked the question, and shuffled the papers in her hand. Legally intoxicated. She paused for a moment, knowing where the men where going with this the same place they usually did then sighed before she reluctantly revealed the girl's alcohol reading. Six times the legal limit. The deputies didn't react, except to exchange a knowing glance with each other. Virtually every rape case they responded to was the same thing. A woman out at a party unable to hold her alcohol, or under the influence of drugs, losing control and allowing herself to be taken advantage of. By the sounds of it, this one had consumed enough liquor for ten. It was a wonder her memory functioned at all. Thank's Doctor. We'll take it from here. Edwards placed a hand on her elbow to stop her from entering the room with them, and walked in with Noakes. The woman looked as she'd been attacked with a hammer face battered and bruised, eyes swollen, IV's in her arm, both shoulders torn, and tear-stains on her cheeks. I'm Officer Edwards, this is Officer Noakes. Edwards pointed to himself, then to the other similarly blue-uniformed officer the younger man's build still athletic, and with a head of brown hair, as opposed to the middle-aged spread and buzz-cut that Edwards possessed as he pulled out a chair next to the bed, dropped into it, and withdrew his notebook. Tell us what you recall about last night. No empathy, or concern, or questions about her welfare. That wasn't their job, they were there for the facts as long as those facts coincided with ingrained biases. When it came to being a Paradise on Earth for women, a town could never have been more inappropriately named than that of Eden.