ThePurpleQuill
TMF Regular
- Joined
- Jan 11, 2018
- Messages
- 161
- Points
- 16
A pristine white police sedan rolls speedily down a quiet country road right in the middle of a rainstorm, kicking up a steady stream of water in its wake. Its pale-yellow headlights are near useless in illuminating the faded road markers along the way, just barely able to pierce through the heavy downpour that was a mere trickle just hours before. Yet even in such hazardous circumstances, with four treadless tires gliding over the rain-slicked pavement on a dark moonless night, not a single worry is to be had in the piloting of this vehicle, for seated just behind the driver’s seat is seasoned police deputy Angela Romano.
A five-year veteran of the Muirwood sheriff’s office, 27-year-old Angela Marie Romano was always one to stand out from her fellow officers on the force: if it was not for her being the only woman in uniform on this small eleven-man unit in service to the entire Birchwood County, then it was due to the extraordinary lengths she would go to for the sake of protecting her community, as no job was too big or too small for this strong Latina. Be it the smuggling operation she broke up this past month, or the illegal drag racing enterprise she was able to infiltrate last summer, Angela is always one to put herself in harm’s way to protect the hard-working folk she represents. Yet, even with such zeal exercised in her career capturing the attention of the locals, not a single soul could disregard the allure of her physical appearance having just as much of an impact.
Her shimmering dark eyes glisten underneath the infrequent street lamps illuminating the road from high above, hidden below a pair of dark polished eyebrows and naturally flirtatious eyelashes. Her long black hair cascades down the length of her back in a tightly bound ponytail, highlighting her chiseled cheekbones and sharply pointed nose atop her youthful sun-kissed face. Her polished tanned uniform clings tightly to her toned body, a result of not just the firm physique she maintains underneath, but having also been drenched in the rain prior to leaving for her assignment, opting to provide her partner with their only umbrella as they jumped into her patrol vehicle for the day’s work. Unlike her, if there was anybody who would come completely underdressed for some hands-on police work in this rural part of the Northeast, then it would be the big-city detective sitting just to her right in the passenger seat.
Nestling a small flashlight in between her gleaming white teeth, one that is shakily illuminating the pile of folders she is sifting through atop her lap, is Detective Lara Jennifer Parsons, a special investigator and 14-year veteran of the NYPD. Despite finding herself in these surroundings Lara Parsons is not the type of law enforcement officer to willingly find herself in such a nondescript part of the country, for what Detective Parsons succeeds at to a higher degree than solving the most daunting of mysteries in the heart of the Big Apple is captivating the local headlines, with stories of the leggy bombshell investigator in hot pursuit of the truth having magazines flying off the shelves. Such is necessary for a woman in her position, making sure to garner enough attention to ensure those regular promotions and pay raises allotted to her, and even in these surroundings she reluctantly finds herself in, Miss Parsons is still looking the part of a high-stakes city investigator.
Perfectly blown auburn locks cascade delicately atop her womanly shoulders, framing her supple cheeks and pale green eyes seemingly immune to the long hours she has had to devote to combing over case files. Clad in a dark gray pinstripe suit atop a thin white blouse tucked into her matching slacks, her outfit ends with her tanned nylon feet nestled in four-inch closed-toe heels, much more fashionable than functional to say the least. She gazes intensely over the mess of police work having been left for her investigation, her long eyelashes fluttering with every turn of the page, acting almost as though her partner doesn’t even exist. However, it is after what seems to have been a full ten minutes of complete silence that Deputy Romano finally breaks in.
“Why haven’t you made your way down here before?” asks the deputy, gazing out of the corner of her eye, not wanting to divert her attention from the road. “We’ve got a whole lot going for us for anyone just wishing to escape the hustle and bustle of the city.”
“I’m not much for small towns myself,” responds the detective, her cold reply giving off an air of haughtiness in her voice. “Don’t get me wrong, Miss Romano, but I just don’t see the appeal.” She continues flipping through her paperwork, coming across the main case file, holding all the leads for her investigation which, by how thin it looks, is not that much.
“Well it’d beat having to come down here just for work,” the deputy notes, turning the corner, starting to ascend a long driveway. “I mean, if you’d even consider this work.”
“Deputy Romano,” the detective tiredly says, turning towards the young officer as though she were patronizingly addressing a child. “I don’t know what you think of me, but let me be the first to say that it is not something I am concerned with right now, and you shouldn’t be either. I am only here to aid in the investigation into the missing corrections officer, one…oh what’s her name?” She reaches down towards her pile, pulling out the wad of identification papers for the one thing she didn’t bother to memorize: the victim’s name.
“Tamara,” Deputy Romano answers under her breath.
“Ah yes: Officer Tamara Lee Williams,” Detective Parsons says, finding a photocopy of the missing woman’s identification card, trying her best to always remain objectively detached from the case she is investigating, unlike those she may be investigating it with. “And, if I could ask, just how long has Officer Williams been in the community?”
“Since the Brighton Facility opened up about seven months ago,” the deputy notes, looking up at her rearview mirror, able to see the lights over the adjacent hills where the minimum-security prison is located. “It’s attracted a lot of newcomers to our town, but let me tell you: Tamara was special to us law enforcement.”
“So you were familiar with the missing woman?” the detective inquires, pulling out her notepad, scribbling down every word coming out of the deputy’s mouth.
“Of course!” Deputy Romano snaps back, not one to hide her immediate emotions regardless of who she is talking to. “This is a small-town Miss Parsons: nobody goes missing without everyone knowing about it, something you probably wouldn’t even consider being from the big city.” Detective Parsons doesn’t miss a beat, brushing off the insult as though she didn’t hear it.
“So you would be aware of her mental state then, correct?” the detective inquires, her voice pushing a bit more than she usually would. “Was she stressed at work lately? She was a new hire: surely, the pressure of a new job, and a high stress one at that, would make anybody think running away would be the best option.”
“What the hell are you getting at?!” the deputy exclaims, more surprised than enraged, but by a thin margin. “You actually think she ran away from her life?”
“I’m just trying to exclude every possibility from what occurred that night,” Detective Parsons says, trying her best to console what she senses to be a hysterical reaction to her question.
“Well you can exclude that theory,” the deputy states, laying her pointer finger atop the steering wheel in declarative fashion. “There’s nothing I’m sure of more in this world than this: Tamara didn’t just up and leave. She didn’t leave her home, her job, and she certainly didn’t leave m…” Deputy Romano catches herself, making sure not to say anything she wouldn’t want written up in the final report.
“Yes, Deputy Romano?” Detective Parsons presses her, just as they arrive at a rundown house secluded deep in the woods. “Just what, or who, did she not want to leave?”
“The rain’s letting up,” Deputy Romano notes, turning off the ignition, with the interior lights coming on. “Best get in there while we can…”
----------------------------------------------- earlier that day ------------------------------------------------
A shining black Bentley rolls up to the front of the Muirwood Sheriff’s Office in the center of town, the allure of the chipping pearl paint and crusty exterior of the building rivaled only by the old pickup trucks passing by. Several onlookers ogle the expensive vehicle while walking by, as Detective Parsons steps out of the driver’s side door, paying them no mind. Her sky high heels click against the cracked pavement underneath her as she heads into the sheriff’s office, still wearing the oversized sunglasses she had left the city with several hours prior despite the overcast sky above.
Quickly swinging the front door open, Detective Parsons follows the path of the faded green carpet towards the small desk in the foray of the office, one currently hosting a bespectacled old woman who might have been on duty ever since the christening of the town itself eight decades ago.
“I’m here to see Sheriff Braxton,” Detective Parsons notifies the clerk, opting out of any polite greeting, striking the clerk as jarring to say the least. “I’m Detective Parsons…I’ve been assigned to this office from the NYPD.”
“Is the sheriff expecting you?” the clerk asks her, gazing over her thick-rimmed glasses at a small notepad nestled in her lap. “I can’t let you meet with the sheriff unless he’s expecting you. He’s a very busy man, you know.”
“I’m sure whatever cows he’s wrangling can wait just a bit longer,” Lara quips, eliciting a look of disgust from the usually reserved woman. “But, if you could do me a favor and retrieve him for me, then I’d appreciate it.” The woman gives her a scowl before lifting herself up from her chair with great effort, exiting through the door to her left into her boss’s office. Just out of the corner of her eye, Lara can spot three deputies standing around the water fountain, with one set of shimmering dark eyes glued towards her in a manner that is unsettling, even for the hardened city cop. Moments later, the salt and pepper-haired sheriff comes out from his office, a similarly distasteful look on his face as he confirms Detective Parson’s conspicuous presence in the middle of his office.
“Detective Parsons,” he greets her, waving her into his office. “Please, come in.” She steps into his office, seemingly more rustic and antiquated than what had greeted her in the front of the building, with an assortment of knick knacks and trinkets lining the shelves on his wall, betraying a man of impeccable taste no doubt.
“Have a seat,” he says, directing her to the blemished chair just in front of his desk as she sits in front of him. “I’m sure this was quite the trip for you, coming all the way up here, but I’d like to personally thank you for the efforts you will put in for the people of Muirwood.”
“Please don’t thank me,” she notes begrudgingly, wishing to make her displeasure known as soon as possible. “You can go ahead and thank Senator Bartley for my services, as apparently it was by his order that I am up here now.”
“Either way, we are happy to have you here,” he replies, having no time to spare for her indignation as he leans back in his office chair, lacing his fingers together over his large belly. “Have you reviewed the case file we sent over this morning?”
“Yes, and just what a pleasant 17 seconds that was,” she notes, reaching into her briefcase, pulling out the near paper thin file containing all the evidence collected during the preliminary investigation. “This Officer Williams must be new here in town. Are there any other leads as to where she could have gone?”
“Not that we are aware of,” the sheriff soberly answers. “Her fellow corrections officers tell us she clocked out of her shift by 12:03 AM Saturday night. We have surveillance footage from the facility that places her on the road back to her house ten minutes after clocking out, but after that, it’s as though she disappeared: not even her car was able to be recovered.” The detective slips the folder back into her briefcase before turning once again to the sheriff.
“I’d like to cut this short and get right onto the investigation,” Detective Parsons insists, rising from her chair, straightening out her pants. “Who’s the lead detective on this case?”
“If you’re asking who gives the most damn about finding her alive, then that’d be Detective Romano,” he states, pressing his finger against the largest button on his phone as it beeps on. “Mary: would you be so kind as to send in Angela for me?”
“Yes Sheriff,” his secretary answers. Moments later, the young officer enters his office, removing her hat as she gets a chance to see their new visitor close up with that same piercing gaze from before.
“Deputy Romano,” the sheriff introduces her. “This is Detective Lara Parsons of the NYPD. She has been assigned to the investigation into Officer Williams’ disappearance. I want you two to go over everything we have together and…pardon me.” The phone rings, prompting the sheriff to swiftly grasp it from the receiver.
“Yes Mary…Miss Wilkerson?” he notes, a look of concern coming over Deputy Romano’s face, clear as day to the detective. “What are you…when did you get…okay, okay, we’ll handle that right away.” He hangs up the phone, placing his fingers against her brow in frustration.
“What’s up sheriff?” the deputy asks her superior.
“We just got a call about some weird noises coming from Miss Wilkerson’s residence outside of town,” he says, sitting behind his desk. “Something about “howling cries” and “shrieks for help”, as far as the caller could tell. Look, I don’t want to waste any more of our guest’s time, so why don’t the two of you go up to Ol’ Lady Wilkerson’s house, and you can go over the case on the way there.”
“Yes sir,” Deputy Romano responds, opening up his front door. “Right this way, detective…”
----------------------------------------------- later that night ------------------------------------------------
The two step out of the police cruiser in front of the Wilkerson residence, just as the rain above dwindles to a drizzle. Tracing their way up the cracked walkway, the two women quietly approach the front door of the house. Taking the door handle in hand, Deputy Romano doesn’t even have to turn it before the door begins to creak open. Gazing carefully into the house, she notes the overhead light having been left on, but finding neither hide nor hair of the lonely old woman she was told may be in danger.
“Cozy,” Detective Parsons states, tracing her eyes over the rustic décor lining every nook and cranny. “I’m sure this is what you mean when you say small-town charm, huh?” Deputy Romano shoots her a displeasing glare before turning her attention towards the task at hand.
“I’ll go upstairs to see if she is still here,” Deputy Romano instructs the detective. “If it’s alright with you, I’d prefer you stay down here: best Miss Wilkerson is treated to a familiar face.”
“Fine by me,” Detective Parsons huffs, watching as the deputy scales the staircase to the second story, not wanting to deal with the elderly anyways. She begins surveying the contents of the house: dusty wooden knick knacks line chipping shelves, with spotted china in old glass cabinets, surely having not been open for thirty years. Looking closer, she finds a thin coating of dust on the furniture, an oddity to her if the woman had been living here unless she were completely confined upstairs. However, before she can consider the details further, a flicker of light suddenly catches her attention, one emanating from a darkened room down a narrow hallway to her left. She follows the light, ending up in a small living parlor, housing a personal television set that strikes her as a bit too modern for the house.
Guess ol’ granny liked catching her soaps in high def, the detective ponders to herself, walking up towards the television, looking for the remote before a sound paralyzes her:
“Welcome,” a voice suddenly emanates from the screen, making Lara nearly jump out of her skin, as she peers up to the television set. “It’s been quite a while since I’ve had guests…well, at least ones who came willingly. Please: make yourself comfortable, and enjoy this little home movie of mine.” The color in her face is swiftly syphoned away, she looks aghast into the television screen, having been stopped in her tracks as to just how much of a coincidence this could be to have the television start the moment she walks in the room. However, something inside of her convinces her that this is anything but, and against every fiber of her being, she continues watching as the screen flickers, followed by a shot of what appears to be the road from which they came.
“It began one night similar to this one, when my next victim decided to be a hero, thus sealing her fate” the voice narrates, just as a vehicle’s headlights begin making their way into view, followed by the image of a woman stepping into the road to flag the car down. “It was easy enough to get her to stop: the ones who care are always the most vulnerable.” The car slowly comes to a stop, just as the driver side door opens and, to Lara’s dismay, exits a very familiar woman. Pulling out the picture from her phone, she confirms the face to be that of Tamara Williams, the missing corrections officer she has been tasked with locating.
“All it took was one sob story, that my car was broken down, and all I needed was a hand” the voice dictates, as the corrections officer steps out of her car, gazing at the unidentifiable woman in a raincoat. “And she believes me: every last word.” Lara watches as the officer approaches the source of the camera, switching now to a first person view directly behind the officer, seemingly coming from the unknown woman herself.
“She has now fallen straight into my trap,” the voice dictates, just as the image shows her getting closer and closer to the distracted prison guard. “For an officer of the law, she sure knows how to make herself easy to ensnare.” Lara watches in horror as an arm wraps itself around Tamara’s throat, with the officer thrashing about against the grip of her assailant. However, all her efforts are to no avail, as she slowly but surely goes limp, gently being lowered down to the pavement just as the screen fades to black.
“It was only a matter of time before she made her way into my domain,” the voice says, just as Lara hears a subtle sound coming from the background. “But, it wouldn’t be anytime soon that she would escape.” The image returns to the screen, having been transported to what appears to be some type of basement, dimly lit with concrete walls and flooring. However, what Lara sees next makes her stomach drop to the floor: she sees the corrections officer, bound upside down by her ankles to a hook hanging from the ceiling, her head just a foot from the concrete floor below. She is still clad in her uniform, but is now bound with thick nylon rope, wound tightly around her ankles and knees. Her wrists are placed behind her back as several strands of rope loop across her chest, rendering her completely helpless. She struggles against her restraints, grunting behind the wadded cleave gag nestled in between her teeth.
“Oh just what a delectable sight this is,” the voice cuts in, drenched in a tone of utter pleasure that makes the detective shiver in fear. The camera gradually moves towards Tamara in her helpless state, stopping only as she gazes upon its source, a look of sheer rage built up in her eyes. Out of the right corner, an object comes into view, one the camera focuses on to be a stiff red feather, focusing out to reveal Tamara’s look of indignation at its sight. A shiver rolls down the detective’s spine, watching what appears to be the woman’s confinement unfold right in front of her eyes, hoping that feather would not be used in the way which she imagines.
“It was hard for her at first to accept her new life,” the voice dictates, as the image fades to black. “She was resistant at first, like all the rest of them.” The screen cuts to Tamara again, this time in a new predicament: she is standing against a padded x-frame, with her wrists, elbows, knees, and ankles bound with thick leather cuffs sticking out of its surface, and a large leather belt wrapped around her midsection. Her pristine uniform is in tatters, leaving much of her milk chocolate skin open for her assailant’s fingernails to frantically scrape over her flesh, focusing most intensely on her bare underarms.
“GET OF ME!!” Tamara shrieks forth, rocking to and fro, bucking against the x-frame she is bound to. “Youhuhuh crazy bitch! Dohohohon’t mehehehes with me!” Her grunts of dismay morph into strained cackles, trying desperately to fight off those undeniable sensation coursing through her senses this very moment. However, the longer the video runs, the more desperate she becomes, betraying to Lara just how diabolical the woman is as she slowly begins tearing away at her resolve.
“Such a resilient façade, don’t you think?” the voice notes, as the sound gradually goes quiet. “But I knew, with just a wee bit of encouragement, that it wouldn’t be long before she started falling in line.” In the next shot onscreen, she finds Tamara in yet another compromising position, this time sitting on a padded table, stripped of every scrap of clothing except her bra and panties. Her wrists are bound behind her back, hoisted up towards the ceiling, pushing her head forward towards her feet. Locked in a set of padded leather stocks, with her big toes tied back to the top of the board, she can do nothing to resist the dual hairbrushes inflicted upon them, frantically scraping across their oil-slicked surface, all the while she is forced to gaze upon her torments.
“Stahahahap!” Tamara screams, her tears cascading down her cheeks as the hairbrushes ravage her bare soles. “Pleeeeeeeeeeeeeheheheheeeeeeease!!” She tries to pull at her arms for freedom, the uncomfortable position making it impossible for the poor woman to find her grounding as she desperately begs for it to stop. But the torments do not cease, only increasing in their intensity as her shrieks for mercy soon dissolve into pathetic sobbing right in front of the detective’s eyes, the sight of the girl breaking down so suddenly making Lara sick to her stomach.
“Isn’t that just precious?” the voice begins yet again, as the shot fades to black. “That was day seven of her torments, and already she was ready to crack. But I was anything but satisfied, and by the third week, she was almost begging to be mine.” In the final shot, the detective sees the distressed woman again, this time bound naked atop a bed. A masked figure sits beside her, pressing a large vibrating wand against Tamara’s bare womanhood, as the victim’s moans of forced ecstasy match her curling toes. However, just as it seems she is about to reach climax, the wand retreats from its perch, substituted by the sensation of vibrating eggs that are pressed against Tamara’s soles with tape, kicked on with a press of a button by the obscured woman. Through her cackles and cries, bucking wildly against her restraints, the poor woman calls out in a moment of pure desperation, as her spirit is finally broken.
“I CAN’T TAKE IT ANYMORE!!” Tamara yells at the tops of her lungs, her voice hoarse and strained from so much bestowed upon her. “I’LL DO WHATEVER YOU WANT!! JUST PLEASE MAKE IT STOP!!” She begins bawling uncontrollably, as the figure once again brings the wand down upon her womanhood, not bothering to turn off the vibrating eggs taped to Tamara’s soles. The conservative detective is forced to watch as the woman is brought over the edge, moaning in desperation as she is relieved of her sexual tension after just who knows how long at the hands of her deranged captor. However, the moment that happens, the figure rises from her perch, retrieving a white rag from off screen, only for Tamara to beg and plead for mercy just as the image fades to black one final time.
Whatever the detective has just witnessed she is not entirely sure but, what she does know is this: she would never want to succumb to a fate even remotely similar to that. Catching her breath, Lara soon finds herself more vulnerable than ever, remembering that it had been at least ten minutes since she has heard from her partner, having been so engrossed by what has transpired on screen. However, just as she is reaching for her phone, she reads these words scrawled across the screen:
WELCOME TO HELL
She hoists herself up in a panic, only for it to be too late as an arm wraps itself around her neck, pinning her against an unknown figure, the exact fate Tamara had succumbed to right in front of her eyes. She begins flailing about, kicking her legs in every direction, her left high heel flinging out against the adjacent wall. However, such efforts are to no avail, slowly feeling herself lose consciousness as all facets are taken away from her. Succumbing to darkness, she peers upward, only to see the same shadowy figure that loomed above Tamara now securing her.
A five-year veteran of the Muirwood sheriff’s office, 27-year-old Angela Marie Romano was always one to stand out from her fellow officers on the force: if it was not for her being the only woman in uniform on this small eleven-man unit in service to the entire Birchwood County, then it was due to the extraordinary lengths she would go to for the sake of protecting her community, as no job was too big or too small for this strong Latina. Be it the smuggling operation she broke up this past month, or the illegal drag racing enterprise she was able to infiltrate last summer, Angela is always one to put herself in harm’s way to protect the hard-working folk she represents. Yet, even with such zeal exercised in her career capturing the attention of the locals, not a single soul could disregard the allure of her physical appearance having just as much of an impact.
Her shimmering dark eyes glisten underneath the infrequent street lamps illuminating the road from high above, hidden below a pair of dark polished eyebrows and naturally flirtatious eyelashes. Her long black hair cascades down the length of her back in a tightly bound ponytail, highlighting her chiseled cheekbones and sharply pointed nose atop her youthful sun-kissed face. Her polished tanned uniform clings tightly to her toned body, a result of not just the firm physique she maintains underneath, but having also been drenched in the rain prior to leaving for her assignment, opting to provide her partner with their only umbrella as they jumped into her patrol vehicle for the day’s work. Unlike her, if there was anybody who would come completely underdressed for some hands-on police work in this rural part of the Northeast, then it would be the big-city detective sitting just to her right in the passenger seat.
Nestling a small flashlight in between her gleaming white teeth, one that is shakily illuminating the pile of folders she is sifting through atop her lap, is Detective Lara Jennifer Parsons, a special investigator and 14-year veteran of the NYPD. Despite finding herself in these surroundings Lara Parsons is not the type of law enforcement officer to willingly find herself in such a nondescript part of the country, for what Detective Parsons succeeds at to a higher degree than solving the most daunting of mysteries in the heart of the Big Apple is captivating the local headlines, with stories of the leggy bombshell investigator in hot pursuit of the truth having magazines flying off the shelves. Such is necessary for a woman in her position, making sure to garner enough attention to ensure those regular promotions and pay raises allotted to her, and even in these surroundings she reluctantly finds herself in, Miss Parsons is still looking the part of a high-stakes city investigator.
Perfectly blown auburn locks cascade delicately atop her womanly shoulders, framing her supple cheeks and pale green eyes seemingly immune to the long hours she has had to devote to combing over case files. Clad in a dark gray pinstripe suit atop a thin white blouse tucked into her matching slacks, her outfit ends with her tanned nylon feet nestled in four-inch closed-toe heels, much more fashionable than functional to say the least. She gazes intensely over the mess of police work having been left for her investigation, her long eyelashes fluttering with every turn of the page, acting almost as though her partner doesn’t even exist. However, it is after what seems to have been a full ten minutes of complete silence that Deputy Romano finally breaks in.
“Why haven’t you made your way down here before?” asks the deputy, gazing out of the corner of her eye, not wanting to divert her attention from the road. “We’ve got a whole lot going for us for anyone just wishing to escape the hustle and bustle of the city.”
“I’m not much for small towns myself,” responds the detective, her cold reply giving off an air of haughtiness in her voice. “Don’t get me wrong, Miss Romano, but I just don’t see the appeal.” She continues flipping through her paperwork, coming across the main case file, holding all the leads for her investigation which, by how thin it looks, is not that much.
“Well it’d beat having to come down here just for work,” the deputy notes, turning the corner, starting to ascend a long driveway. “I mean, if you’d even consider this work.”
“Deputy Romano,” the detective tiredly says, turning towards the young officer as though she were patronizingly addressing a child. “I don’t know what you think of me, but let me be the first to say that it is not something I am concerned with right now, and you shouldn’t be either. I am only here to aid in the investigation into the missing corrections officer, one…oh what’s her name?” She reaches down towards her pile, pulling out the wad of identification papers for the one thing she didn’t bother to memorize: the victim’s name.
“Tamara,” Deputy Romano answers under her breath.
“Ah yes: Officer Tamara Lee Williams,” Detective Parsons says, finding a photocopy of the missing woman’s identification card, trying her best to always remain objectively detached from the case she is investigating, unlike those she may be investigating it with. “And, if I could ask, just how long has Officer Williams been in the community?”
“Since the Brighton Facility opened up about seven months ago,” the deputy notes, looking up at her rearview mirror, able to see the lights over the adjacent hills where the minimum-security prison is located. “It’s attracted a lot of newcomers to our town, but let me tell you: Tamara was special to us law enforcement.”
“So you were familiar with the missing woman?” the detective inquires, pulling out her notepad, scribbling down every word coming out of the deputy’s mouth.
“Of course!” Deputy Romano snaps back, not one to hide her immediate emotions regardless of who she is talking to. “This is a small-town Miss Parsons: nobody goes missing without everyone knowing about it, something you probably wouldn’t even consider being from the big city.” Detective Parsons doesn’t miss a beat, brushing off the insult as though she didn’t hear it.
“So you would be aware of her mental state then, correct?” the detective inquires, her voice pushing a bit more than she usually would. “Was she stressed at work lately? She was a new hire: surely, the pressure of a new job, and a high stress one at that, would make anybody think running away would be the best option.”
“What the hell are you getting at?!” the deputy exclaims, more surprised than enraged, but by a thin margin. “You actually think she ran away from her life?”
“I’m just trying to exclude every possibility from what occurred that night,” Detective Parsons says, trying her best to console what she senses to be a hysterical reaction to her question.
“Well you can exclude that theory,” the deputy states, laying her pointer finger atop the steering wheel in declarative fashion. “There’s nothing I’m sure of more in this world than this: Tamara didn’t just up and leave. She didn’t leave her home, her job, and she certainly didn’t leave m…” Deputy Romano catches herself, making sure not to say anything she wouldn’t want written up in the final report.
“Yes, Deputy Romano?” Detective Parsons presses her, just as they arrive at a rundown house secluded deep in the woods. “Just what, or who, did she not want to leave?”
“The rain’s letting up,” Deputy Romano notes, turning off the ignition, with the interior lights coming on. “Best get in there while we can…”
----------------------------------------------- earlier that day ------------------------------------------------
A shining black Bentley rolls up to the front of the Muirwood Sheriff’s Office in the center of town, the allure of the chipping pearl paint and crusty exterior of the building rivaled only by the old pickup trucks passing by. Several onlookers ogle the expensive vehicle while walking by, as Detective Parsons steps out of the driver’s side door, paying them no mind. Her sky high heels click against the cracked pavement underneath her as she heads into the sheriff’s office, still wearing the oversized sunglasses she had left the city with several hours prior despite the overcast sky above.
Quickly swinging the front door open, Detective Parsons follows the path of the faded green carpet towards the small desk in the foray of the office, one currently hosting a bespectacled old woman who might have been on duty ever since the christening of the town itself eight decades ago.
“I’m here to see Sheriff Braxton,” Detective Parsons notifies the clerk, opting out of any polite greeting, striking the clerk as jarring to say the least. “I’m Detective Parsons…I’ve been assigned to this office from the NYPD.”
“Is the sheriff expecting you?” the clerk asks her, gazing over her thick-rimmed glasses at a small notepad nestled in her lap. “I can’t let you meet with the sheriff unless he’s expecting you. He’s a very busy man, you know.”
“I’m sure whatever cows he’s wrangling can wait just a bit longer,” Lara quips, eliciting a look of disgust from the usually reserved woman. “But, if you could do me a favor and retrieve him for me, then I’d appreciate it.” The woman gives her a scowl before lifting herself up from her chair with great effort, exiting through the door to her left into her boss’s office. Just out of the corner of her eye, Lara can spot three deputies standing around the water fountain, with one set of shimmering dark eyes glued towards her in a manner that is unsettling, even for the hardened city cop. Moments later, the salt and pepper-haired sheriff comes out from his office, a similarly distasteful look on his face as he confirms Detective Parson’s conspicuous presence in the middle of his office.
“Detective Parsons,” he greets her, waving her into his office. “Please, come in.” She steps into his office, seemingly more rustic and antiquated than what had greeted her in the front of the building, with an assortment of knick knacks and trinkets lining the shelves on his wall, betraying a man of impeccable taste no doubt.
“Have a seat,” he says, directing her to the blemished chair just in front of his desk as she sits in front of him. “I’m sure this was quite the trip for you, coming all the way up here, but I’d like to personally thank you for the efforts you will put in for the people of Muirwood.”
“Please don’t thank me,” she notes begrudgingly, wishing to make her displeasure known as soon as possible. “You can go ahead and thank Senator Bartley for my services, as apparently it was by his order that I am up here now.”
“Either way, we are happy to have you here,” he replies, having no time to spare for her indignation as he leans back in his office chair, lacing his fingers together over his large belly. “Have you reviewed the case file we sent over this morning?”
“Yes, and just what a pleasant 17 seconds that was,” she notes, reaching into her briefcase, pulling out the near paper thin file containing all the evidence collected during the preliminary investigation. “This Officer Williams must be new here in town. Are there any other leads as to where she could have gone?”
“Not that we are aware of,” the sheriff soberly answers. “Her fellow corrections officers tell us she clocked out of her shift by 12:03 AM Saturday night. We have surveillance footage from the facility that places her on the road back to her house ten minutes after clocking out, but after that, it’s as though she disappeared: not even her car was able to be recovered.” The detective slips the folder back into her briefcase before turning once again to the sheriff.
“I’d like to cut this short and get right onto the investigation,” Detective Parsons insists, rising from her chair, straightening out her pants. “Who’s the lead detective on this case?”
“If you’re asking who gives the most damn about finding her alive, then that’d be Detective Romano,” he states, pressing his finger against the largest button on his phone as it beeps on. “Mary: would you be so kind as to send in Angela for me?”
“Yes Sheriff,” his secretary answers. Moments later, the young officer enters his office, removing her hat as she gets a chance to see their new visitor close up with that same piercing gaze from before.
“Deputy Romano,” the sheriff introduces her. “This is Detective Lara Parsons of the NYPD. She has been assigned to the investigation into Officer Williams’ disappearance. I want you two to go over everything we have together and…pardon me.” The phone rings, prompting the sheriff to swiftly grasp it from the receiver.
“Yes Mary…Miss Wilkerson?” he notes, a look of concern coming over Deputy Romano’s face, clear as day to the detective. “What are you…when did you get…okay, okay, we’ll handle that right away.” He hangs up the phone, placing his fingers against her brow in frustration.
“What’s up sheriff?” the deputy asks her superior.
“We just got a call about some weird noises coming from Miss Wilkerson’s residence outside of town,” he says, sitting behind his desk. “Something about “howling cries” and “shrieks for help”, as far as the caller could tell. Look, I don’t want to waste any more of our guest’s time, so why don’t the two of you go up to Ol’ Lady Wilkerson’s house, and you can go over the case on the way there.”
“Yes sir,” Deputy Romano responds, opening up his front door. “Right this way, detective…”
----------------------------------------------- later that night ------------------------------------------------
The two step out of the police cruiser in front of the Wilkerson residence, just as the rain above dwindles to a drizzle. Tracing their way up the cracked walkway, the two women quietly approach the front door of the house. Taking the door handle in hand, Deputy Romano doesn’t even have to turn it before the door begins to creak open. Gazing carefully into the house, she notes the overhead light having been left on, but finding neither hide nor hair of the lonely old woman she was told may be in danger.
“Cozy,” Detective Parsons states, tracing her eyes over the rustic décor lining every nook and cranny. “I’m sure this is what you mean when you say small-town charm, huh?” Deputy Romano shoots her a displeasing glare before turning her attention towards the task at hand.
“I’ll go upstairs to see if she is still here,” Deputy Romano instructs the detective. “If it’s alright with you, I’d prefer you stay down here: best Miss Wilkerson is treated to a familiar face.”
“Fine by me,” Detective Parsons huffs, watching as the deputy scales the staircase to the second story, not wanting to deal with the elderly anyways. She begins surveying the contents of the house: dusty wooden knick knacks line chipping shelves, with spotted china in old glass cabinets, surely having not been open for thirty years. Looking closer, she finds a thin coating of dust on the furniture, an oddity to her if the woman had been living here unless she were completely confined upstairs. However, before she can consider the details further, a flicker of light suddenly catches her attention, one emanating from a darkened room down a narrow hallway to her left. She follows the light, ending up in a small living parlor, housing a personal television set that strikes her as a bit too modern for the house.
Guess ol’ granny liked catching her soaps in high def, the detective ponders to herself, walking up towards the television, looking for the remote before a sound paralyzes her:
“Welcome,” a voice suddenly emanates from the screen, making Lara nearly jump out of her skin, as she peers up to the television set. “It’s been quite a while since I’ve had guests…well, at least ones who came willingly. Please: make yourself comfortable, and enjoy this little home movie of mine.” The color in her face is swiftly syphoned away, she looks aghast into the television screen, having been stopped in her tracks as to just how much of a coincidence this could be to have the television start the moment she walks in the room. However, something inside of her convinces her that this is anything but, and against every fiber of her being, she continues watching as the screen flickers, followed by a shot of what appears to be the road from which they came.
“It began one night similar to this one, when my next victim decided to be a hero, thus sealing her fate” the voice narrates, just as a vehicle’s headlights begin making their way into view, followed by the image of a woman stepping into the road to flag the car down. “It was easy enough to get her to stop: the ones who care are always the most vulnerable.” The car slowly comes to a stop, just as the driver side door opens and, to Lara’s dismay, exits a very familiar woman. Pulling out the picture from her phone, she confirms the face to be that of Tamara Williams, the missing corrections officer she has been tasked with locating.
“All it took was one sob story, that my car was broken down, and all I needed was a hand” the voice dictates, as the corrections officer steps out of her car, gazing at the unidentifiable woman in a raincoat. “And she believes me: every last word.” Lara watches as the officer approaches the source of the camera, switching now to a first person view directly behind the officer, seemingly coming from the unknown woman herself.
“She has now fallen straight into my trap,” the voice dictates, just as the image shows her getting closer and closer to the distracted prison guard. “For an officer of the law, she sure knows how to make herself easy to ensnare.” Lara watches in horror as an arm wraps itself around Tamara’s throat, with the officer thrashing about against the grip of her assailant. However, all her efforts are to no avail, as she slowly but surely goes limp, gently being lowered down to the pavement just as the screen fades to black.
“It was only a matter of time before she made her way into my domain,” the voice says, just as Lara hears a subtle sound coming from the background. “But, it wouldn’t be anytime soon that she would escape.” The image returns to the screen, having been transported to what appears to be some type of basement, dimly lit with concrete walls and flooring. However, what Lara sees next makes her stomach drop to the floor: she sees the corrections officer, bound upside down by her ankles to a hook hanging from the ceiling, her head just a foot from the concrete floor below. She is still clad in her uniform, but is now bound with thick nylon rope, wound tightly around her ankles and knees. Her wrists are placed behind her back as several strands of rope loop across her chest, rendering her completely helpless. She struggles against her restraints, grunting behind the wadded cleave gag nestled in between her teeth.
“Oh just what a delectable sight this is,” the voice cuts in, drenched in a tone of utter pleasure that makes the detective shiver in fear. The camera gradually moves towards Tamara in her helpless state, stopping only as she gazes upon its source, a look of sheer rage built up in her eyes. Out of the right corner, an object comes into view, one the camera focuses on to be a stiff red feather, focusing out to reveal Tamara’s look of indignation at its sight. A shiver rolls down the detective’s spine, watching what appears to be the woman’s confinement unfold right in front of her eyes, hoping that feather would not be used in the way which she imagines.
“It was hard for her at first to accept her new life,” the voice dictates, as the image fades to black. “She was resistant at first, like all the rest of them.” The screen cuts to Tamara again, this time in a new predicament: she is standing against a padded x-frame, with her wrists, elbows, knees, and ankles bound with thick leather cuffs sticking out of its surface, and a large leather belt wrapped around her midsection. Her pristine uniform is in tatters, leaving much of her milk chocolate skin open for her assailant’s fingernails to frantically scrape over her flesh, focusing most intensely on her bare underarms.
“GET OF ME!!” Tamara shrieks forth, rocking to and fro, bucking against the x-frame she is bound to. “Youhuhuh crazy bitch! Dohohohon’t mehehehes with me!” Her grunts of dismay morph into strained cackles, trying desperately to fight off those undeniable sensation coursing through her senses this very moment. However, the longer the video runs, the more desperate she becomes, betraying to Lara just how diabolical the woman is as she slowly begins tearing away at her resolve.
“Such a resilient façade, don’t you think?” the voice notes, as the sound gradually goes quiet. “But I knew, with just a wee bit of encouragement, that it wouldn’t be long before she started falling in line.” In the next shot onscreen, she finds Tamara in yet another compromising position, this time sitting on a padded table, stripped of every scrap of clothing except her bra and panties. Her wrists are bound behind her back, hoisted up towards the ceiling, pushing her head forward towards her feet. Locked in a set of padded leather stocks, with her big toes tied back to the top of the board, she can do nothing to resist the dual hairbrushes inflicted upon them, frantically scraping across their oil-slicked surface, all the while she is forced to gaze upon her torments.
“Stahahahap!” Tamara screams, her tears cascading down her cheeks as the hairbrushes ravage her bare soles. “Pleeeeeeeeeeeeeheheheheeeeeeease!!” She tries to pull at her arms for freedom, the uncomfortable position making it impossible for the poor woman to find her grounding as she desperately begs for it to stop. But the torments do not cease, only increasing in their intensity as her shrieks for mercy soon dissolve into pathetic sobbing right in front of the detective’s eyes, the sight of the girl breaking down so suddenly making Lara sick to her stomach.
“Isn’t that just precious?” the voice begins yet again, as the shot fades to black. “That was day seven of her torments, and already she was ready to crack. But I was anything but satisfied, and by the third week, she was almost begging to be mine.” In the final shot, the detective sees the distressed woman again, this time bound naked atop a bed. A masked figure sits beside her, pressing a large vibrating wand against Tamara’s bare womanhood, as the victim’s moans of forced ecstasy match her curling toes. However, just as it seems she is about to reach climax, the wand retreats from its perch, substituted by the sensation of vibrating eggs that are pressed against Tamara’s soles with tape, kicked on with a press of a button by the obscured woman. Through her cackles and cries, bucking wildly against her restraints, the poor woman calls out in a moment of pure desperation, as her spirit is finally broken.
“I CAN’T TAKE IT ANYMORE!!” Tamara yells at the tops of her lungs, her voice hoarse and strained from so much bestowed upon her. “I’LL DO WHATEVER YOU WANT!! JUST PLEASE MAKE IT STOP!!” She begins bawling uncontrollably, as the figure once again brings the wand down upon her womanhood, not bothering to turn off the vibrating eggs taped to Tamara’s soles. The conservative detective is forced to watch as the woman is brought over the edge, moaning in desperation as she is relieved of her sexual tension after just who knows how long at the hands of her deranged captor. However, the moment that happens, the figure rises from her perch, retrieving a white rag from off screen, only for Tamara to beg and plead for mercy just as the image fades to black one final time.
Whatever the detective has just witnessed she is not entirely sure but, what she does know is this: she would never want to succumb to a fate even remotely similar to that. Catching her breath, Lara soon finds herself more vulnerable than ever, remembering that it had been at least ten minutes since she has heard from her partner, having been so engrossed by what has transpired on screen. However, just as she is reaching for her phone, she reads these words scrawled across the screen:
WELCOME TO HELL
She hoists herself up in a panic, only for it to be too late as an arm wraps itself around her neck, pinning her against an unknown figure, the exact fate Tamara had succumbed to right in front of her eyes. She begins flailing about, kicking her legs in every direction, her left high heel flinging out against the adjacent wall. However, such efforts are to no avail, slowly feeling herself lose consciousness as all facets are taken away from her. Succumbing to darkness, she peers upward, only to see the same shadowy figure that loomed above Tamara now securing her.
