Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters of The Shield, they all belong
to Shawn Ryan and FX.
Warnings: This is a very dark story and contains graphic scenes of violence
Feedback: Like it or loathe it let me know.
E-mail: [email protected]
Shield: Night Part 1 (MM,M-mast,bond,tort,humil,drugs,rape)
The car drove slowly along the quiet, dark street. It was 3a.m. and the area
was deserted, the driver smiled to himself, no witnesses. He knew exactly
where he wanted to go, which house he wanted to park by, after all he had
been here many times before in the preceding months. He stopped and slowly
reversed his car back into the small alleyway that ran next to the house,
coming to a stop next to the high back gate. The man switched off the engine
and pulled a large black holdall off the front seat as he got out of the car.
The gate opened noiselessly its bolt having been broken for a while now; he
liked to prepare the groundwork thoroughly. The householder had been busy
with work lately, and although he’d meant to buy a new one and fix it, he
hadn't seemed to find the time. Once inside the garden the intruder stood
for a moment relishing the night. There was no moon and so the only light
came from the faint twinkling of the stars far above in the heavens. He felt
a shudder of anticipation run through his body, at last the moment he had
been waiting for, planning for, dreaming of was here at last. He had come to
collect what was his.
Reaching up with one gloved hand to the lintel of the back door he quickly
found the spare key that had been hidden there. He never failed to be
surprised, and faintly amused, that the very people who saw society at its
worst, saw burglary, violence and even murder everyday while they worked
could be so lax when it came to their own security. However, he always
interpreted it as a sign, an omen that this was meant to be that the
special ones he chose were indeed meant for him. Sometimes he even wondered
if deep down they knew this themselves, somewhere in their sub-conscious,
they knew their fate was sealed.
Using the key he silently let himself into the dark house. The lack of light
was no problem for him, his eyes had adjusted to the low light levels and he
knew the layout of this house as well as his own. He'd spent many nights here
while the owner was away at work on the night shift. He had let himself in
and absorbed all he could about his choosen's life. He'd drunk from his
cups, sat in his chairs, watched his television, read his letters and looked
through his photo albums. He felt he'd already shared so much of the
choosen's life and past that it was only right that he should control what
would happen in their relationship in the future, and even how and when it
Moving through the kitchen he entered the hall and was quickly at the bottom
of the stairs. He paused for a moment, holding his breath and listening
intently to the sounds of the sleeping house, all was quiet. Carefully he
moved forward and began to climb the stairs, knowing of course that the third
and fifth stairs both creaked. Upon reaching the landing he turned left and
came to the master bedroom. He could feel the excitement building in him, his
heart beating quickly, his blood singing in his veins. The anticipation at
this moment was always so sweet that he paused for longer than necessary to
savour it. As he pushed the door noiselessly open he could feel his penis
hardening, the excitement almost unbearable, uncontrollable. Pausing again to
gather himself he could hear the soft breathing of his quarry, he carefully
put down his holdall and reached into his pocket taking out a small bottle
and a cloth. The contents of the bottle were poured into the cloth, and
pausing only to place the now empty bottle on the floor, he moved forward.
There was his prey at last, asleep on the left of the large double bed, even
in slumber he never strayed over to the other side. That must be the side
where that bitch of a wife had slept, he shouldn't really curse her after
all if she hadn't left he wouldn't be here now. He only chose those who were
alone, those who needed him to bring their lives direction and purpose. So he
thought of Lucy, her smiling face in the wedding pictures which had probably
once hung on the walls but now were hidden away in a shoe box at the bottom
of the closet in the spare bedroom, he thought of her with a smile and a
small nod of thanks. Looking down again he studied the sleeping man before
him. He slept on his front; his left hand resting by his face while his right
hand was flung out to his side. It was a warm night and the comforter had
been pushed down to the foot of the bed. Even the cotton sheet had ended up
bunched up around the sleeper's ankles. Not that he minded that, it just gave
him the perfect view of the body in front of him. His gaze traveled up the
body, along the long slim legs to the narrow hips and tight ass, on up across
the back to where the shoulders widened. The warm weather had meant that only
a tee shirt and boxer shorts covered that delicious body from his view, the
warm skin from his touch. "Soon" he promised himself and the sleeping man in
front of him. Looking up he studied the sleeping face before him. It was
perfectly relaxed in slumber and looked younger with a hint of innocence that
was delightful. Dark hair tumbled forward onto the sleeper's forehead and the
intruder had to resist the urge to brush it back. Equally dark eyelashes lay
on the slightly flushed cheeks of his face, and his mouth was slightly open
as he breathed slowly in deep sleep. Focusing he prepared himself for the
struggle about to occur. This one was tall and although not hugely muscled
he didn't doubt that he would fight fiercely. Well he had a good couple of
inches advantage in height over the prone man and he had been preparing and
training for this, making sure that his muscular physic was in top shape.
Gathering himself he made his move.
Swiftly he firmly planted his right knee in the middle of his prey's lower
back while reaching over with his right hand to restrain the other man's
right arm. Simultaneously the cloth was pressed over the prone man's mouth
and nose. Startled from sleep the man tried desperately to throw his attacker
off. He tried to shout but the cloth acted as an effective gag muffling his
efforts. His left arm was unrestrained and he searched with increasing terror
for a weapon to use against his assailant. He tried to reach the table lamp
on the bedside cabinet but in his panic only succeeded in knocking it onto
the floor. He felt a sharp pain in his hand but the urge to survive made him
dismiss it. He could feel his strength failing him, his head beginning to
spin. He braced his left hand against the wall by the head of his bed and
pushed back trying again to dislodge his attacker. The intruder had hung on
throughout all the desperate struggling of the body beneath him, he knew it
wouldn't last long and indeed he could feel the chloroform which was on the
cloth beginning to work. The man under him was weakening, his strength
rapidly draining away. Finally after a last shudder the struggling man fell
silent and still.
With a sigh of relief the intruder let himself relax, the hardest and
riskiest part was over. He looked down at the luminous face of his watch; it
read 3:40 time to move things along. He went over to the door of the room
and flicked on the light. He moved forward, squinting slightly as his eyes
struggled to cope with the sudden bright light. Reaching down into his
holdall he removed a bundle of about 100 photos, all A4 sized and black and
white. He carefully scattered them over the foot of the bed, on top of the
comforter. Then he turned his attention back towards his prize. He was
surprised when he saw blood. There was dark red blood on the sheet and
pillowcase, and a bloody handprint that stood out starkly on the wall at
the head of the bed. Concerned he moved forward to inspect the unconscious
man who was draped across the bed. He relaxed when he saw the blood came
from a slash across the other's hand; it was only then that he noticed the
glass which had been smashed in the frightened man's struggle when he had
been trying to reach the lamp. The damage didn't look to bad but anyway he
didn't have time to see to it now. Moving back to his holdall he took out a
black bundle which when rolled out onto the floor proved to be a body bag,
such as was used by coroners. Leaving this he went quickly to the wardrobe
and removed several items, placing them in the now empty holdall, he
repeated this exercise with things taken from various drawers. Satisfied he
went back to his quarry on the bed; he would have liked to spend some time
inspecting his merchandise but knew time was passing. He comforted himself
with the thought that it would be better to take his time unwrapping this
particular package, and besides it would be much less fun with the other
man unconscious. So he quickly pulled him from the bed and into the body
bag, the holdall was also placed inside by the man's feet. One last task to
perform before he left. The throbbing in his erect penis was becoming
uncomfortable and he needed relief. Standing by the foot of the bed he
unzipped his trousers and reached in to free himself. He began to stroke
himself while he regarded his handiwork. The signs of a struggle were
evident in the room, and he hardened even more as he remembered feeling the
other man's body squirming under him. He remembered the short, quick,
panicked breaths he'd taken; unknowingly quickening the effects of the
chloroform. The intruder moaned in pleasure as he remembered that the whole
room had reeked with fear, the terror had been almost palpable. His hand
moved faster and harder, he could feel his completion nearing. He turned
his eyes to the blood, it was spattered over the bedding, but it was the
handprint which claimed his attention. He suddenly closed his eyes, threw
his head back and groaned as he came long and hard. Gathering himself he
tucked his softening penis away and looked at his DNA calling card left
over the scattered photos on the bed. Smiling to himself he went over to
the body bag and carefully zipped it up. Then he hoisted it over his
shoulder in a fireman's carry, with one last look at the room he turned,
switched off the light and made his way downstairs.
Before leaving the house he went to the front door and unlocked it, just to
make things go smoother tomorrow he thought. Moving swiftly he went out the
back door leaving this also unlocked and went to his car, he opened the trunk
and deposited his precious cargo safely inside. Getting into the car he
started the engine and moved forward out onto the street. Seeing that all was
silent he smiled, good still no witnesses. The car pulled away and was soon
lost from view as it moved into the night.
* * *
Claudette sat at her desk with a sigh and took a sip of her coffee. First
things first she wanted to go through her mail. The amount of rubbish that
ended up in her pigeonhole never failed to amaze her. She glanced over to
her left and frowned slightly, then when she'd glanced down at her watch
the frown deepened. It was 7:10 a.m. and her partner Dutch Wagenbach was 10
minutes late for work, and with the exception of his first day when he'd
been a spectacular 2 hours late, Dutch was never late, in fact he usually
arrived before her. She shook her head slightly irritated with herself for
being such a worrier, after all Dutch was a grown man and perfectly able to
look after himself. He had probably over-slept or had car problems, god who
was she his mother or something. She returned her attention to her post. It
all looked pretty routine until she spotted a padded envelope near to the
bottom of the pile. Picking it up she saw "Detective Wyms" hand written on
the outside. It carried no stamp or address so it must have been hand
delivered, curious she ripped the top off and tipped the envelope's contents
out onto her desktop. What she saw made her heart falter. She gasped and
suddenly the background chatter of the squad room seemed to disappear as her
whole existence narrowed down to the piece of metal and single piece of paper
on her desk. For a moment her head spun and she could feel the blood drain
from her face. She knew what this was and she was terrified. Pushing the
contents back into the envelope with a pencil so as not to contaminate any
evidence she rushed to the stairs and for Acevada's office, while dialing
Dutch's number on her mobile phone.
David Aceveda had just settled down to begin reviewing last months crime
figures for the Farmington district when his door was flung open and a very
harassed looking Claudette Wyms hurried in unannounced. In her hand she
clutched a brown padded envelope the contents of which she tipped onto his
desk, "This was in my pigeonhole this morning, Dutch isn't in, something's
wrong," She gasped.
Aceveda looked down at the contents of the envelope, a detective's badge
and a piece of paper that had the words "number six" written on it. Just as
Claudette had known he to knew instantly what this meant, what it meant for
Dutch, and for them. There wasn't a policeman in the country who wouldn't
have recognised what this was, it was the calling card of The Stalker. His
eyes met Claudette's and he sucked in his breath sharply at the fear, pain
and growing panic he saw there.
"I've tried calling him, but his mobile's switched off and all I get is his
machine at home. I need to get over to his place now," She stated firmly,
not waiting for an answer she began to move quickly to the door of his
"Wait," he commanded "you need back up. Get Mackey and the Strike Team, I'll
put in a call to personnel and get Dutch's home address."
"No need he lives at 1310 Hoover Street. I'm going now," with which she
disappeared from view.
Pausing only to glance at the badge on his desk Aceveda quickly put a call
through to the Westwood division to request some uniformed back up at Dutch's
house, and then through to the CSI squad to request a team to pick up the
envelope and its contents from his office. Finally he put a call through to
the chief knowing he had to be informed and to request that the FBI be
brought in immediately. Finished with this he got up and went to his office
window and looked down to the squad room below, down to two empty desks.
"God," he thought, "this is so bad and it's only going to get worse."
Claudette was in her car driving towards Dutch's house. She knew that the
Strike Team were right behind her, as they had been since she'd burst into
The Clubhouse and told them that she needed backup, that Dutch had been
taken by The Stalker. They had paused for a moment in shock before bursting
"Fuck," Shane muttered, reaching for his jacket.
"You got an address," asked Mackey. His eyes registering his own shock, but
Claudette had been relieved to see his professional mask slipping into place.
"1310 Hoover Street," she told them already moving with them out into the
"Right," Mackey acknowledged, "you lead the way and we'll be right behind."
Looking in her mirror she could see them there. Mackey could be a bastard but
there were few people better that she'd rather have covering her back. Well
there was only one she would have preferred, at this thought her hands
gripped the steering wheel tighter and her mouth thinned into a grim line.
The journey to Dutch's house seemed to have passed in a blur and suddenly
Claudette found herself pulling up in front of his drive. A black and white
from Westwood was already there and two uniformed officers came forward to
greet her. As she moved forward she could hear the Strike Team's SUV pulling
in behind her car with a screech of tires, the doors slamming as the Strike
Team jumped out. Pausing she looked at the house in front of her, the front
lawn and small hedge were neatly trimmed and the lemon and white paintwork
on its walls was immaculate. She could see that the blinds at the front
windows, both upstairs and downstairs, were still drawn. Everything looked
neat and quiet and she had to suppress a shiver that ran up her spine.
Mackey turned to her,
"How do you want to do this," he asked. Claudette was slightly surprised but
relived that he understood that this was her partner and so her operation.
"Two of your guys go around the back with a uniform and try to gain access
that way, and the rest of us go in through the front door," she instructed
Nodding he sent Lem, Ronnie and one of the uniforms down the alley beside
Dutch's house. Letting Claudette lead the way he followed her to the front
door with Shane and the other uniform, all of them drawing their weapons
and trying to prepare themselves for what might await them in the house.
They took up position by the front door, her and Vic Mackey on one side while
Shane and the uniform stood on the other. They paused for a minute to allow
the others to get into position at the back of the house. That minute seemed
to stretch out like an eternity for Claudette, her entire body seeming to
quiver with tension, and her hand sweating onto the grip of her gun. She
wanted to wipe her hand on her trouser leg, more than that she wanted to be
somewhere else. She wanted to be in the squad room listening to Dutch talking
about profiling an unsub, about what tendencies were suggested by the
evidence found at their latest crime scene. Not here about to find that her
partner's house, Dutch's house was about to be that crime scene.
"Don't go there," she warned herself, focus on the here and now, distractions
led to mistakes and this was not a situation where you wanted to make any
mistakes. Your life and that of your colleagues depended on everyone having
cool, professional heads on their shoulders. Taking a deep breath she turned
to Vic, who nodded and she reached out to the doorknob. To her surprise it
turned easily and she noiselessly pushed the front door open.
They stepped inside; alert for any sound any movement from within the quiet,
still house. Claudette had to resist the urge to shout out Dutch's name, that
little grain of panic that had taken seed in her chest since she had first
seen the contents of that envelope had to be quickly suppressed. They stepped
forward, their movements smooth and practiced, turning to the left they
checked out the living room, but everything there was undisturbed and
perfectly normal. A slight sound from the direction of the kitchen grabbed
their attention and as one the four police officers swung their weapons
towards the sound, their bodies tight with tension. Again as one they relaxed
slightly when they saw it was only the other group who had gone to the back
of the house. Evidently their entrance into the quiet house had been equally
uneventful. Vic signaled to Lem and Ronnie to stay in the hallway covering
their backs and to the two uniforms to go out and secure the perimeter. Then
Claudette, Shane and Vic began to climb the stairs.
They froze as one when only a couple of steps up the stair creaked, to their
ears it seemed deafening, but still nothing stirred. When it happened again
they kept moving upward while keeping a wary look out for trouble. Finally
at the top of the staircase they checked the landing was clear and took up
position at the first door. Claudette pushed the door open to find an
undisturbed, neat guestroom, turning to the door next to it she found herself
looking into an equally undisturbed bathroom. Moving further down towards the
front of the house they found a home office complete with desk, computer and
book shelves filled with files and books on forensic psychology and FBI
profiling techniques if the titles Claudette could see were anything to go
by. Nothing here had been touched either by the looks of things, it was
typically Dutch, everything neat and in its place, Claudette smiled sadly and
turned to face the last door. Guns raised they moved forward and at a nod
from Claudette entered the master bedroom.
It was so much worse than Claudette had imagined her gun lowered to point to
the floor and she felt as though her heart had faltered in her chest.
"Shit," murmured Shane next to her.
Mackey seemed to recover first, "Shane get downstairs and contact Aceveda,
tell him what's gone down here and get him to send the crime scene boys over
here now. Tell him we need more uniforms to secure the scene and start house
to house." He ordered.
"Yeah, sure boss," Shane replied before hurrying out of the room, glad to be
getting away from the scene.
Vic moved slowly forward, careful not to disturb anything, stepping over a
small bottle that had been discarded on the floor. He paused to look down
at it but it was empty.
Claudette hadn't moved, she wasn't sure if she could. It was obvious that a
struggle had taken place here. The bedside lamp was broken on the floor, a
glass broken on the cabinet. Finally her feet moved her forward. There was
something at the foot of the bed; Vic was looking down at it. He had frowned
and leaned forward before wrinkling his nose and jerking back,
"Fuck," he exclaimed.
He turned to Claudette as she to looked down at the bed, there were black
and white photographs strewn all over the foot of the double bed. They were
all photos of Dutch. Pictures of him shopping, walking in a park, at a
crime scene, leaving the station house at Farmington with her and they were
both laughing. If that wasn't disturbing enough there were other photos to.
Photos of Dutch asleep in this very bed, working on his computer, watching
the television downstairs, drinking a cup of coffee in his kitchen, "Jesus,"
she murmured, looking upward, "the bastard's got cameras planted in here."
"Yeah, and that's not all he's planted," Vic said, looking back at the
When she looked back she notice the drying semen that had been ejaculated
across the pictures. She felt her stomach roll and thought for a moment she
was going to throw up. Looking away she saw the blood which was spattered
across the crisp white sheets, and finally the bloody handprint on the pale
lemon wall, she groaned and turned away, head bowed.
Concerned Vic moved to her side and gently touched her arm.
"Jesus this is real isn't it," she asked him. "We have to get him back, I
have to get him back."
"We will," Vic reassured her. He looked into her pain filled eyes and
promised her, "we'll get him back and make this fucking bastard pay."
In the distance they could both hear the wail of approaching sirens.
* * *
Something was very wrong, his head felt all fuzzy like it was stuffed with
cotton wool, and he hurt. His arms and shoulders were really painful and
there was an uncomfortable throbbing in his left hand. He needed to wake
up; he needed to open his eyes. He heard a noise in the distance, a moaning
sound, and he was surprised when he realized the noise was coming from him.
With what felt like a supreme effort he slowly dragged his eyes open, and
started when he realized he still couldn't see. There was something over
his eyes, a cloth, a blindfold. Reality came crashing into his mind like a
freight train. He'd been blindfolded and his upper body hurt so much
because his arms had been drawn up above his head and tied with rope, which
he could feel cutting into his wrists. He tried to get his feet under him
properly to take the weight of his body which was being taken fully by his
arms and shoulders, no wonder they felt like they were being ripped out of
their sockets. It was then that he discovered that his feet were also tied
with rope. It wound around his ankles and was used to somehow anchor him to
the floor. With the pressure on his upper body relieved, and after the
initial burn in his now relaxing arm muscles had subsided he tried to calm
himself to take stock of his situation.
The fuzzy feeling in his brain was dissipating rapidly and memories came
rushing forward to fill the gap. He'd been at home asleep when he'd been
attacked. He could remember a huge weight on his back; being held down and
the sensation of suffocation as something had been forced over his nose and
mouth. He realized that there had been something on the cloth, it had had a
sweet, cloying smell, overpowering and sickly. God he was in so much
trouble, panic began to rise inside his chest. He could feel himself on the
verge of hyperventilating as he remembered something else from his attack,
while he had been held down on his bed he had felt his attacker's erection
pressing into his lower back. Questions whirled at a hundred miles an hour
through his head, why was he here, what was his kidnapper's agenda?
A noise in front of him, a shuffling sound, someone else was here watching
him. Dutch took a steadying breath trying to calm himself down, now was not
the time to fall apart no matter how much he wanted to. He quickly assessed
his situation, he'd been kidnapped and was being held against his will,
experience had taught him that these situations rarely had a good outcome
for the victim. He also knew that his disappearance would be noticed, as
soon as he didn't show up for work in the morning Claudette would realize
that something was up. Then the search for him would begin, but he knew
that it would take time to find him, and he also knew that time might not
be a luxury he had. Events would take place now according to his abductor's
timetable and the only thing he could do was try to buy himself time. He
knew from his extensive reading that many kidnappers regarded their victims
as mere objects, there for their satisfaction. This disassociation made it
much easier for the victim to be murdered; they were not seen as real people
and so were totally expendable. The most important thing in a situation like
this was to become a real person to your kidnapper, try to build a rapport
with them. He had read that it was important to engage them in conversation
if possible, to tell them about yourself and your life, in a sense to make
yourself 3-dimentional to them. There was the noise again closer this time,
definitely in front of him.
"Who's there, what do you want?" Dutch asked, annoyed that his voice faltered
betraying his fear. There was no reply and Dutch felt himself reaching out
with all of his senses to try to locate the other person. He held his breath
straining to hear above the fierce beating of his heart that seemed to
thunder in his ears. Nothing, "Look I know there's someone here, so why don't
we talk about this, try to sort things out before they get out of control."
Pausing he waited for a reply but heard nothing. He couldn't shake the
feeling, which was getting stronger, that he was being watched.
"My name's Dutch Wagenbach, and I think you should know I'm a cop, and you're
going to be in a whole world of trouble if anything happens to me. Now the
best thing you could do is to untie me and get out of here, we don't want
this situation getting out of hand for either of us. You know I've not seen
your face so you can get clean away and be a hundred miles from here in a
couple of hours." Dutch knew he was taking a risk telling his abductor that
he was a cop, but he reckoned that if the kidnapper didn't know this already
it might just spook him into taking his advice and letting him go. As the
silence stretched on he guessed that plan A was a dismal failure. Time to
try and come up with a plan B, but before he had a chance he felt a movement
in front of him, really close, it was as if he could feel the air directly
in front of him shifting as a body moved in the space. He started back, a
cry of surprise bursting from his mouth when a hand touched him on the chest.
It didn't move, just rested lightly against his tee shirt above his heart.
Dutch felt as if the hand was burning him, it's heat going straight through
the thin material and scorching the skin underneath. That flash of memory
came unbidden to his mind again, of him being held down on his bed,
suffocating and feeling the hard erection of his attacker pressing into him.
There were other memories, old memories that he'd buried deeply long ago,
he'd locked them away in the dark but they were trying to break free now. It
took a huge effort to turn his mind away from them and concentrate on the
here and now, that was a road he was determined not to take no matter what,
because he wasn't sure he'd stay sane if he did.
"P...p...please," he stuttered, and then words failed him as the hand on his
chest began to move slowly downwards, stopping at the hem of his tee shirt.
Dutch held his breath as the moment stretched on interminably, and then he
felt flesh touching his flesh as the stranger's fingers ghosted over his
stomach just above the waistband of his boxer shorts. Dutch wanted to scream
at this pervert to fuck off and leave him alone, he wanted to struggle
against his bonds, Christ he wanted to just grab the panic he could feel
welling up inside him and go with it. Calm, calm he had to be calm, not let
this escalate out of control, he could still turn this around if he could
just clear his head and be calm.
"Stop...um...you need to stop now, and lets talk about this, we need to talk
about what's happening here." Jesus the hand just kept on moving. Upwards now
the hand pressed flat, the fingers brushing against his nipple, the fingers
stroking the nub of flesh until it began to harden. Dutch could feel a scream
building up in his throat and he began to move, trying to arch out of the
intrusive touch but he found that his bonds meant no escape. The hand paused
only momentarily and then it was moving again around his side to his back,
burning his skin like acid. Dutch was convinced that if he could see where
the hand had been he would see a physical mark on his skin as it dirtied his
flesh, corrupting everything in its path. The fingers lightly stroked their
way down his back until they again touched the waistband of his boxer's.
Slowly the very tips of the fingers were slipped under the material. Dutch
couldn't stop the whimper from escaping from his mouth; his mind was
whirling, panic-stricken. The adrenaline which was coursing through his body
was heightening his fear, he could hear his heart pounding in his chest it
was beating so hard it felt as if it would explode at any moment. Then his
breath caught in his throat as another hand slipped into his hair and grasped
hold of it, and a body large and heavy pushed itself against his front. The
grip in his hair tightened painfully as he instinctively tried to pull away,
he felt a soft, warm breath ghost over his cheek and then tickle his ear as
his abductor lent forwards and whispered, "Ssshhh", as if he were soothing a
Dutch bit down on his lower lip to stifle the sounds of terror that seemed
to be escaping from his mouth of their own accord. Gone was the plan of
setting up a dialogue with his kidnapper his brain was buzzing at a million
miles an hour and yet failing to function properly, failing him when he
needed it most, he'd always relied on his intellect and now it was gone. He
doubted he could speak even if he could form a coherent sentence as his
mouth had gone dry with fear. Dutch could taste his own blood on his lips
as his teeth broke the skin, he started back as far as the hand gripping
his hair would allow as he felt his attacker's tongue flick over his mouth,
tasting his blood. The fingers at his back began to slowly move again,
circumnavigating his waist and coming to rest directly under his navel.
"No, no, no,no...p...please stop...please don't do this," Dutch pleaded,
his voice almost failing him. He could feel his body beginning to tremble
and a bead of cold sweat ran down from his forehead, across his temple and
into his hair. He began to chant in his mind, "This isn't happening, this
isn't happening, thisisn'thappeningthisisn'thappening," the words blurring
together, getting faster, more desperate. "God please don't let this happen."
The disgusting touch only paused for a moment and then continued in its
violation. When it came to rest on his genitals, cupping them possessively
Dutch couldn't hold himself together any more. His mind completely shut
down and animal instinct took over, overwhelming terror took over. He
bucked and writhed try to get away from the burning touch, not feeling the
ropes which were now cutting into the soft skin at his wrists and ankles.
His breath was coming in panicked gasps and pants as he fought to escape.
"Don't touch me, don't touch me you fucking bastard! Get your filthy hands
off me!" the words exploded out of his mouth, the adrenaline which was
flooding his system provoking the fight response as well as the flight
response. The tears that were beginning to soak into the fabric of his
blindfold were partly tears of fear and partly tears of anger.
The hand in his boxers unexpectantly withdrew. Relief flooded through
Dutch's body, it was going to be OK this sicko was just fucking with his
head trying to freak him out, well he'd succeeded Dutch was well and truly
freaked. Dutch knew he had to calm down get a handle on his emotions that
were all over the place at the moment. His respite was short lived however
as the hand that still held his hair tightened again and pulled his head
back exposing his throat. He felt a point of cold metal press against his
throat, a knife. Dutch's whole existence seemed to telescope down and focus
on that one small, sharp point. He didn't dare move, he didn't dare swallow
knowing that with only a slight increase of pressure the knife would break
his skin. However, it was not his skin that his abductor was interested in
breaking just now. Dutch felt the knife moving downwards, the tip
scratching the skin in his neck, but not quite enough to cut although the
unspoken threat was clear. It caught in the material at the neck of his tee
shirt slicing it all the way open in one smooth motion. Two similar motions
at each of his shoulders slicing through the arms of his shirt and he felt
the torn material slip away from his body. Dutch shivered, the cold air
caressing his skin making it blossom with goose flesh. He swallowed hard
and felt himself beginning to withdraw into himself as the blade began to
rip through the material of his boxer shorts. Dutch felt his mind reaching
out within itself to find his safe place; the place buried deep where he'd
be safe. It was a skill he'd learnt many years ago, when there had been a
need to disassociate himself from his body sometimes. However, it was a
skill he hadn't needed for many years and he found that the practiced ease
he'd once had to achieve his isolation had deserted him. He was very much
trapped in the present.
He was standing naked now in the freezing air. His attacker had moved away,
letting go of his hair no longer touching him physically, but Dutch could
feel the other man's gaze on him, on his body. He could feel the heat rising
under his skin, and could feel the blush of embarrassment, humiliation
washing over him. Then the other man was gone; Dutch could sense his
withdrawal from the room as much as the slight noises he had made as he'd
left had signaled it. Now that he was alone Dutch felt as if all of his
strength had left him, the adrenaline which had been coursing through him
gradually subsided leaving him exhausted and on edge.
God what was he going to do, this guy was obviously a maniac he had to get
out of here soon or things were going to get so much worse and he wasn't
sure he'd survive that. Claudette would find him, he tried to reassure
himself, yes she'd find him in time and he'd be fine. She would save him,
rescue him and take him home. He just had to hold onto that, believe in
that and hold on until she got here. Dutch just prayed it would be soon.
* * *
Simon smiled to himself, he knew he'd been right to wait until Holland was
awake before touching him, undressing him, after all his reactions had been
delicious. It had been difficult waiting for him to come around from the
chloroform after he'd been restrained, all that pale flesh just waiting to
be touched, stroked, claimed. However, Simon was nothing if not a patient
man, he had to be all the time he had to spend in preparation when he'd
found his next plaything. Time he spent selecting just the perfect one for
his needs, time spent watching them, photographing them, studying them,
getting to know their lives. He felt that all this would help him to get
closer to them, and Simon wanted to be close to them not only for himself,
but for them to. They might not realize it, might not want to admit it but
Simon knew they wanted him, deep down they all craved his touch, his
attention. This one as much as the others and Simon would help Holland
recognise what he really wanted, what he really needed.
Simon sat down and relaxed watching the naked, bound and blindfolded man on
the monitor. He was trying to get his hands free, twisting his wrists one
way and then another, it was hopeless all he'd do was hurt himself, make
his wrists bleed. Simon briefly considered going in and commanding him to
stop, but then he thought that it would be better for Holland to learn this
lesson for himself, and besides he found it rather amusing watching his
futile struggles to escape his fate. Simon turned his thoughts to the
events of the past hour, savouring every moment in his mind. He had been so
patient waiting for Holland to awaken, he'd stood perfectly still watching
the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest, instantly detecting the subtle
changes which alerted him to Holland's return to consciousness. As he'd
watched him gaining his feet, and so relieving the strain his arms and
shoulders had been under supporting his body, Simon had thrilled at the
little moans of pain that Holland had made. He'd watched as Holland's mind
had cleared of the fog left there by the chloroform and he'd begun to
assess his situation. Although he hadn't been able to see his eyes because
of the blindfold the little tightening of his mouth had signaled the
growing fear that he'd felt. How Simon had wished he could take the
blindfold off of those expressive eyes, eyes that really were the windows
of the soul with every nuance of mood always there to be read, but he also
knew that depriving Holland of his sight for the moment would make him feel
more powerless and engender more fear in him. Simon had moved making a
slight noise and had watched with glee as Holland's head had snapped up
immediately trying to identify the source of the sound. He'd watched his
face and knew that his brain was going up a gear trying to think his way
out of the situation, how typical of him relying on his intelligence. Well
all his knowledge of criminalistics and psychology wasn't going to help him
now, because Simon was sure that was the route Holland would take to try to
escape; after all Simon had seen all the books in his house, he'd even
flicked through a few when he'd spent time in the house while Holland had
been at work. Then he'd asked the same two questions they always asked
first, it was strange but without fail it was always "who's there" and of
course "what do you want", slightly different wording and sometimes
accompanied by profanity, but it always boiled down to those two questions.
The tremor in his voice betraying his fear had been delightful, Simon just
knew that Holland was going to be the best one yet, and the seven days they
would spend together would be so special for them both. Then Holland had
introduced himself; of course he'd used that awful nickname instead of his
given name. Simon would never call him Dutch; no to him it would always be
Holland it would be special between them. Holland had even tried bargaining
with him, trying to get Simon to release him behaving as if the police
would be here any minute to rescue him so he'd better let him go and run
away if he knew what was good for him. Holland certainly had faith in his
colleagues, he didn't realize yet that Simon was infinitely more
intelligent than they were. He'd come to see it over time when no rescue
was forthcoming, they always did some lasting longer than others, holding
onto hope longer than others, but they always acknowledged it in the end,
they always broke in the end. Wanting to silence him Simon had quickly
moved forward and placed his hand on Holland's chest. He'd started back
crying out softly, Simon had felt Holland's heart through his contact, it
had been beating so hard, so fast under his hand as if it was about to
burst out of his chest. Simon could almost taste Holland's fear, his mouth
watering at the mere thought of it.
Simon knew he couldn't wait any longer he had to touch and caress the
trembling body in front of him, he had to stroke the warm flesh. Holland's
voice had faltered as he'd stuttered over the single word "please". Then at
last Simon had run his fingers over Holland's stomach, enjoying the feeling
of the muscles under his fingertips flinching away from his touch. What
little colour left in Holland's face had rapidly drained out at that point.
He'd listened to Holland trying to talk his way out, he'd watched as
Holland had tried to master his fear, had tried to stay in control of his
emotions. Well Simon wasn't having that, Holland had to learn that there
was nothing that he controlled anymore, he had to learn that Simon
controlled every aspect of his life now including his emotions. So he had
slowly inched his hand up Holland's chest, gently teasing a nipple to
hardness. Yes, Holland might not realize it intellectually but his body
obviously recognized that this was right, this was what he'd been destined
for. The struggle for control being played out on the face in front of him
fascinated Simon. He knew that panic was welling up inside of Holland and
with just a little more pushing the dam would break and it would come
pouring out, it would be a good first step for him. Achingly slowly Simon
had let his hand roam around to Holland's back and then down towards the
waistband of his shorts. The self-control which Simon had had to exert upon
himself to just let the tips of his fingers slip under the material had
been huge. How he'd wanted to just rip the material away and take what he
wanted then and there, but he'd steadied himself and recovered. Hearing the
whimpers escaping from those quivering lips had overwhelmed him for a
moment, and Simon had slid his hand into the soft, brown hair gripping
gently and leaned forward into him. He could smell Holland as he'd leaned
in towards his ear; a mixture of mint, lemon, sweat and terror, Simon had
been unable to resist breathing in the heady scent. Then his gentle,
soothing "sshh" as if he'd been calming a frightened animal.
Again Holland had reacted beautifully, that control he was trying so hard
to maintain slipping away even more. He had bitten into that delectable
lower lip, just as Simon had fantasized of doing so often, and a drop of
blood had welled up where he broke the skin. The sight had mesmerized
Simon; unable to resist he had leant forward and tasted the blood with his
tongue. Just as Holland was trying to suppress his moans of terror so Simon
had had to suppress his moan of pure desire. He savoured the taste of
Holland's blood knowing that this would not be the last time he would get
to enjoy it's unique flavour, he intended to ensure that Holland would bled
many more times for his pleasure.
Slowly Simon had moved his fingers, still just under the waistband of
Holland's boxer shorts, until they came to rest just under his navel. How
he had relished the effect he was having on his prisoner. Holland was
quivering, his entire body as taut as a bow string, every muscle straining,
his breath coming in tight, panicked little gasps. Holland hadn't been able
to keep silent any longer then, a tremor in his voice as he'd begged Simon
to stop, but Simon had had no intention of stopping. Instead he had let his
hand drift downwards until he could feel Holland's penis under his hand,
squeezing gently, claiming what was his. Finally the calm façade, which
Holland had been trying to maintain, had crumbled totally; he had writhed
and bucked trying to escape, his wrists and ankles becoming reddened the
skin beginning to break. Then to Simon's surprise anger had erupted from
the bound man in front of him, red-hot fury emanating from every pore. He
had spat his fury swearing at Simon, making demands upon him; now that
would not do Simon would not tolerate defiance, Holland would have to learn
his place so he'd removed his hand and unsheathed his knife.
As he had pulled back Holland's neck so he could gain better access to his
throat Simon had taken a moment to admire it. A long graceful curve of pale
flesh which cried out for the contact of his sharp knife. For a moment
Simon remembered another of his playthings, James had been tall and slim
just like Holland, with a similar enticing throat. He remembered how his
knife had sliced through James' throat and how his hot blood had poured
down over his hands; a moment's struggle before death had claimed him.
Simon almost wished he'd saved that particular method of death for Holland,
but it was too late for regrets now it had fitted James at the time and so
what was done was done, besides he was sure he'd find something equally
fitting for Holland when the time came. Simon had smiled as the short-lived
defiance had drained out of Holland leaving him afraid to move as Simon had
cut his clothes from his body. When he'd finished Simon had let go and
stepped back to admire the view. Holland had blushed his skin flushing in
an enchanting fashion. Simon had left him alone then knowing that the
humiliation Holland was feeling would help to weaken him for what was to
come, and the fear of the unknown, imagining what might happen was often
worse then the reality when it arrived. Of course that wasn't always the
case in Simon's experience reality was usually more of a nightmare then
anything which could be dreamed of, as Holland would soon discover. In fact
Simon thought that there was no time like the present to teach Holland that
important lesson, it was time he learnt exactly what he was here for, time
he learnt who he belonged to now. With one last check that all of his
monitoring equipment was in place and working properly Simon went back to
the room which held his prisoner.
As quietly as possible Simon entered the room and closed the door behind
him, he glanced across at the table on the other side of the room, it was
perfect he'd set it up yesterday in anticipation of this moment. He made
some noise with his feet, shuffling them waiting to see how Holland would
react. As he expected his presence was noted immediately, he could see
Holland straining his senses, trying to pin point his position in the room.
Smiling Simon decided to play with him for a moment, and so he merely
circled him taking the opportunity to admire the body before him. He
enjoyed the slim lines, the perfect skin, the lithely muscled form pleasing
him, and he felt his body beginning to respond. He watched as Holland's
head had turned as he moved, using his hearing to track Simon's movements.
"P...please I don't know what you want with me, but you haven't hurt me so
things are still controllable, we can sort things out, if you let me go
now..." He listened as Holland's voice petered out, Simon knew that Holland
was coming to realise that he was not going to be able to escape this
"God just talk to me... please talk to me...please." Holland's voice was
taking on a desperate cadence.
Simon knew that the time was right, moving forward he pushed his body
against Holland's back his knife to his throat. With his mouth pressed to
his captive's ear he whispered, "One false move, one more word and I'll slit
your throat, do you understand?"
Holland slowly, carefully nodded.
"Good boy," Simon praised him. "Now I'm going to untie your feet, if you
even try and kick me you'll be dead, after that I'm going to untie your
hands and again one false move and I'll kill you. Now do you understand?"
Again a careful nod.
Simon slowly knelt keeping a watchful eye on the other man he undid the
ropes around his ankles. He felt Holland tense and knew that he was
fighting the urge to kick out. However, he also knew that Holland wasn't an
idiot that he knew that with his arms still bound escape was impossible.
Rising Simon held the knife close to Holland's throat cutting into the soft
flesh there slightly, emphasising the danger to him. Reaching up he untied
Holland's arms; they dropped to his side the change of position in them
making Holland groan slightly as his muscles cramped. This was a dangerous
moment for Simon, he knew that Holland was weighing up his options, trying
to figure out if he could make a successful escape attempt now that he was
"Move forward with me slowly, do as I say and I won't hurt you." Simon
lied, but it had the desired affect. His prisoner had decided that for now
the wisest course of action was to cooperate, to wait for a better chance,
he knew that Holland was waiting for him to make a mistake. They slowly
moved forward towards the table, when they reached it Simon knew he'd have
to act quickly that Holland might guess what was about to happen to him and
panic, fighting him. After all he didn't want him to get hurt badly, not
yet. So as soon as they were close enough Simon quickly pushed Holland
forward, unbalancing him, and struck him twice in the kidneys with his
fist. Holland had stumbled forward with the push and the pain of the blows
distracted him, next Simon struck him on the back of his head with the
knife's hard bone handle, it was enough to momentarily stun him. This gave
Simon the time he needed to secure first one and then the other of
Holland's arms to the table with the rope he'd already tied to two of the
heavy wooden table's legs. Though in pain and still groggy the bound man
began fighting his bonds in earnest when he realised that he had been bent
over a table and tied down; the vulnerability of his situation adding a
desperation to his struggles.
"Let me up now, you untie me and let me up you son of a bitch!" He'd spat
out, his struggles increasing.
"QUIET!" Simon shouted, "You will be quiet now or I swear I'll take this
knife and gut you." He underlined his command by punching Holland in the
lower back again. Simon quickly bent down pulling and tying first one of
Holland's ankles to the remaining two table legs, and then the other.
Standing back Simon looked down at the other man who was his now for the
taking, perfectly positioned, open to him. He saw Holland's back quaking as
sobs overtook him. This was perfect the moment was here, time for Simon to
begin his possession of what was his. He placed the knife on the floor and
quickly undressed. Holland had heard the rustle of clothing being removed
and Simon knew that any self-deluding thoughts that Holland had had were
now completely destroyed.
"Don't...don't do this, please, please...let me go...please I don't want
this," Holland sobbed.
"Sshh," Simon murmured as he stepped forward stroking his hand down the
naked back before him. "It's alright I'm here, I'm going to take care of
He felt Holland flinch away from his touch and smiled.
"No, no, no...please no don't...don't touch me. I just want to go home...
please...please just...j..just let me go home." Holland begged as Simon's
hand stroked down over his buttocks.
"Don't be a silly boy," Simon chided him. "You are home now, you're with me
where you belong." He lent forward, draping his body over the trembling one
below him rubbing his cheek against Holland's shoulder. He breathed in, fear
coming off of Holland in waves, "I'm going to look after you, love you you'll
see." He soothed. He pushed his erection against Holland's ass, showing him
how much he was wanted. Holland was whimpering, small sounds of distress
coming from his mouth, his body tight with tension, every muscle clenched.
Simon let his fingers trail down to the cleft between Holland's buttocks, his
finger dipping in, seeking the hidden entrance to the other man's body. He
leaned around so he could see his face, every contour was lined in distress,
the blindfold soaked through with tears, Simon didn't think Holland had ever
looked as beautiful as he did then. He slowly pushed his finger into the
shivering body beneath him. Holland cried out in pain, not just physical pain
but the sound of a soul being destroyed.
"So tight, I knew you'd be so tight, so perfect," Simon praised Holland. He
felt his penis throbbing in anticipation, eager to enter the silky heat
before it. He moved his finger in and out as much as the clenched muscles
"Relax baby it's alright I'm going to make you feel so good, if you just
relax...hhmm..can you do that for me?" He asked.
"I can't, I can't, your hurting me...please stop...I don't want this... your
hurting me," Holland wailed. Struggling frantically to pull his wrists free
he didn't notice the blood beginning to run down his arms from the torn
flesh where the ropes were cutting into him. "Let me go...God anything just
don't do this...please."
Simon was ecstatic this was perfect the moment he'd been waiting for here
at last, for him inflicting pain and fear was the ultimate aphrodisiac, the
"Oh this is going to be so good for us baby, you don't know how many times
I've dreamed of this moment, the two of us alone together. The fantasies
I've had that can all come true now you're here with me, now that you're
here with me forever. You'll see we belong together, no one else just us."
Simon crooned in Holland's ear. He removed his finger and prepared himself,
spitting on his hand and rubbing it over his erection. He didn't want to
smooth the way too much, make things too easy on Holland. He always took
them hard the first time; it helped to strip away their own persona, so
that it was easier for him to mold them to his needs. Annoyed that Holland
wasn't keeping still Simon smacked him hard across the ass, the sudden
stinging pain momentarily freezing him in place. Seizing the opportunity
Simon gripped Holland's hips firmly, holding him in place, he centered
himself for a moment and then thrust forward with all his strength. The
scream which his brutal intrusion elicited made the blood in his veins
flare with the fire of lust. For Simon rape was the ultimate torture, the
ultimate power, where you could force someone to lose their identity and
soul. He could feel Holland's muscles clamping around his penis, trying to
expel the intruder from his body. He was so tight he couldn't help letting
his moans of passion join Holland's screams. Having paused for a moment he
steeled himself and forced himself all the way into the hot body beneath
him. Simon stopped again trying to take in everything, soak up the whole
sensory experience. The feel of Holland's ass clamped tight around him,
hearing his screams, his fingers scrabbling on the wooden surface of the
table in a vain attempt at escape. Looking down at the man under him Simon
could see the bruises his fingers were leaving on his hips, he watched as
beads of cold sweat ran down Holland's back, unable to resist he leaned
forward and licked a trail up his spine. The screaming had ceased for a
moment and Simon could hear Holland's panting breath, panicked on the verge
of hyperventilating. He sniffed the room heavy with the delicious aroma of
fear and sex. He lost himself unable to control his needs anymore and began
thrusting into the unwilling body beneath him. As the horror filled, pain
filled screaming began again Simon increased the speed and force of his
lunges. He knew he wouldn't last long, not this first time. He bent forward
tightening his grip, feeling his finger nails cutting into the skin under
them, between his frantic moves he murmured soothing words of praise,
"Oh yeah baby so good...you're so hot, so tight. Such a good boy for me. I'm
going to take such care of you."
The screams were fading to be replaced with pain filled groans, and as he
listened carefully Simon heard the whispered litany,
"This isn't happening, this isn't real, this isn't happening, this isn't
Repeated over and over like a prayer, the words running together, merging,
Simon felt his movements in Holland's body becoming smoother, easier, he
knew his way was being lubricated well now by Holland's blood. The thought
of this was enough to tip him over the edge, and with an inarticulate cry
he felt himself cumming deep inside the other man. He was his now
completely, Simon owned him now body and soul, the need to mark what was
his overwhelming he leant forward and bit down deeply on Holland's
shoulder, blood welling into his mouth, a familiar taste. Holland cried out
at the sharp pain this caused, sobbing as Simon withdrew from his broken
body. Glancing down Simon smiled at the blood and semen running down the
insides of Holland's thighs. Pleased he leant down and kissed his back,
"There you did so well, you were so good for me, such a good boy." He said.
"L...let me go home...p...please... let me go h...home," Holland sobbed.
Simon laughed softly, "Don't be silly I've already told you you are home
He walked over to his clothes, picking them and the discarded knife up from
the floor. Seeing the blood on his penis he decided he could do with a hot
shower. He began to move away from the softly crying man, turning he told
him, "Don't worry baby I'll be back soon and we can play some more games."
Then he was gone.
* * *
The drive back to The Barn was done on autopilot, Claudette's mind a whirl
of thoughts, ideas and impressions. The crime scene investigators had
arrived at Dutch's house pretty quickly having been given the heads-up by
Aceveda, suddenly people seemed to be everywhere spreading fingerprint dust
on the surfaces, photographing everything, going through all of Dutch's
belongings. Damn, Claudette knew how much Dutch would hate that, he was a
very private person and he would be mortified to think that complete
strangers were tramping through his home, poking and prying into
everything. Of course Claudette knew it was necessary but still it didn't
mean she had to like it. God as if there was anything to like about this
whole situation. As she parked her car and switched off the engine she took
a deep breath, closing her eyes for a moment to steady herself, and get a
hold of her emotions. Claudette knew that to help Dutch now she needed to
keep a clear head, she couldn't allow herself to become distracted from her
job by the worry she felt. As she climbed out of her car and headed into
the precinct she was aware of the Strike Team's SUV pulling into the
carpark behind her. Without pausing she went straight into the ladies room,
she just needed a moment to gather herself. Thankful that no one else was
in there she crossed to the sink, filling it with cold water she splashed
some on her face and after drying off with a paper towel she regarded her
reflection in the mirror. She could swear she'd aged about 10 years since
first thing this morning. Suddenly the bathroom door opened to reveal Vic
Mackey's concerned face, stepping in and shutting the door he said,
"I thought I might find you in here, are you OK?"
"Yeah I just needed a minute, you know?" Claudette replied, still looking
at her reflection.
"I understand, but Aceveda just caught me, he wants us both in his office
right now, the feds are here."
Looking at Mackey in the mirror for the first time Claudette was surprised
by the genuine concern she saw there. Sighing she turned and straightened
"OK lets go." She said.
Vic turned towards the door his hand on the door handle, then pausing he
turned back to her,
"We'll get Dutchboy back you know and catch this sick prick at the same
"Oh damn right we will, damn right." Claudette agreed.
They looked into each others eyes both seeing the fierce determination they
each felt reflected there, and together they went upstairs to Aceveda's
Claudette immediately recognised one of the federal agents seated in the
captain's office, as Jim Ryde who had come at Dutch's request to help
profile Sally's killer. Moving forward she held out her hand, "Special
agent Ryde," She said.
"Detective Wyms, this is my partner Mike Wallace," He said, rising from his
chair, shaking her hand and indicating the man next to him. Claudette nodded
in his direction, and turned and introduced Vic.
Getting down to business Aceveda asked Claudette, "Is there no doubt, it's
the work of The Stalker?"
"No doubt, the MO matches reports that I've seen from the other five crime
scenes. He got into Dutch's house in the middle of the night and abducted
him right out from his bed. There were signs of a struggle in the room, a
broken lamp and glass, and some blood on the bed clothes and wall." Claudette
paused for a moment remembering the scene.
"Anything else?" Aceveda inquired.
"Yeah there were photos on the bed, photos of Dutch. This guys been watching
him for a while, and not just outside either."
At Aceveda's puzzled expression she continued, "There were photos that must
have been taken inside the house, he's got surveillance equipment actually
planted in Dutch's home."
Claudette saw the two agents exchange a look with each other,
"Something tells me your not that surprised to hear that," She observed.
"No were not," Jim admitted. "There were cameras planted in each of the
other victims homes, and their phones were tapped to. I expect when we look
we'll find that Detective Wagenbach's phone is bugged as well."
"Shit," Mackey muttered. "Are you guys any closer to catching this son of a
"Special agents Young and Alvarez are flying in from DC on the next available
flight. They've been working the case from the beginning and hopefully
they'll have some insights into the events here." Agent Wallace told them.
"Great, I'm sure Dutch would be glad to know the cavalry's on the way," Vic
Aceveda glanced sternly at him before turning to the two agents, "What do you
have for us while we wait for them to get here?" He asked them.
"Mike's got the files from the other cases here." Agent Ryde replied, and
as he did so his partner laid five thick files out on Aceveda's desk. He
opened them up and on the top page of each one the faces of five different
men stared up at them.
Five dead men Claudette thought with a shudder, a sudden vision of a sixth
folder open with Dutch's picture on top flashed before her, glancing at
Aceveda and Vic she could tell she wasn't the only one to have that thought
cross their mind. One after another Jim Ryde supplied a name and brief
history to go with each of the faces.
"Officer Peter Harlow, age 27, New York, Caucasian. Abducted 29/5/97, found
shot in the back of the head 5/6/97.
Detective Anthony Jackson, age 37, Chicago, African American. Abducted
13/12/98 found hanged 20/12/98.
Officer James Ozdolek, age 28, Washington DC, Caucasian. Abducted 3/7/99
found with his throat cut 10/7/99.
Officer Stefan Coode, age 34, Hamilton Ohio, Caucasian. Abducted 17/3/00
found suffocated 24/3/00.
Officer Mitchell Lovett, age 23, Miami, African American. Abducted 2/1/01
found stabbed to death 9/1/01.
As far as we can tell they had nothing in common with each other except for
the fact they all lived alone. They were each taken from their homes at
night, held prisoner for seven days while they were tortured and sexually
assaulted and then they were each murdered."
"You're sure the same person is responsible for each case?" Aceveda asked
"Yes quite sure," Agent Ryde assured him. "You see he left his DNA and
finger prints at the scene of each abduction and each murder." He glanced
at his partner for a moment and then looked at Claudette when he told them,
"There's something that has never been released, not even to other law
enforcement agencies, but he films everything he does to the police officers
and sends the tapes to their partner everyday. In each tape he leaves us
clues to decipher which will lead us to the place they're being held, he
treats it as a game to prove how clever he is."
"Jesus," Vic said, "just how sick is this bastard?"
"About as sick as it gets." Ryde answered him grimly. "Young and Alvarez
will call us when their flight gets in, but to get a jump on things I'd
like to make a start by setting up an incident room where we can collate
all the evidence as it comes in. Then I'd like to go out to the scene and
take a look for myself and find out how the CSI work is getting along."
"Of course, you'll have everything that you need just ask." Aceveda told
the agents. "If you come this way we'll begin to sort out the logistics."
As he led them out of the room Vic turned to Claudette, "We'll figure this
out and get him back," he said trying to sound as confident as he could.
"I bet that's what the fellow officers, friends of the other five men
thought too. God we're going to have to watch tapes of this pervert hurting
Dutch knowing all the time we're running out of time to find him. It's a
nightmare," Claudette's voice quivered with pent up emotion as she spoke.
"I know it's going to be hard but we're united in this OK, we can do this
together. Come on lets get to work." Vic said.
Quickly wiping her eyes Claudette nodded, "You're right let's go."
As they moved out of Aceveda's office she glanced at the clock on the wall
it said 10:17 am, it was going to be a long day, a long seven days she
corrected herself sadly.
* * *
Simon felt so much better after his shower; he walked over to his monitor
just to make sure that Holland was all right. Rubbing his hair dry with a
towel he smiled when he saw Holland's abused form on the screen. Now he had
promised Holland that he would look after him so this was the time to do
just that. He quickly fetched a bowl of hot water, a clean towel and some
antiseptic cream that also contained an analgesic. Simon was always careful
to take care of his playthings, he had made a mistake with Peter and hadn't
kept his little wounds and tears clean enough and he'd gotten sick with an
infection. It had meant that by the end of their time together he had been
sickly and not nearly as much fun for Simon as he should have been. He
wouldn't make that mistake again, and especially not with Holland, no Simon
wanted him in tiptop condition for as long as possible. Humming to himself
Simon went into the room where Holland was held prisoner.
When he heard the door opening Holland began to pull at his bonds and
little whimpering noises of distress began to escape from his mouth.
"Now, now no need to be silly I'm just here to make you more comfortable,
to look after you. If you're a good boy I might even take that blindfold
off. Would you like that hmm?" Simon said as he walked towards his captive.
When he reached Holland he placed the bowl of water, towel and cream on the
floor; he couldn't resist running his hand over one taut flank. The
reaction was immediate and not at all what he expected.
"Don't touch me you fucking pervert, don't you dare touch me!" The bound
man before him screamed. "I'm going to fucking kill you, I'm going to take
my gun and blow your fucking brains out you piece of shit!" All the while
he pulled and squirmed try to get free from the rope which secured him to
the table, his hysteria building by the second, desperate for escape.
Simon felt his anger flare inside of him white hot and vicious, here he was
coming to help Holland and this was all the thanks he got, to have it
thrown back in his face, to have that language screamed at him. Holland had
to be severely punished, he had to learn to curb that temper of his, and he
had to learn to be grateful when Simon decided to show him kindness. His
hands shaking in temper Simon quickly undid his leather belt pulling it
from it's loops, and clutching the buckle in his right hand he got ready to
apply some much needed discipline.
"Silence!" Simon shouted. "How dare you speak to me like that, after all
the time and trouble I've spent on you. I chose you, you're special and
this is how you behave. You've got to learn your place now, your old life
is over this is you're new life, here with me, pleasing me, doing what
you're told, obeying me. I can see you need to be corrected, well so be
"No! Let me go, you've got to let me go, I can't..." The rest of Holland's
words were cut off in a yelp of pain as Simon brought his belt down across
his buttocks. Simon allowed his anger to take him completely, his belt
cutting through the air and connecting with the flesh before him over and
over again. He lost track of time passing giving himself up totally to
purging himself of the white heat that burned inside his head. Simon wasn't
sure how many times he'd struck Holland but when the blinding rage finally
eased he could see the results of his actions, and he thrilled at the
sight. Holland's back, shoulders, buttocks and upper thighs were criss
crossed with angry red welts, some of which oozed blood. The muscles in
Holland's back twitched involuntarily under the evidence of the abuse his
body had suffered. He was gasping in lungfuls of air; every breath out
accompanied by a moan of pain. Simon couldn't resist the beauty he saw
before him, he quickly freed himself from his trousers and stepped up to
Holland resting his erection at the opening to Holland's body which still
trickled a little fresh blood due to Simon's earlier attentions. He glanced
down as he gripped Holland's hips, pulling him back towards himself and up
a fraction to make Simon's lunges even deeper than before when the moment
came, and he smiled pleased to see his fingertips fitting perfectly into
the bruises that he'd left there before. Holding still for one moment
longer he whispered,
"You know it's for your own good don't you, naughty boys have to be
With that he plunged into the warm body he craved. His groan of passion
overlapped his victim's groan of hurt and anguish. Each lunge of Simon's
body into Holland was accompanied by that same haunting sound. With no
strength left to call upon to struggle or fight he lay under Simon
passively being taken, his body being driven mercilessly into the hard,
cold, wooden surface beneath him. With a cry of perverted pleasure Simon
climaxed, his hands grasping reflexively onto Holland's hips his nails
cutting 10 new half moons into the bruises. Pulling his flaccid penis from
Holland's body Simon briskly rearranged his clothing and then observed the
other man. With a smile of satisfaction he pulled his knife from the sheath
in his pocket and cut the ropes holding Holland's legs in place, and then
freed his wrists from the rope cutting into them. He quickly stepped back
out of the way as Holland slid from the table onto the floor, where he lay
unmoving. Simon gathered up his cleaning implements that would have to wait
until tomorrow he thought to himself, and turning towards the door he left
the room humming happily. He left his chosen one lying motionless, torn and
bleeding in a growing pool of semen, blood and despair.
* * *
The past six hours had moved along at a frantic pace. The whole precinct
was a buzz with activity, officers had come in on their day off or were
working overtime, anything to try and help. Claudette, Aceveda, Vic and
Special Agents Ryde and Wallace were in the newly appointed incident room
poring over the initial forensic reports from Dutch's house. When Ryde and
Wallace had gone there to take a look at the crime scene they had managed
to hurry the forensics along by offering the FBI's laboratory facilities.
So far it didn't look particularly optimistic. The blood on the bedding and
wall was Dutch's blood group, as was the blood on the broken glass which
indicated it got there during a struggle, this was confirmed by an analysis
of the spatter pattern of the blood drops. The bloody handprint was also
Dutch's as the fingerprints it left were confirmed as his. Most of the
fingerprints in the bedroom were Dutch's; the only exceptions didn't show
up on the computer record searches carried out so far, although they did
match prints from the other crime scenes. The semen sample the perpetrator
had left also matched that of the other samples they'd gathered from the
other officer's homes and also from their bodies. Of course it was too
early for a DNA match, that would take weeks; but it had been discovered
that the perpetrator was a secretor of blood group A and this was the same
as the sample found at Dutch's house, and as Dutch's blood group was AB
that discounted him. As they'd suspected surveillance cameras were found in
Dutch's home, they had been minute but apparently top of the line
equipment, hidden in light fixtures and in the couple of fire alarms in the
house. Basically every room was covered and the phone had also been tapped,
Claudette had shuddered at the thought of Dutch's every move being watched
and for God knows how long. It was this surveillance equipment which
actually provided their only viable lead, house to house inquiries having
failed to come up with any witnesses. The tech guys who'd looked at it
confirmed it only had a 1/2 mile range tops so that meant the perpetrator
probably had a place within a 1/2 mile radius of Dutch's house. Somewhere
he'd rented perhaps, a house or lock up, somewhere he might have relaxed
enough to of made a mistake, left a clue. There were officers out now
questioning landlords, estate agents and letting agencies.
At least the forensic reports made slightly easier reading then the files
of the previous five cases. There had been rumours, gossip on the police
grapevine about what had happened to the officers who were victims of The
Stalker, but none of that could of prepared them for the graphic details
and crime scene photos contained within those files. As she had read
through the files Claudette felt ill, and if the faces of Vic and Aceveda
were a reflection of hers she knew she must look pretty sickly too. Vic
dropped the file he'd been reading onto the table top in disgust, looking
up at the FBI agents he asked, "What are you guys at Wilshire Boulevard
doing. Don't you have anything on this guy, I mean you must have something
right, some kind of clue as to who your dealing with?"
Before either of the agents could answer a voice from the door spoke,
"Actually we think we do know who were dealing with, his name's Simon
Standing in the doorway were two men both in their forties, in dark suits
that just screamed feds. They stepped into the room and introduced
"Special Agent Toby Young, and this is my partner Frank Alvarez. We from
the Washington office."
After introductions were returned Claudette impatiently turned to them and
asked, "What about this suspect Collins, what makes you think he's the one
who's got my partner, and how is that going to get him back?"
It was Alvarez who pulled a new file from the briefcase he was carrying, he
opened it on the tabletop and there was a photo of the prime suspect on
top. Claudette moved forward to get a good look at the man, the animal, who
could be responsible for Dutch's disappearance. The face that stared up at
her made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end, a shiver shot down
her spine. It was a cold face, cruel. He was in his mid forties and
although it was only a head and shoulders shot you could see that this man
was strong, powerfully built. He was smiling in the photo but there was no
warmth to it, it never reached his eyes that were a cold, watery blue in
colour, washed out and lifeless. The smile, the curving of those thin,
bloodless lips was more of a sneer than anything else was. God, Claudette
hated to think that her partner could be with this man, at his mercy.
"Simon Patrick Collins, 44, born in Hamilton, Ohio, current whereabouts
unknown." Alvarez told them.
"Hamilton, Ohio isn't that where one of the victims was from?" Mackey
"Exactly," Alvarez confirmed, smiling grimly. "That's what led us to him.
The fact that all of the victims came from big cities except for officer
Coode, it was an anomaly from his pattern and serial predators usually
don't deviate from their routine unless there's a significant reason for
doing so. We went to Hamilton and dug a little deeper, for someone with a
grudge against the police, someone with money too, the surveillance
equipment he uses is top quality equipment, expensive. Collins' name came
up, and when we questioned some of the officers who remembered him and read
the newspaper reports on his case he definitely fitted the profile."
"Why, what's his grudge and how does Dutchboy fit into his warped little
world view?" Mackey asked.
Alvarez looked at them all and then continued his explanation,
"Collins was convicted in 1986, along with another guy Phillip Newman, of
the abduction, rape and murder of a 19 year old kid Geoff Massara. There
was no doubt of Newman's involvement the forensic evidence was overwhelming,
but Collins was another matter. He'd been more careful, there were no fibre
traces left by him; no fingerprints and he'd used a condom so no semen sample
either. However, he made one mistake, his car, hairs from Geoff were found
in the trunk and then Newman gave a statement implicating Collins, they were
both given life with no chance of parole. Ten years later all that changed.
One of the detectives who'd been involved in the case was caught manipulating
evidence in a case he working."
"You mean he planted evidence to secure a conviction." Aceveda interjected.
"Basically yeah, anyway at the same time Collins' accomplice Newman
suddenly changes his statement, he says that this same detective coerced
him into implicating Collins, that Collins was innocent he'd never had
anything to do with the kid's murder."
"What did the corrupt detective have to say?" Claudette asked.
"Not a lot," Young spoke up for the first time. "Seems he didn't fancy
spending time in the company of men he'd put away in the state penitentiary,
he ate his gun."
Alvarez nodded and then took up the story again, "Collins had always
maintained that the hair evidence had been planted and with what had happened
it gave credence to his claims, and of course Newman's evidence cliched
things. An appeal was quickly launched and the state was eager to make the
whole thing go away as soon as possible, he was pardoned and got $10 million
as compensation and basically to go away and not talk to the press."
"Why would Newman change his statement though to get Collins released?"
Claudette wanted to know.
"It seems Newman had been diagnosed with lung cancer, it was terminal and
he made the new statement under the guise of a death bed confession to
clear his conscience before he met his maker. However, upon his release
Collins paid for Newman's mother to be moved out of the state run nursing
home she was in and into a luxury, very expensive place."
"So you think Newman and Collins made a bargain?" Vic asked.
"Yeah, but it wasn't one Collins intended to keep. Newman died three months
later and Collins disappeared as did the money paying for Mrs. Newman's
care." Alvarez explained.
"But if he's been in the system then surely there's a record of his
fingerprints, his DNA on file somewhere?" Mackey wanted to know.
Alvarez sighed, "You'd think so, but it seems that another part of the deal
not to embarrass anyone at election time was that Collins would fade away
as long as his fingerprints were removed from the computer files. I've been
all through those files and whoever removed them did a damn good job,
there's nothing left, even the forensic samples taken at the time of the
trial were all destroyed."
"Shit!" Vic voiced the frustration they all felt. Turning to the FBI agents
he asked, "But why Dutchboy, why would Collins pick him?"
"To be honest there's no real answer to that question other than bad luck,
for some reason only Collins knows he was just unfortunate enough to catch
his eye." Turning to Claudette Alvarez saw the anguish there, the same
anguish he and Toby had seen on the faces of the other police officers
partners, "I'm sorry." He said quietly to her, hating the fact that he knew
how much worse this was going to get for her when the first tape arrived,
as he knew it would before the night was over.
The tape arrived roughly five hours later; a courier delivering it,
confused to find himself hustled off for questioning. Although Alvarez and
Young both knew from past experience that it would have been collected from
either an untraceable third party, or a left luggage locker always
something that they wouldn't be able to track back to Collins. A forensic
team quickly inspected it, but they found nothing but the obligatory set of
fingerprints. Then came the moment they both dreaded as they sat in the
darkened room and prepared to come face to face with evil. Also in the room
were Special agents Ryde and Wallace, Captain Aceveda, Vic Mackey and of
course Claudette. Before switching on the tape Agent Young turned to
everyone and spoke,
"This is going to be hard, especially for those of you who know Detective
Wagenbach, but we have to watch this all the way through because somewhere
in here will be a clue to his whereabouts. I know you've been briefed about
the little game this monster likes to play with us, but remember what he
doesn't know is that were onto him this time. Ready?" He asked.
At the hesitant nods he received he reached over steeling himself, briefly
catching his partners eye before pressing the play button and supplying
everyone in the room with the stuff of their nightmares for years to come.
* * *
Simon couldn't resist indulging himself; he settled back and flicked the
video on, just one last watch before he dispatched it to Claudette,
Holland's partner. He smiled hoping she would enjoy this one as much as the
first tape he'd sent, as much as he'd enjoyed making them. He watched the
screen come to life reveling in the events he saw unfolding there, his
memories supplying the sensations to accompany the images.
When he'd seen that Holland had cried himself to sleep he had entered the
room as stealthily as possible. Although he didn't mind the thought of a
struggle, confident that he was stronger than Holland, he knew that Holland
wasn't weakened enough yet and desperation could add strength that might
surprise him. With the syringe ready in his hand he'd not disturbed the
sleeping man and had been on him, pressing him down, injecting the morphine
into his arm before Holland had even properly woken up. The reaction had
been immediate, the fear of the unknown showing in Holland's eyes when he
realised what had just happened, Simon had spoken to reassure him,
"It's alright its just a little morphine, just a little something to make
you relax. We don't want you acting up like you did yesterday do we hmm,
making me lose my temper?"
Looking into Holland's eyes as he'd lain beneath him he watched as his
pupils had dilated and his body had relaxed, the drug taking hold. Simon
ran his hand down over Holland's body, no reaction, no flinching, no
trembling just acceptance, perfect. Simon wrinkled his nose Holland had
become a little ripe, stale sweat mingled with stale semen and dried blood;
he definitely needed a wash. He'd moved Holland to the bed that sat over in
the far corner of the room, it was an old iron bedstead covered with a thin
mattress, the bedstead perfect for securing reluctant participants, not
that Simon anticipated any reluctance on Holland's part today, he'd see to
that. However, Simon enjoyed tying his partners down he found it erotic,
the domination and power it represented stimulating, so he'd carefully
bound Holland's arms above his head making sure he was held firmly. Then
he'd gone to fetch the washing implements he'd tried to use yesterday.
Simon took his time running the wash cloth over Holland's body, the scent
of the citrus soap filling the room, smiling he noticed that Holland had
actually closed his eyes and appeared to be asleep. Rolling him carefully
onto his side Simon had cleaned the broken welts on Holland's back from the
beating he'd received the day before, remembering that infection was a
possibility Simon had carefully rubbed antiseptic cream into the deepest
cuts. Once Holland had been lying on his back again Simon had pushed his
legs apart, coating a finger thoroughly in cream Simon had inserted it
gently inside Holland's body. He watched his face for a reaction but the
drug in his bloodstream had too deep a hold on Holland and he didn't stir.
Simon could feel the tears he'd inflicted, the bruised tissues swollen from
the abuse they'd suffered, he licked his lips in anticipation the swelling
would mean Holland was even tighter than before, he could hardly wait to
experience that velvety heat again. However, this was Holland's time Simon
reminded himself, it was time for Holland to be shown his true self, time
he recognised what he was, a whore. Simon had recognised it in him, just as
he had with all the others, as soon as he'd seen him. Simon had been
searching for a new quarry, deciding to try the West Coast he'd traveled to
Los Angeles and studying a street map of the city had decided on Farmington
at random. He'd spent two days watching the precinct house, The Barn they
called it, when he'd seen him. Walking out with Claudette they had been
talking animatedly about something and she'd said something which had made
them both laugh, Simon had had his camera in his hand taking photographs
knowing that this was the one. It was in the way he held himself, the way
he looked, the way he moved, Simon had known he would respond to his love,
he would blossom under him and be able to release his inner self, his
sensual side just for Simon. Simon enjoyed showing his chosen companions
all that they were capable of, all that their bodies could endure. He
quickly cleared away the washing things and undressed.
Lying next to Holland he had gently taken his flaccid penis into his hand
and had begun to tease it to hardness. Slowly it began to swell under his
touch; Holland began to make small sounds of excitement, pushing himself
into Simon's hand, craving more contact. Simon had gazed at Holland's face
his eyes were slightly glazed, staring into the distance, his skin flushed
pink with arousal, lips parted while he made little breathy pants and
moans. The sight enchanted Simon and he'd leaned down and taken Holland's
erection into his mouth, using all his skills to stimulate him even
further. Holland's hips began to arch up from the bed, thrusting himself as
deeply into Simon's mouth as he could, his moans and pants becoming more
frantic, more urgent. When he'd tasted the salty bitterness of Holland's
pre-cum Simon had known that Holland would climax without much more
stimulation, and it was too early for that so he'd decided to slow things
down a little. Releasing Holland's penis from his mouth he'd licked his way
up the lean body laid out before him, laughing at Holland's moan of protest
at the loss of his mouth on his erection. Simon rubbed his body against
Holland's enjoying the stimulating friction of warm flesh on warm flesh.
Simon's own erection leaked pre-cum onto Holland's stomach as he thrust
himself against it, leaving glittering trails to mark the skin there. Simon
had licked his way across Holland's chest, from one nipple to the other,
teasing first one hardened nub of flesh and then the other. Holland had
been writhing under him, driven higher and higher by Simon's touch, by his
tongue. Simon had licked that gloriously pale graceful throat, pausing to
suck and bite, marking what he possessed. His tongue had flicked out over
Holland's ear eliciting groans of desire from the lost man beneath him.
Simon had whispered soft words of encouragement to him, "I knew you'd enjoy
it when you let yourself go, that's it just relax. Mmnn you like that don't
you, oh yeah you want it, you want me don't you hmm, you want me inside you.
Mmnn oh good boy that's it, that feels so good."
Simon paused slightly when he felt a subtle change in Holland, he was
beginning to stiffen up under him, tension beginning to permeate his body,
the morphine was beginning to wear off, damn Simon knew he should of given
him a higher dose. Holland was trying to pull his hands free, trying weakly
to pull himself away from Simon's touch, "No...n...no...stop." Simon heard
Simon wasn't going to lose him now, he stroked his hand down Holland's body
encircling his erection, it was flagging a little as Holland's distress
began to slowly escalate. However, several firm, expert stokes from Simon's
hand and he felt Holland's resistance waning, the pleasurable sensations
Simon was supplying to his overloaded nervous system were proving too
strong to resist. Two strong thrusts into Simon's hand and Holland arched
off the mattress crying out as he came hard into Simon's hand.
Simon had waited for the panting man on the bed to come down from his
post-orgasmic high. Holland had slowly opened his eyes; confused he'd
frowned into Simon's face. Leaning close Simon had whispered the truth into
Holland's ear, "I knew you wanted it, wanted me, you came like the slut you
As Holland's eyes had opened wide in horror, as he realised what he'd done,
Simon had delivered the final blow as he'd wiped the now cool cum which
coated his hand over Holland's shocked face. Looking into Holland's eyes as
he had Simon had been able to watch as the light in them dimmed, and he'd
retreated into himself in a confusion of shame, humiliation and
Simon felt the thrill of power as he knew his manipulation of the man
beside him had been successful, the knowledge that he was slowly chipping
away at the person Holland thought he was, replacing him with the person
Simon wanted him to be, intoxicated Simon. Quickly he'd knelt between
Holland legs, spreading them, positioning them as he'd swiftly entered the
unresisting body. As he'd fucked him Simon had been able to stare into
Holland's desolate face, knowing that he had put that expression into those
vulnerable eyes. He'd quickened his thrusts as he felt his orgasm
approaching; he'd pressed his face against Holland's shoulder grunting out
his pleasure as he'd cum.
When he'd pulled his penis from Holland's body he'd looked down at his
face. Holland's eyes were squeezed shut, his face wet with silent tears.
Reaching into his trouser pocket as he picked them up Simon felt the extra
syringe he'd placed in there, he wanted Holland well rested for tomorrow so
he'd pressed it into his arm and released a further dose of morphine into
his system. He watched Holland's face and body relax as the drug took hold
and then he'd left the room to prepare the tape.
* * *
Claudette rubbed her hands over her tired face, she felt as though she
hadn't slept for a month instead of two days. Aceveda had sent her home
after they had watched that first tape last night but sleep had been out of
the question after what she'd seen, instead she'd freshened up and changed
her clothes returning to The Barn after a couple of hours. Aceveda had
frowned at her, but had had the good sense not to say anything, after all
he'd been in that darkened room and had sat watching those obscene images,
he knew what was at stake, that she couldn't afford the time to sleep not
when Dutch was still in the hands of that creature. Now she sat waiting for
forensics to clear the second tape for them to watch, God her stomach
lurched at the thought of it. Claudette blew out her breath and leaned back
in her chair, memories from the first tape coming unbidden into her mind,
just as they had since she'd seen it, every now and then some horrible
image from it would pop into her head without warning.
Agent Young had warned them that the tape was going to be hard to watch,
and of course she'd known what was going to be on it, she wasn't naïve and
the files from the other victims had spelled it out in graphic detail.
However, sitting and watching it, listening to it, had been one of the
hardest things she'd ever done. When it had started the words "Day One" had
appeared on the screen, and then it had cut to Dutch hanging unmoving, his
arms tied above his head, his ankles tied to metal rings set into the
floor, he appeared to be unconscious. Then he'd began to come around slowly
stirring, moaning softly he'd lifted his head, which had been resting on
his chest, and it became clear he'd been blindfolded. He' d appeared to be
groggy, which tied into the forensic report which had identified the
contents of the small bottle on Dutch's bedroom floor as chloroform, and
he'd struggled to get his feet under him. As he'd become more aware of his
situation Dutch had begun to pull on the ropes which tied him, his
breathing becoming more and more frantic. Then a sound off camera someone
else was in the room, from his reaction it was obvious that Dutch realised
this to. He'd tried to talk to his kidnapper, but the bastard had not said
a word. Claudette had been able to see Dutch trying to calm himself, she
knew her partner, knew that he'd be trying to think his way out of this
situation. Then Collins had walked into shot, walked right up to Dutch and
touched him, Dutch had started back as if burnt and Claudette had wanted to
grab that bastard and throw him across the room, anything to get him away
from her partner. However, Collins hadn't stopped there, he had let his
hand roam all over Dutch's body while Dutch's distress had escalated. When
he'd slipped his hand down the front of Dutch's shorts Claudette had felt
her stomach roll, but she swallowed her nausea down this had to be done,
endured and as bad as this was she knew it was rapidly beginning to get
worse. It had been so difficult listening to the fear in Dutch's voice as
he'd asked that monster to stop. When Collins had produced a knife
Claudette had felt the fear for Dutch within her blaze. As he'd cut Dutch's
clothes away Claudette had had to look away, she had to wrestle with the
overwhelming feeling that to look would be an invasion of Dutch's privacy,
she knew it was ridiculous but she also knew how mortified Dutch would be
at the thought of her seeing him like this. When the screen had gone blank
she released the breath she hadn't even been aware she'd been holding. She
wasn't the only one she could hear Vic and Aceveda both stirring in their
seats, assuming like her that that was it. However, to her horror the
screen flickered to life again and she'd forced herself to watch the rest.
When Collins had tied Dutch down over the table she'd known this was it. Up
until then Claudette had held onto the hope that they would be able to
spare Dutch this, that somehow through some miracle, they would find him
before Collins had touched him sexually. She'd glanced sideways at Vic when
she heard him mutter,
"Oh shit no!"
He sensed the movement and turned towards her his eyes full of regret and
sympathy. The sound of Dutch's sobs drew her attention back to the screen,
as she watched Collins touching him, violating him, telling him that he
loved him ignoring Dutch's cries she felt hate like she'd never felt for
another human being before. When Dutch had screamed as that sick pervert
had raped him Claudette had wished she could be in that room with a gun in
her hand and blow that bastard away. As she'd listened to Dutch's trembling
voice whispering over and over again, "This isn't happening, this isn't
Claudette had felt her heart breaking.
The second rape was as horrific as the first, the beating that proceeded it
had been brutal Claudette had felt herself flinch in her seat as the sound
of each blow from that belt had reverberated as loudly as a gunshot around
the room. It had seemed as if Collins was never going to stop the welts
covering Dutch's body from his shoulders to his knees, red and angry some
bleeding. When he'd finished the beating it was obvious that inflicting
pain on Dutch had just excited the sick bastard, and he'd wasted no time
brutalizing him again. Dutch hadn't moved except in a passive sense when
his body had been driven by Collins' thrusts, even the small grunts he made
with each lunge seemed to be involuntary, this lack of response worried
Claudette. The physical damage being inflicted on her partner was glaringly
obvious for anyone to see, what wasn't so obvious was the psychological
damage. As she'd once told Dutch and Aceveda her first few years on the
force had been spent getting statements from rape victims, and she'd seen
the devastation these atrocities had on their victims first hand. She
couldn't bear to think of all this being visited on her partner, her
friend. When he'd satisfied himself Collins had cut Dutch free from the
table and he'd slid unresisting to the floor, before the picture had faded
to black they saw him curling up as tightly as he could, and had heard his
Suddenly a picture of the full moon filled the screen and then another
picture of a tool of some kind. These had been the clues that the FBI
agents had been talking about, but right then Claudette had just needed to
escape that room. It had felt as if the walls were closing in on her and it
was hot, stuffy. She quickly rose to her feet,
"Excuse me," She'd managed to mumble before moving towards the door, trying
her best not to just push everyone out of her way in her need to escape.
Suddenly cooler air hit her face as she passed through the door and made a
beeline for the restroom. She'd only just made it to a stall as she gave
into the nausea that consumed her.
A familiar voice startled her out of her remembrances, "How are you holding
Looking up she saw Vic Mackey.
"I'll survive," she replied with a grimace. She stood up and stretched. She
studied Vic for a moment; he looked as tired as she felt. Of course she had
known that for a fellow officer Vic would do his best, they were all a
family in a way, and while you might not necessarily get on with your
family members when any of them needed help you were there. However, what
had surprised her was the support he had been offering her in his own quiet
way, they had had their differences but she would always appreciate how he
had been there for her now.
"So any thoughts about these so called clues," She asked him.
"It's all a load of bullshit, sitting here playing his warped games. We
should be out on the streets tracking this prick down not trying to figure
out what the moon has to do with a wood plane for Christ's sake." Was his
Claudette could understand his frustration; she shared it wanting to be
actively doing something to find Dutch, but they had few leads so far. At
least they'd found the house where this pervert had been holed up; a
letting agent had recognised Collins' picture, as had several of his
neighbours. He'd rented the house five months ago, always paid his rent on
time and kept to himself. Forensics were tearing the place apart, hoping to
find the elusive clue which could led to a break through, the clue they
needed to pin point Dutch's location. The first tape had served to confirm
Collins as Dutch's abductor his face plainly visible on it. This had
surprised Young and Alvarez because he had always worn a mask in the tapes
of his other victims. Either he no longer cared to keep his identity a
secret or he knew they were on to him.
"Yeah well right now we don't have a lot of choice do we?" Claudette said.
"I know, I know but its just watching that damn tape and knowing that
animal's still got Dutchboy, it's just..." Vic's voice petered out.
"Believe me I understand." Claudette assured him, briefly laying her hand
on his arm.
She felt him stiffen as his gaze locked onto something over her shoulder,
turning Claudette saw Agent Young approaching with the second tape in his
"Forensics have cleared this one, and the labs are still analysing the
contents of the first tape. If you're ready we can look at this one now."
"Let's get it over with," Claudette murmured, wishing she could be anywhere
else right now rather than approaching that damned room.
Alvarez, Aceveda, Wallace and Jim Ryde were already seated, their faces
tense. Without further ado Agent Young put the tape into the video and
pressed play. The words "Day Two" appeared followed by the room from the
first tape. It was brick built and looked old with stone walls and floor.
The only furniture were the heavy wooden table they had seen yesterday and
a metal framed bed they had caught a glimpse of as the camera perspective
had been changed when Dutch had been forced over to the table. Light was
streaming in from windows set high in the wall, no discernable view outside
visible. Dutch was still curled up on the floor on his side, his knees up
to his chest and his arms wrapped around himself, no doubt trying to keep
warm as it had been cool last night. A figure moved into the shot moving
stealthily, trying not to awaken the sleeping man. With a speed, which
belied his heavy build, Collins was on top of Dutch pinning him down on the
floor before he could move. Claudette felt her insides turn to ice as she
recognised what he had in his hand, a syringe. What twisted game was he
going to play now, what was in that syringe, Claudette felt her fingers
digging into the arms of her chair, tension building within her. Dutch
cried out in shock, pain and fear as the contents of the syringe were
emptied into his bloodstream. Collins was speaking to him, and they could
here the word "morphine" mentioned, which wasn't good but it could have
been a lot worse Claudette knew. Dutch had gone limp as the drug had raced
through his veins and Collins had bent down, grunting with effort as he
picked an unresisting Dutch up from the cold floor and moved him over to
the bed. After securing his arms above his head with rope to the metal bars
at the head of the bed, Collins proceeded to wash Dutch his hands lingering
over his body, making Claudette's trigger finger itch. When Collins
inserted his finger into Dutch's rectum the smile on his face made everyone
in the room want to retch, they were only glad that at least Dutch seemed
to be totally oblivious to it all in a drugged stupor. Watching Collins
undress Claudette tried to steel herself for what ever was going to happen
next, somehow raping an unconscious man didn't seem to be the sort of thing
that would provide him with enough sick enjoyment. It quickly became
evident that she was right when he began to touch Dutch, caress him,
manipulating him into responding when he was completely vulnerable, unable
to control his responses because of the morphine clouding his mind. When
Dutch had tried to break away, when he had tried to ask Collins to stop,
he'd simply doubled his efforts bringing Dutch to completion against his
The poisonous words Collins spoke calling Dutch a slut, implying he'd
somehow been compliant in this outrage had infuriated Claudette, but it was
his next action which made tears well up in her eyes. He callously wiped
Dutch's own cum over his face and it was plain that he loved doing it, he
rejoiced in his cruelty. Dutch was completely frozen, hardly even breathing
his face awash with emotions, guilt, despair, horror, and revulsion. Of
course Collins wasn't finished there, no he moved between Dutch's legs and
proceeded to rape the unresponsive man, while Dutch closed his eyes and
silent tears poured down his face.
After he'd finished Collins had injected Dutch again and left him. The next
thing to appear on the screen was a glass full of half melted ice cubes,
Claudette supposed it to be the next cryptic clue, but at that moment her
mind was so full of horror at what she had just witnessed she couldn't
focus on that now.
"Fuck, that sick prick needs to die," Mackey muttered between clenched
teeth, his entire body seething with anger.
"I'm sorry I know this is really difficult, but we need to get this tape to
the lab for in-depth analysis, and then we need to sit down and try and
piece together something from these clues." Alvarez said.
While everyone moved around her Claudette tried to steady herself, she knew
that Aceveda was looking at her with concern, "Waiting for me to crack up,"
Claudette though bitterly. Then she chided herself that was unfair the
Captain was just worried about Dutch too. The FBI agents had all filed out
of the room leaving the three of them alone for the moment. Without looking
up Claudette vocalized a major concern they all shared, "Jesus, when we do
get him back, just what state is his mind going to be in?"
"We'll all be here for him Claudette," Aceveda assured her, "The department
has its own team for dealing with psychological trauma you know that. He'll
get the best help there is, I promise."
"First we have to find him, and the sooner the better." Vic said
"Well then lets get started with this clue trail, and check in with
forensics at that house Collins rented." Claudette said as she moved
towards the door determined to move heaven and earth to get Dutch back safe
where he belonged.
* * *
Dutch had finally finished being sick, or to be more accurate dry urging
since he had nothing left in his stomach to bring up, he hadn't eaten in
two days and had had nothing to drink either. His throat felt sore and dry
and the headache, which was flaring behind his eyes, seemed to be building
in intensity. The morphine, which had been in his system, was definitely
dissipating, he was becoming more aware of the different areas of pain on
his body. His wrists were rubbed raw from the constant chaffing caused when
he struggled to get free, and his back was one huge source of discomfort,
he'd managed to turn onto his side and stay there in an effort to relieve
the pressure on the welts. Of course there was one other source of pain
that he tried his best to ignore, the constant throbbing in his backside
and lower abdomen. He wouldn't think about that and he pulled on the ropes
securing his wrists to the bed, the intense pain caused to his abused flesh
by the rough hemp of the rope sublimating all the other pains in his body,
taking his mind away from their source. God, how long had he been here he
wondered, at least two days, but the time he'd lost while drugged confused
him. This could be day three or even day four depending on how much
morphine he'd been given and how long he'd been unconscious. He didn't want
to contemplate the thought that this was still day two, he didn't want to
think about the events that had taken place on that day. Dutch felt the
familiar feelings of guilt and shame and bit his lip to stop the tears that
had welled in his eyes from falling. Taking a deep, steadying breath he
tried to think logically about his situation. He was pretty sure he knew
who'd abducted him, it had to be The Stalker the MO was a perfect fit and
he'd been keeping up with the cases as best as he could, funny he'd never
considered that he might end up being a case study himself one day. No, he
couldn't think like that no matter what he couldn't give up. Dutch knew
that Claudette would stop at nothing to find him, and he had often thought
while he'd watched her work that he wouldn't like to be on the receiving
end of that determination, intellect and insight if he was a criminal.
She'd find him, rescue him he just had to hold on and keep faith.
He felt his heart start in his chest when the door to the room opened and
the monster who'd kidnapped him came in. Dutch got his first proper, drug
free, look at him and felt himself shrink away from him as far as his bonds
would allow. He was in his forties Dutch guessed, tall and muscular, but it
was his face which made fear coil in Dutch's gut, it was cold, cruel Dutch
knew that this man didn't know the meaning of the word mercy. It sounded
cliched but Dutch felt he was staring into the face of evil.
"Good your awake at last, time to clean you up a bit, and perhaps a shave
hmm?" The man said with a smile.
"You won't get away with this you know. You can't kidnap a police officer
and get away with it, the whole force is going to be looking for me, the
FBI too." Dutch knew this was useless, but felt he had to try and reason
with this animal.
"Now, now don't be silly, I know your not stupid Holland so why are you
acting as if you don't know who I am. You know perfectly well that the
police aren't going to catch me, they haven't yet, so what makes you think
you're colleagues are going to fare any better than those in the past." He
spoke to Dutch as if he was explaining the obvious to a rather slow child.
Dutch had tried to not start when the man had called him by his given name,
the last person to do that had been Lucy, his ex-wife. Then again he
remembered from the cases he'd studied that this predator liked to observe
his victims for months before he took them, Dutch shuddered at the thought
of this person watching him without his knowledge.
"You know my name, what's yours?" Dutch asked, maybe if he could set up a
dialogue he could buy himself some time, if not in the long run at least it
might put off being touched for a little while, as he saw the bowl and
towel the man was carrying.
"Of course, I'm Simon and you belong to me now." Simon said as if it were
the most natural thing in the world. Moving forward he placed the bowl of
clean water on the floor and began to soap the wash cloth that was in
Dutch was frantic he couldn't bear the thought of Simon's hands on him, he
had to keep him talking.
"Wait, look you've got no right to do this, you've got no right to hold me
against my will. I don't want to be here, I want to go home. I'm a human
being and you can't treat me this way!" Dutch could hear his voice rising
in pitch as his fear began to surge through him.
The stinging slap across his face stunned him and he immediately felt blood
in his mouth where his teeth had sliced into his lip from the blow. Dutch
looked up to see Simon, his face seething with anger standing over him.
"You belong to me now, you have no rights except those I allow you and
you'd better learn that quickly boy, or else you're going to find yourself
in a whole world of pain." Simon punctuated this threat with another
stinging slap which left Dutch's ears ringing from the power of the blow.
As suddenly as the rage appeared it seemed to disappear and Simon retrieved
the wash cloth and used it to wipe over Dutch's sore face. As he moved the
cloth downwards the paralysis caused by the shock of the assault left
Dutch's body and he tried to move away from Simon's touch.
"Please don't...don't touch me," He whimpered, the feeling of those hands on
his body sending his mind into a turmoil of terror.
Simon's touch became rough as he grabbed Dutch's arm making him cry out in
"I'm starting to think I over-estimated your intelligence boy," Simon
hissed. "Now lie still and keep quiet." Simon emphasised his point by
pulling Dutch's arm forward so it placed a strain on the ropes tied around
his wrists, the pain was excruciating not only on his torn wrists, but also
on the joints which were being pulled apart. With tears in his eyes Dutch
nodded his acquiescence to his torturer. Simon released Dutch's arm and
continued to clean his body, Dutch closed his eyes and tried to will
himself away in his mind, but that poisonous touch was insidious and
wouldn't allow him escape.
"Good now let me shave you and then I'll clean up this mess you've made on
the floor." Simon said glancing at the small pool of vomit and bile which
was by the bed. "If you behave I'll let you have some water, I bet your
thirsty hmm?" He asked Dutch.
"Yes please," Dutch replied, deciding that for now it was probably best not
to annoy Simon if at all possible. The man was obviously unstable, his
temper volatile and severe and although Dutch knew from his research that
he kept his prisoners alive for seven days, he didn't want to push his
luck, he had to stay alive and give Claudette the time she needed to find
him. Simon had produced an electric razor but before he used it Dutch
realised he needed to know how much time he had,
"How long have I been here?" He asked dreading the answer, earlier he'd
hoped that days had gone past while he'd been unconscious but now he knew
that time was precious and it was running out.
"This is the third day," Simon replied with a smile. "Don't worry we still
have plenty of time together and I've got lots of special things planned
for us to share."
Dutch said nothing in reply but shuddered at this last statement as his
imagination conjured up just what those "...special things..." could be.
Soon Simon was finished and left to get Dutch the promised drink. Dutch
licked his lips in anticipation for the first time realizing how thirsty he
was, and hungry to he acknowledged as his stomach rumbled. Although the
thought of eating also made him feel queasy Dutch knew he should keep his
strength up, what if an opportunity to escape should present itself and he
was too weakened by hunger to be able to successfully manage to get away.
So when Simon quickly returned with just a bottle of water Dutch forced
himself to ask for something to eat, even though it grated on him to have
to ask this pervert for anything.
"Oh don't worry you'll get something to eat soon I promise, but for now
just drink the water up." Simon beamed at him, making Dutch feel distinctly
Little by little Simon poured the water into Dutch's mouth smiling at him
all the while. The water felt so good, it was cool and soothing on his
throat and as he re-hydrated he began to feel his ever-present headache
tone down to a more bearable level. All to soon the bottle was empty, Dutch
had to clamp his mouth shut to prevent a moan of disappointment from
escaping. Putting the empty bottle down Simon pulled a small bag towards
him, Dutch frowned he had been so focused on the water that he hadn't
noticed it before. Dutch felt his eyes go wide at the three objects Simon
pulled out from it, a knife, handcuffs and a gun, he knew that the
handcuffs and gun were both his Simon must have taken them from his home
when he'd kidnapped him. Pointing the gun at his head Simon told him,
"I'm going to untie your hands and your going to stand up, now if you try
anything I won't hesitate to shoot you, you believe me don't you Holland?"
Dutch stammered, "Y...yes." His mouth suddenly dry again.
Simon moved behind the bed and cut the rope around his wrists, Dutch slowly
pulled his arms down to his sides and hesitantly moved his right hand over
to cover his genitals. Simon laughed at the gesture and Dutch felt his face
burning with embarrassment. He hadn't meant to do that he had wanted Simon
to think he wasn't bothered by his nakedness, he hadn't wanted to provide
him with any more ammunition that could be used against him, but it had
been an instinctive reaction.
"Come on now get up, and don't forget I've got a gun on you." Simon
Slowly, wincing in pain Dutch pushed himself up and stood by the bed.
"Good boy," Simon praised. "Now take four steps forward...slowly."
Dutch did as he was told and felt himself stiffen when Simon moved in
behind him and pressed the gun to the back of his head.
"Slowly bring your right hand behind your back, no sudden moves or I'll put
an extra hole in your head, understand?"
Dutch nodded and did as he was told; he felt the cold steel circle his
wrist as the handcuff was snapped into place.
"Now your left hand behind your back," he was instructed.
Seeing no other choice Dutch obeyed the order and found himself bound by
his own handcuffs. Simon pushed the gun barrel into the base of Dutch's
skull and placed his other hand on his shoulder, pushing down on it.
"Kneel," he commanded.
Not having any choice Dutch sank to his knees, the cold, hard stone floor
feeling unforgiving under him. Simon moved around to stand in front of him,
Dutch kept his eyes looking down, staring at Simon's shoes, he didn't want
to look up at that cruel face afraid of what he'd see there. With his free
hand Simon reached down and grabbed a fist full of Dutch's hair pulling on
"Look up, look at me," He told Dutch.
Dutch looked up at Simon and fear flared within him when he saw the lust in
the cold, blue eyes that looked down at him. Simon still pointed the gun at
him but he moved his other hand down from his hair, stroking it down over
the side if Dutch's face that he'd struck earlier. Although he kept his
touch gentle it stung a little as his hand brushed over the area, Simon
watched his own hand moving over Dutch's face as if mesmerized. He stopped
and brushed his thumb over the cut in Dutch's lip, which was slightly
swollen, where he'd accidentally bitten it when struck.
"Your skin bruises beautifully you know," Simon whispered.
Dutch pulled his head back, away from that polluting touch. He held his
breath for a moment worried Simon might lose his temper again and
retaliate, but he only laughed softly.
"Now Holland here's what's going to happen now." Simon told him. "I'm going
to fuck that pretty mouth of yours, and your going to let me."
"Jesus no way," Dutch stated emphatically, his stomach rolling at the
"Fine," Simon unexpectedly said. Dutch immediately knew he had something up
his sleeve, there was no way Simon would take his rejection this well
unless it was all part of a game he was playing.
"I'm not going to force you," Simon told him. "If your answer's no then
I'll tie you back up on the bed and leave."
"Good the fucking answer's no then!" Dutch told him.
"Alright then when I've done that I'll think I'll go and pay a little visit
to Officer Sofer." Simon smiled down at him.
Dutch felt his heart constrict in his chest, "God no, what do you mean?" He
asked confused by this new threat.
"It's simple, I want a blow job and if you won't agree to give it to me
I'll find someone who will." Simon told a shocked Dutch. "I'm sure I could
persuade Officer Sofer, Danny isn't it, to accompany me back here and then
we can all have some fun, hmm. If I pointed a gun to your head do you think
she'd blow me, to save your life? I think she would you know, I think she'd
open her mouth and take it like a good little girl, don't you. I tell you
what," he continued. "I bet if I asked her real nicely she'd do you too,
would you like that. After all I know you like being sucked off don't you
Holland, you certainly enjoyed it when I did it to you, and I know you like
her don't you. Have you thought about it? When you've jerked off in the
shower have you been thinking about her, on her knees, your cock in her
Dutch couldn't answer, he felt sick and guilty because God forgive him he
had fantasized about that once or twice, Jesus.
"Lost for words eh," Simon chuckled. He carried on, "When she's done us
both you can watch while I use your gun to blow her head off. Or maybe it's
not the beautiful Officer Sofer who does it for you Holland. Maybe you have
a thing for older women? Would you prefer it if I brought Claudette for us
to play with? Have you got a little something other than just feelings of
friendship for her? I bet she'd cooperate to save your life wouldn't she,
after all you're her partner."
"STOP!" Dutch shouted, unable to listen to any more of these perversions.
"Don't...please don't hurt them, don't hurt anyone else." He took a
shuddering breath and lowered his gaze. "I'll do what you want, just don't
"Good boy, I knew you'd be sensible when you'd thought about it, and it's
better this way. We don't want them here with us, we don't need anyone
else." Simon cooed, stroking the gun barrel down over Dutch's face, rubbing
it over his lips, pushing it between his lips, the cold metal bumping
against his teeth.
"How'd you like to be shot with your own gun?" He asked. "Have you thought
about it Holland, have you ever thought about putting your gun in your
mouth and pulling the trigger?"
Dutch shook his head.
"Oh, not even when that bitch of a wife of yours left you, cause I bet that
hurt didn't it. Not only left you for someone else, but she was even carrying
another man's child." Simon gloated.
Dutch felt tears well in his eyes at the pain of that memory. She'd told
him when he'd come home from work, her bags already packed. He was a
detective and he'd had no idea, how pathetic was that. He'd called in sick
the next day and had spent it drinking, drowning his sorrows. Later that
night he'd spent an hour sitting in his living room staring at his loaded
gun as it had sat on the coffee table in front of him. Eventually he'd
picked it up unloaded it and gone to bed, his decision made. He became
aware of Simon's eyes on him studying him, smirking.
Looking back up at Simon he braced himself for what was to come, knowing he
had no choice.
"Here's the thing," Simon explained removing the gun from Dutch's mouth.
"You have to ask me."
"What?" Dutch asked confused.
"You have to ask me. I want you to ask me to be allowed to suck my cock.
You're going to say, "Simon please let me suck your cock." Understand?"
Simon told him.
Dutch felt sick, but he nodded.
"Good," Simon said. "I'm waiting."
Dutch tried, he really tried but he couldn't get his mouth to work he
couldn't say the words.
"I can't, I can't...please don't make me do that...please." Dutch begged him.
"Ask," Simon repeated. "Ask or I'll go and find someone else who will."
Knowing it was hopeless Dutch forced himself to speak, "S...Simon... please
let...me..." He faltered.
"All of it, come on I'm getting impatient." Simon told him.
Taking a breath, trying to ignore the tears which spilled from his eyes,
the burning shame he felt Dutch tried again, "Simon please...let me...suck
"There that wasn't so hard now was it, and seeing as you asked so nicely
how could I refuse." Simon laughed.
He reached down unzipped his trousers and pulled his erection free. He
pressed the gun barrel against Dutch's temple and pushed his erection
against his lips.
"Now open up like a good boy and if I feel any teeth I'll kill you."
Dutch squeezed his eyes shut, the musky smell of the other man filling his
nostrils, the feel of his penis against his mouth revolting him.
The gun was shoved into his head hard, "Open your eyes and you keep them
open, look up at my face boy." Simon grunted.
Dutch looked up and opened his mouth, choking as Simon shoved himself deep
into his mouth immediately. The hard penis hit the back of his throat
making him gag, he tried to back away but Simon grabbed his hair holding
him in place, not letting him escape. Dutch felt Simon pull back and tried
to pull in a breath, but Simon pushed back in before he could. He could
hear Simon groaning in pleasure as he raped his mouth, his erection
pounding into the back of his throat, making him gag, suffocating him.
Dutch felt his vision beginning to darken around the edges, Simon's
sadistic face flushed with lust and pleasure beginning to fade in and out.
Suddenly he felt his mouth fill with Simon's cum, he couldn't breathe his
body automatically trying to clear his airway swallowed the foul liquid.
Dutch felt it sliding down his throat bitter and slimy. Then the
obstruction was gone from his mouth, he gulped in as much oxygen as he
could, coughing, then urging and finally vomiting. All the while Simon was
laughing at him, "I thought you said you were hungry. I give you some
protein and this is the thanks I get."
Dutch couldn't answer, he was too busy just trying to breathe, trying to
keep his sanity.
END OF PART ONE.