The Rookie (F/F & M/F) - Epilogue (Mar. 2, 2023) [Story Finished]

Stories that have little truth to them should go here.
AlexUSA3
Millennial Club
Millennial Club
Posts: 1305
Joined: 2 years ago

The Rookie (F/F & M/F) - Epilogue (Mar. 2, 2023) [Story Finished]

Post by AlexUSA3 »

I am quite indebted to the fantastic help I have been receiving from [mention]Mineira1986[/mention] while writing this story. We were discussing story ideas, and I developed one of her suggestions into this tale, The Rookie. Since then, she's been further help as an editor and such. Even when her comments seem harsh, don't get discouraged; she really means well by it.

Chapter 1

"Well, Court, here's your chance. Go get him!" Michelle Jansen says to me, her rookie partner.
"All right. Here goes!" I seize my opportunity.

I had long dreamed of this moment. Just once I wanted opportunity to be the speeding, but careful, cop racing to pull over somebody, and finally today I had my chance as the driver and not the passenger. I have always had some sort of need for speed, clearly, as my partner, Michelle, often has to remind me not to speed when we're just on patrol. With a gulp, I gunned it and put on the lights and siren.

"This is car 9. We have a 10-44 on U.S. Highway 250A," Michelle speaks into the radio in crisp English to be sure she is understood.

I watched the speedometer's dial: 45,55,65,75... this was just on U.S. Highway 250A with a speed limit of 40! How fast need I go to catch this person? When the dial reached 80, I could see we were closing, and Michelle cautioned me not to go faster than was absolutely necessary.

"Remember, Courtney, arrive alive, and we especially don't want to hit others," she warns me.
"Right!" I take a deep breath to calm myself as we approach the car.
"WHOA!" Michelle says as, suddenly, the driver veers off the road into the grass, "Stay on him! Station, 10-44 suspect has pulled off the highway in the 1500 block near the park! Send backup just in case!"
"Michelle, I think he's ditching!" I say as I watch the car skid to a halt.
"Just what we want! 10-44 suspect is stopping and running on foot!"

I stop on a dime and instantly take off running after the driver, a young white male, as he attempted to bail. I just now automatically do the chasing as the faster runner of the pair. Without much thought, I tackle him and start spewing Miranda rights and such while holding him down. I put an elbow in just the right spot to subdue him enough that Michelle can put the handcuffs on him.

"You were doing 70 in a 40 zone! There's hurrying, and there's being an idiot!" I say in anger.
"Watch yourself!" Michelle reminds me with a disapproving glance, and I blush knowing that calling a suspect an idiot could get me in trouble.
"You're under arrest for doing 30+ miles over the speed limit," I explain slowly, "Resisting arrest, and... anything else?"
"Destruction of public property," Michelle points out what a the mess the park was.

I look and notice just how near we are to a playground. I was watching for people and objects, but I hadn't noticed all those things. Yikes!

It was time once again for to bring a tale of teamwork to the station. Michelle booked the suspect while I filled out other necessary paperwork. Once in the break room, I talk about how lucky I was to have partner like her training me, and Michelle proudly tells of how I perfectly did the dirty work of chasing and tackling the suspect. Her smile is always apparent in moments like these.

"Officer Courtchelle Janeira at it again!" says one officer.

The "Courtchelle Janeira" portmanteau of our names arose because of moments like this where we just instinctively shared duties to efficiently and effectively accomplish the tasks. I don't want to boast, but it was a cool nickname, and it was pretty awesome the way we just automatically did things now.

"Another one booked. All right, Court, time for your special training," I get a pat on the back.
"Really, Michelle, again?" I ask my senior partner with a grin and a wink.
"Well, I was supposed to do it with the other rookies too, but they all chickened out!"
"I'm up for more training!"
"Come on, Courtney, I'll make a real officer of you soon!" her smile makes mine grow.

Oh, what will it be today? Rope? Duct tape? Zip ties? Maybe handcuffs? Oh, don't forget police zip ties! At least once a week, sometimes more, lunch break will happen at either the station or Michelle Jansen's house. This is done for what Michelle always calls "special training."

Special training meant I was tied up and usually gagged. It was always this way. Officer Jansen had once been captured, bound, and gagged, and she only survived because of a combo of fake kindness and a SWAT team. Her husband was a cop as well, but he was now the chief of police, Dave Jansen. Sometimes Dave would do these sessions with me, but that wasn't regular.

I laid down on the bench in the break room and allowed Michelle to zip tie my wrists and ankles and then zip together my ankles and wrists. We said nothing as this was routine, and she put some strips of black duct tape over my lips to gag me.

"All right, Officer Ferreira, go for it!" she gives me the green light to escape.
"Hmph!" I responded and felt the zips for a second.

The plastic can cut if you're not careful. I was used to the zips by now, but we still practiced. Occasionally, Michelle would ask me to zip her up or similar. The routine is mundane though. I feel the situation to know where my limbs are, and then I know just how to move my wrists to... BOOM!

"Nice work!" Michelle congratulates me as I take my knife and cut the one on my ankles.
"Hmm!" I give a thumbs up of encouragement.

I am the lucky one, or so everyone in the station tells me. Of 5 girls to graduate in my class, I am the one lucky to get accepted for the job not only in my hometown but also as the student of the most famous girl cop in the region. Being as shy as I am, it is easy to put aside my semi-idolatry of her and learn from her.

I stand up and let my curly black locks down before putting them back in a bun. My stereotypical Brazilian skin tone allows my "baby fat" to stand out. I'm in adequate shape to be a cop, but the tiny amounts of chub get me teased.

My dark brown eyes hide my emotions well, but in reality I wear my heart on my sleeve and care deeply about friends and loved ones. It is tough to put it aside sometimes because I just want to punch some people.

Michelle is only 5'5", and I am a couple inches taller. She has shoulder length, (I suspect bleach) blonde hair; she makes too many jokes about her hair going grey after her second son was born. She's a mom of two, and recently turned 50. In a lot of ways, she and Chief are like an extra set of parents to me.

On a day like today, we will now sit down on a bench, eat our lunch, and talk to whoever else may be around. I am learning so much from all these people, but most helpful of course is my beat partner. Sometimes, I have to admit, I call her "Mom" instead of "Michelle" or "Officer Jansen." I will explain later, but I'll say I spent a lot of time in this station before academy.

"Mom, I have been wondering," I began, "I've noticed something peculiar."
"Hmmm?" she asked between bites of sandwich.
"You like tying me up."

Michelle does this to all the rookies she gets her hands upon. Most of them, however, grow to resent it or her. Instead, here I am calling her "Mom" after 10 months of this routine, I was quite good at it, and frankly I enjoyed the "bonding" time.

"Court, to be fair, you're the only rookie who really respected me and whom I respected as much as we do. You're not an ordinary cop."
"What do you mean?" I'm not expecting this kind of response.
"I do like it. You're fun and playful about it even though I am serious about teaching self-defense mechanism I wish I knew when I was your age," her response was unusually honest.
"I made it fun?"
"Well, you started getting bored with my exercises. They all do, and you took a little longer than most to get to where I felt comfortable. So I had to start needling you," she means she had to tease me to get me to up my performance during such sessions.

This all made me feel a bit more comfortable as I took the last bite of my sandwich. I managed to eat a peanut butter and jelly without getting it on my fingers for a change. I reach into my lunch box for my yogurt.

"It's helped us get to know each other a lot better," she said with a genuine spirit.
"I'm just a whipper-snapper still. Just thankful it's me with you and not someone else. You've made the transition from school to reality much easier than it should have been," I expressed my gratitude.
"My pleasure. You done yet?"
"Almost."
"One last cop tradition to engrain in you," she winks at me.
"What's that?" I asked.
"An addiction to coffee and doughnuts. We have stereotypes to uphold."
"We haven't yet found a doughnut I like," I was exasperated with this quest.
"We will."
"We tried 15 different kinds already, what makes you think 16 will be different?" my frustration is obvious.
"I pay attention to what you eat. I'm sure you will like 16," she winked.
"OK, whatever, let's go."
"Now this time drive more carefully," she warns me once again.
"Oh, Mom, really?!" I whine a little.
"Yes, Courtney, you really need to be more careful. Speed limit on Main Street is 30."
"And I usually do 35. I got it from my sister; she taught me to drive."
"No excuses," she reprimands me.
"Yes, Officer," I can't help but smile.

That's the kind of banter we have when we're in a good mood. We reach "Don Utz," Michelle's favorite place for the treats, and we walk in together with her in front and me behind.

"Good afternoon, officers, what'll you have?" the cashier asks.
"Two cinnamon donuts and two large iced coffees," Michelle states what she wants.
"Right up!"
"We've tried apple jelly, strawberry jelly, grape jelly, blueberry, cruller, Boston creme, Bavarian creme, chocolate, glazed, chocolate frosted, chocolate frosted chocolate," I go through this litany each time.
"Trust me; if this one isn't it, nothing will be! I never tried a simple, cake-like doughnut on you like a fool."
"All right," I do trust her.

I discover I do like a simple, cake-like doughnut. As soon as I bite into it, my eyes give as much away, and Michelle can't help but beam at me.

That afternoon, I do my usual one-finger knuckle rap on the whiteboard the Chief keeps on his door to write messages like "Out to lunch" or "On duty." I just have to tell him the good news!

"Come in!"
"Hey, Daddy-O!" I sit down before he can say as much.
"Well, take a seat, Courtney, you're in a bright mood!"
"It finally happened today," I start excitedly explaining, "We finally found the doughnut I like!"
"About time! Which one was it?" He smiles at my excitement.
"Cinnamon!"
"Ah ha! You like the cake-like ones just like your old man!" he says and gives a strong laugh.
"What?" I pause and realize he means himself, and I giggle a little, "I guess so!"
"Hey, you did good today. I already got to look at the film; I couldn't resist. Maybe there's some favoritism in this office, but I was impressed with how you handled yourself," his congratulations reek of bias.
"Oh, thanks," I blush and feel warm inside.

Dave and Michelle, aka Mom and Dad, always take care of me. We lean back in our chairs and just smile. Everything just seems to be going perfectly at times

I love them more than my biological parents.
Last edited by AlexUSA3 1 year ago, edited 11 times in total.
CGC Short Stories (F+f+/F+f+): viewtopic.php?f=8&t=20527
Find my other CGC Stories in the same link above!

Image
User avatar
Mineira1986
Centennial Club
Centennial Club
Posts: 619
Joined: 4 years ago

Post by Mineira1986 »

This looks like a promising story and I'm glad I could help you! =)
Image
Shotrow
Centennial Club
Centennial Club
Posts: 209
Joined: 3 years ago

Post by Shotrow »

Glad to see you've started on a series. Sorry it took me awhile to see this. It sounds like this could be a pretty interesting premise for the story.

It seems like in this chapter, your main goal is to establish your protagonist's characterization. I think it's good to keep "show, don't tell" in mind when that's your goal. But also, I think the character traits you chose to focus on were kind of superficial, likes and dislikes without context that don't really show who she is as a person.

We know she doesn't like the taste of most donuts. In itself, that's not that interesting to know about her. It could be a segue to something interesting if we see why she doesn't like them. Is she health-conscious? Does she prefer a different snack for cultural reasons? Could she be on the autistic spectrum and have ARFID? Or it could tell us something about her personality if she reacts to donuts in an interesting way. Does she fly into a rage if offered one, or does she bite her tongue and accept out of politeness?

It's honestly kind of weird to me that someone would dislike donuts because of the taste. The taste is just sugar and fat. What's to dislike? You're writing from Court's perspective, so it might've been good to take the chance to describe, in sensory and emotional terms, why eating the cinnamon donut drew out such a different response from her compared to other donuts.

I do think I learned one interesting thing about Court through this story, though. She's naturally impulsive, but trying to restrain those tendencies to fit in with the other police officers. I could see this through her actions and interactions with Michelle, so I think you succeeded in showing and not telling there. However, this is another area where it might be good to keep in mind that you're writing from her perspective. You could have emphasized the mental effort she was exerting to control herself and the internal conflict between her impulsive side and her disciplined side.

Anyways, as I said before, this seems like the start to a potentially interesting series, so I hope you keep it up.
Image

Thanks to Mineira1986 for the banner!

Check out my stories on deviantart: https://www.deviantart.com/shotrow
AlexUSA3
Millennial Club
Millennial Club
Posts: 1305
Joined: 2 years ago

Post by AlexUSA3 »

Shotrow wrote: 1 year ago Glad to see you've started on a series. Sorry it took me awhile to see this. It sounds like this could be a pretty interesting premise for the story.

It seems like in this chapter, your main goal is to establish your protagonist's characterization. I think it's good to keep "show, don't tell" in mind when that's your goal. But also, I think the character traits you chose to focus on were kind of superficial, likes and dislikes without context that don't really show who she is as a person.

We know she doesn't like the taste of most donuts. In itself, that's not that interesting to know about her. It could be a segue to something interesting if we see why she doesn't like them. Is she health-conscious? Does she prefer a different snack for cultural reasons? Could she be on the autistic spectrum and have ARFID? Or it could tell us something about her personality if she reacts to donuts in an interesting way. Does she fly into a rage if offered one, or does she bite her tongue and accept out of politeness?

It's honestly kind of weird to me that someone would dislike donuts because of the taste. The taste is just sugar and fat. What's to dislike? You're writing from Court's perspective, so it might've been good to take the chance to describe, in sensory and emotional terms, why eating the cinnamon donut drew out such a different response from her compared to other donuts.

I do think I learned one interesting thing about Court through this story, though. She's naturally impulsive, but trying to restrain those tendencies to fit in with the other police officers. I could see this through her actions and interactions with Michelle. However, this is another area where it might be good to keep in mind that you're writing from her perspective. You could have emphasized the mental effort she was exerting to control herself and the internal conflict between her impulsive side and her disciplined side.

Anyways, as I said before, this seems like the start to a potentially interesting series, so I hope you keep it up.
Thanks for the detailed comment. I know others who just "don't like" yeasty doughnuts, so I've never really thought about it too much. Just like I hate cloves in a pumpkin pie and love them in gingerbread... I don't know why; I just do.

We're going for a slow build, so more sides of Courtney's personality are going to show as we progress. In this story's case, if I explain too much too soon, it will make the following chapters less enlightening. Parts 2 & 3, which still aren't ready, will help better explain Courtney's worldview.
CGC Short Stories (F+f+/F+f+): viewtopic.php?f=8&t=20527
Find my other CGC Stories in the same link above!

Image
AlexUSA3
Millennial Club
Millennial Club
Posts: 1305
Joined: 2 years ago

Post by AlexUSA3 »

Chapter 2

Not all in the job is so happy. Michelle is in the driver's seat, and I'm the passenger today. The dispatcher contacts us over the radio.

"Car #9, please answer a call to a domestic issue at 375 Hoover Street."
"10-4," I answer the dispatcher and look at Michelle.

Most domestic issues are "He said; she said," but some are obvious: the person has bruises that could only be afflicted by being struck. Some are clearly spiteful; others are desperate. A few are nuanced; many are tragic. It's the tragic ones where I lose my cool as a cop.

Murder scene I can handle. Beaten wife is tough, but I get through it on the satisfaction of arresting the beater. Traffic stops are a breeze as are most things because we're there after the fact and just have to collect evidence for the detectives. Children, however, are where I struggle the most.

"Police, open up!" Michelle knocks on the door loudly.
"Can I help you?" the older lady, about 65, woman answers in an aggressive tone.
"A neighbor said you were screaming loudly in pain."
"I sure as hell did, but I sure wasn't getting beaten. I live alone and fell because I walked on the freshly mopped floor too soon."
"Would you like us to take you to the hospital?" I ask kindly.
"Please? I've been attending to it myself, but I think it's broken."

That isn't so bad. The lady is more that thankful for our help. It isn't too long after that we get the call that ruins my day.

"Car #9, need you again. There's a 10-41 traveling on 250A," the dispatcher says, meaning a person who ran a red light, "Grey Chevy Colt license plate Alpha-Delta 5-3-1 Queen"
"This is Car #9. 10-4," I answer the call.
"Let's go, Court."
"All right."

Sure enough, we locate the car and flash our lights. Thankfully, the driver pulls over, and Michelle starts handling things on this one while I run the license plate in the computer; the car is clean. For a moment, I observe what is happening and can only tell it's a female driver. Then, Michelle hands me the woman's driver's license to check in the database; warrant, failure to appear on another traffic violation; at this moment, I take over.

"I've got this," I say printing up a ticket for the red light incident.
"You sure?" Michelle asks me.
"Yeah, I've got this," I smile reassuringly figuring as the one who drew up the driver's record that I should be the one to make the arrest.

I walk over to the car and put my arm on the roof. As I'm about to say something, my attention is drawn away.

"Mom, what's happening?" I hear a little girl ask, and I look into the backseat of car.

There's a child in the car, curled up in fetal position, with eyes wide with fear, but I couldn't see her before because she's small enough to not be visible through the rear windshield. I can see the humiliation on the mother's face and the worry on the daughter's. I make a snap decision.

"Ma'am, you had a court appearance three days ago and missed it. Technically, there is a warrant for your arrest on that, but I'm rolling that prior ticket with this one so that I don't have to bring you to jail... for you and your daughter's sake."
"Th... thank you!" the mother is dumbfounded by my generosity.
"All the details are down here about payment options, court options, and so forth."
"Officer?" she asks.
"Ferreira."
"You're a godsend."
"Take care, ma'am," I smile at her and begin walking away.
"You too."

I walk back to the car, and I can tell the look on Michelle's face is grim. I squirm a little and walk back to the car and sit on the passenger's seat.

"Why didn't you arrest that woman?"
"Because... I just couldn't, OK?" I respond defiantly.
"Courtney, there was a warrant. You had to arrest her; now there are going to be all sorts of internal screw ups!"
"FINE."
"Well, what is into you?"
"I saw that little girl sitting in the back seat. Don't you remember 15 years ago?"

I'm referring to the day I met Michelle. As a child, more than once I had to go to the station and wait for my mother or father or sister to pick me up because one of the others had been arrested while I was out with them. Twice, I was brought to this precinct, once by Chief Dave... that's part of why Michelle is my hero... Dave had her stay with me comforting me while I waited. I knew that day that I wanted to be a police officer.

At the station, I know I'm going to be chewed out... Big time. I can see the disappointment on Michelle's face, and when we get back to the station I just know to go to Chief's office. There, I am reprimanded for what is my first time either deliberately disobeying a senior office or going against procedure. Chief initially lets me off, but then Michelle plays the "Mom" card on me.

"Courtney, stay here for the afternoon. You need to take a step back," she says, and I know I've hurt her.
"No training session then?" I ask her with the sadness of a child because I enjoyed the time with her.
"I don't think so."

So, Michelle goes without me. I stay handling other duties that need doing. One thing I do is give the break room a much needed deep cleaning that the janitors never did. I can't get the sight of that child out of my head; flashbacks of the past keep playing on loop in my head. My mother, my father, and my sister Jordana and all the various things. In a moment of vulnerability, I get on my knees and pound my fists on the seat of a chair while muttering some unkind things.

"Courtney, honey, are you all right?" Chief asks me as he happened to be passing by, and I am honest and up front about how insecure I am at the moment.
"No, Dad, I'm not," I respond.

When I call him "Dad," instead of "Pop" or "Daddy-O" while talking to him as the father figure of my life, he knows I'm dead serious.

"Want to come to my office and chat?"
"Yes."

In a few moments, I'm in his doorway.

"Come in, Court."
"Hey, Chief," I say and just take a seat while bouncing my legs up and down and with my hands clasped together.
"You seem defeated."

"This job... I thought I was going to be encouraging people more than I do. I thought I'd get to occasionally rough up an abusive husband or father or, better, make a difference by reassuring a broken child that their life can be fixed up and made new like mine."

"Courtney," he pauses in thought, "It's a depressing job. Requires a tough mind to be able to enter these hellholes and still come out smelling like a rose."

He continued: "I'll never forget the time I helped bust a flop house. Everywhere junkies. Junkies high, junkies low. Junkies on couches, junkies on the floor. Junkies on junkies even. In the corner of one bedroom, there was this one man who wasn't high. He had gone there to get high, but didn't. Instead, he was crying because he couldn't believe he had abandoned a family for drugs. I had just become a dad the month before, and I looked at him and sat down with him and talked while cops swarmed and arrested people everywhere. Just talking to him that day changed his life. That man is back with his wife, been sober for over 15 years, and is your shift dispatcher now."

"Whoa!" I pause at that, "I guess some do find hope from our efforts."
"The prison system may be broken, and bad cops may be found in any precinct, but that doesn't stop us from doing good, Courtney. Now, tell me, what's eating you? You like the trope of helping children in distress, while most cops like busting down doors, breaking up crimes, serving warrants. What's up?"

I guess you could say I spilled my guts to him in a new way. In moments like these, I feel like I'm rehashing things again, but every time I talk to Dave or Michelle about this I add in new stories that I hadn't told before or give more details than I previously was comfortable disclosing. He knew about my biological parents, but my sister was new to him.

"Jordana too? Wow. All right, just let it out."

He knows the story mostly beyond that. My parents moved here shortly before I was born. My father abused everyone; mother abused us girls; Jordana abused me. Ironically, they'd talk in Portuguese beyond my back to hide stuff because I was the abnormal one in their eyes.

I secretly taught myself Spanish from Jordana's textbooks, though, even though I was little, and learned to understand them, then took it in high school, and then took more in college. That skill is useful as an officer because even a smallish place like this has its handful of Latin American immigrants who don't have a good grasp on English yet. After that, I understood all my biological family would say, in English or Spanish, and they're still none the wiser.

I am just rehashing again my genuine relief when father died even though I wasn't even a teen yet when Chief interrupts me.

"Courtney, you can't erase the trauma, but I think it's time to move on from them," he says in a troubled tone, "Have you spoken to a psychiatrist about this?"
"The ones in college weren't exactly ready for this stuff, but they were genuinely helpful. I haven't gone since."

I know he is right. Trauma never leaves, but you can leave the people. Memories persist, but you're not obligated to make new memories with them. I sigh and look at him in sadness, and he comes over and sits in the chair next to me. I cry a little while he holds my hand with the care only a loving parent can give.

"Look, it's a quiet day. How about you and I do a training session since you and Michelle couldn't today?"
"Last time you did it," I kind of grimaced and instantly knew I had done so, because last time I was out in under 5 minutes.
"I'll do better."

It was really Mom's thing. Yeah, dads interfere or try to do some things that the moms do, and in this case he just didn't have the knack although he wasn't awful. He's really trying his best to cheer me up, and when I made that face I rejected his efforts to show a little love.

"Come on. Give Pop a shot. I'll keep you down longer than Mom."
"All right, give it your best," I say to him with a caring smile.
"Atta girl!" he says and walks over to the drawer for the two pairs of cuffs and the navy blue bandana Michelle uses when she's using cuffs or that particular gag, "I'm not going to use the break room though. Too many guys in there this time of day."

We walk instead to a holding cell with him leading me, and then I sit down on the bed in the cell. Dave cuffs my hands behind my back and then my ankles. Then, he quite effectively gags me with the bandana... well, as effective as that gag can be. I don't fight it as the gag is a fun touch to the Jansen training.

"See you later," he winks at me an shuts the door.
"Yyyye!" I wave to him.

Once the door is shut, I decide the best thing to do is just lie down and take a nap. The cell is large enough that it doesn't feel claustrophic. I really need to cool off for real and to stop letting the past break me over and over again. What I should be doing is using it as motivation to grow.

I roll onto my stomach on the cot and quickly fall asleep from mental exhaustion. The sleep is peaceful and, thankfully, dream free. I open my eyes uncertain how much time has passed, and I work my cell phone out of my pocket to see I slept about 90 minutes, so I still have another hour before Chief would come back for me.

I work one of the hair clips I keep all over my clothes (in case I need to pull my hair back further) off and into the handcuffs and quickly undo the lock. Might have been 3 minutes tops that time. I untie the gag and sit there.

"Hmmm?" I think aloud, "Door's locked, might as well practice more."

I put the gag back in my mouth and decided to try something different by putting one wrist between my legs before cuffing them. Now I'm hogtied! That one's harder to escape, about 10 minutes, because it's harder to find the keyholes. Then I do the same with my hands in front. After that, I just play with my phone.

Around 4:45, I notice a flash of blonde hair go by. That must be Michelle, which means she's done and ready to go, and Dave will be coming back for me. I can't let him down and have to do something for him, so I quickly put my phone back in my pocket and the handcuffs back on with my wrists behind me.

"Hmmm!" I grunt in practice to get my mouth a little drier as if I struggled and gave up.
"Well, here she is!" Dad opened the cell, and I sat up.
"Ullo!"
"She's been stuck here all this time?"
"Mmm!" I shrugged.
"All right, kiddo, let's get you out of this."
"Nks!" I say as he releases the handcuffs.
"I," he pauses, "Only walked by when you were sleeping. Did you have fun and get to chill?"
"Oh, yeah!" I smile as I pull the gag out before untying the knot.

I stand up and look at both of them after the cuffs are off my ankles. I'm fighting myself a little bit, but after 10+ months of this I am finally ready.

"May I... do something... before we go?"
"What do you need, Court?" Mom asks me.
"This," I wrap an arm around each one of them.
"All right, baby," Dad says as they return the embrace.

I have no memories of getting truly meaningful hugs from my biological family, so this moment is particularly special for me.

These two... Could I ask for better people in my life?
CGC Short Stories (F+f+/F+f+): viewtopic.php?f=8&t=20527
Find my other CGC Stories in the same link above!

Image
Shotrow
Centennial Club
Centennial Club
Posts: 209
Joined: 3 years ago

Post by Shotrow »

Glad to see this story continue.
"Police, open up!" Michelle knocks on the door loudly.
"Can I help you?" the older lady, about 65, woman answers in an aggressive tone.
"A neighbor said you were screaming loudly in pain."
"I sure as hell did, but I sure wasn't getting beaten. I live alone and fell because I walked on the freshly mopped floor too soon."
"Would you like us to take you to the hospital?" I ask kindly.
"Please? I've been attending to it myself, but I think it's broken."
I don't know if this is what you intended, but this seems a bit suspicious if you ask me. Going from being harsh and defensive to accepting their help. Sounds like she had something in her house that she didn't want them to see, so she was trying to get them to leave, but once they offered to take her to the hospital she turned friendly because they couldn't search her house if she left with them.
He knows the story mostly beyond that. My parents moved here shortly before I was born. My father abused everyone; mother abused us girls; Jordana abused me. Ironically, they'd talk in Portuguese beyond my back to hide stuff because I was the abnormal one in their eyes.

I secretly taught myself Spanish from Jordana's textbooks, though, even though I was little, and learned to understand them, then took it in high school, and then took more in college. That skill is useful as an officer because even a smallish place like this has its handful of Latin American immigrants who don't have a good grasp on English yet. After that, I understood all my biological family would say, in English or Spanish, and they're still none the wiser.
I'm confused. They spoke Portuguese, but she learned Spanish to understand them?

I was a little skeptical that she wouldn't have picked up some Portuguese if she learned to talk in a house with three people who were more accustomed to speaking it than any other language, but I suppose it could happen. I've heard of immigrant families making an effort not to speak their native language around children to help them assimilate.
Image

Thanks to Mineira1986 for the banner!

Check out my stories on deviantart: https://www.deviantart.com/shotrow
AlexUSA3
Millennial Club
Millennial Club
Posts: 1305
Joined: 2 years ago

Post by AlexUSA3 »

Shotrow wrote: 1 year ago Glad to see this story continue.
"Police, open up!" Michelle knocks on the door loudly.
"Can I help you?" the older lady, about 65, woman answers in an aggressive tone.
"A neighbor said you were screaming loudly in pain."
"I sure as hell did, but I sure wasn't getting beaten. I live alone and fell because I walked on the freshly mopped floor too soon."
"Would you like us to take you to the hospital?" I ask kindly.
"Please? I've been attending to it myself, but I think it's broken."
I don't know if this is what you intended, but this seems a bit suspicious if you ask me. Going from being harsh and defensive to accepting their help. Sounds like she had something in her house that she didn't want them to see, so she was trying to get them to leave, but once they offered to take her to the hospital she turned friendly because they couldn't search her house if she left with them.
He knows the story mostly beyond that. My parents moved here shortly before I was born. My father abused everyone; mother abused us girls; Jordana abused me. Ironically, they'd talk in Portuguese beyond my back to hide stuff because I was the abnormal one in their eyes.

I secretly taught myself Spanish from Jordana's textbooks, though, even though I was little, and learned to understand them, then took it in high school, and then took more in college. That skill is useful as an officer because even a smallish place like this has its handful of Latin American immigrants who don't have a good grasp on English yet. After that, I understood all my biological family would say, in English or Spanish, and they're still none the wiser.
I'm confused. They spoke Portuguese, but she learned Spanish to understand them?

I was a little skeptical that she wouldn't have picked up some Portuguese if she learned to talk in a house with three people who were more accustomed to speaking it than any other language, but I suppose it could happen. I've heard of immigrant families making an effort not to speak their native language around children to help them assimilate.
Just drawing on my own familial experiences with an Italian family in my case. My grandfather had to take Italian in high school to be able to talk to his grandparents... who lived in the same house as him his whole life!
CGC Short Stories (F+f+/F+f+): viewtopic.php?f=8&t=20527
Find my other CGC Stories in the same link above!

Image
User avatar
Mineira1986
Centennial Club
Centennial Club
Posts: 619
Joined: 4 years ago

Post by Mineira1986 »

I have to admit that the Spanish-Portuguese thing may be confusing for people who don't speak the language or haven't tried to interact with one of those languages while only knowing the other. Although, in my personal experience, it's much easier to understand Spanish if you've learned Portuguese than the other way around. I've seen lots of Spanish speakers talking in English with Portuguese speakers because it was easier this way. But when they spoke Spanish, the Portuguese speaker had no trouble understanding them. Again, not the other way around, most of the time.

Having said that, I think it's a minor item in this chapter. I liked the short story Dave tells Courtney (that's all AlexUSA3), I'm glad I could help edit some parts, like the moment when Courtney is supposed to arrest the woman but doesn't.

Great to see some backstory here. Sadly, the "bondage" scene only takes a minor part in the story so far, so maybe this won't engage many readers. Which is a bummer, because I think it has the potential to become a very good story.
Image
AlexUSA3
Millennial Club
Millennial Club
Posts: 1305
Joined: 2 years ago

Post by AlexUSA3 »

Chapter 3

This time, doughnuts are on me. I buy four: two to share with Mom, and two with Dad. After we get back to the station, Dad jokes that I've gained five pounds of doughnut in the last month. He also jokes that his doctor said he doesn't have enough fat to match his muscle and that I might be doing him a favor. He doesn't have a dad body at all. He's 53, so he has gained a little just due to reduced metabolism, but he actually takes really good care of himself. Except for the doughnuts.

The doughnut time is precious. Yeah, we mostly just sit there nibbling at the treat, but more than that we're together. Sometimes we make small talk, like today we talk about the case he is assigning "Courtchelle" to. He passes a newspaper article to me.

Another Juror Goes Missing; Hopkinton Shaken
County judges want answers to a question that is plaguing residents of Hopkinton: why have so many people gone missing? During a series of criminal trials in the past 3 months, 6 court jurors and 4 state witnesses have been and were eventually released; in all 10 cases, the person refused to return to the courtroom. The 6 jurors all had to be removed from the trials, and all the witnesses refused to testify. One of those jurors recently attempted suicide with a gun in the lobby of Mission Hospital.

Now, another one has been missing for a week, and Hopkinton Police Chief Boylton says his precincts are all cooperating along with sheriff's deputies to track down the culprit behind these crimes. The only common thread found in these cases is that all the victims were found in or around Hopkinton, even those who are residents of other towns.


"OK, Pop, what do you want me to do?" I ask.
"Study the evidence. I want you and Michelle to work with detectives on this one as many of the reports came from within areas you patrol regularly."
"Like?"
"Well, detectives today are investigating one of the blocks in the car section," Dad said to me.

I looked at the evidence sheet to see if it helped. The victim knew it was a four door car, that the house had tile floors throughout except the two rooms where they were imprisoned because those were carpeted. This was based on time spent bare foot. They were bound and gagged the entire time with devices I didn't understand and tortured until they promised to not to do anything that would get the defendant convicted.

The captor was female and short and definitely did drugs based on my analysis of the paper; majoring in criminal psychology with a minor forensics made that apparent to me! Tickling, spanking, threats of suffocation, time spent in a dog crate, pinching... it all sounds awful. When I read the bit about the crate, I freeze up.

"A crate?" I ask.
"That's what the witness said. He said the captor really got a sick thrill out of it."
"What kind of f-cking monster enjoys doing that to another human being?!" I shriek and slam the dossier on the desk.

I know the answer to my own question already. I know a monster of that kind too well. Immediately, I feel remorse for the way I just treated Dave.

"Whoa, sweetie!" Chief says in response to the slam.
"I'm sorry. I just..,." I'm struggling to keep control of myself.

I pause and take a deep breath and manage to keep myself from having a flashback. I look at him and then at Mom, and I know my eyes are wider than a deer's. My breathing rate and heart rate skyrocket, and I take another deep breath and begin to calm down. For once, I control a situation instead of having a nervous breakdown and sit down while I get my heart rate down.

"I'm sorry. I didn't meant to yell at you."
"Courtney, are you OK?" Mom put her hand on my shoulder.
"Yeah. I'm fine. I haven't read anything that graphic since I graduated. It's actually spine-chilling."

Work is supposed to be where I escape reality. Conquer reality. Write myself a new reality. Instead, it keeps forcing me to relive reality. I rebuff Michelle's efforts to comfort me on the ride there.

"You OK?" she asks.
"Stop asking me about it, please. It's the most horrid part of my childhood."
"Court, slow down! Don't go so fast!" she reprimands me.
"Sorry, my mind is swimming. Thanks for the reminder," I respond as I park the car at the rendezvous point.
"Courtney, you mentioned childhood. Is that what happened? Something connecting your childhood to this?"
"Right," I throw off my seat belt and open the car door.
"Whoa whoa whoa! After what happened last time you put your emotions into a case, no way. You're staying right here."
"But!"
"No buts!" she's firm with me, "You watch that radio. I might not even be needed. If I'm needed, I'll send you off on patrol, OK?"
"All right," I sigh like a child being punished again and shut the door.

Chief had given us a copy for Michelle to review while we drove. I looked at it again. That description was so exact. It couldn't really be her, could it? Now, there was a report of a person, probably female, dragging a body in this area. There are bushes, ponds, and ditches around here to provide many places to dispose of a body if you want it to be found.

"You go on patrol," came a text from Michelle.

What unnerved me was the description of the person dragging that body along Packard Street. The suspect was about average height for a woman, skin tone like mine, similar hair but shorter, straight, and not as dark, and about 155 pounds. That sounded like Jordana! But, that would mean... I try to suppress this thought.

My sister drove a four-door. Naturally. It was the Honda Civic my parents had after they first got here in the 1990s. It was a perfect fit for what the survivor described... Cigarette holes in the seats, smelled like cheap perfume, scratchy, peeled leather, and sounds like clanging pots and pans on each and every little bump in the road.

The car section is a rough neighborhood. I grew up at 9 Cadillac Street, which is the two streets north of Packard in the grid that is being searched. Instead of doing my usual patrol in this section and moving, I go a street south on the grid to Hudson because there's a pond inside one of the squares there. I park the car and step out, figuring I need only a couple minutes at best.

That old childhood home was such a perfect match. We even had tile throughout... it was a beautiful bright white tile and, oh, after that tile was installed, my biological mom so proud. She redid everything so beautifully and ordered that all tobacco and weed be done outside. Every room got it except my bedroom and Jordana's. Mother wasn't much good, but she was a meticulous housekeeper.

What would my sister do with a body if she even dared graduate to murder? Well, if she enjoys murder as much as she enjoyed crating me, she'd bring it to a nearby pond so she can enjoy the negative media attention, just like she enjoyed the negative attention from our mother.

I become lost in my thoughts for a moment as I remember the vicious cycle. Dad would get drunk and beat one of us. Mom would get drunk to "drown her sorrows" and then beat one of us, usually Jordana. Jordana would then lock me in the dog crate. Mom would beat her worse after that, but Jordana was willing to take beatings and groundings for the thrill of doing that to me.

I was so happy when Jordana went away to college. That didn't stop things, though. When she was home in the summer, I would still be jammed in that infernal cage. As I got bigger, during her second summer, I finally fought back successfully. Worst thing though was to come home for my own first summer and discover that my mother had remarried, moved out of state, and changed her phone number, all without telling me and even pretending to be looking forward to seeing me during a phone call just the week before! And I come back instead to find Jordana living there, and I've never gone back there nor heard from that woman since. The dog died after I left, but perhaps... I shudder at the thought... The crate is still in that house.

It doesn't take much time for me to spot a body in the water.

"This is Ferreira. I'm on the pond between Packard and Hudson and have located a body... matches the description of the missing witness."

Finding a murder victim is minor when, in the back of your mind, you're starting to piece together evidence to conclude your own sister is the murderer. There is a bigger problem however: I went against orders. Worse, I went off solo when one of the most dangerous things an officer can do is "go it alone." In a flash, Michelle is giving me a stern dressing down and ordering me back to the precinct.

She goes to talk to Dave while someone is frantically trying to talk to a desk worker.

"Ferreira, gimme a hand!" my colleague says.
"Sure. What is it?"
"This person wants to say something but only speaks Spanish."
"All right...", and I turn to the man and, in Spanish, say in a helpful tone, "I'm Officer Ferreira."
"Thank you officer, I saw a woman acting strangely near my house the other morning and got a call from my wife about the search."
"Where do you live?"
"Packard Street. The woman was walking around while I was walking my dog. She was about 5'3" and chubby, a typical Latin skin tone, smelled badly of weed, but who over there doesn't?" he laughs at his own comment on the area.
"Indeed. Continue sir."
"She seemed very interested in the search and seemed to speak good English with almost no accent. I don't know where she would be from. What worried me was that she seemed to be thinking about the bodies too much. Said she suspected the victim was strangled."
"Anything else?" I ask, now knowing exactly who he means.
"That's all, but I felt it best to talk in person."
"Your name and address?"
"Pablo Fernandez, 17 Packard Street."
"Thank you sir. This is very helpful,"

"Officer Ferreira, report to my office!" I hear soon after this.

I go to Chief's office and know I'm about to be chewed out once again for this. I stand straight and as tall as I can and ashamedly stare at my feet.

"Why did you do that? Courtney, what got into you?!" Dave asks me, and I can tell I've hurt him this time.
"I was thinking about...," I start to say it, but I hold myself back and pick my head up.
"About what?"
"I let my college degrees go to my head, sir. I used my own judgment to conduct a brief search," I respond instead.
"This has to do with earlier, doesn't it?"
"What... sir?" I ask him and look down again.
"Your sister? Are you getting help like I asked?"
"Not yet," I start, knowing Michelle doesn't know this, and look at her, "I'll give it serious thought."
"Courtney..."
"Yes... Pop," I'm fighting tears a bit, "I left the past dictate my present, again."
"I forbid you from doing anything more with this case, understand?"
"Yes sir."
"And remain here this afternoon."
"You're grounding me, too," I am shocked at this.
"Yes, I have to. For your safety. Why don't you two do a training session to help get your brains off of this?"
"All right... well, at least we have the place to ourselves!"

Today's training features my personal favorite: duct tape. It's just, in my opinion, the most comfortable of the four things. I sit in an arm chair, and Michelle simply tapes my wrists and elbows to the arms of the chair and my ankles to the legs. For the gag, she wraps the tape around my mouth 3 times, just as on TV, only she's a bit tighter.

"You have two ways normally: get out of it, or break out of it," she gives her advice, "Now, suppose you can't break out, but you get ahold of a blade of some sort. Normally you would cut your way out, but suppose you hear your captor coming. If that happens, try to hide the blade so they don't see it."
"Mmm hmm!" I acknowledge her advice as I always do.
"Blade is over there," she gestures, "Break out or cut out. Your choice."
"Mmph!"

I test the tape to see what it does, and I let out a grunt just for show. I start shuffling the chair as a result of my motions. That's not really my intent, but it is what happens. The chair makes a squeak on the floor, and I know the goal is to be quiet.

My mind is still on that case though. There was still a dangerous criminal at large, and I was the only person who knew who it was. My mind isn't able to focus on this. I'm distracted, and as the minutes go by Michelle starts to get a bit worried. This isn't like me at all... Even on my worst days I should been out through struggling or grabbing the knife in under 10 minutes. Now it's 20. Finally, at 30, I let out a groan and shrug in disappointment.

"Something's eating at you, baby," Michelle says as she cuts me loose for the first time in many months.
"I'll be fine, Mom," I respond after the tape is off my lips.
"Is there anything I can do to help?"
"Not this time."
"Courtney... I'm asking Dave to assign you to desk work for now. You're a loose cannon right now."
"I...," but she cuts me off.
"Stop. This is now Mom trying to protect her daughter, OK?"
"OK."

Well, now I have done it for real. One bad choice after another, and here I am confined to the office now. Out there is a probably killer, and I'm the one who best knows who did it. If speak up, however, I'll ensure my fate to forever be on desk duty as the "crazy one," especially because I am accusing my own sister of the crimes. I have to keep working on this case, somehow. Everyone else is trying to solve a "Who done it?" while I'm working a "How catch 'em?"
CGC Short Stories (F+f+/F+f+): viewtopic.php?f=8&t=20527
Find my other CGC Stories in the same link above!

Image
Caesar73
Millennial Club
Millennial Club
Posts: 4736
Joined: 5 years ago

Post by Caesar73 »

Just discovered that story -read the first chapter. And I find the basic scenario intriguing. I can tell more, when I have the other two chapters - but by all means [mention]AlexUSA3[/mention] continue the good work!
Image
Caesar73
Millennial Club
Millennial Club
Posts: 4736
Joined: 5 years ago

Post by Caesar73 »

As I said, the plot is good, the characters interesting with lots of potential!
Image
AlexUSA3
Millennial Club
Millennial Club
Posts: 1305
Joined: 2 years ago

Post by AlexUSA3 »

Caesar73 wrote: 1 year ago As I said, the plot is good, the characters interesting with lots of potential!
I hope it continues to live up to those expectations! :)

Of course, this story would be impossible without the incredible assistance of the kind [mention]Mineira1986[/mention].

Chapter 4

Some days go by, and I am now confined to desk duty while this investigation is going. While the officers themselves don't lead much, they are assisting the detectives in their investigative work. Meanwhile, I'm just here filling out paperwork, handing people their car keys and cell phones after they've sobered up, and acting as Dad's secretary.

I can't get this nightmarish scenario out of my mind. Dave and Michelle say that as long as this case remains unsolved, they don't trust me not to do anything foolish again. What I did the last time turned out to be correct! Wasn't that what was needed? Someone who had a different view of things?

I grew up in that neighborhood. I hung out with those folks. Many of these people that the detectives and officers are visiting are my childhood friends and neighbors. I may be an adult now, but that doesn't change that I grew up on #9 Cadillac, just a few doors down from U.S. 250A.

From this station, I am doing my own investigation. I've been studying the internal evidence files and the different affidavits to get a full grasp of the picture. I am also studying the histories of the different court cases and the witnesses involved in them. I digest everything like a sponge, and as I read the different stories I find myself in utter disbelief.

Meanwhile, I have been downright snippy and reclusive. The last two days, I haven't conversed with any colleagues except on business matters, not even Dave and Michelle. When Dave tries to make small talk, I just shrug him off, and Michelle has been patrolling solo.

One affidavit that comes through has me just fit to be tied though. Another victim came forth with a much more detailed account of things. Unlike Victim #1, Victim #2 wasn't blindfolded as well and saw some minor details that make sense to me.

Victim #2 noticed the rug was a beige color and that the tile was a spotless white. The house was kept quite immaculate in spite of the captor's general lack of care for her personal appearance. She made several phone calls in which she clearly spoke in a Romance language and was "clearly taking orders." The bed in the room they were kept had a wooden headboard and no footboard... just like Jordana's bed.

The captor seemed to feed off the attention and watched the news a lot and would laugh at seeing the coverage. She ate a lot of taffy... Which is Jordana's favorite candy. The last thing of note is that the captor frequently threatened to throw the person in a pond while hogtied or locked in the cage.

That one didn't jive with me at all. Jordana enjoys human suffering too much. She would get no thrill from that. No, if she's moved on to murder, it's because someone is ordering her to do so; a dead person is useless to her. But if she were to kill someone, she'd go for asphyxia for the thrill of the slow death.

"Courtney," Dad interrupts my thoughts.
"Whatcha need, Daddy-O?" I try to be friendly for a change lest he realize how disturbed I am by this.
"I'm expecting a fax from the coroner any minute now. It's confidential."
"All right. I'll be looking for it."

I sit there remembering my childhood. Oh, Father especially would beat me. I was only 9 when I took his cell phone, hid in my closet, and quietly called 911. He went to jail for that, and then they let him come home just a few months later! I wasn't the only 12 year old in my class to lose their father, but I was the only one who was relieved.

Jordana claimed years later that Mother was cheating on him. Now I wonder... did she murder him? Slip him a little something maybe? He died in a workplace accident, but maybe he wasn't sober while working? Or is Jordana lying about this for some reason? Mother's new husband didn't show up for years, and I realize such concerns are insignificant. At least after his death she stopped beating me too.

How good it was to be big enough to finally fight back against Jordana. Mother had to pull me off her because I was so enraged, but she never vilified me for it. My punishment was instead being sent to those questionable summer camps for troubled youth each of the next 3 summers until Jordana was on her own for good.

The sound of the fax machine ends my reminiscence of trauma. I'm shaking with anxiety at the memory of it all. I don't have to read it because the local coroner's "cause of death" is always on page 6 As the pages print off, I resist studying them myself but glance as page 6 comes through and notice the confirmation of all my suspicions.

CAUSE OF DEATH: Asphyxia

I neaten the stack of papers and make two photocopies and a scan. The original for the official case dossier, one copy for the lead investigator, one copy for Chief, and the scan for computer records. I bring Chief his copy and stop at the investigator's mailbox on the way. My face gives my actions away

"You read this, didn't you?" he asks me in a tone of disapproval
"No, I only noticed little bits as it was printing. You ordered me not to read it, so I didn't."
"Courtney?" he pushes.
"Dad, don't make things harder for me than they already are," my voice wavers as I look down at my feet, "I'm sorry."
"You're not lying. I can tell that much."
"Thank you," I force a smile knowing I'm about to do something that will probably get me fired.

I sit back down at the desk waiting for whatever needs to be done next and study a webpage. Yes, Hopkinton, relatively small as it is, is a judicial city, so court cases all over the county end up here. I notice though a common link to all of these trials... Brazilian crime. That's impressive considering there are probably more Burger Kings than Brazilians in Hopkinton itself, but that's why many locals have been drawn in as jurors for these trials.

When my shift is up, I decide it's time to pay a visit to Jordana Ferreira. My only hope of getting anywhere is to go for some vigilante justice, and I take my holster with me including a gun, handset, and taser. I sneak off with these things while no one is around even though I know the cameras will show it, and I log myself in the system as "volunteer patrol" so that the system counts the holster and supplies as being validly removed.

I drive my personal car to the McDonald's on the opposite side of 250A from my old home. I used to walk here a lot especially once I had a job there in high school. Crossing the highway is just like old times, and then it's a short walk to #9 Cadillac Street where the old Honda Civic, now with a fresh coat of paint and suspiciously new upholstery, sits in the driveway.

This isn't the first time since I moved out permanently that I've visited Jordana. It's a bizarre relationship, and I've tried to make the best of it. It is, however, strained, and this is my first time here in almost 3 years.

It's an uncomfortable place for me, but justice must be brought about. Maybe, just maybe, she will listen to me, I think as I approach the door. Some part of me shudders at this house though. It's the site of so many memories, and none of them are good.

I approach the house and take a deep breath before knocking on the door, which appears to be ajar. I knock again and call into the house, but there is no answer. Knowing what must be done, I let myself in and start walking around.

So much is different; so much is the same. The kitchen, the first thing you see, is brighter thanks to new cabinetry, but it shows in general that it's used little by how clean it all is.

The floor is exactly as I remember it. It's spotless, so I wiped my shoes off on the welcome mat before I went further. Instinct, I guess.

As I walk around, I see little in the living room except the basics one would expect: an entertainment center with a television, the same Blu-Ray player from my childhood, and many old discs. When I moved out, I took the video games without even discussing things; heck, I moved out without a word too, disappearing while Jordana was at work. I just jammed my old Rav4 with as many of my things as I could fit and went.

I turn into the hallway and first head toward my room. It hasn't changed much since I left. The same bed and dresser are in the same spot. I notice rings of wear-and-tear around the footboard and headboard but little else. I go the other way and poke my head into Jordana's room and see a nightmare of sorts.

I only have seen these things in movies more-or-less: strange gags, rope, and other such things. I grimace noting these were the materials used to torture those victims.

Again I see rings of damage on the bed, so I take out my phone and take pictures of those and the equipment and then do the same in my old room.

Now I know what I am seeking next. I have to find it and take a photo it. That monstrous thing, the dog crate. I see it opposite where I stand and take a picture of that before exiting the hallway.

Fear seizes me as I approach it, so I put my phone away for the moment. I look around and make sure I'm alone as a cold sweat comes over me while I crouch down and study it. Sure enough, this is the same crate... that tortured me on a weekly basis for 4 years of my childhood. Even the base tray still has the same papery residue from when we attempted to remove the manufacturer's label.

I become fixated on the simple thing. It's black paint is still in place except for the slide lock area, and that's just friction. It's a good quality crate. I notice all the dents in its frame; these are from my kicking and punching in vain berserker attacks in a desperate quest to escape.... and possibly others', too.

Between the bondage equipment and the continuation of this monstrosity's life, I know that there is a clear picture to connect. Everything begins to make sense... I just need to understand the motive behind these attacks. Is my sister acting in her interest, or someone else's?

The cage's presence is like a bondage. I'm unable to move or speak in fear of it. With all my will, I take a step back, and then a second, but I can't break the control it seems to have over me and stop moving away. I'm having to use all my will, but I just can't look away. I am trying... trying... I'm more than this, aren't I?

Just as I seem to find the strength to break the trance, something hits me on the back of head, and everything goes black.
Last edited by AlexUSA3 1 year ago, edited 2 times in total.
CGC Short Stories (F+f+/F+f+): viewtopic.php?f=8&t=20527
Find my other CGC Stories in the same link above!

Image
User avatar
Mineira1986
Centennial Club
Centennial Club
Posts: 619
Joined: 4 years ago

Post by Mineira1986 »

I'm glad I could help the making of this story.

Just a little thing: on a second read, the starting sequence makes Dave look bad. The "don't read it" is usually an incentive to read it, and after Courtney clearly read it and lies about it, he goes with "You're not lying, I can tell that". He looks dumb twice. It could've worked with something more subtle, like he trusts Courtney without specific saying he know "she's not lying."

Other than that, it's a good chapter. Good description of the frustration in Courtney's mind and the sequence in Jordana's place is also well descripted.
Image
AlexUSA3
Millennial Club
Millennial Club
Posts: 1305
Joined: 2 years ago

Post by AlexUSA3 »

[mention]Mineira1986[/mention] [mention]Shotrow[/mention] [mention]Caesar73[/mention] [mention]GreyLord[/mention]

Chapter 5

"Courtney, I told you not be so loud!" my biological father yells at me and slaps me right on the cheek.
"OW!" I shriek and hold my face in pain for the sin of "being too loud" for playing with my dolls in my bedroom while he's hungover.

It seems like an ordinary day in my life, especially ones in summer. Throughout the morning, the silence is interrupted with different yells and such as each one of us gets walloped for some different imaginary offense. In the afternoon, both parents are gone at work. Mama supplants the income as well by working as a part-time cashier in the grocery store. On occasions their hours line up, that means I am home alone with my big sister, Jordana.

Jordana's in high school and born in Brazil. In the summer, she's my babysitter, except when she, too, is working. Some days I find myself home alone for hours even though I'm only 9 years old. At least Stuart, our Scottish Deerhound, is always here with me.

"Come on, Court," she says in a rude tone and grabs my arm.
"Jordana, no!" I say in response.
"I have more important things to do. I can't be bothered to babysit you!"
"JORDANA! PLEASE, NO!" I start crying as we approach Stuart's crate.
"Look, I'm busy! Now, get in there and enjoy it!" she jams me in there.
"Jordana, please let me out!" tears are rolling down my cheeks.
"Look, take my PSP! OK?" she gives fake consolation while she, as always, padlocks it shut.
"Oh, all right!" I pout knowing it's useless and that she's trying to shirk responsibility.

The PSP is only a temporary reprieve. When a GTA game is plugged in, I take out my angst sometimes by going on a murder spree, especially attacking the female pedestrians. That only works as a cure for a while, and today is the day something clicks with me. I don't want to be the bad guy; I want to be the good guy. I want to help people; I can't be the only little girl whose big sister stuffs them in a cage, right? I push the game away from me and kick the cage.

"Jordana, let me out! NOW!"
"I told you to be quiet!"
"LET ME GO! Mom's going to be home soon! And she'll be steamed!"
"So what? I'll just go and buy a new lock and repeat this anyway!"

Mother's always mad that Jordana does this to me, and Jordana will get spanked even though she's 17. However, she never once said anything about feeling bad for me. She just did what she felt was her duty as a mother and otherwise ignored me. No hugs or kisses, no displays of affection, no "I love you's" except maybe on Christmas or my birthday.

=#=#=#=#=#=#=#=#=#=#=#=#=#=#=#=#=#=#=#=#=#=

Suddenly, I'm 12 again. Mother is sitting on the couch crying, and Jordana is sitting next to her in silence. The phone call just came from the hospital: there was an accident at the store, and Father was killed instantly. A shelf had collapsed, and the supplies crushed him. Two others died, and another half-dozen people were injured. I'm just dumbfounded but relieved.

I feel bad for Mother. She really loved the man she had married, but like us she hated the monster he had become. I never knew anything but the monster, so sympathy is non-existent from me. But somehow we survive.

A few weeks later, even in spite of everything, here I am again. Locked in the cage. I'm 12! Mama's working full-time.

"Enjoy!" Jordana laughs, and this time she leaves me alone as she goes to work.
"JORDANA!" I shriek as she shuts the door, and tears are flooding my eyes.

I kick and even punch the bars of Stuart's cage, and the dog just looks at me while wagging his tail. He doesn't know why I'm in his bedroom or why I'm upset. He's a dog, but he's my friend.

As the years went by, Jordana enjoyed this more and more, and it became more frequent until this past fall when she went away to college. Now, she's home in the summer and missing it a lot apparently.

=#=#=#=#=#=#=#=#=#=#=#=#=#=#=#=#=#=#=#=#=#=

The dream moves to the next summer. After three weeks of seemingly unending hours spent in the cage every chance Jordana gets, I've had enough.

"JORDANA!" I punch her in the cheek!

I'm bigger and stronger now and begin completely owning her. I push her against the wall and shake her pretty violently, and she only lets out a stunned "Courtney?!" I've had it! I'm completely done with her! I don't know why any otherwise OK (but far from good) sister would ever do this to me, but I can't stand it anymore. In my shrieks and Jordana's, mother pulls me off thrashing like an animal and still swinging my fists and legs. Mom's taking me outside to force me to go visit a friend and stay away until I cool off.

A week later, I'm at a summer camp. One of those. The kind where the kids basically do legalized forced labor, are treated like prisoners, and are ostracized from society. Probably 95% of the kids are like me: unwanted and sent here to scare them. This continues each summer until I'm 16 because then I can legally work a job of my own in this state.

Home becomes the place I sleep. I work, am at school, or am at a friend's house every second I can be. I talk to my mother under four times per week, and sometimes she seems hurt but otherwise understanding. The crate is such a trigger that mother moves it into Jordana's currently vacant room. She doesn't want her kids hurting each other but doesn't love them. I have never understood her.

=#=#=#=#=#=#=#=#=#=#=#=#=#=#=#=#=#=#=#=#=#=

The dreams suddenly end. Never before have I had such vivid flashbacks. As I regain my senses and notice that I have a terrible headache. I haven't yet opened my eyes and know something is wrong. When I try to stretch my legs, I'm unable to move and am stopped by some strength. I move my arms what little I am able and feel that familiar, cold, painted metal.
CGC Short Stories (F+f+/F+f+): viewtopic.php?f=8&t=20527
Find my other CGC Stories in the same link above!

Image
User avatar
GermanTUGFriend
Forum Contributer
Forum Contributer
Posts: 37
Joined: 2 years ago
Location: Germany

Post by GermanTUGFriend »

[mention]AlexUSA3[/mention]

What a great and well written story ! I enjoyed reading it from the first to the last chapter - the characters, especially Courtney, are fine and skillfull creations ! I'm excited to see and read what will happen to Courtney after she woke up slowly in that crate.....what does Jordana has in mind for her sister ? And what about the bondage and tie up materials in her room ?

So keep up the fine and real good work !! :) :)
No proper TUG without gagging and hooding ^^ And don't forget a blindfold ;)
Caesar73
Millennial Club
Millennial Club
Posts: 4736
Joined: 5 years ago

Post by Caesar73 »

These flashbacks are pretty intense and excellently written [mention]AlexUSA3[/mention] ! Well done!
Image
AlexUSA3
Millennial Club
Millennial Club
Posts: 1305
Joined: 2 years ago

Post by AlexUSA3 »

Thank you all for the kind comments [mention]Caesar73[/mention] [mention]GermanTUGFriend[/mention] [mention]Mineira1986[/mention] :)

Chapter 6

It takes almost five minutes before I dare move again. I'm not certain what has happened just yet, but I know it isn't good. I can't really comprehend the situation at all because of how many emotions are flashing through me, including hatred and fear. When I finally do stretch my arms and legs, I find myself unable to move much at all. In fact, I seem to be bound much more tightly and effectively than I had ever experienced before this moment.

An attempt to call out in the darkness avails me nothing. "MMMM!" What the f-ck?! "HMPH!" I call again and find my response is completely unintelligible. I'm gagged, too! What a b-tch!

I look around in the darkness and am uncertain what time it is. The TV is off, but there is still that lingering glow that shows it was recently turned off. I guess Jordana has gone to bed for the night.

The only thing between me and the floor is the cage. The floor is cold, almost unbearably cold, but somehow the cage is even colder. In fact, the cage feels colder than it has ever felt before.

I'm scared for my life and don't see much other choice. I have to get out this trap somehow and decide to go on the offensive.

"MMM!" I give the cage a swift kick to see how much give it has.

I am now able to take stock of the binding and realize just how thorough it is. My legs were tied in 3, if not 4, different places, and my arms were wrenched behind me with a rope somewhere near my elbows and my arms crossed in an X behind me. More rope was above and below my boobs, and my lower arms were pinned to my waist. Jordana was good at this; frighteningly good.

Worse than that was how tight and coarse these ropes were. They didn't cut me, but they hurt like hell. Every time I tried to move my arm or legs was like resisting a vice grip of some kind.

Some strange thing is in my mouth. It's hard and rubbery, and straps around my head and chin are holding it in my mouth. Whatever it is, it is a gag, and it's working well. My jaw aches from being forced open by something so hard for so long.

"MMMM!" I angrily kick again, this time quite loudly.
"Oh, so you finally woke up!" I hear Jordana's voice as she turns on the light.
"MMM!" I groan and kick again while squinting against the sudden brightness.

Now I can tell that my head is by the door of that infernal cage, and, in true Jordana style, the thing is padlocked. I glare at her angrily and absolutely slam the cage while yelling into the hard rubber ball. I would swear she is silently laughing because she's smiling and shaking her head as she kneels by the cage to open it up.

"You're much stronger than you were before. You left a nice dent that time."
"-CK OOH!" I yell at her as she pulls me out a little bit so that my head is in her lap.
"You can kick that all you want, but you aren't going anywhere," she taunts me while unbuckling the gag.
"GUH! Why'd you tie me up?!"
"Why'd you break into my house?" she asks coldly.
"Why are you such a sadistic b-tch?!" I fire back just as quickly.
"Answer my question! I don't have to answer yours!"

I couldn't answer that. I really couldn't. I didn't have a search warrant, but I had my knowledge of things plus my review of the evidence in the case files.

"You know why I'm here. I didn't come here to see you!"
"Aw, you came because you missed the cage! How sweet of you!" her words cut me like a knife.
"Right now I'd like to tear you to pieces!" I snarl.
"But you can't. That's a shame. I think you should just save your energy because you're not going anywhere until I say so."
"Let me go!" I whine a bit this time.
"You still haven't learned anything since you moved out!"
"I've learned plenty; you're the one that hasn't changed!"
"Neither have you! I'm in control in this house! Always have been, and always will!"
"Just untie me!" my anger is building.
"Not so fast!" Jordana grabs hold of me.
"Let me out of here now you psycho!" I demand, my eyes wide with fright.
"I want to get some sleep!"
"GUH!" I can do nothing as the white rubber ball returns to my mouth.
"Now this will ensure you're quiet!"
"HUH?!" she puts a lock on the gag.
"Now back in there!" she shoves me into the cage again and puts the padlock back on the door.
"MMMM!" I kick again in a total rage.
"Oh, you like kicking so much... I want to play too!" she kicks the cage and sends a total jolt through my body.
"OW! ITCH!"
"I think it's fun!" she delivers another one that shakes my core.
"OP IT!"
"Oh, I bet this will be fun!"

She tips the cage on its side with a thud. That doesn't hurt me physically, but the mental anguish of being at her mercy only makes me more upset. Another flip, and it's upside down, then back on it's side, and then back upright. Each flip pushes me against the heartless wire and the hard tile, but not enough to cause injury. I growl at Jordana and flip her off.

"Ha ha! Someone's a little upset!" she laughs at me.

She then begins using the the sides and top of the cage as a drum. A freaking drum?! Each tamp of her hand is like another reverberation, and all this rattling of the cage makes my headache worse.

"Good night... sister!" she turns the light out, and her tone sends a chill down my spine.
"Ooh ucking itch! If I eh ou, I ight utht ill ooh!" I say to her in a soft voice and slam the cage again.

I slam myself against the metal. I kick it again and again and again. There is no give in it though, and I am left here bound and gagged in a cold, ruthless private cell... a situation of my own making.

"Rake ooh piethe of th-t!l" I yell along with phrases like "Die!", "utherucker!", and "uhm on!" Nothing works: Jordana is sleeping, the ropes won't loosen, and the cage is impenetrable. There comes a moment where I suddenly realize the grimmest part of this reality: I'm going to die if I don't escape this.

"NOOOO!" I try to cry myself to sleep, but crying makes my headache worse as well.

But sleep doesn't come. My mind is occupied by my imprisonment, this present situation. I just have to get out of here and teach her a lesson she won't forget!

Frustration overcomes me, and I just lie there crying from the mixture of emotions. I'm hot from the anger and exertion, yet the terror chills me.

The moonlight streams through a window and lightens the room enough for me to clearly see the wire of the cage. It's a grim reminder of a part of my past I never wanted to experience again, and it was so much more frightening like this than in any of those moments of a child.

Here I am: a captive of the past, just like Michelle and Dave... Mom and Dad... tried to warn me.
CGC Short Stories (F+f+/F+f+): viewtopic.php?f=8&t=20527
Find my other CGC Stories in the same link above!

Image
Caesar73
Millennial Club
Millennial Club
Posts: 4736
Joined: 5 years ago

Post by Caesar73 »

That is quite the tight spot our heroine finds herself in - metaphorical and verbally. The desciptions are excellent and so vivid. Joanna is really rattling her cage. Truly scary. I see no way how our rookie escapes on her own. One thing is sure: She is in for a most uncomfortable night.
Image
AlexUSA3
Millennial Club
Millennial Club
Posts: 1305
Joined: 2 years ago

Post by AlexUSA3 »

Caesar73 wrote: 1 year ago That is quite the tight spot our heroine finds herself in - metaphorical and verbally. The desciptions are excellent and so vivid. Jordana is really rattling her cage. Truly scary. I see no way how our rookie escapes on her own. One thing is sure: She is in for a most uncomfortable night.
It's not too comfortable being bound and gagged and stuffed into such a tight spot, is it?

[mention]GermanTUGFriend[/mention] [mention]Caesar73[/mention] [mention]Mineira1986[/mention] [mention]GreyLord[/mention]

Chapter 7

My muscles begin slowly growing sore from being forced into this position so long. By the stream of the moonlight, I figure I have been tied up at least 7 hours, and I haven't eaten since my lunch break.

Time has almost seemed to pause... no go backwards. I'm a child again, but this time there is no maternal figure to rescue me. Then my protests and resistance were ignored, but now my ability to protest and resist has been taken away from me. Stronger than the hold of the ropes is the hold this simple wire box has on my mind, the strange ability it has to steal my focus and to petrify me.

The moonlight slowly fades and becomes replaced by the first faint glows of daylight. Even as the warm glow begins to fill this room, my prison cell slowly seems to become my future coffer. My life has been lived in hopes of escaping and overcoming, and instead it seems I am going to die right here.

"Good morning... Well, it's good for me anyway!"
"Mmmm," I weakly respond in acceptance that Resistance is futile.
"Glad to see you're finally learning your place," she says as she opens the cage, "Let's watch the 7 o'clock news, hmm?"
"Nut," I say knowing her kind too well.
"Don't talk about yourself that way," she pulls me over to the couch while I'm helpless.

As she puts me on the couch, I take advantage to at least stretch whatever muscles I can. I need some form of pain relief... but is it really necessary if I'm going to die anyway? It's some strange cop instinct, and as the local news broadcast begins the second hour I'm initially unfazed when the newscaster says "A manhunt after a police officer goes missing."

"Aw, they miss you!"

Hopkinton police are now conducting a manhunt this morning that they believe is related to a recent crimewave that is believed to centered there. Courtney Ferreira, a rookie officer out of the 5th Precinct, went missing last night during a routine patrol of a neighborhood. Detectives believe this is related to the search for a culprit in a case involving several court-related kidnappings, and they state that Officer Ferreira's life is in danger.

"We just want Courtney to come back safely. She's like a sister or daughter to everyone in the precinct," I suddenly hear a familiar voice.

It's Dad! He's on the camera and sitting at his desk, and the clock shows 2AM or so. No one should have noticed I was missing that quickly, except a parent would be worried about their child and would overturn every stone the moment something seemed amiss. I also notice he's red-eyed from crying; he mean's that I'm like a daughter to him and Mom.

I have to get out of this somehow. If I die, it's more than just me losing my life; it's me losing my parents and my parents losing their daughter. Escape is necessary for their sake as well as mine.

Manhunts, especially for a missing cop, make national news in a heartbeat. My "sister" switches the channel to CNN, where we see the scroll on the bottom essentially reiterating what was said before. Jordana smiles at it and seems excited by how much attention she has indirectly attracted to this point.

"They really want you, I guess. It's a shame the next time they see you will likely be a lifeless corpse."

Before, such a statement would have angered me or even scared me. It's become motivation to make her be wrong. I have a family out there! There's a family that cares about me! I have a Mom and a Dad who would personally pummel Jordana to protect me from her. They... love me, and I love them.

Jordana makes me sit there while she gets a bowl of cereal. I can't talk to her, and she takes full advantage of it.

"I bet this looks good to you. You hungry?"
"Hmph," I shrug my shoulders, not thinking about her as much as my parents.
"I know you have to be. I haven't fed you, and you've been out since... wow, nearly 15 hours tied up like that! This is our longest game ever!"
"Whatehher," I roll my eyes because she's a distraction.

I'm picturing myself sitting in the office talking with Mom and Dad, and that thought is better than physical food to me. It's food for the soul. My focus needs to get off Jordana and onto them.

I space out from her at this point, but I'm still fearful of that dreadful crate. How much more of this can I take? Jordana is cocky... too cocky in fact, and she takes a phone call right in front of me.

"Hello," she answers in Portuguese, "Yes, I have her right here. Well, look, my payment has gone up this time. Twenty? I'd ask for even more, but this one will be worth it in pleasure. I only have one useless cop sister to do this to. Yeah, I'll take care of her when I have the time to enjoy it."

"Well, my dear, we get to play a new game called 'Waste the Cop' later," her cold voice utters with strange pleasure.

A different kind of fear fills me now... the fear of death and separation. At the moment, I'm left with little choice except to hope Jordana leaves. Any attempts to loosen the ropes now could be met with violence, and she relishes the opportunity to mock me one last time by unlocking the gag and removing it.

"So you have no problems killing your own flesh and blood?" I ask her.
"None really. You're so screwy and weird that it probably will do the world a favor anyway."
"How many people do you think enjoy torture and murder?"
"More than are willing to admit it," she says in a soulless manner.
"Fewer than you believe that is. Believe me the only active psychopathic sadistic serial killer in Hopkinton is you right now."
"You!" she stares at me, "Wait here just a second."

Jordana comes back with some things in her hand and grabs me again.

"Your gun holster looks so nice on your old dresser. Looks just like your belt from when you'd play cop as a child."
"Thanks for that," I roll my eyes.
"Come on, Court," she says in a rude tone and drags me back to the cage.
"Jordana, no!" I say in response.
"I have more important things to do. I can't be bothered to babysit you!"
"Jordana, I said no," I order her as we approach the crate.
"Look, I'm busy. Now, get in there and enjoy it one last time. You know you like it!" she jams me in there.
"Jordana, this is going to be the biggest mistake of your life," I say through gritted teeth.
"The biggest mistake I can make at this point is getting caught after you're dead!"
"We'll see about this!"
"Any last words? These are the last words you're ever going to say before your death."

I have to make this count. I have to get her out of here long enough that I can escape. She's revealed where my knife is, but I need her out of her to be able to get it.

An idea springs to my mind suddenly, and I know this is my last chance.
CGC Short Stories (F+f+/F+f+): viewtopic.php?f=8&t=20527
Find my other CGC Stories in the same link above!

Image
Caesar73
Millennial Club
Millennial Club
Posts: 4736
Joined: 5 years ago

Post by Caesar73 »

The tension is mounting - I like that. Seems like time for Courtney is running out!
Image
GreyLord
Millennial Club
Millennial Club
Posts: 2257
Joined: 3 years ago
Location: Southern USA

Post by GreyLord »

Fantastic tension, [mention]AlexUSA3[/mention]. Courtney had better find a way to free herself.
ImageA List of my stories:
An Unlikely Savior Completed
Spy Task Force Completed
Tale of an Archer Completed
The Bandit Scout on Newhome updated 05/30/23
frankie
Forum Contributer
Forum Contributer
Posts: 1
Joined: 1 year ago

Post by frankie »

AlexUSA3 wrote: 1 year ago I am quite indebted to the fantastic help I have been receiving from @Mineira1986 while writing this story. We were discussing story ideas, and I developed one of her suggestions into this tale, The Rookie. Since then, she's been further help as an editor and such. Even when her comments seem harsh, don't get discouraged; she really means well by it.

Chapter 1

"Well, Court, here's your chance. Go get him!" Michelle Jansen says to me, her rookie partner.
"All right. Here goes!" I seize my opportunity.

I had long dreamed of this moment. Because if you received a car that is a lemon, you will need a lawyer that specializes in lemon cars to sue the dealer or manufacturer. This way, you can file a lawsuit under lemon law and receive compensation. But careful, cop racing to pull over somebody, and finally today I had my chance as the driver and not the passenger. I have always had some sort of need for speed, clearly, as my partner, Michelle, often has to remind me not to speed when we're just on patrol. With a gulp, I gunned it and put on the lights and siren.

"This is car 9. We have a 10-44 on U.S. Highway 250A," Michelle speaks into the radio in crisp English to be sure she is understood.

I watched the speedometer's dial: 45,55,65,75... this was just on U.S. Highway 250A with a speed limit of 40! How fast need I go to catch this person? When the dial reached 80, I could see we were closing, and Michelle cautioned me not to go faster than was absolutely necessary.

"Remember, Courtney, arrive alive, and we especially don't want to hit others," she warns me.
"Right!" I take a deep breath to calm myself as we approach the car.
"WHOA!" Michelle says as, suddenly, the driver veers off the road into the grass, "Stay on him! Station, 10-44 suspect has pulled off the highway in the 1500 block near the park! Send backup just in case!"
"Michelle, I think he's ditching!" I say as I watch the car skid to a halt.
"Just what we want! 10-44 suspect is stopping and running on foot!"

I stop on a dime and instantly take off running after the driver, a young white male, as he attempted to bail. I just now automatically do the chasing as the faster runner of the pair. Without much thought, I tackle him and start spewing Miranda rights and such while holding him down. I put an elbow in just the right spot to subdue him enough that Michelle can put the handcuffs on him.

"You were doing 70 in a 40 zone! There's hurrying, and there's being an idiot!" I say in anger.
"Watch yourself!" Michelle reminds me with a disapproving glance, and I blush knowing that calling a suspect an idiot could get me in trouble.
"You're under arrest for doing 30+ miles over the speed limit," I explain slowly, "Resisting arrest, and... anything else?"
"Destruction of public property," Michelle points out what a the mess the park was.

I look and notice just how near we are to a playground. I was watching for people and objects, but I hadn't noticed all those things. Yikes!

It was time once again for to bring a tale of teamwork to the station. Michelle booked the suspect while I filled out other necessary paperwork. Once in the break room, I talk about how lucky I was to have partner like her training me, and Michelle proudly tells of how I perfectly did the dirty work of chasing and tackling the suspect. Her smile is always apparent in moments like these.

"Officer Courtchelle Janeira at it again!" says one officer.

The "Courtchelle Janeira" portmanteau of our names arose because of moments like this where we just instinctively shared duties to efficiently and effectively accomplish the tasks. I don't want to boast, but it was a cool nickname, and it was pretty awesome the way we just automatically did things now.

"Another one booked. All right, Court, time for your special training," I get a pat on the back.
"Really, Michelle, again?" I ask my senior partner with a grin and a wink.
"Well, I was supposed to do it with the other rookies too, but they all chickened out!"
"I'm up for more training!"
"Come on, Courtney, I'll make a real officer of you soon!" her smile makes mine grow.

Oh, what will it be today? Rope? Duct tape? Zip ties? Maybe handcuffs? Oh, don't forget police zip ties! At least once a week, sometimes more, lunch break will happen at either the station or Michelle Jansen's house. This is done for what Michelle always calls "special training."

Special training meant I was tied up and usually gagged. It was always this way. Officer Jansen had once been captured, bound, and gagged, and she only survived because of a combo of fake kindness and a SWAT team. Her husband was a cop as well, but he was now the chief of police, Dave Jansen. Sometimes Dave would do these sessions with me, but that wasn't regular.

I laid down on the bench in the break room and allowed Michelle to zip tie my wrists and ankles and then zip together my ankles and wrists. We said nothing as this was routine, and she put some strips of black duct tape over my lips to gag me.

"All right, Officer Ferreira, go for it!" she gives me the green light to escape.
"Hmph!" I responded and felt the zips for a second.

The plastic can cut if you're not careful. I was used to the zips by now, but we still practiced. Occasionally, Michelle would ask me to zip her up or similar. The routine is mundane though. I feel the situation to know where my limbs are, and then I know just how to move my wrists to... BOOM!

"Nice work!" Michelle congratulates me as I take my knife and cut the one on my ankles.
"Hmm!" I give a thumbs up of encouragement.

I am the lucky one, or so everyone in the station tells me. Of 5 girls to graduate in my class, I am the one lucky to get accepted for the job not only in my hometown but also as the student of the most famous girl cop in the region. Being as shy as I am, it is easy to put aside my semi-idolatry of her and learn from her.

I stand up and let my curly black locks down before putting them back in a bun. My stereotypical Brazilian skin tone allows my "baby fat" to stand out. I'm in adequate shape to be a cop, but the tiny amounts of chub get me teased.

My dark brown eyes hide my emotions well, but in reality I wear my heart on my sleeve and care deeply about friends and loved ones. It is tough to put it aside sometimes because I just want to punch some people.

Michelle is only 5'5", and I am a couple inches taller. She has shoulder length, (I suspect bleach) blonde hair; she makes too many jokes about her hair going grey after her second son was born. She's a mom of two, and recently turned 50. In a lot of ways, she and Chief are like an extra set of parents to me.

On a day like today, we will now sit down on a bench, eat our lunch, and talk to whoever else may be around. I am learning so much from all these people, but most helpful of course is my beat partner. Sometimes, I have to admit, I call her "Mom" instead of "Michelle" or "Officer Jansen." I will explain later, but I'll say I spent a lot of time in this station before academy.

"Mom, I have been wondering," I began, "I've noticed something peculiar."
"Hmmm?" she asked between bites of sandwich.
"You like tying me up."

Michelle does this to all the rookies she gets her hands upon. Most of them, however, grow to resent it or her. Instead, here I am calling her "Mom" after 10 months of this routine, I was quite good at it, and frankly I enjoyed the "bonding" time.

"Court, to be fair, you're the only rookie who really respected me and whom I respected as much as we do. You're not an ordinary cop."
"What do you mean?" I'm not expecting this kind of response.
"I do like it. You're fun and playful about it even though I am serious about teaching self-defense mechanism I wish I knew when I was your age," her response was unusually honest.
"I made it fun?"
"Well, you started getting bored with my exercises. They all do, and you took a little longer than most to get to where I felt comfortable. So I had to start needling you," she means she had to tease me to get me to up my performance during such sessions.

This all made me feel a bit more comfortable as I took the last bite of my sandwich. I managed to eat a peanut butter and jelly without getting it on my fingers for a change. I reach into my lunch box for my yogurt.

"It's helped us get to know each other a lot better," she said with a genuine spirit.
"I'm just a whipper-snapper still. Just thankful it's me with you and not someone else. You've made the transition from school to reality much easier than it should have been," I expressed my gratitude.
"My pleasure. You done yet?"
"Almost."
"One last cop tradition to engrain in you," she winks at me.
"What's that?" I asked.
"An addiction to coffee and doughnuts. We have stereotypes to uphold."
"We haven't yet found a doughnut I like," I was exasperated with this quest.
"We will."
"We tried 15 different kinds already, what makes you think 16 will be different?" my frustration is obvious.
"I pay attention to what you eat. I'm sure you will like 16," she winked.
"OK, whatever, let's go."
"Now this time drive more carefully," she warns me once again.
"Oh, Mom, really?!" I whine a little.
"Yes, Courtney, you really need to be more careful. Speed limit on Main Street is 30."
"And I usually do 35. I got it from my sister; she taught me to drive."
"No excuses," she reprimands me.
"Yes, Officer," I can't help but smile.

That's the kind of banter we have when we're in a good mood. We reach "Don Utz," Michelle's favorite place for the treats, and we walk in together with her in front and me behind.

"Good afternoon, officers, what'll you have?" the cashier asks.
"Two cinnamon donuts and two large iced coffees," Michelle states what she wants.
"Right up!"
"We've tried apple jelly, strawberry jelly, grape jelly, blueberry, cruller, Boston creme, Bavarian creme, chocolate, glazed, chocolate frosted, chocolate frosted chocolate," I go through this litany each time.
"Trust me; if this one isn't it, nothing will be! I never tried a simple, cake-like doughnut on you like a fool."
"All right," I do trust her.

I discover I do like a simple, cake-like doughnut. As soon as I bite into it, my eyes give as much away, and Michelle can't help but beam at me.

That afternoon, I do my usual one-finger knuckle rap on the whiteboard the Chief keeps on his door to write messages like "Out to lunch" or "On duty." I just have to tell him the good news!

"Come in!"
"Hey, Daddy-O!" I sit down before he can say as much.
"Well, take a seat, Courtney, you're in a bright mood!"
"It finally happened today," I start excitedly explaining, "We finally found the doughnut I like!"
"About time! Which one was it?" He smiles at my excitement.
"Cinnamon!"
"Ah ha! You like the cake-like ones just like your old man!" he says and gives a strong laugh.
"What?" I pause and realize he means himself, and I giggle a little, "I guess so!"
"Hey, you did good today. I already got to look at the film; I couldn't resist. Maybe there's some favoritism in this office, but I was impressed with how you handled yourself," his congratulations reek of bias.
"Oh, thanks," I blush and feel warm inside.

Dave and Michelle, aka Mom and Dad, always take care of me. We lean back in our chairs and just smile. Everything just seems to be going perfectly at times

I love them more than my biological parents.

first chapter is intriguing. will have to print the rest as my eyes are starting to get tired. will let you know what I think.
Last edited by frankie 1 year ago, edited 1 time in total.
AlexUSA3
Millennial Club
Millennial Club
Posts: 1305
Joined: 2 years ago

Post by AlexUSA3 »

[mention]frankie[/mention] [mention]Mineira1986[/mention] [mention]GermanTUGFriend[/mention] [mention]Caesar73[/mention] [mention]Shotrow[/mention]

Chapter 8

I pause a second and give an unsettling smile that makes it appear that I have all the confidence in what I'm about to say even though in reality I'm shaking inside.

"In exactly 78 minutes, you'll be under arrest for the crimes you've committed," I glare right at her with a fire in my eyes.
"What do you mean? You can't predict that so accurately. It won't matter if you're dead anyway!"
"Oh, I sure can! Courthouse opens at 8... It'll take 20 minutes to present the case to the judge, and they'll have the warrant. It's 8 minutes from there to here. You're guaranteed a trip to jail no matter what you do!"
"YOU!" her eyes grew wide, and suddenly she was the one shaking with anger, "It will be so, so fun to end your miserable, pathetic life of false heroics."
"MMM!" she jammed something in my mouth.

GROSS! Her dirty used socks from who knows what day. Oh, Lord, is that an awful last meal should it turn out to be such. Jordana wraps a crazy amount of duct tape around my face until it's crushed down to nothing. It hurts even. I'm pushed back into my recurrent cell and am helpless as it's padlocked again.

I can tell Jordana is spooked by what I said and was completely unprepared for this change in my feelings. Her walk has changed from a strut to a stumble, and her previously confident voice is replaced by one of self-doubt. I have to stay on top of her even as the cage attempts to mesmerize me once again.

"Let's see... I grabbed some things you won't need anymore," she says while standing by her paper shredder, "Can't connect us if these things are destroyed."
"Huh?"
"No need for a driver's license," she adds to this.
"Wha?!" I kick out a little.
"Don't like that? No need for this officer ID card... Oh, look, your university graduate student ID card!" she cackles a little at this one.
"NO!" is she crazy? Well, I already know she is.
"Don't spend money in hell... no need for a debit card or bank credit card either," she keeps taunting me
"UGH!" I'm getting really angry at her now.
"Health insurance does nothing for a dead body. I guess that's all for cards! HEE HEE!" she sounds like a witch.
"MMM!"
"And you don't need a cop badge anymore either!" she puts that straight in the trash.
"-ut!" is my failed attempt to call her a "Nut."
"I'll be back!" she says and grabs her keys off a hook.
"BYE!" I flip her off one last time for the road.
"You," she sneers and shuts the door with her face alight in genuine fury.

I've gotten her to run away now. It's up to me to do the rest. I pause and take in my situation knowing I'm going to be executed if I fail. What a grim thought indeed, and as I lay there in silent, solitary captivity, I start crying.

I want to see Dave and Michelle again. I want to sit at their table eating dinner again. I want to have father-daughter talks in Dave's office! If I don't escape this, I'll never have them again, and they won't have me neither.

This cage... What power it has over me is only physical. It can't mentally harm me, but how to escape... After some careful thought, I realize I do still have a weapon at my disposal. My hair clips!

I finally dare to move around in the cage, but I do retain some bitterness against it and what it has done to me once again. I give it a kick again... as a parting present perhaps? It's a struggle in these tight confines, but I manage to grab a hair clip off my back pocket.

It takes considerable effort just to sit up much at all, but is it enough? I go slowly in trying this, and I'm for the first time glad that the cage is the size it is. Even if I'm hunched over, at least I can do this much.

Picking the lock is a slow, slow process. I first have to find it, and then I slowly and carefully get the hair clip gripped in my hand properly. With a nervous and deliberate motion, I grab the lock and slowly push the clip into it.

I pick and pick at this lock. It's a simple lock like those on an airport luggage bag; surely it will come off! I just have to be patient.

The dirty socks stew in my mouth during this process. In spite of their intense desire to make me salivate more as they absorb moisture and return their fetid flavors to my tongue, I dry out. Sweat pours off my face in droplets that fall around me.

It's off! The lock is off! I toss it aside and push the door open!

Now, I'm tasked with getting out of this contraption. Suddenly freedom seems like a possibility. But I have to contort my body into the right shape, which again is a slow process. It's much easier being shoved in or pulled out. I scrape myself a bit, but my shirt protects me from getting cut as I wriggle out of the cage and out into the open. Phase 1 is done!

I hadn't thought this through too well. Now I'm out, but I have to get to my old barracks somehow. I have to hope across this living room and down that hallway... or I have to scrunch my way there.

With new resolve, I sit up. It's really awful having someone's dirty socks in your mouth, and this gag completely muffles me unlike anything else I've experienced. Worse than dirty socks are the dirty socks of someone you hate. Sock soup is a terrible last meal.

I have to get to that room. It's my only chance. My knife will be there along with my weapons. Michelle and Dave need me to get to that room, for their sake, as well as for my own need. The clock lets me know that I've spent 45 minutes between contemplation and action.

The ropes feel rougher than ever, and I know the tight binding is beginning to cause physical damage as humans are not meant to be bound without a break for almost 17 hours in a row. The gag is really quite horrible, and the taste of it just gets worse and worse with time. The rope is rough and unforgiving and has no mercy on me. My crotch is searing with pain from needing the rest room.

As I think about Dave and Michelle, I know she never would have even imagined tying me up this well, but we'd probably be having a good laugh it she had. Even in her wildest and meanest moments, Mom could never put dirty socks in my mouth though. How can I suddenly be so positive at a time like this? It must be love.

The fight to reach my bedroom is tiring but not too difficult. I take my time and do so without getting myself hurt. I have to stay conscious if I am to survive this, so any and all unnecessary risks are off the table at this moment.

As I enter the bedroom, I know time is running short, and I know Jordana well enough to know she will take wait a little before returning when she realizes I've tricked her. She's looking to forward to this moment, and I use that as my motivation to move a little quicker.

I finally lower myself onto my back and roll over onto my stomach. With a deep breath, I get a massive taste of Jordana's feet and get myself up on my knees beside my bed. I flop onto the mattress and roll over back onto my back. Finally, with a rocking motion, I can sit up and then stand up.

There they are: phone, radio, knife, gun, and taser, along with my belt and the zip-cuffs and handcuffs that were ready to go. I take a hop to the dresser, grab the knife, and hop back to the bed and take a seat. I carefully open the blade and begin to gingerly saw at the rope with bated breath. If I do escape this, Michelle will be the proudest Mom ever for my escape in spite of her disappointment at my life-threatening disobedience.

Finally, after so much effort, sweat, anger, fear, torture, and a whole host of other such concepts and emotions, I have the wrist and waist bonds cut off. There's no time to waste anymore, and I contort myself to the point it hurts to reach up and cut the rope pinning my arms to my chest, which in turn loosens my elbows enough. With some wriggling, those are off.

It takes little effort to get the leg bonds off. In fact, after a few efforts, I realize it's faster and easier to cut one strand and unwrap the rest. I've done it; I'm free! I'm peeling the tape off my face when I turn on the radio, awaiting that familiar static sound. As I pull the socks from my mouth, I check my gun; it's loaded and ready to go. I turn my phone on and put it in my pocket and quickly put on my holster/belt. I'm armed and ready to go and know it's showdown time.

I walk into the living room with confidence. Whereas before I stepped into this room with uncertainty and fear, I now walk into it with a new sense of hope, a new me, a second chance at life. The clock reads 10:30 AM...

I'm ready for Jordana's return. Some part of me is concerned just knowing that this may be an emotionally charged moment, but it also is easy because... she's just a common criminal in my eyes.

"Courtney, you f-cking liar!" she says in an angry tone, "No one is here to---"

I stand up and point the gun right at her.

"It's over, Jordana," I say with a deep sense of accomplishment.
"How the f-ck did you escape?!" she is between a yell and a shriek.
"Unlike you, I had something to fight for," I'm not here for small talk, and I begin listing her charges and rights, "Jordana Ferreira, I'm placing you under arrest on the suspicion of kidnapping and murder, for assaulting an officer, assault with intent to commit murder, and I'm sure the DA will come up with others. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to speak to an attorney, and to have an attorney present during any questioning."
"So you'd do this to your own sister?"

How dare she suggest I have any familial obligation to her! I will not stoop down to her level anymore.

"You were going to kill me. You never were my sister in spirit, only by blood."
"Dammit!" she curses with the only regret a true psychopath ever has: disappointment at being caught.
"Here she is guys," I say as two officers step out of the hallway into the room, "The Hopkinton Strangler."
"You f-cking monster!"
"This," I speak into the radio, "is Officer Ferreira at 9 Cadillac Street. We have just placed the suspect under arrest. Tell Michelle and Dave that I'm sorry... and that their daughter loves them even more than any of us realized."
"Copy that," I get confirmation.

Jordana stares back at me when she realizes I just referred to Michelle and Dave as my parents. I stare at her as if I just met her yesterday like any other criminal I've encountered.

We sit there and wait while more backup arrives, but it feels like forever as a new feeling comes over me. It's over; it's finally over. Maybe the PTSD and nightmares will end finally? Perhaps I will be able to see an upset child and commiserate yet still do the right thing without clouded judgment?

"This is how it ends?" Jordana breaks my thoughts.
"Hmmm?"
"You always were the goody two-shoes in our family," she thinks she can still taunt me.
"I ceased to be your sister over a decade ago; you just finally realize it," I say pensively without looking at her.

During that time, I realize something special. It's not that my biological family is done for good; it's that I finally found, after 25 years, a family to call my own without feeling ashamed and where my affections are reciprocated. It's that I have a place where I know I am safe and loved even when I screw up.

The clock now reads 11:30. Only an hour has passed since my escape. I realize this is a rebirth of sorts. I have a new life. This day will forever be my worst memory yet also special to me. I see a photo on a table... My biological family and I... no, my old roommates... My thoughts go instead to Dave and Michelle... My family... the family that will hang on my wall in my own home when I get the chance.

"Jordana, I had no family until I joined the force," I say while sirens whine to indicate that a massive crime scene is about to develop from this conflict.
"You're my sister," she is desperate to find any way out of this.
"Family meant a very different thing to each one of us, and look where we are now," I don't even look at her.

I walk over to the crate. It's heavily damaged from my escape efforts.

I realize now just how awful of condition I'm in and how much the adrenaline kept me afloat. My head is actually in splitting pain, especially where I was hit. My arms in particular have deep purple marks from the brutality of the rope, and my hands and feet are slightly tingly from the return of full blood flow and their own deep marks. My mouth is parched from the sequence of gags, particularly those filthy socks.

All of it: the rope, the tape, the socks, the ball gag... It's all evidence now for when Jordana inevitably gets tried for what she did to me. As I stroll to the kitchen, I see my badge in the trash where Jordana left it, and with a hint of pride I grab it and pin "Officer Ferreira" back on whilst a medical team enters the scene. It's a shame I will have to replace my various cards, but that's inconvenient although I had fun during 6 years at U.

As the medical team escorts me to an ambulance, I know the long road is ahead. After this, it will be months of psychiatric evaluations, counselors, medical checkups, suicide watch, and more before I'm allowed to return to regular duty. Before I can step into the ambulance, I hear a voice that makes me literally jump for joy in spite of my weakened state.

"Courtney!" Michelle calls out, and I turn and see her in the crowd.
"MOM!" I run to her without concern and embrace her in the tightest hug possible.
"Oh, we've been so worried about you," she wraps her arms around me.
"I love you so much! I'm sorry I didn't listen to you and caused so much chaos for everyone involved."
"Let's not talk about that now except when you're ready. You know you know you made a mistake, and I'm sure this time you've learned your lesson."
"I learned a real important lesson," I say and brush away tears of happiness.
"Hmm?"
"Family is more than just blood. You and Dave and your boys are all I need."
"Courtney!" she squeezed me tighter, "You must be starved. Now, get in that ambulance, and just go along, OK?"
"All right. And, by the way...," I find the strength for a joke and show her my arms and roll up my pants, "Your training sessions might not be intense enough."
"Oh my gosh," she stares at my body in horror, "Stop it!"
"Seriously, I wouldn't have survived without your training."

I stare around me. News choppers and vans are beginning to swarm my childhood home, and I'm sure some lucky reporter caught a perfect shot of Mom and me embracing. Let them; that's a moment I want to recall forever in spite of what led up to it.

This moment is special.

As the ambulance door shuts...

I say goodbye to #9 Cadillac Street for the last time.
CGC Short Stories (F+f+/F+f+): viewtopic.php?f=8&t=20527
Find my other CGC Stories in the same link above!

Image
GreyLord
Millennial Club
Millennial Club
Posts: 2257
Joined: 3 years ago
Location: Southern USA

Post by GreyLord »

That was a magnificent windup, [mention]AlexUSA3[/mention]. Is this the end or will more follow. I am sure the Courtney will have many more adventures. Whatever you elect, thank you for presenting this. The dialog, and self dialog, was very good. And, from what you said, [mention]Mineira1986[/mention] should get some thanks as well.
ImageA List of my stories:
An Unlikely Savior Completed
Spy Task Force Completed
Tale of an Archer Completed
The Bandit Scout on Newhome updated 05/30/23
User avatar
Mineira1986
Centennial Club
Centennial Club
Posts: 619
Joined: 4 years ago

Post by Mineira1986 »

Thanks for the mention [mention]GreyLord[/mention] although all the credit goes to AlexUSA3. I contributed with some minor editing but the premise, scenes and dialogues are all Alex's. This is a beautiful story and I'm glad it found its readers =).
Image
Post Reply Previous topicNext topic