All else considered in the nightmare this case was becoming, I had to remind myself that (all things being equal) if you ignored the fact I was imprisoning a man in my basement and fucking him, this was, still, a substantial break in the case. It wasn’t until the next morning that I thought to dig through the biker’s cut up clothing, find his wallet, and check his ID. He did, in fact, have a license, and a name–Steven Perkins. He laughed when he saw I had found it, and just told me that his friends called him Cumster. I ignored him, as much as I knew he still deserved to be…punished, and left the basement, making sure he had food and water, and then remembered to shower–finally.
How many days had it been at that point? It was such a relief, feeling the water wash over me, taking away some of the thoughts and compulsions–or maybe I was just imagining it, but even the illusion was enough to give me some confidence I still had some power here. I was, after all, literally the one holding the keys to his freedom–as I should be. The righteousness was distressing, still is distressing, to some extent, but I’ve had to learn to embrace it. To accept that what I feel is, necessarily, right. It is mine, the core of it at least. Whatever might happen to me, I know, in the end, I will win–because order has to win. I will not allow these agents of chaos to have their way…and that’s why I have to do this, why I am writing this. For myself, hopefully. If not, for someone else who can carry on in my stead.
I wonder if you’re hearing the voice too, now. If it can reach even through writing. I pity you, if you are, but know that I will bring order to you as well, one day.
I hadn’t checked in at the precinct in over a day now, and I was certain the brass was going nuts, wondering if I’d gone the way of Jules, and fucked this case over even more. I got in the car and went in. I spent the first hour getting raked over the coals for not getting this case under control, because someone had gone and leaked details of the second rape to the media. I knew immediately who it had been–Marcus. Probably, he was angry at me for not giving him a chance to speak to Ray in the interrogation room, but I couldn’t see how this would help him…although, it did put everyone on high alert. I wondered, again, if he could be the rapist behind all of this, pretending to play a victim in order to get closer to the case and track our progress. He also, I supposed, could have been a friend of the rapist, much like Cumster, working with him to confuse us and keep him off the trail…but that didn’t seem right either. He really was desperate to find him, and given Bernard’s behavior, it seemed consistent with someone the rapist hadn’t had a chance to…finish. Or had purposefully decided to leave unfinished.
Jules still hadn’t shown up anywhere. No one had seen Bernard or Ray. The case was out of control, and they were looking to me–had I found something? Anything? A lead? Something to feed the press hounding them all about what they were doing about this strange serial rapist? I couldn’t tell them about the man locked up in my basement, but I told them I may have found someone else with a history with the rapist–we had talked, but then he’d gotten spooked and disappeared, but not before I’d gotten his name. So I ran Steven Perkins through the system–and I found plenty. Multiple arrests for public indecency. He’d been in jail until just recently, in fact…and it looked like he’d left before the end of his sentence, but the file didn’t explain why. He was just released one day–without any clear reason.
That was concerning, but what I was really looking for was anything further back, anything about his past that I could use on him, something that could get him to talk. But again, just like Ray–there was nothing past a certain point, about seven years before that, aside from two other arrests for public indecency–and these mugshots were markedly different from the man down in my basement. Young, small, and utterly terrified, caught sucking cock in two different rest area bathrooms, but nothing had come of the charges in either case.
I had my confirmation then. Whoever this rapist was, they had been active for years at this point, and was only choosing to go public with his acts now because…well, I had no clue. But at the bar, Steven had said that something about him had changed–about the rapist that is. That something was different now than it had been before. I took a copy of his picture and slipped out again, not wanting anyone to yell at me for disappearing–they could do that later. I had an interrogation to do.
It wasn’t until I was back in my car, that I realized I had been half hard for most of the day, thinking about Cumster back in the basement, thinking about all the things I wanted to do to him, leaking cum into my underwear. By the time I got home, it had leaked through to the front of my pants, and thankfully, no one at the precinct had noticed the growing spot. Inside, I immediately went upstairs and changed, back into my formal uniform, though after the night before it wasn’t quite as clean and well pressed as it had been. Still, washing it would have felt wrong, somehow. It was good that it smelled a bit rank, that it smelled like me. I pulled on the leather gloves last, relieved to have them on again, and then went back down into the basement, feeling more like myself than I had in days. Feeling confident that, with a little effort, I could sort this whole case out and have everything back under control, under my law, in due time–and the first person I was going to work on was Steven, or Cumster, rather. The name really did suit him, after all.
Bracken's Corner 