Alone Ch. 08

While it was warm in the car compared to outside, it was still cooler in the back, given the heaters were all at the front. That didn't seem to slow him down though, as after taking the baton out of my ass, he wasted no time in inserting himself back into my abused vagina. I knew it was coming. I'd seen the way he looked at me before, and by now I knew what that look meant. It meant he wanted me, and it meant he was going to have me. I got no say in the matter. I felt it when he pushed back into me, how couldn't I? Despite the slight chill in the back of the car, he was still huge, and this time I was bone dry. It hurt like hell though, and while I told myself it was better this way, far better than the endless shame of somehow finding pleasure in it, I found myself wishing that there was something I could do to lessen the pain.

Instead though, I just laid there, grit my teeth, and took it. All the while I stared straight up, through the narrow stretch of the rear window. It was a clear, starry night, and, while he raped me for the last time, I began counting the stars in the sky. I said the last time, because I knew that after this, he'd be done with me. I could tell, because this rape was different. He wasn't messing with me, taunting me, or even recording it. He was just finishing what he started, with no real passion for it. His brutality wasn't performative or punishing, it was just... indifferent, and I knew indifference only meant one thing. He was bored of me.

I could relate. I never thought sex could even be boring, but my last boyfriend, who I'd broken up with just prior to Sarah's assault, had proven me wrong. He wasn't small, but he was so goddamn predictable. He never got me off, and I found myself resenting him every time we fucked. It got to the point that I started avoiding sex with him, because it was just a chore for me. I knew how bad it was when, after I heard from Megan that he'd been cheating on me, I realized that, while I felt betrayed, I was mostly just relieved I had a good excuse to break up with him. It's a shame though, I liked him well enough to begin with, he just sucked in bed.

My rapist had managed to get me off, and my last boyfriend hadn't. The absurdity of that wasn't lost on me, and while I was deathly ashamed of it, I recognized how utterly fucked up it was, and couldn't help but laugh. Not the mad cackle I'd unnerved him with earlier, but a genuine, hearty chuckle.

"What's funny?" He asked, slowing for a moment.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" I replied, still laughing.

He didn't like that, but didn't seem to care enough to continue asking, and instead went back to piledriving my battered pussy into the seat. From his new position, pressed down onto me, my legs up around his shoulders, he was able to go as deep as I could take him. He was bottoming out and slamming into my cervix with every thrust, and he wasn't even fully inside me. It was genuine, wretched torment, but I'd rather that, than what became of me last time. Last time, I'd been so overwhelmed by the shock and the torment of it, I'd done all I could to make it easier. I'd convinced myself that it felt good, anything to numb the pain, anything to protect myself, but the shame of that hurt me more than any physical damage he could have done. Or maybe that was just what I was telling myself. I don't know. Maybe I was just lying to myself, telling myself it was a survival mechanism, because the only alternative was that I had actually taken pleasure in my own rape. I wasn't willing to consider that.

While he continued roughly slamming into me with reckless abandon, it was starting to get easier. As dry as I was, he was leaking precum the whole time, and mercifully, before long, that was enough to add a slight bit of lubrication to the assault, and I got to keep my self-respect, well, what little self-respect I had left. The pain was still there, with no hint of disappearing any time soon, and I could feel him stretching me with every thrust, but the shock and intense agony of each one was starting to wane. I was actually relieved when I felt his rhythm finally start to change again. He was getting faster and rougher, sure, but I knew exactly what that meant by now. It meant he was nearly done, and while the uncertainty of what was next was weighing on me like a ton of bricks, I was just tired of being raped. I wanted it to end, no matter what. I'd held out hope for long enough. If this was the end, then so be it.

He let my legs fall around his waist and lifted my ass up as he started rapidly increasing his pace, grunting and growling, a bit like a raccoon. With my legs down again he wasn't able to push as far into me, but it didn't matter. I stared up at him with a foul look as he filled me up, pushing my legs far apart as he tried to bury his entire length into me. He lifted my waist as high as he could, pushing as deep as he could get. He wanted my pussy to milk every last drop out of him, and I felt his hot, thick seed pooling around my cervix, burning my insides, as it had done four times prior. The first time he did this, only an hour or so ago, I cried, sobbed, and begged him not to cum inside me. This time, I just stared at him coldly as he groaned in delight, going slightly cross-eyed as his face went all droopy for a few moments.

I had to stop myself from laughing at him. Sure, I was the one who'd just been raped, but that was nothing new at this point. He looked like he'd just shit himself. Given my own bladder accident before though, I knew pointing that out would only lead to ridicule, and it wouldn't be worth whatever the reprisal would be. The last punishment left me fairly certain that the inside of my ass was bleeding, so I wasn't in any sort of mood to test him again. Finally, he pulled out of me with a noticeable squelch, and threw me back on the seat, where I just laid still, exhausted, and defeated. I knew he was done with me now. That assessment was confirmed when he got off the back seat, and a moment later, I heard the car door open, and felt the midnight chills around my legs, all the while, his load slowly leaked out of me and stained the seats around my ass.

I vaguely wondered what he was going to do with me now. I figured there were three options. Either he'd kidnap me and continue the abuse elsewhere, kill me and dump me at the side of the road, or leave me cuffed to the car for when my department eventually went looking for me. I said them in the order of least preferable to most preferable. While I despised the idea of being left naked and cuffed to my own car for my colleagues to find me, it was infinitely preferable to being taken as some kind of sex slave by this depraved psychopath. Death would be preferable to that, or at least, that's what I kept telling myself.

Say I escaped after two days worth of defilement, I'm sure I'd feel pretty stupid for wishing for death instead. Even if I escaped, or was rescued after even a few months, maybe even then I'd be glad I hadn't died here. If it lasted for many years though, or if, God forbid, I never managed to escape, and he just killed me, once my pussy was too loose, or my mind was too far gone, then I'd gladly taken a bullet right now instead.

"Put these on." He said quietly, and a moment later, my pants and boots were thrown on top of me.

While I was surprised, I wasn't sure what to make of it at first. Maybe he just wanted me dressed up for the aesthetic, or maybe it was for taking media-friendly photos to gain more notoriety if he decided to kidnap me. The hope that he'd leave me alive for my colleagues to find me was all but gone though. He wanted the last laugh. If he was going to leave me here, alive, he'd want them all to see what he'd done to me. He'd want to strip away every ounce of dignity I had left. If he was going to kill me here though, I doubt he'd do me the courtesy of letting me dress back up first, even though he made that exact offer just before. He wasn't a man of his word, I knew that too well. So now I knew what he was going to do. He was going to take me with him on the run, continue abusing me, and eventually, he'd probably just kill me anyway. I thought long and hard about whether I'd put the clothes back on, as to do so was guaranteeing that the abuse would continue, perhaps indefinitely, and my death was still a very possible outcome. I wasn't a defeatist though, and despite all he'd taken from me tonight, he hadn't taken that.

***

I got out of the car, my uniform shirt buttoned up, hiding as much of my cleavage as possible, tucked back into my uniform pants, to see him leaning on the trunk of the BMW, my gun in hand. He was deliberately leaning on the one part of the trunk not covered in gore or shattered glass. He gestured for me to come over, stepping back slightly. I limped over to the trunk and looked at it soberly. My ass hurt like hell once I was standing up. It was definitely bleeding. This was where he was going to put me. After all, a beaten-up female cop wearing handcuffs and a thousand yard stare was likely to draw some attention if anyone cared to notice. Then again, there was blood and shattered glass all over the back seats, and while it wasn't as easy to spot the blood on the paintwork, given the car's color, anyone paying even the slightest bit of attention would see something was wrong, even without seeing me there. Given the awareness most drivers around here demonstrated though, he probably had a good ten miles or so before he needed to find another car.

He opened the trunk of the BMW with the key fob, and I wasn't surprised to see the body of a woman in there. This had to be Cassie Winters, the owner of the car. I suppose I'd be taking her spot. She hadn't been keeping it warm though, that much was clear. She was pale, naked, and wide-eyed, with noticeable bruises around her neck. She was dead, that much was clear, though I couldn't smell anything yet, so while she was pale, she hadn't been dead long. I was just glad I didn't see the body of a kid in there. That car seat had me thinking about that kid, wherever he, or she, may be, probably a he, given the stuffed toy. I could only hope that he'd just been left somewhere, found by some kind soul, or maybe, God willing, the kid was never in the car. Maybe the kid was at home, and he'd just left his toy behind. I hoped he'd just left the toy behind.

"Another one of your prizes?" I asked quietly, trying to put on a brave face.

"Something like that." He replied simply, lighting up a cigarette. "I was going to bury her out here. So I uh, I brought a shovel." He added, gesturing at a large garden spade lying atop her.

He'd killed her, and once I helped him dispose of this poor woman, he was going to kill me. I knew that all along, I'd just been bullshitting myself, holding out hope, but this confirmed it for me. He wasn't going to kidnap me and use me like a fleshlight for months on end. He was just going to kill me, and in a few days, he'd either be caught, killed, or he'd have found a new victim. I'd endured too much torment to just let him kill me. I'd endured it all, banking on hope. That radio message had been strange, right? They had to know something was up. They must be looking at the car's tracker, wondering why we hadn't moved in over an hour. Maybe they were able to review the car's dash cam remotely? I know some departments did that. Maybe they knew, maybe they saw it all, and they had units right now, surrounding us, trekking through the woods, ready to jump out of the woods and kill this motherfucker. All I had going for me now was time. I had to waste as much time as possible. If that time was spent on my back being slowly raped to death, it was still time that I was alive. It was time they needed to realize something was wrong, time they needed to find me.

"That's a spade." I replied, without really thinking.

"Just dig the fucking hole." He said eventually, and shoved me towards the open trunk of the car.

"Why though? They're gonna find them anyway, you're on dashcam... raping me, killing Thomas, what's the point?" I demanded, woefully confused.

"The point is, I want you to dig a fucking hole." He snapped in reply.

Right, so he just wanted me to suffer. He just wanted me to dig my own grave. It didn't matter to him that when my colleagues tracked the car down and came looking, they'd find it in minutes. It wasn't for them, it was for me. He just wanted me to know that I was digging my own grave, and he didn't seem to care that my department would come looking for me before long.

I sighed. "Alright, where?"

He simply gestured at a spot just off the road, behind a small fallen tree. I picked up the spade awkwardly and started limping over to the spot he'd picked out. As I walked, I considered the weight of the spade, wondering if I'd be able to wield it against him, but with my hands cuffed, I wasn't quite able to form a proper grip on it.

"I can't dig with my hands cuffed." I said after a moment, trying to adjust my grip, but having little luck.

He laughed. "I don't care."

I turned around slowly, maybe two yards from the spot he'd selected. Meeting his eyes for a moment, he smirked. He knew what I was thinking. He knew that I knew the time was near, and that I'd have to try something eventually, or waste as much time as possible, in the hopes someone came looking for us. He was keeping a firm grip on my pistol, which was sticking out of the front of his waistband. I knew once the hole was dug, he'd kill me, he just wanted me to dig the hole, and for literally no reason as well. What's more, digging that hole would take time, time that he must have known was soon to run out. He wouldn't have me answer the radio again. He knew I'd try something, and to be fair, I would. I'd use the wrong code, or slip in a distress code, and just hope the dispatcher was smart enough to figure out that something was up. Of course, being a rookie, they expected me to fuck up on the radio, so chances are, they wouldn't catch on.

I thought about it for a moment, how often had I heard a dispatcher check in with a unit who were dealing with a long assignment? Sure, I'd only been on the job a few months now, but the answer to that question was never. If they were going to hail us on the radio, they'd have done it already. It had been an hour since my last call, and they'd told me to finish up quickly, so if they were going to send anyone to find us, they'd have done that by now as well. I was alone. There really wasn't any getting out of this. Even after all I'd done, all I'd endured, all he'd done to me, I'd only live for as long as it took me to dig a pointless fucking hole. The crushing despair that came with that realization flicked a switch in my head all of a sudden. I turned to face him, dropping the spade at my feet.

"You're as dead as I am." I said simply, staring him down. "It doesn't matter what happens now, you'll never leave the state alive."

He laughed. "Jail is jail sweetheart. They'll catch me, sure, but you know what, they'll treat me like a king inside. I'll be the guy who killed two fuckin' pigs, and made one of them his bitch."

Now it was my turn to laugh. "You won't make it to jail." I said, a cruel smile worming its way onto my face, despite everything. "When they catch you, they'll kill you. There won't be a trial, you won't be a king. You'll be just like me, another fucking corpse."

His smug grin faltered slightly, and he clenched his jaw. I wasn't done though.

"But you know what, if they do catch you, and they don't just put you down, like the rabid mongrel you are, then they'll have you in court." I continued softly, looking him right in the eyes as I said it. I wanted him to know that what I was telling him was the truth. "They'll put you before a jury, and then that jury will send you to a windowless cell for the next couple of decades. Before finally, once you're good and old, and regretting everything you've ever done in your worthless fucking life, they'll strap you to a table, and you'll watch as they stick the needle in you."

He didn't look smug at all after that.

"And you know what? When that poison is running through you, I want you to think of me." I said, smiling across at him. "Think about how much fun you had raping me, because it'll be the last thought you ever have."

His whole demeanor had changed, and while the blinding takedown lights flattered nobody, and made it difficult to make out anyone's color, he still looked pale, and sickly. Eventually though, he pulled himself back together.

"Dig the fucking hole."

***

I dug for what must've been nearly an hour, as slowly as I dared. He told me to speed up, frequently, and I did, but whenever he was distracted by his phone, I slowed to a crawl. I spent a lot of time just trying to figure out what I was going to do. He wasn't paying much attention, sure, and the spade was sure to do a whole lot of damage, should I manage to hit him with it, but he was at least ten yards back, sitting on the hood of the BMW. In the time it would take me to climb out of the hole and run at him with the spade, he only had to raise the pistol and shoot me once. It simply wasn't doable. I was at the edge of the woodline, but there was a small barbed wire fence between it and me. That was out. He'd shoot me while I was trying to clear it, but even if I made it, once I was in the woods, he was the one with the gun, while I was the battered, bruised, and handcuffed half-naked woman. There was another woodline on the other side of the road, but I'd have to run past him to get to it, so that wasn't worth even thinking about.

My monologue, where I promised him vengeance from beyond the grave, and finally managed to break through his shell and make him feel fear, had been oh so satisfying, but it hadn't made me accept what came next. I wasn't ready to die, and all my false bravado from before had run dry. I ran so many scenarios through my head, but once I realized there was nothing I could do, I was standing in a hole three feet deep, and wide enough to hold at least three people, I stopped. I'd dug the hole, nobody had come looking for me, I'd run out of time, and I had no plan. As that sank in, I heard the crunching of boots on dirt as he walked back over. I looked up, loosely holding the spade's top handle in both hands, unable to operate it any other way. He was standing at the foot of the hole, looking down at me, the gun held loosely at his side. He was tapping it absently against his leg. I couldn't see his face, as all the light was coming from the patrol car's takedown lights, behind him. He looked like a monster, an unholy demon bathed in shadow. I couldn't stop the tears flowing freely down my face as he raised the gun. I was rooted to the spot, unable to do anything else.

A momentary flash of light, but not from the gun. He was holding his phone up in his other hand, and he'd taken a photo of me, with the flash on. He held the phone up for a second and chuckled.

"Alright, get up out of there. Go get the bitch out of the car." He said afterwards, before going back to the front of the patrol car and sitting down on the hood.

I laid the spade down next to the hole and got out, before shuffling over to the back of the BMW. With great difficulty, owing to my still-cuffed hands, I dragged poor Cassie Winters out of the trunk as Greg sat and watched, gun in his lap, pointed at me the whole time. I wish I could have carried her instead, as the only way I could transport her was by dragging her by the foot. The sight of her stark naked form being dragged along the stony ground as I brought her closer to her grave did nothing to stem my flow of tears. As I rolled her in, I couldn't help but stare. This poor woman. What had she done to deserve this?

Moreover, what had I done? I knew nothing I'd done in life could mean I deserved this. I made the smallest of mistakes, and it cost Thomas his life, it cost me my dignity and virtue, and it would soon cost me my life as well. I wasn't religious. Sarah used to try to get me talking about God, but the idea of an omnipotent being in the sky never quite sat right with me. I was always respectful of her beliefs, but I always told her that that's what they were; beliefs, and they were hers, not mine. After she was raped, we never had those conversations again. She still wore her cross, but there was something missing, something metaphysical, something you couldn't describe, but you knew it when you saw it.