Alone Ch. 09

That was the stuff I talked to my therapist about. Not the one the department offered me though. Mom found a really nice woman who she used to see a few years back, not long after her mom died in a car crash. She specialized in trauma response and grief counseling, and, while I was hesitant to open up to her, I eventually did, about everything, and while it had been a slow, and painful process, one that was still underway, it helped. It definitely helped. She wasn't thrilled about me carrying my gun everywhere, and so we had an agreement that whenever I went to her office, I'd take the gun off, and it would go in a cabinet in the corner of her room. She could've banned me from bringing it entirely, but she knew it was the only thing that made me feel safe anymore, so we'd compromised. I still woke up with nightmares, but less frequently than I used to. My neighbor in the apartment my bedroom shared a wall with, an elderly Asian man with two cats, was nice about it, even after he was woken most nights by my screaming for the first few weeks. I soon found ways to combat it though, and now, when we bumped into each other in the hallway, things were a little awkward.

I never told my parents that I woke up screaming, but I told them I had nightmares. My mom wanted me to move back in with them, but I couldn't. I told them that I was locked into another four months on my lease, and that it was too far from work, both of which were true, but that wasn't why I couldn't do it. Finally, I told them the truth, which was that if I moved back in with them, I'd never be able to figure out how to deal with it on my own. My mom didn't get it, but my dad did. In terms of how they'd been once they heard what happened... well, they'd been as you'd expect, they were crushed. I kept the details from them. They just knew I'd been raped, and that my partner had been killed. I never told them that he used the threat of sending them videos in order to make me compliant. That would destroy them, my dad especially, so that would go to the grave with me.

There was no footage of what happened out there either. The cyber crimes detectives had established that no videos had made it on the web, either by upload or livestream from either phone, and the only thing that ever made it online was a single photograph of me, standing in the empty grave. Apparently Greg had put that on some nasty dark web message board immediately after taking it, promising he'd release videos in the coming days. After the thread went dark, most of the cretins on there figured he'd been caught, and commented, lamented the fact that they'd never get to see the footage. "Boo fucking hoo." I'd thought bitterly, when I was shown that.

Cyber crimes told me something else interesting though. One person on there had figured out the photo was real by checking the metadata, only minutes after it was posted, and had been calling departments all across Florida, desperately telling them that one of their deputies had been kidnapped. Our department got a call as well, but not for an hour after I'd called it in myself. By then, our dispatchers knew what had happened, and after realizing what it was, told the caller I was safe. Speaking of dispatchers though, the dispatcher who didn't check in on my unit for over an hour and a half had been fired, mere days after the incident. I couldn't blame him though. Had he called to check in, or figured out something was amiss, Greg would've just killed me. I told internal affairs that, but they were having none of it. I felt bad for the guy, truth be told. He'd made a mistake. A tiny, terrible, costly mistake, but a mistake nonetheless. It wasn't my place to condemn him for it, after all, Thomas wasn't here to condemn me for mine.

"And they're calling you Deadeye Murphy?" Sarah asked eventually, interrupting my sobering thoughts.

I nodded again, sipping at my can, acting like I hadn't had two full cans already.

"That's not so bad, right?" She asked hesitantly.

I thought about it for a moment. "I guess not. I just- I'd rather nobody knew, you know?" I replied eventually.

"Well, they know Thomas was killed, and they all know you got his killer. You can't hide that." She pointed out.

"Yeah, I know, but-" I began, but she cut me off.

"What did they call you before that?" she asked.

I thought for a moment. My colleagues didn't really call me anything. They just avoided me, or treated me like damaged goods. If they talked to me at all, they talked the way we were meant to talk to victims of crime. Slowly, professionally, and with respect. I'd walk into the locker room, a group of gals would be chatting about something, but I'd never figure out what, because the moment they saw me, their faces went red, and the conversation changed. Or they just started talking... differently, and then once I disappeared, they'd whisper amongst each other. The guys just didn't talk to me if they could help it, well, most of them, anyway.

"They... didn't really talk to me much." I said hesitantly.

"They know you didn't do anything wrong though?" She asked, confused.

"They were told, but I guess they had to see it to believe it." I replied unhappily.

I was cleared of wrongdoing not even a week after the incident, but internal affairs had kept me up to date on the process of 'information dissemination' as they put it. The dashcam footage was cut, gore was blurred, and even my face was blurred out. It showed from the beginning, right the way up to when I jumped over the hood, looking for Thomas's gun. The video stopped on a freeze frame right as Greg was approaching Thomas, aiming my gun at him. There was a caption after the fact stating that due to some state and federal law I didn't understand, the rest was redacted. That was what was finally released to the public in January, after much back and forth between the press and the department. That was also the wider department's first look at what had happened, and it did me no favors. They didn't see me running for his gun, they saw me running for my life.

Two days ago though, a version was shown to the department, to finally put an end to the rumors. The department version was a little different though. This time, there was no blurring, and instead of cutting off before Thomas was killed, it showed the whole grizzly scene, and only stopped when I was bent over the car for the first time. A message followed, simple white text on a black background. "Footage of the assault against your colleague has been redacted." It then cut to an hour and fifty-three minutes later, when he was making me drag poor Thomas towards the grave, and it played out from there.

That footage being released was probably the best thing that could've happened. I had the opportunity to watch the dashcam footage showing the shot that saved my life, and it really was brutal. You could see him coming around, finger on the trigger of the rifle, raising it towards me, and you see me swiftly clearing the malfunction, and then just about get my gun up in time, not even aiming properly, just pointing it at him instinctively and firing. Then the back of his head disappears in a cloud of red mist and chunks, and he drops like a stone. Everyone else saw it as well, and when they did, I heard more than a few people react in astonishment. I started out as the department's broken-winged budgie, the girl who got raped, got her partner killed, and who they just couldn't seem to get rid of. But once people saw the firefight, and the single shot that ended it, I became Deadeye Murphy, the stalwart survivor, the battered angel of vengeance, all within the space of a few days. I'd be shocked if that part of the video wasn't leaked somehow, as that was all people were talking about the past two days.

"I don't know how you stood for that for so long. I'd have quit after... you know, but-" Sarah began, interrupting my thoughts, but quickly trailed off.

"I'm not quitting." I replied firmly.

She sighed, but didn't say anything. This was a conversation we'd had multiple times. I never told her why I wouldn't quit, just as I never told her why I joined in the first place. I planned on telling her eventually why I joined, but I didn't want her to then blame herself. I wasn't sure if she would, but I couldn't bear the thought, so, for now at least, the secret would remain. Wounds would heal, and eventually I'd tell her the truth.

The fact that I hadn't quit, even when everyone thought I was a coward, seemed to resonate with some of my colleagues as well though. I returned to work in early January, after the department counselor reluctantly cleared me, but they couldn't find a training officer available to take me, so I haunted the station like a ghost. I ended up just manning the front desk, and doing other clerical work for weeks, until, in early February, a newly promoted training officer was willing to take me on. He was my training officer from February to July, and while everyone else treated me with either pity, morbid curiosity, or in one case, mild contempt, he was different. Liam Riker, his name was. He was only about 26 or so, but apparently he was the only one willing to take me on as a trainee. Given what happened to my last training officer, I couldn't really blame them. Liam was firm, but fair. What really made a difference though, was that he didn't treat me like I was damaged goods. I needed that, and I think that, more than any rest or therapy, was what started to bring me back to life.

He'd laugh and joke with me, and try to include me in conversations with other cops, even when they weren't exactly happy about it. It didn't come about all at once. In fact, to begin with, he was awkward and reserved with me, like everyone else, but as I gave the job everything I am, despite the response from my colleagues, he recognized the effort and determination it took for me to come in every day and put on the uniform again. He, in turn, put effort and determination into making me the best damn cop he could. And it showed. Slowly, my colleagues started warming to me again, realizing I was dedicated to doing the job and atoning for previous mistakes, and Liam was invaluable in that regard. Despite being a first time training officer, he seemed to know exactly how to get through to me, and I found myself looking up to him. Liam was more than just a training officer to me though, he was my only real friend. When everyone else thought I was a coward and a liability, he kept me going, and by May, I could count on one hand the number of cops who wouldn't talk to me, or still treated me like damaged goods. About that time, Liam and I started meeting socially after work, and then on days off, and then at his place, or mine. I remember specifically the moment that I began to see him as more than just a good friend though.

We were talking at the bar about some crazy foot chase he got into when he was on his probation, where he ended up hanging from a fence he'd scaled, by the back of his duty belt, and his training officer wouldn't help him down until he'd called three other deputies over to come and laugh at him. He was laughing about it now, but I was unreasonably angry when I heard that. That wasn't hazing, that was just cruel, and despite how absurd it was, I felt like I needed to protect him. I wasn't sure why I felt that way. My therapist had a few ideas though. She suggested that I was projecting my feelings of responsibility for Thomas's death onto Liam, and that I saw them as one in the same. I wasn't sure I agreed. For one, I'd never wanted to sleep with Thomas, but Liam had been so good to me, and he didn't want anything from me, other than my own professional and personal advancement. I was scared of exploring those desires though, because I didn't want to ruin a great thing, and what we had was a great thing.

Regardless of my own confused feelings of attraction towards Liam, as I improved, learning everything I could from him, I could tell he saw me as more than just a student. Finally, my probation expired, only a week ago, and I was promoted to full deputy. Oddly enough though, I was scared when that happened. I was scared we might be split up, because his company was something I'd come to rely on as a form of stability. I eventually worked up the courage to tell him this, only a few days before I was promoted. He told me that while, yeah, I'd likely get a new partner, and he'd get a new trainee, that didn't mean we had to stop seeing each other. Feeling very silly, I'd asked him what he meant by that. He looked awkward after that, and the conversation sort of died out without a satisfying conclusion.

"Have you asked out Liam yet?" She asked eventually.

I shook my head.

"Why not?"

I laughed. "He was my training officer until like, a week ago. If we started dating, what would people think?"

She looked at me strangely. "You just spent the past eight months refusing to quit a job where everyone you worked with thought you were a coward until two days ago." She said bluntly. "Since when did you care what people think?"

"Not everyone." I replied strongly.

"Not Liam, you mean."

I sighed. "Yeah, not Liam."

"Then why don't you ask him out?" She asked, sounding woefully confused.

I struggled to come up with a good response for why I couldn't. I wasn't scared of him, or the idea of being intimate with him. We were partners for months and I trusted him, absolutely, and I knew that by now, he trusted me too. I wasn't scared of what the department might think, after all, he wasn't my boss anymore. I wasn't scared of what my colleagues would think, and I couldn't care less if they thought it was unprofessional, or started spreading rumors behind my back again. The truth is, I was scared of him saying no.

As I thought it over for a second though, I realized just how silly that was. I'd faced down a psychopath, endured all he could do to me, fought for my life against stacked odds, and won. It had been, and I hoped always would be, the worst day of my life, and now I was scared of rejection, of all things? It was laughable. I soon realized she was waiting for an answer.

"I think I will."

***

CLOSING COMMENTS

Hi, this is the first story I've uploaded here, though not the first erotic story I've written. I've tried to make this as detailed and true-to-life as I can, while keeping it succinct, but I know it's not perfect, and I know the content of the story isn't to everyone's taste.

After publishing something with this kind of content, I feel compelled to explain that I don't condone real-world sexual violence, or non-consensual sexual activity of any kind. I hope this story serves as a source of entertainment for those who have strange, yet harmless fetishes of this nature, as well as a harmless outlet for those who may have those demons and dark thoughts.

I don't know you, reader, but if the latter is the case, then, I hope that no matter who you are, you recognize the difference between life and fiction, and you understand that no matter how many things you read or see online, in the real world, real people are hurt by the actions described in this story, and others like it.

This story, and all previous chapters were written and edited entirely by myself, as was the series artwork.