The Uncatchable Rapist
folder
Erotica › General
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
8
Views:
12,805
Reviews:
29
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Erotica › General
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
8
Views:
12,805
Reviews:
29
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The Author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.
The Other Side.
**** This chapter is going to be from a detectives POV, and in first person ****
I sat at my desk, pondering over this serieal rape case. In this city, I see anywhere from three to twenty rape cases a day. but this case, this case was bad. Six women raped by supposedly the same man. He was perfect. whoever was raping these women.
No DNA, clues, or even descriptions. One woman, Laura Withall, described him to be of average hight, and muscular. And in LA, the described five million men. So far, we can't even pin down his pattern.
The first woman, Jessica Haynes, was a blonde, beautiful nineteen year old starting model. The second woman, Ruby Smith, was a black ghetto girl.
He didn't keep to any pattern, whoever this rapist was. He was good, very good. The only thing I can do is wait for him to make a mistake.
So far, all we have is black clothes, black ski-mask, average and muscular, and a sense of inpropreity. This man, whoever he was, was not mentally ill, and not angry. He was always in absolute control of himself, and he knew what he was doing. I can guess he studies his victims before actually raping them, and probably thinks twenty or so steps ahead.
Sadly, all I, we, could do was wait. Wait for a mistake, or a better description.
****
Out on the roads in my blue Ford Mustang, I was on my way to visit Laura Withall's home. Three days since she reported, and five days since the rape. Laura Withall had to be one of the most beautiful women I had ever seen, by far more gorgeous then my wife.
She was smart, beautiful, and quite wealthy. She was a salseperson for a big shopping center in downtown.
Pulling my car to a stop by her home, I turned off the ignition, and sat thinking for a few minutes. How should I attack this case, I wondered. Maybe I should try being the sweet guy, on her side? No, she wont want sympathy. Maybe I should just be nuetral? No, that wont work either. She will be wondering why I'm not choosing a side, and may think I have also dreamed of raping her or other women. I would be the good-bad guy.
Getting out of my car, I took a sip of my coffe, and walked up to Laura's home. Taking a deep breath once I was at the door, I knocked five times, loudly.
As she opened the door, I hummed to myself. She was truely stunning, even just wearing day clothes.
"Miss Withall, I am Detective Stephen. I'm here to ask you some questions about your report."
"Yes, detetive, I remember. Please, come in," she said softly, in her luminous voice.
I walked into her house, stood to the side as she closed the door, and led the way to a fancy sitting room. I waited for her to sit down in a nice velvet recliner, and I sat down on a cozy love-seat couch.
"So, Miss, can you try to remember anything else about that despicable man?"
"I can try, sir, but I don't know if it shall be of any use." She frowned, obviously in thought.
"Well, you said he jumped upon you from behind, and then whispered into your ear, and showed you a gun. He then proceeded to rape you, and pull on your hair. After that, you remember waking up in your bed. Was anything missing?" He obviously cleaned her, and the room while she lay unconcious. He looked around as she closed her eyes, trying to notice anything; anyhing at all.
"Nothing was missing, sir. I can only imagine he left right after ra. . . ping me."
"You said you didn't see much of him, but may I ask, what color were his pubic hairs? His eyes, maybe?"
"Uhm. . . brown, for both, I think. I really can't remember, detective. I was so scared. I was crying the entire time."
****
Looking around her house, mainly her bedroom, and her bathroom for an hour or so, led me to the same conclusion. Whoever this guy is, he's good, really good.
****
Jason pulled into his driveway, laughing at a joke he had heard from a doorman, he turned off the ignition, got out, and walked to his front door. He masked his features before opening his door.
Walking up to his bedroom, he saw his sister laying on his bed in a short-tank-top, and a pair of pink hip-hugger panties. He knew it was wrong to think of his sister like a sex-object, but he couldn't help it. As it was, she would be his next rape victim. He smile inwardly.
I sat at my desk, pondering over this serieal rape case. In this city, I see anywhere from three to twenty rape cases a day. but this case, this case was bad. Six women raped by supposedly the same man. He was perfect. whoever was raping these women.
No DNA, clues, or even descriptions. One woman, Laura Withall, described him to be of average hight, and muscular. And in LA, the described five million men. So far, we can't even pin down his pattern.
The first woman, Jessica Haynes, was a blonde, beautiful nineteen year old starting model. The second woman, Ruby Smith, was a black ghetto girl.
He didn't keep to any pattern, whoever this rapist was. He was good, very good. The only thing I can do is wait for him to make a mistake.
So far, all we have is black clothes, black ski-mask, average and muscular, and a sense of inpropreity. This man, whoever he was, was not mentally ill, and not angry. He was always in absolute control of himself, and he knew what he was doing. I can guess he studies his victims before actually raping them, and probably thinks twenty or so steps ahead.
Sadly, all I, we, could do was wait. Wait for a mistake, or a better description.
****
Out on the roads in my blue Ford Mustang, I was on my way to visit Laura Withall's home. Three days since she reported, and five days since the rape. Laura Withall had to be one of the most beautiful women I had ever seen, by far more gorgeous then my wife.
She was smart, beautiful, and quite wealthy. She was a salseperson for a big shopping center in downtown.
Pulling my car to a stop by her home, I turned off the ignition, and sat thinking for a few minutes. How should I attack this case, I wondered. Maybe I should try being the sweet guy, on her side? No, she wont want sympathy. Maybe I should just be nuetral? No, that wont work either. She will be wondering why I'm not choosing a side, and may think I have also dreamed of raping her or other women. I would be the good-bad guy.
Getting out of my car, I took a sip of my coffe, and walked up to Laura's home. Taking a deep breath once I was at the door, I knocked five times, loudly.
As she opened the door, I hummed to myself. She was truely stunning, even just wearing day clothes.
"Miss Withall, I am Detective Stephen. I'm here to ask you some questions about your report."
"Yes, detetive, I remember. Please, come in," she said softly, in her luminous voice.
I walked into her house, stood to the side as she closed the door, and led the way to a fancy sitting room. I waited for her to sit down in a nice velvet recliner, and I sat down on a cozy love-seat couch.
"So, Miss, can you try to remember anything else about that despicable man?"
"I can try, sir, but I don't know if it shall be of any use." She frowned, obviously in thought.
"Well, you said he jumped upon you from behind, and then whispered into your ear, and showed you a gun. He then proceeded to rape you, and pull on your hair. After that, you remember waking up in your bed. Was anything missing?" He obviously cleaned her, and the room while she lay unconcious. He looked around as she closed her eyes, trying to notice anything; anyhing at all.
"Nothing was missing, sir. I can only imagine he left right after ra. . . ping me."
"You said you didn't see much of him, but may I ask, what color were his pubic hairs? His eyes, maybe?"
"Uhm. . . brown, for both, I think. I really can't remember, detective. I was so scared. I was crying the entire time."
****
Looking around her house, mainly her bedroom, and her bathroom for an hour or so, led me to the same conclusion. Whoever this guy is, he's good, really good.
****
Jason pulled into his driveway, laughing at a joke he had heard from a doorman, he turned off the ignition, got out, and walked to his front door. He masked his features before opening his door.
Walking up to his bedroom, he saw his sister laying on his bed in a short-tank-top, and a pair of pink hip-hugger panties. He knew it was wrong to think of his sister like a sex-object, but he couldn't help it. As it was, she would be his next rape victim. He smile inwardly.