Rated: NC-17
ERASE & REWIND...VERSION 2, PART 2 "SUNSET COWBOY & THE BLOOD-SPATTERED DAMSEL"
"SP-422 to Lieutenant Esteridge, please respond..."
He reached over to the radio on his desk, taking a swig of coffee before answering. "Lieutenant Esteridge here, go ahead..."
"Officers responding to reported 245 in progress in the vicinity of mile marker 1086 on Route 285 are requesting your presence."
Esteridge arched a brow, since when did they call the Lieutenant of the State Police for an assault?
Sighing that there had to be a reason he stood and pulled on his hat and jacket, leaning across his desk and calling back on the radio that he was on his way. He exited the station quickly, climbing into his black SUV and pulling onto the dusty road leading to the highway, completely unaware of how truly screwed up his afternoon was about to become.
There were three patrol cars along with a powder blue classic Mustang waiting for him on the side of the road and a wave of concern filled him as his eyes passed over the scene.
While there didn't seem to be a shortage of officers, the lack of any suspects, victims or witnesses struck him as a bad sign. He shifted into park and stepped out, nodding his head to the muttered greetings of the local PD as he approached.
"So what do we have?" He asked, his eyes still searching for what was missing.
"A call came in about a half hour ago from a trucker at the Golden Eagle Diner, said he'd passed by this way and had seen a woman holding a man at knife point...described this vehicle as being present..." The officer to his left began and he held up a hand.
"So he saw that there was trouble and just kept going, effectively waiting another...what, 45 minutes?...to make the call after he reached the diner? He couldn't have contacted someone by radio? Cell phone? Anything?" Esteridge asked in disgust and the officer shrugged, not knowing what the man had been thinking.
He sighed and motioned for the officer to continue as he approached the vehicle. This crime scene was already more than an hour cold and his jaw flexed in aggravation as he started investigating.
"We ran the plates, it's not coming back as stolen. The car is registered to a Ms. Alisha -- of Philadelphia, Pennsylvania..."
"Long way from home..." Esteridge thought aloud as the officer continued.
A toolbox was laying in front of the car, its spray-painted diamond-deck exterior was decorated with red and black skulls and a sticker that read 'Evil shouldn't look this good'. His eyes wandered down to the black shop blanket, its center had a red stitched set of horns and tail surrounding the words 'Bad Girl'...
What did we have here? A female's tools?
He gritted his teeth and looked under the car, seeing the repairs that had been left abruptly and pointed at a cigarette butt that was laying on top of the blanket. One of the officers leaned in and picked it up with a gloved hand, dropping it into an evidence bag and handing it over to Esteridge. He arched a brow inspecting it, walking to the driver's side and peering in at the positioning of the seats and mirrors. Sliding on a pair of gloves he leaned in, picking up a small photo album from the floor of the back seat.
There were pictures of a family, a group of friends hanging out in a garage drinking and showing off their cars. They were all large men, intimidating looking rough and tumble types...save one.
She stood out at the center of the group like a sore thumb, her mischievous smile and bright blond hair as drastic a change in comparison to her friends as was her size. She was the only common face throughout the album. He pulled a picture of her free, staring down at it and saying a quick prayer for her before handing it over to one of the officers.
"Here's who we're looking for." He said and the man nodded.
"Pretty girl, what the hell was she doing out here?" He mused before heading back to his patrol car and Esteridge sighed wondering the exact same thing.
"When we arrived here we found it just like this. We searched the area for any sign of the two...but this is all we could find..." He waved Esteridge to follow him about twenty feet out into the sand, showing a taped off section that was currently being photographed.
The tracks told the tale of a struggle and he tried to play it out. The man was large, likely in the area of 6' tall judging by his gate and boot imprints. They'd had one hell of a tussle and Esteridge watched officers wrapping an extremely large ratchet in plastic, its head covered in blood.
Another prayer was said for the smiling girl in the picture.
He sighed and looked at a line of blood spatter across the sand and rock, his eyes following it as he walked along the edge of the police tape. The girl had gone down just a few feet after the spatter and his jaw flexed with concern for her safety.
Sometimes he hated his job...
Esteridge's eyes were busy reading the tracks like a book, and he almost cursed the interruption when the officer he was following cleared his throat.
"This is where they end..." He motioned to another imprint in the shape of the girl's body and the pool of blood that was slowly being covered by sand.
"You done taking pictures yet?" He called and waited for them to nod before ducking under the tape and moving in for a closer inspection. He crouched down beside the empty space that had held the missing girl just an hour earlier, biting his bottom lip and speaking over his shoulder as his eyes remained on the blood. "And you brought me out here for authorization to start a search, right?"
The officers shifted and looked at one another. "Yes, sir." One of them answered, waiting for him to look back at them to direct his gaze to the foot prints leading back to the road. Esteridge nodded his head in understanding.
The man had carried her away from the scene on foot, they had to be close.
"Done." He said as he stood. "Do what you have to do and let me know if you need anything...and call me the moment you find...something." He ordered and they agreed, each heading to their cars to start making the necessary calls.
He climbed back into his vehicle and slamming the door behind him he let the silence settle his nerves.
He hated this part, the waiting when he knew what was coming. They'd find her in a shallow grave and it would be over, an innocent life claimed by an unknown assailant. Just a cold case left to collect dust, another murder on a deserted stretch of highway.
"332 requesting the presence of Lieutenant Esteridge at mile marker 1025 on Route 285..." A voice squawked from the radio on his dash and his brow furrowed. "Officers have declared the scene location of a 187..."
His eyes widened. "Busy road today..." He breathed sarcastically as he reached out for the receiver and responded, "Please advise 332 that I am en route and will arrive on scene shortly."
He set out but the fear in his stomach for the missing girl had him calling back into the radio just a second later. "Dispatch this is Lieutenant Esteridge, please connect me to 332..." He rested his hand against his chin. He couldn't drive all the way out there not knowing.
"This is 332, come back..." The officer responded and he let out a sigh.
"332 this is Lieutenant Esteridge, what is the physicality of your 187?" He asked and held his breath.
"187 is a Caucasian male, late thirties..."
He breathed a sigh of relief. "Copy that, on my way now."
The miles flew by in a blur leaving Esteridge lost in thought. He was running through everything in his mind, laying out the stretch of road between the two scenes.
Was the body he was on his way to view that of the attacker?
But with the man carrying the girl when he'd set out, and hell, even if he hadn't been, they couldn't have made it in that time on foot...
61 miles? In this heat and injured? Not possible. There had to have been another vehicle somewhere along the way.
He recalled the Mustang's interior and frowned. Both seats had been pulled too far forward to allow for the apparent size of the male, so where had he come from? There hadn't been a trace of anyone other than the female being in that car, and there had been no sign of another vehicle being anywhere near the scene.
If the man had arrived on foot and left on foot that meant a third party had come into the picture after the initial confrontation...
So he either had a second victim or a second suspect on his hands, otherwise why hadn't they called it in?
He picked up a few of the evidence bags and let his eyes stray from the road for a second to verify what he'd seen earlier. The cigarette butt from beneath the car had lip gloss on it, it hadn't been the man fixing the motor, it had been her. Those really were her tools...
That shot the theory of him offering assistance to lure her into a false sense of security right out of the water. He must have come across her when she was trying to get back on the road and attacked her, and by the looks of that ratchet she put up a hell of a fight.
With a sigh he tossed the bags back onto his passenger seat, his gaze returning to the road just in time.
His eyes grew wide as he took in the form of a body lying ahead and he slammed on the brakes, swerving to the left and coming within mere inches of the remains of whoever it was by the time he'd stopped skidding.
He sat in his seat for a moment, struggling to catch his breath before finally grabbing his radio. "Esteridge to Dispatch, get me a God damned meat wagon out to marker..." He spun around in his seat, peering out the windows and trying to gauge his location. "...approximate mile marker 1062...we've got another one..."
He slammed the radio back into its holder, resting his head on his forearm across the top of his steering wheel for a second waiting for them to respond.
In the silence his mind replayed what had just happened over and over, and his stomach knotted up as the flash of the body he'd seen in the road slowly became clear in his mind.
"Oh God..." He breathed, unbuckling his seat-belt and slowly climbing out of his SUV.
He walked around the front tracing his hand over the grill, holding his breath as her blond hair came into view. His feet froze in place for a moment before he managed to take hesitant steps closer, shaking his head at her blood spattered form.
"Damn..." Esteridge whispered, his eyes tearing at such a waste of life and he bit his lip, forcing himself to approach to find the cause of death...
He had just reached out a hand to brush the hair away from her face when she started to stir.
Despite himself the words "holy Christ" rolled from his mouth as his emotions instantly soared from hesitancy to panic for her.
"Hey...hey, honey. Now...now...now don't try to move..." He pleaded in a soft tone as he knelt beside her but she was still trying desperately, every muscle in her body trembling in a mix of exhaustion, pain and fear as she struggled weakly to push herself off the ground.
She gave up quickly, collapsing to the pavement in exhaustion and he gently rolled her over onto her back. Her hair was covering her face but he could tell by her clothes and tattoos that she and the car up the highway were two peas in a pod. Neither of them belonged here.
He grabbed his cell phone off his hip, not wanting to leave her even long enough to get the radio from his vehicle. Hitting speed dial he barely waited for the greeting before he was barking orders into the phone, not raising his voice to match his level of concern for fear it would further traumatize the girl.
His tone, however, left no room for misinterpretation.
"Emergency this is Lieutenant Esteridge with the New Mexico State Police, I'm in the vicinity of mile marker 1062 on Route 285 and I need a medic down here right the hell now...I've got 10-53 Caucasian female, early twenties with a head wound and possible concussion...showing outward signs of confusion and shock..." Pressing his phone to his ear with his shoulder he began checking over her injuries, listing them off with that southern twang as he came across them.
She tried weakly to push his hands away but it was no use. His words were slowly getting through to her and 'confusion' was putting it mildly. Where was she? How did she get there? Who the hell was pawing at her now? A cop? Oh Lord...
He pinched the skin on the back of her hand and watched it slowly return to its original position after he'd released it. "...severely dehydrated and possibly suffering from heat exhaustion...deep lacerations to the neck and shoulder...oohh...and possible broken ribs. Sorry, honey..." He added softly watching her wince and whimper at his touch.
He lifted her blood soaked shirt away from the area revealing a vicious looking bruise spreading across her stomach. "Fuck...and possible internal bleeding...get that bus rolling right now...understood?"
BadGirl was finally coming out of the fog that seemed to have settled over her mind and cringed at the big deal he was making out of her injuries. She gave herself a mental shake as her senses finally cleared. The ground was so hot beneath her that she felt like a piece of bacon in a frying pan, she needed to stand, somehow...
"Whoa there, chief...tone it down a notch. I'm not that messed up..." Came her soft voice and his eyes widened.
Esteridge's jaw hung open as the girl he'd pegged for dead just a moment earlier sat up, pushing the blood-slicked hair away from her face and staring up at him once she managed to open those startling eyes. It was like watching road-kill get up and walk away.
The sun was setting behind him and all she could make out was the silhouette of that cowboy hat and square jaw, coming to the conclusion that despite feeling like she'd been hit by a truck...and in actuality, she almost had been...she must still be alive. A sight like him in the afterlife would certainly be reserved for heaven and she had a pretty good idea that wasn't where she was headed.
"Honey, you've gotta stay still...your stomach..." He began, closing his cell phone and letting it fall to the road beside him, reaching out and putting a hand on each of her biceps in an attempt to gently urge her to stay in place.
She sighed at his concern and held onto his forearms, using him as an unwilling means of pulling herself to her feet.
"My stomach..." She began, groaning as she slowly stood upright on shaky legs and he followed suit, keeping a hold on her arms in case she collapsed. "...Got a size 13 steel-toe planted into it..." Her little fingertips were sinking into his forearms and he knew she was in a lot of pain. "Same with my ribs...and while it hurts like a son of a bitch, and yeah, you're probably right about a few busted ribs, I doubt I've got any internal bleeding."
She reached up to the side of her head and hissed, instantly recoiling in pain when her fingertips grazed the knot resulting from the butt of the pistol. "And alright, I'll even give you points for the 'possible concussion' observation out of the kindness of my heart."
Esteridge couldn't begin to hide the shock on his face that she was not only alive, but in good enough condition to be a smart ass. "Who did this to you? What happened?" He asked, trying to gather his thoughts.
BadGirl held onto him with one hand as she turned and slowly made her way to the side of his SUV, thankful that he followed her and kept her from falling over. She leaned back against the side of it, sitting on the narrow running-board and struggling to catch her breath at such a seemingly small movement. In her exhaustion it felt like she'd just ran a marathon.
She let her head roll from side to side against the door, groaning and closing her eyes. "Fuck, why is it always so hot here? Who the hell would want to live here?" She whined and he stared down at her in confusion, just about to open his mouth to repeat his questions when she continued in a frustrated tone without opening her eyes. "I heard you, po-po."
He flinched slightly, unsure if he should be offended by the unfamiliar slang; but she hadn't said 'pig' so he assumed it wasn't meant in a derogatory way.
Her eyes opened slowly and she arched a brow seeing him in the light for the first time. He was beyond attractive, those crystal blue eyes looking down at her swirling intensely with emotion, the light of the setting sun glittering off his blond hair where it was visible beneath his hat. Parts of her body began quivering their insistence that she was most certainly still alive and doing well.
"Look, I understand that it's important but if you don't mind I already know I'll be spending the next few days answering that same question a hundred times and I'm really fucking tired. I don't know who he is, I don't know where he went, he wasn't driving a car or anything so I can't give you that to go on...shy of you miraculously being 5-0 and a sketch artist I can't help you find him right now."
He didn't want to ask the next question since she'd pretty much just made it clear that she wasn't going to talk about it right then, but he needed to know if a rape kit was in order ahead of time.
"Did he...?" He began, and her eyebrow nearly reaching her hairline in response silenced him.
"No...he didn't." She said shortly, really not wanting to get into it with him at that moment. She knew it was going to come up eventually that she'd had to play tonsil hockey with a murderer in order to save her life but was currently in no mood for it.
Esteridge sighed and nodded in understanding, his eyes searching the stretch of road in either direction for an ambulance but finding none.
She groaned in pain and he looked down to find her reaching inside her boot, pulling out a pack of Marlboro's and shaking one up into her mouth. She whined realizing how far down her lighter had slid and looked up at him hopefully. "You got a light, po-po?" She asked and he slowly arched his brow at her.
"The name...is Esteridge...as in 'Lieutenant Esteridge'." He replied with a mock stern expression. BadGirl made an ooohhh noise, waving her hands as if she was impressed and he tried not to laugh. "And no, I don't smoke. Those things'll kill you." He said and she snorted a laugh.
"Yeah, well I hate to break it to you, blue eyes...I'm sorry...Lieutenant blue eyes..." she began with the cigarette pressed between her lips, "but apparently taking a drive in your fucked up state will do that, too."
Esteridge chewed the inside of his cheek as the corners of his mouth turned in a smile. She leaned forward with a lot of groaning and managed to pull her lighter up from the depths of her boot, lighting the cigarette and sighing in relief as she took several drags
"Sweet blessed nicotine, how I have missed you..." She mused. "I'm Alisha, by the way..." She said as she flicked her cigarette and he nodded.
"Yeah, I know..." He said softly and she looked up at him in confusion. "We found your car about 24 miles back and ran the plates, we were out here looking for you..."
"24 mi-- but why...?" Alisha began but trailed off, taking a drag to steady her nerves as another thought took precedence. "He was going to kill me but...but then he didn't...he knocked me out...changed his mind for some reason...why would he bring me this far?...How did he bring me this far?" She played out the events that she could remember and her jaw slowly dropped open feeling something pressing against the side of her calf that shouldn't be there.
"My knife..." She breathed and he watched her blindly reaching down to her right boot, pulling the material away from her leg slightly revealing the handle of the concealed weapon as her eyes glazed over in memory. Her brows drew together, such a look of confusion on her face that it startled him.
"What's wrong?" He asked, crouching down in front of her in case she was getting ready to pass out or something.
"I didn't put it back..." She looked at him with concern evident in her features. "Why would he put my knife back?" She was breathing quickly, her eyes burning into him questioningly and he blinked several times, understanding what she was saying.
"Don't touch it." He warned, standing and retrieving gloves and a bag from his backseat. She watched him pull the blood soaked blade from her boot and retched seeing the bits of scalp and hair clinging to it.
"Oh God...I didn't cut his head, Esteridge...I didn't cut his head! Oh fuck, who did he use that on?" Her voice was reaching a shrill tone as her mind raced on, filling in the blanks.
Her eyes were welling up and she looked down at herself for the first time, sobbing at what she found there. "This isn't my blood...fuck me...this isn't my blood!" She screamed and he put his hands on her shoulders as she started to lose it.
"Calm down...hey, look at me..." He tried but she was hysterical now, staring down at the blood that covered her skin, understanding it had been the cause for his original assumption that she was at death's door.
She hadn't shed a single tear in the face of her own death, but the knowledge that some innocent person had been hacked up with her close enough to become slick with their blood was too much to take.
Her breathing reached frantic levels as she sobbed, unable to look away from the sight of her flesh and she shoved away from him, crawling toward the side of the road despite the agony it caused. Esteridge followed her, his hands on her sides trying to gently offer support without pressing on the bruised area, holding her hair back as she emptied the contents of her stomach. Apparently it had been nothing more than water. He sighed in frustration, her blood sugar level was probably bottoming out on top of everything else.
She was shaking uncontrollably when she finished, sweat covering every inch of her and somehow he found himself sitting on the asphalt with her draped across his lap. He stared down at her, feeling her blood-slicked brow and clenching his jaw. She was cool to the touch now, slipping into shock and he damned the ambulance for taking so long.
"Alisha..." He said softly, but she was lost in her own little world, staring at the front of his shirt with sad, distant eyes.
He understood that she was suffering a break at this point, the sassy Philly chick of a moment earlier was disappearing behind some wall within her mind. He needed to keep her talking before she decided to stay hidden for the unforeseeable future.
"So tell me...what's a pretty little thing like you doing wandering around in my desert, any way?" He asked, and watched her brows draw together in confusion as her eyes remained on his shirt.
What the hell was that?
She blinked.
Was he flirting with her? Po-pos don't flirt...she looked up to his face slowly...and they especially don't flirt with that devastating southern draw, that smile like a mouth full of diamonds, those striking blue eyes, that hat that screamed 'ride me, I'm a cowboy'...
His smile widened and her body reiterated its earlier claim that she was most definitely still healthy enough to rope him in.
She hadn't even realized she'd crawled into his lap until that second, had been so intent on collapsing somewhere and he'd seemed like such a wonderful alternative to the hot asphalt. His arms were wrapped around her protectively and it made her heart flutter. Part of her felt bad for seeking out comfort from him when she was so covered in...
Ooookay, let's not go there...she chided herself feeling another wave of nausea coming on and locked her eyes on the buttons of his shirt again trying to calm her stomach.
"Vacation...had a month accrued and decided to wander aimlessly..." She said through clenched teeth, thankful for the distraction he was providing from what had just happened.
"And you're a mechanic?" He asked with a thoroughly intrigued smirk, his amusement clear in his voice.
She arched a brow and looked up at him curiously. "Yeah...why?" She said slowly.
He reached down and took one her hands in his, inspecting it and smiling as her body relaxed against him. "Just hard to imagine these adorable little hands of yours turning a wrench, is all."
What was it about a man making her feel so small that drove her so completely wild?
If it weren't for the blood on her face he would have seen that she was actually blushing. She didn't know she was even able to...she decided quickly that it must be something caused by her head wound.
"Well..."
Oh hell, had he rendered her speechless, too?
She forced herself to continue. "It's true, anyway. Been doing it since I was 17."
That was it? That was all she could come up with? No witty retort? No clever comeback that would make him stammer? She must be really exhausted...she didn't get this way with men.
But then again they didn't make men like this in Philly, that was for damned sure.
A siren in the distance made him sigh in relief and she wondered for a moment if he was anxious to be rid of the blood-spattered damsel in his lap. The look in his eyes when they locked with hers was something different, however.
"Good, the medics can put you back together again and then we'll see what you look like all cleaned up." He teased and she smiled up at him, letting her head rest on his arm again.
"I'm gonna need clothes from my car..." She said aloud, more to herself than him but he answered anyway.
"I'll have your things sent to the station, it's not far from the hospital so just let me know what you want and I'll bring it over." He offered and was relieved to see the mischievous smile from her photo album spread across her lips.
Before she could even share the wicked inner workings of her mind the ambulance was sliding to a stop and still blaring on that god forsaken horn...as if there was someone in the area other than them who needed to be warned of their arrival.
She barely had time to protest or ask him to come with her before she was being planted on a stretcher and loaded into the back, watching him where he stood outside the still opened doors with pleading eyes as they put a mask on her and cut away her top with those damnable EMT shears. And she'd really loved that top, too...those bastards. If they went for the bra she might have to start swinging.
Esteridge flinched slightly at the sudden expanse of her skin being displayed, and it was only partly because he felt it was improper for him to be seeing after all but telling her he was interested. Mainly, however, his shock was because as the clothing was removed he was able to see more injuries than she'd let on to having.
The medic shot him a meaningful look, swabbing the blood that was coating her in different areas with DNA testers, jotting notes on them regarding where they'd been collected from and sealing them before handing them over to him. The blood was, after all, evidence. He nodded in appreciation and let his eyes wander back to the ones that were still locked on him.
With a hiss and whine from BadGirl the medics were spraying some horribly cold liquid on her skin and trying their best to clear away enough blood to see her abdomen. A muffled, "Ow! What the fuck? Easy!" came from beneath the mask as one of them began feeling her ribs to see how damaged they were and Esteridge fought not to let a smile form on his lips. It wasn't funny by any means, but hearing her feisty, sworn indignation when she should have just been crying in pain was slightly amusing. She was glaring at the medics as if considering whether or not a brawl was in order and he shook his head.
"Oohh, hello...would you look at that...hey, Lieutenant we're gonna have full dental on the attacker..." The dark haired younger medic, Irving, said as he cleaned her shoulder and Esteridge climbed up into the ambulance to take a look for himself.
BadGirl pulled the mask off, glaring over at Irving. "Hey, you mind keeping your fingers out of the bite mark? Just a suggestion." Her pain was making her extremely cranky now, but one of those thick, powerful hands of his wrapped around one of her own and gave a squeeze of reassurance. When she looked up into his eyes he was giving her a weak smile, but she could see the tinges of sadness swirling in the blue.
The female medic, Crawford...her first name eluded his memory, arched a brow and leaned closer to BadGirl, motioning for the men to beat it for a minute.
"Hold up! Don't you two move another freaking inch." BadGirl snapped in aggravation when they turned to give her some privacy. "The answer is NO, alright? No before you even ask. I don't need some sisterly bonding crap to get me to magically remember something that didn't happen. He didn't rape me; I doubt he'd be able to follow through even if he tried..." She began.
Esteridge's brows drew together in confusion, asking her to explain without saying a word.
BadGirl threw her hands up in defeat. "He's a psycho, okay? Like loony toons, coo-coo-for-cocoa-puffs, lunchbox-toting, a little-too-close-to-his-Mama type CRAZY. He..." She stopped, her eyes flashing to Esteridge again before she let out a growl of frustration that she had to go into it.
Damn it, why did he have to be a cop? She wasn't going to be able to keep any of it from him.
Her voice quieted, like someone flipping a switch and he knew she really didn't want to say whatever it was that she had to. "He had me pinned up against the car, that was when he bit my shoulder...I don't know for sure but I think he was mad that I wouldn't cry..."
Esteridge's jaw flexed, his eyes filled with sympathy and she had to look away from the sight, staring down at her hands and forcing herself to continue.
"He asked me my name, had asked for it before it all started but I still refused to tell him...so he decked me in the face...when I slumped forward onto him trying not to pass out he got all weird...like having me touching him other than to fight him was freaking him out..."
She took a deep breath, keeping her eyes locked on her fingertips so she wouldn't see whatever reaction was going to pass over the Lieutenant's face. "So I did what I had to do. I came onto him...put on a good show that I was into it...that I wasn't afraid of him and was willing to..." She sighed, cutting that sentence short. "And it worked, okay? He didn't know what to do. He threw me on the ground to get away from me and it gave me the opportunity to keep fighting..."
An awkward silence settled over the group and she shook her head, closing her eyes and laying back on the stretcher, deciding she was done talking for a while.
Esteridge watched her for a moment, knowing that anything he said at that point wouldn't help, she was shutting down.
"We gotta get rolling, she needs scans on that head wound and x-rays to see how extensive the breaks are." Irving said quietly, feeling just as bad for this girl as the other two in that moment.
"I'll follow you..." Esteridge said, and watched Irving climb out and close the doors behind him; both of them in stoic silence as they climbed into their respective vehicles and started the journey to the hospital.