All characters are over the age of eighteen, not that it should matter, since it is a work of fiction.  The actions presented in this story do not represent the views of the author or the staff of any site at which it may be posted.

The Casebook of the Captive Teen Detective

Casebook #1

The Final Case of Stacy Blue

By Razor7826

       I thought it was just like any other case closed, a shining example of my own youthful brilliance.  The media pounced on yet another triumph for the teen detective, my picture once again gracing the cover of the River Falls Times.  I pretended not to like the coverage, but I loved it when people acknowledged my genius, especially when compared to my many rivals.

       My Father chastised me, as usual, for ignoring his advice and disregarding my own safety.  "The Correli Family is bad news," he said, "and you’re a stupid, stupid child for going up against them time and time again.  One of these days, you won't be so lucky."

       "I'm not a child, father," I responded, shaking out of his overprotective hug.  "I'm an adult now, and I demand to be treated like one!" I stomped my foot to the ground in an overly rehearsed sign of defiance, barely making a noise in my stockinged feet.  "I'm almost nineteen, you know."

       He leaned against the kitchen counter and sighed.  "Stacy, this has nothing to do with your age.  The Correli's don't care one way or another how old you are, and if you keep going against them like this, who knows what they'll do to you.  They don't play fair, and I've seen many of my witnesses against them go missing.  Please, Stacy, will you drop this detective nonsense once and for all?  You're all I have left."

       "No way!  I'm going to use my brain for something great, even if you don't want me to succeed in life."  I turned around and ran upstairs, intent on continuing my life as the world's most famous detective.

       In hindsight, I wish I had taken his advice, unaware of the dangers that I was quickly attracting.

       ------------------------------------

       The following morning, a phone call came concerning an interesting case in Southern Wisconsin.  I left immediately.

I was forty miles from Kenosha when the oil light came on.  I looked around frantically looking for a gas station, but I was too far into the country for any immediate help.  I pulled my green roadster to the shoulder and parked, then popped the hood.  Yellow steam boiled from a car part that I didn’t know the name of.

       "Damnit!"  I yelled, knowing that my potty-mouthed moment would forever remain my secret.  I knew immediately that there was no way to fix it myself, leaving me with no other option than to walk back the five miles to the last gas station and phone for a tow.

        I sighed and started on my way along the rocky shoulder, concerned for what the dirt and dust would do to my impeccable appearance.  My white stockings and light-weight brown shoes were not meant for the rough terrain. 

       My feet were aching by the time I was halfway to the gas station.  I knew my green cotton dress would get ruined if I sat down, but I had to do it; there was absolutely no way I would make it there if I kept on walking like that. 

       The moment’s rest turned into an hour's rest.  I did not want to walk in the hot noon sun, and I instead rested, hoping that I could flag down help.  Unfortunately, of the few cars that passed on the lonely country road, none stopped.  I was completely shocked that the world had changed so much that a sweet and innocent looking girl like myself would be left alone.

       I continued walking towards the gas station, still on the look out for a ride to save me time and pain.  Finally, after covering half of the remaining distance, a car pulled along the shoulder.  It was a lime green van with patchwork curtains covering the back windows, a sign that the owners were part of the hippy culture that I detested so much.  The driver reached over rolled down the passenger window.

       "Do you need a ride?" she asked. "There was a gas station a few miles back I could drop you off at."

       I looked back at her and smiled, trying to conceal that my visual inspection of her.  She wore a two-layer brown shirt, which strained to keep her breasts in place.  I hated it when women wore clothes several sizes too small; women like that are what make it difficult for the smart ones like me to get taken seriously.  She smiled, and I noticed that she wore little discernable makeup, but it was obvious she spent a lot of time on her appearance, creating a strange dichotomy between her gentle look and run-down hippy van.

       "So, do you want a ride?" she asked again, her voice slightly more stern than her gentle introduction moments prior.  I could tell that she was trying to hide frustration with my inattentiveness.

       "Y... yes," I stammered.  I grabbed the handle with my right hand and pressed in the metal button.  The door creaked upon and I climbed in.

       In hindsight, it was the worst mistake of my life.  I wish I had followed my father's advice.  I wish I distrusted and feared all people.  I wish I had the sense to know when to run.

       I had none of it, however, and I would later pay the price for my naiveté.

       The van smelled of the women's perfume.  She wore far more than was necessary, and I had to restrain myself from coughing. I had but a brief moment to savor the noxious fumes before a strong hand reached around from behind the seat, crossing my chest and grasping me tightly.  I felt the cold blade of knife press against my throat.

       "Stay quiet and calm down if you want to live, Stacy Blue."

       I recognized the voice immediately.  It was a member of the Corelli crime family, a lowly thug by the name of Alfredo Alonzo.  While not as slimy as most of his siblings and cousins, he still reeked of cologne.    As far as I could remember, he was sent to prison by one of my investigations, but his family must have bribed the police.

       "What do you want with me, Alfredo?" I said, remaining as calm as I could.  It took every ounce of will to prevent myself from shaking, knowing that the jitters may have very well gotten my throat slit.

       He chuckled.  "I've learned better than to tell you my plans.  You'll just have to wait and see, this time.”

       

       "It's nice to finally meet you, Stacy.  My family has told me so much about you,” said the driver.

       "Who are you?"

       "Haha, sorry, girl,” she laughed and looked towards me.  “The less you know about me, the better."  She turned back towards the road and slipped the car into gear.  She accelerated along the shoulder, then edged back onto the two-lane road.

       "You know you won't get away with this."

       "We'll see.  This plan is a little bit... different than our previous plans," said Alfredo.  He laughed creepily and pulled me back tighter.  His bare arm pushed across my chest and up against my breasts, edging them upwards.  "You've grown since the last time we met."

       I wondered how long ago I sent him away.  So much had happened since I turned nineteen that I always felt like I had lost all perspective of time. "How long has it been?" I asked.

       "Don't tell me you don't remember, girl."  He turned his hand upwards, grabbed my right breast through my clothing, and squeezed.

       "Actually, I didn't, and get your hands off me."

       He pressed the knife harder against my throat, but still without the force necessary to break skin.  "You aren't in the position to give orders, do you understand that?"  He continued to fondle me through my top and bra while the women drove, only occasionally glancing over at me.  I could do nothing but see where those two goons would take me.

       "Damnit, Alfredo, did I miss the turn?" the woman asked.

       "Don't worry, sis, just a few more miles."  He resumed his perverted deeds while his sister drove.

       The van turned off onto a desolate dirt road that was, by my accounts, just across the Wisconsin border.  I wanted to escape, but all I could do was sit there, trying my best to remain completely still.  Alfredo never ceased to frisk me, his heavy breathing aside my ear signaling his perverted excitement.

       I couldn't help but breath faster, as well, the touch of a man completely new to my body.  His large hand caressed my chest through my top, and I could feel the warmth spread across my stomach.  I reluctantly accepted his hands as he pinched my nipple, because I had to; while I wasn't nearly as careful as my father wanted me to be, I knew that doing anything would result in death.

       The woman made a sudden left hand turn and sped down a desolate dirt road, presumably a private drive, though unmarked by any sign on the street.  In the distance, I could see an old farm house that looked like it was ripped right out of American Gothic, yet neglected for several decades.  The car stopped near the front door.

       "Let's get her downstairs," said the woman.  She got out of the car and walked around to the other side, then opened the passenger door.  She carried a gun.  "Come along now, girl, unless you want your daddy to mourn his only daughter's brutal murder."

       Her brother took the knife from my throat and pushed my shoulder towards the door.  "Follow her, bitch."  I stepped down from the van into the dry dirt.  The woman pointed her gun at my stomach.

       "Head towards the door." 

I paused for a moment and thought over my situation.  While my hands and feet were still unbound, any attempts at escape would undoubtedly end with my throat getting slit.  I closed my eyes and thought harder, hoping to think through everything to see the best path.

       “Move it, girl,” yelled the woman, “unless you want your daddy to get your head in a box for Christmas.”

       The image sat in my head for a brief moment before I shook it away, but not before a sense of dread pervaded every inch of my body.   The thought of me, dead, and my father mourning my death finally and truly set in, and I knew that I had to do what they asked.  I walked.

       The woman led the way and opened the front door, completely unlocked.  Her brother and I followed behind her while the creep continued to frisk me, his spare hand slowly wandering down my chest to my crotch.  He repulsed me, but I had to accept his explorations for the moment.

       

       “Let’s get her downstairs,” she said.  I followed in pace with Alfredo and descended the newly built wooden stairs.  The house was a dump, but for some reason the Corelli family saw fit to renovate this isolated corridor.

       During the moment’s silence, I began prodding for insight into their plans.  “What are you going to do with me?  Hold me for ransom?  Try to kill me?”

       The woman responded with a slight chuckle and nothing more, piquing my curiosity that this was all something more than a simple kidnap-me-and-tie-me-up-in-a-burning-building sort of thing.

       The rest of the basement dispelled the myth of renovation, but at the very least it had been recently cleaned.  The cracked concrete floor and dented brick wall were undoubtedly the same that the house was built with, however many years ago.

       The woman disappeared into the darkness, not even caring to turn on the basement light.  I heard a metal clanking sound, and realized where we were going.  She stood beside a large iron door, saddled with numerous bolts, dials, and hinges.  My first impression was that it was a modern day safe room, the inner sanctum for the storage of prized possessions.  However, what I saw behind the door dispelled any such childish notions.

       The walls of the room were white, plain, and smooth, as was the floor, save small divots and loops built flush into the floor from which chains dangled and wormed.  It was illuminated by rows of fluorescent lights built into the ceiling panel.  I recognized the strange devices strewn about the utility of the objects as what they were because of a case I had handled seven months earlier, a case in which I freed French-Canadian triplets from the perverted grasp of an elderly couple that ran a local charity.  It was my first glimpse into the world of sexual slavery.  I had never been so shocked in my life, for despite being of legal age, I still knew very little about ‘it’ except for the basic mechanics of it all.

       “Tie her up,” said the woman.  Her brother reached for a length of rope and looped it around me, over and over, until both upper and fore-arms were snared to my sides.

       “Wha… what are you going to do to me?” I asked, knowing the answer but praying for something better.

       “Well, why don’t we go through the options,” said the woman.  She paused and tapped her index fingernail against her chin.  “Your daddy doesn’t have enough money to make ransom worthwhile, so that is out of the question.  My siblings have tried to kill you dozens of times, but no matter what they do, you always seem to live.  So, that won’t work.  That really only leaves us with captivity, doesn’t it?”

       I didn’t know what to say.

       “However,” she continued, “you’ve really been a bitch to our family, and I,” she paused, walked towards me, grabbed a fistful of my hair, and pulled, “want to see you suffer for it.”

       “Owwww!” I yelled.

       “We’re going to rape you, you know that?  Over and over and over we are going to use and abuse you.  No amount of pain will sate our revenge.  Nobody will come to rescue you.  Nobody.”

       

       I knew that claim was not true.  People would come looking for me.  I have friends and colleagues that would risk everything to rescue me.  I knew they would come…

       She pushed me back wards and I landed on flat on my back, lucky that I didn’t dash my head open on the floor.  It wasn’t nearly as hard as I imagined it would be, and had a slightly springiness to it.

       “Go ahead, Alfredo.  I’m going upstairs for a drink.”  She stumbled out of the room with a grin on her face while her brother moved in on me, his pants already bulging in anticipation.

       “No, please, I’ll do anything you want! Just don’t do this to me,” I plead.

       He ignored me and kneeled between my legs, unzipping his pants as he moved.  I tried to kick him, but he grabbed my legs and spread them to the sides, then removed my shoes and threw them in the corner.  His boxers had a disgusting little stain at the tip of his tentpole that I could see for only moment, before he pulled them down, allowing his cock to spring forward.  He inched forward to me and lifted my green skirt.  I could feel his penis against my white cotton panties.

       “No… No…” Trembles shook my body.

       He grabbed my stocking covered thighs and pushed them to the side and pushed his cock against the side of panties.  He slipped it underneath, then moved the cloth out of the way and rammed inside of me.

       I arched my back and screamed as loud as I could, but I knew nobody but this pervert and his sister could ever hear me.

       “Please… I’m a virgin… stop this…” I yelled.  The pain tore through me, and I could do nothing but stare straight up into the ceiling lights as he rhythmically thrust into me

       He laughed and replied, “Not anymore, you aren’t.”  He bounced into me, over and over, and I could do nothing but cry.

       It didn’t take him long to climax.  I felt the warmth of his juice spread inside of me, and my worries turned to pregnancy.  “You’re… going to make me pregnant!”

       “Don’t worry about that.  My sister says she has that taken care of.”

       I didn’t know what he meant.  All I could do was lay there in the sweat and cum as he got up, zipped up his pants, and left the dungeon.  The metal door slammed and locked shut behind him.  From the outside, he hit the light switch, immersing me in darkness.

----------------

       I don’t know how much later the woman came in.  I think I was asleep when the lights came back on, but I cannot be certain.  She stumbled in to the dungeon, obviously still drunk from whatever she had upstairs, though not enough to make movement or speech impossible.

       “How are you doing, Stacy?” she asked, her words spread apart unnaturally.

       I shifted my body so I could look her in the face.  She was smiling at my plight, upsetting me that a human being could be so callous.  "How could you to this to another woman?"

She laughed at me.  "You are not a woman." She reached over and pinched my right nipple through my dress and bra with her nails, causing me to wince and gasp in the sharp pain.  "You're just a bitchy little girl that poked her nose where it never belonged."

"You're all a bunch of criminals!" I yelled.

"So?” I could smell the booze on her breath. “Should that make me love my family any less?  The ones that you got sent to prison?  The ones that I'll only ever see between a glass wall and a telephone?"  She began to tear up, and she stopped toying with me.  She stood.  I could see tears flowing freely.

I misinterpreted her tears as a sign of weakness and plead for my freedom, "Please... let me go.  It's the right thing to do.  You know it is.”

"Shut up!" she yelled.  She reared her foot back and kicked my pussy. I grunted in pain.  She continued, now clearly furious with me, "My brother might be interested in this plan just for the sex," she paused and looked up at me, "but I’m in it to make your life hell.”

I knew at that moment she was crazy, and that she would do anything necessary to keep me her plaything.  I didn’t know if she was always crazy, or if my cases against her family made her that way.

       It didn’t matter.  She hated me, and I knew she would follow through with her threat.

I tried to worm away from her, my arms still bound to my sides.

“You can’t escape.  Didn’t I tell you that already?” She bent down, grabbed my right angle, and dragged me to the other side of the dungeon, to a steel workbench covered in unidentifiable objects.  “Let’s get you into some more appropriate attire.”  She took two handfuls of gear from the table. 

Without another world, she encircled my neck with a dog collar, which she snared with a small key lock.  “What… is this?  A dog collar?”  It was humiliating to be treated like an animal.

“That’s what you are, isn’t it?”  She dropped me back onto the floor with a thud.”

“Owww!”

       She giggled at my expression of pain, then turned me over onto my chest.  She slapped some thick cuffs onto my wrist and linked them together with chain.  “There, that should be enough to hold you.  Let me free you up a bit.”  She pulled a knife from her pocket and cut away the ropes that bound my arms, then began to cut through the green sun dress that my friends bought me for my nineteenth birthday.  I offered no resistance in silence, believing it to be futile. 

       “Green is such an ugly color.  Your last name’s Blue, for goodness’ sake.  Why do you always wear green?

       “To be different.”

       “Well, that era is over. No more clothes for you.”  She cut away my bra and panties, lumped the shreds of my clothes into a ball, and threw them to the side.

       I kneeled there on the white floor of the dungeon wearing nothing but cuffs and collar.

       She looked over me.  “Now, I think we’re ready.”

       “Just leave me alone,” I cried.

       “Why would you even bother saying something so hopeless?  You really are a walking cliché, you know that, right?”  She shook her head.  “Let’s get you set up for the night.  Stand.”  She slipped a finger underneath my collar and helped me stand.  “Get into the cell on the far right.  I complied.

       “Now, sit against the wall.”  I did as she asked.  She attached a chain that dangled from the wall to my collar, leaving me such that I could not lay down, or even sit on my rear.  I would have to stand or crouch as long as I was kept in this position.

       “Perfect.”  She turned around and left me squatting there, returning with two dildos and a strap of some sort.

       “Now, I think your first night here calls for something special.”  She bent down and crammed the dildos into my ass and pussy, then strapped them in place to a belt that dangled around my waist.  “There, that’s good.  How does it feel?”

       “It… hurts.”  Not as much as the first time, though.

       “Good.  I’ll be back in the morning.”  She stood, exited the cell, locked it shut then left the dungeon and turned off the lights.

       Once again, I was alone in the dark, and the reality of the day’s events finally sunk in.

       I ignored my father’s advice.

       I targeted the Corelli family.

       I was reckless with accepting cases.

       Now, I would pay the price for my carefree attitude.  I don’t know if I’ll ever escape.  I don’t know what they’ll do to me.

       The one thing I do know is that no matter how hard I beg or plea with that sadistic woman, she will live up to her claims.

       The tears are flowing freely now.  My life is hopeless.  There is nothing I can do.  I’ll never see my friends or family again, and it’s all my fault.

       I’m sorry, Dad.

       

Copyright Razor7826, 2008

Casebook #2: The Last Case of Pola Jacobsen

By Razor7826

        What day is it?  What Month is it? Is it Tuesday?  I can’t remember.  I never can remember things like that, never the things that I want to.

       Not that I have any sort of reference frame down here.  Who knows how long it’s been since they locked me in this place.  The only thing to keep me company is the wretched girl in the corner, blindfolded, gagged and ear plugged.  She doesn’t even know who I am, or why I’m here-- why I tried to rescue her…

-------

       My name is Pola Jacobsen, a twenty-two year old private investigator.  I never cared about the mysterious disappearance of Stacy Blue until the one year anniversary of her vanishing act.  To be honest, I never really liked her.  I hated her, really, considering how big of an arrogant snob she was, always referring to herself as the only teenaged detective worth mentioning, always treating me like dirt for being such a recluse.  Dozens of times she snubbed me, those memories seared into my mind like everything else I’ve ever witnessed.  Her and her hideous green wardrobe and faux wholesome appearance directly opposed my apathetic and grungy appearance, her sheen to my dirt.

       Our differences weren’t just superficial.  She used deduction, and I used my eidetic memory.  I can’t blame her, really, for how could she appreciate the gift and curse that I bear without actually living it?

       A perfect memory sounds nice to most people, I’ve been told, but I’d drop it in a heartbeat if I could.  Basically, my mind takes a snapshot every few seconds and stores it in the world’s worst filing system.  Memory isn’t about recording what you see, it’s about recalling, and I recall everything.  It doesn’t matter how minute the detail, I’ll know.  And I’ll think about it.  And I’ll obsess about it.

       With the media circus surrounding the one-year anniversary of Stacy’s disappearance, I couldn’t help but become interested, especially considering the reward that was offered by her father.  I started the investigation at her house, where I had met her more than once when I had use of her deductive skills, or her of my memory.  Mr. Blue let me in. 

       His look of disgust as he talked to me revealed his feelings for my physical appearance.  I hadn’t washed my hair or changed my clothes in days, and I could feel my straight brown hair clumping together as I twirled it with my fingers incessantly..  He too didn’t look nearly as good as when we last met, the loss of his only child clearly having damaged him in some irreparable way.  He was a prim and proper prosecutor, after all, and the sight of such an uncouth woman like me must have startled him.  I appreciated his kindness, however; he understood that I was possibly the best bet to discover the fate of his daughter.  He showed me to her room and gave me complete access.  The police had taken very little evidence, believing that none of it would be useful in their investigation, while he left everything where it stood, hoping for the return of Stacy.

       The hideous green color scheme that covered the room hurt my eyes, and it still does to this day.  Nothing I saw during the first twenty minutes triggered any sort of response, until I found her clipbook hidden beneath her bed, a memento of every case she ever solved.

       The scope of the book impressed even me, the young detective having solved hundreds of cases while still a teenager.  If she were alive, she would no longer be able to claim the title of ‘Greatest Teen Detective’, but she would be remembered as such for decades.  The first cases were small: arsons, blackmailing, and similarly inconsequential crimes.  However, when she turned sixteen, she hit it big with the discovery of who killed Roger Lagoni.  While Papa Corelli walked due to suspected jury tampering, Stacy still became well-known, continuing the streak until her disappearance years later.

       As I flipped through the final year of her scrapbook, I noticed a lime green van sitting in the background of many photos of her accepting plaques, shaking the mayor’s hand, cutting the ribbon on a library, or even photographs that she herself had appeared to have taken during stakeouts-- many had a beat-up looking van lingering off to the side or in the background.  The car was certainly the same in each photograph, and I knew immediately that it was no mere coincidence.  Whoever owned the van was stalking Stacy for at least two months prior to her disappearance.

       One photo in particular revealed the license, setting off a cascade of memories as I realized exactly when and where I saw that same van.  A small town, just across the border.  Pilson, I remember it.  I passed it on my way here.  It was parked at the Louis’ Gas Station.  I thanked Robert for his, hopped in my Desoto, and headed north.

       Two hours later, I pulled into that gas station parking lot.  No sign of the green van, which I didn’t expect to see anyways.   Most vans don’t run out of gas in six hours.

       I got out and filled the car’s tank.  When I went in to pay, I struck up a conversation with the elderly station attendant, asking about the green van.  The worker told me that two people show up in the car a few times a week, just filling up before heading back onto the road.  I didn’t pry further, knowing that if I asked who they were, he might get suspicious.

       If I waited long enough, the owners of the van would certainly show up.  The problem was finding a place to watch from safely.  On a lonely country road, a tail is easy to spot, especially when it is sitting by the side of the road until the mark passes. 

       I headed north several miles and stopped at a small motel, a tiny place on the same stretch of road as the gas station, uninterrupted by intermediate exits or side roads.  If the van passed the gas station, I would see it, so as long as it didn’t approach from the South and then just go and turn around.

       I spent seven days in that fucking motel room, staring out between the curtains with a pair of binoculars.  They had to get gas sometime, I reasoned, but I didn’t expect they would take so damn long.  What bothers me even more, however, is that they could have slipped by countless times during my short bathroom and sleep breaks.

       When that van did roll down that highway, I ran out the door and hopped in my car, already facing the street.  I followed, over half a mile behind, keeping a meticulously uniform distance between it and me.  To my surprise, it took a sudden left and darted down a dirt road.

       I slowed as I passed the dirt road.  The van drove off into the distance, raising a cloud of dust in its wake; beyond, I could see an old farm house.  I continued north.

       Ten minutes later, I returned, and parked my car on the shoulder of the road a few thousand feet down the road.  From there, I headed into the rows of corn, staying low as to not be seen in my approach.

       The farm house looked almost exactly like the one from American Gothic, save a few minor details and horrid paint job.  There was no way the resemblance was unintentional, unless it was older, which, but the looks of it, was a very real possibility.  Parked at the base of the front porch sat the green van. From my vantage point among the stalks, I could see the outline of a man on the first floor.  The silhouette disappeared into the back hallway, where it remained out of sight for over an hour.  For the rest of the day, I watched in the weeds, seeing nobody but the man.  Obviously, something of interest was in the basement, and I intended on finding out what it was.  However, I had no intention of sneaking into the place with the man sleeping or awake.  I would enter alone.

       My opportunity came the following day when the man drove off in the van, leaving the house seemingly abandoned.  I walked through the cornfield to the back of the house, looked around for any signs of security, then walked to the backdoor.  The hinges squeaked, but the inner door was unlocked, and I entered the kitchen.

       It looked to have been renovated at least once since the place was built. Green countertop, metal chairs, foldout table, all distinctly sixties.  I saw the door to the basement and headed towards it.

       The light switch did nothing, but I could see a needle of white light stretching across the basement floor. I descended the stairs slowly and quietly into the darkness and ducked my head down below the ceiling.  The light came from a side room.

       The interior of the room was pure white, windowless, and completely silent.  My eyes were immediately drawn to the woman in the corner person cell.  She sat on a toilet, her legs bent, bound, and strapped to hooks on the wall with long straps of leather.  A thick blindfold masked the upper half of her face, while a thick bit gag filled her mouth.  Headphones completely covered her ears.

       I walked closer to the bars of her cell and pressed across the black metal bars.  They were firmly mounted floor to ceiling, spaced three inches apart and each half an inch thick.  Not a single blemish tainted the surface of the metal, meaning that they were either new or just never tested. 

The bars seemed unnecessary when I turned back towards the girl. She still sat there, motionless inside all her bondage as if she could not even detect my presence.  Now closer, I could make out thin straps that crisscrossed her torso and hips and encircled her breasts.  A small scar ran horizontally, just beneath her navel.

I reached over and fidgeted with the lock to her cell, but like the bars, it was expertly crafted, not even jostling as I pushed and pulled on its frame.  I bent down and inspected the lock to see if it was pickable, but it was far too complex for me to manage.

I looked back up at the captive girl and tried to recall where I had seen her before.  After a few minutes, it hit me.

It was Stacy Blue, my rival.

“Stacy, it’s me, Pola.  Can you hear me?”  Silence.  “Stacy?  Stacy!”

“She can’t hear you,” spoke a woman’s voice from the entrance of the dungeon.  “I’ve thoroughly tested her earplugs.  The only sense she ever uses now is touch.” 

I pulled my pocketknife from my jacket as I pivoted on my left foot to turn towards the woman..  “Who are you and why did you kidnap Stacy?”

The woman took a look at me for a brief moment before sprinting out of the dungeon. I dashed at her, knife in hand, but she slammed the dungeon door shut just moments before I reached her.  My heart dropped as I could hear the first of many locks sliding into place.

       I pounded my left fist on the metal door.  “Let me out of here!” I yelled, but I could hear no response.  I slid to floor and continued to pound my fists against the door as I realized the mistake that I made—the gas station attendant mentioned two people that drove the car, not one.  I thought I had free reign of the house, but the woman was there all along.

       The lights shut off as I continued to scream for help and release, but none came.  Like Stacy, I too would be stuck in that soundproof basement at the mercy of her abductors. 

               

       ------------

       I still don’t know how long they kept me in that basement, alone save for the presence of a sensory deprived Stacy Blue.  She moaned in the darkness, her cries for food, water, and salvation unheard by anyone that could possibly help her.

The hunger came before the thirst, but the latter soon dominated my mind and body, until I could do nothing but lie on the ground pleading for relief.

       When the door finally opened, I was too weak to resist.  That black-haired woman and the man I had seen driving the van entered together, removed the knife from my hand, and dragged me into Stacy’s cell.

       “If you want some water, get it from the toilet,” taunted the woman.  She nudged me in the stomach with her foot, and I flopped onto my belly and began making my way to the fountain.

       I dragged myself up to the bowl of the toilet and looked inside before flushing it.  Clean water flowed in, eliminating all trace of the filth.

       “Go on, drink it,” prompted the woman.

       I tried maneuvering my head towards the water, but I brushed up against Stacy’s shaved snatch.  A moan escaped her lips and she began thrashing about in the bindings that held her to the ceiling, the sensation against her pussy the only sign that she was not alone..  I pushed against her thighs with all my might, moving her enough for me to finally reach the water.

       I lapped it up without reservation.  In hindsight, it tasted fine, but at the time I didn’t even care.  Once I was sated, I collapsed onto the dungeon floor.  The man and woman surrounded me on each side

       “Who is she?” asked the man.

       “Why are you asking me?  She’d know better than I would,” responded the woman.

       “Right, right.  Good thinking, sis.”  He knelled down beside me and grasped my left breast, but I was too exhausted to care.  “What is your name, girl?”

       “Pola.”

       “What a stupid name,” chimed the woman.  “Why were you sneaking around the house?”

       ”I knew you had something to do with Stacy’s disappearance.

       “Damnit!” yelled the brother.  “How the hell did we get caught?”

       “Yes,” said the woman as she stepped on my chest with her right foot, “how did we get caught?”

       “I recognized your van.”  It was the truth, when you think about it.

       “You shouldn’t lie,” she said, clearly disbelieving my overly simplistic answer.  “If you aren’t willing to talk yet, well, I think we have more persuasive measures.”

------------

       Memories of what they did to me still flash before my eyes every minute of everyday, compounded with the creation of new horrors for me to dwell on.  That man, Alfredo, is a pervert like no other, never ceasing to use my body whenever he sees fit.  I’m kept in a cell next to Stacy, my hands cuffed behind my back, my mouth propped open with a  dental gag, perpetually ready but unwilling for his use of all my holes.  It is degrading, but for all his filth, his sister is the worse of the two.

       Lucia is a sadist, and while she usually forgoes me to torture Stacy for whatever sin the girl committed, she takes sheer delight in sexually tormenting me.  She doesn’t care about her physical pleasure, only my pain, often leaving me covered with painful clamps across my skin, nipples, and clit, multiple dildos crammed into my holes and left there for hours at a time, possibly even days.  I don’t keep track of time anymore, or should I say can’t, The only way for me to keep track of time, for me to escape the darkness, is when they come to use Stacy and me.

When they are finished using me, the dungeon is plunged once again in to darkness, leaving me alone with the silent and mute Stacy Blue.  The duo makes sure to gag me every time that Stacy is to be cleaned, her earplugs and blindfold removed, so as far as she knows I am but another prisoner just like her.  While I could recognize her, there is no way she could do the same.

       She’ll probably never know how much I hate her.  I came here to rescue her, but just ended up in the same trap.

       It’s all her fault.  She treated me like shit, over and over, high and mighty as she was, but I tried doing a good deed in revealing the truth behind her disappearance.  That will never happen, though.  I know it.

       Every minute of every day, I retrace the steps that led me here, and think that maybe, just maybe, I could have done something different.  Maybe I could have rescued her.  Maybe I could have escaped.  Maybe I could have avoided this mess.

       The question will haunt me forever.

       

The Casebook of the Captive Teen Detective

Case #3:

The Last Case of Laura Morton

By Razor7826

I slid down the slanted roof of the warehouse, digging my left claw into the sheet metal to slow my descent.  I stopped myself just aside a ceiling window and gazed down at the congregation of criminals gathering in the center of the building.

       I recognized a few of them immediately as big shots in the city’s criminal underworld. Their countless bodyguards would undoubtedly prevent me from breaking up the meeting.  It relieved me, however, to know the night would not be a fighting night—my ribs still ached from the previous night’s brawl against a gang of would-be rapists.  They never stood a chance, really, and before leaving them bundled in rope with their police on the way, I kicked each them square in the nuts, just so they wouldn’t get any ideas in the future.

       Roving gangs like them are small fries compared to my true enemies.  I could identify and help arrest every single lackey in the city, and still more would take their place, the true power of the city resting in the few leaders of the warring factions.

       Of those, the worst were the Corelli Family and the Corp, the prior a clan of Italian mobsters, the latter a coalition of corrupt businessmen that united for the creation of a true black market.  The heads of both sat at a card table propped up in the middle of the warehouse, flanked by bodyguards and advisors.  I knew I had to eavesdrop on this rare occasion.

       I reached my right hand into my satchel and pulled out a suction cup.  I pressed it against the glass, squeezing the air out to create a seal. I encircled the rubber base with my claw, cutting a circle around it.   The segment of glass slid right out, stuck to the rubber.  I placed it to my side.  The echo of the warehouse allowed me to hear everything.

       Chairman Chalmers was raising his voice as he slowly rose from his chair.  “This is bullshit, Pietro.  You’re not keeping up your part of the deal.”

       The Mafia leader waved his hand down.  “Calm down, Roy.  We’re doing more than it appears.”

       “Like what?  My men had to kill three cops last week.  That is the sort of thing that will draw attention to us, and the last thing our community wants is attention.”

       “I’m well aware.”

       The chairman slammed his fist into the table, causing it to bounce off the ground for a brief moment.  “You don’t act like it!  The police are closing in, I can feel it.”

       “The city’s police are nothing to be afraid of.  They’re in our pocket enough to not interfere with our shared interests.”

       The sudden turn of the conversation drew me in closer, concerned with their claims about the police.

       Pietro continued, “We’ve also done an exceptionally good job of taking care of any… vigilantes… that have gotten in our way.”

       “Just keep it that way.  We’re done here.”  Roy stood from the table.  “Regardless this little argument, I would like to thank you for your business.  I will keep in contact with you personally as things progress.”

       “Thank you.”  Pietro stood and shook Roy’s hand before sitting back down. 

       Roy turned and left the meeting, his bodyguards flanking him on all sides.  I chose to hold my ground and follow the Corelli family’s faction, since the prior night’s gang rapists were likely Corelli offspring.

       Pietro fixed the collar on his grey suit and remarked, “I wish Chalmers wouldn’t run his mouth about all the cops he’s killed.  Who knows might be listening.”

       A male voice from behind him laughed, “Yeah, what an idiot.”  A chuckle of sycophantic laughter erupted from the goons.

       Pietro laughed briefly before turning to the black-haired woman standing beside him.  “My niece, how are you and your brother’s little projects working out?”

       “Ah, I… um,” she stammered, “we’re doing quite well, I believe.  All of the projects are making progress, especially the newer ones.  The older ones, well, they’ve gotten as far as possible I think.”

       “Good, good.  I may have to join you and your brother again sometime.”

       “Sure thing, Uncle Pietro.  You are always welcome in our home.”  She gave a slight bow to her superior.

       Pietro turned to his right and commanded into the shadows.  “Come, I told Francesca to have some lasagna ready for us at eleven.  I’m fuckin’ starving.”  He stood back up and exited the warehouse, leaving the black-haired woman standing alone.

       It was rare to see a woman at mob meetings, as they tend to work behind the scenes, if at all.  She was tall and slender, accentuated by the black sleeveless dress that she wore.

       She waited until both the parties had left the warehouse before folding up the card table and two chairs and carrying them to her lime-green van.

       I was curious what her ‘little projects’ were and decided to follow.   While the woman fiddled with her keys starting the car, I gracefully jumped down to the ground from the warehouse roof and stealthily planted a small homing device beneath her bumper.  I retreated back into the shadows and watched the van peel away before making my way through alleys until I was in eye sight of my parked motorcycle, shoved discretely behind an empty dumpster.

       I removed the claw from my left hand and placed it along with my other gear inside the center console.  With a turn of the key, I was off, in pursuit of the beeping signal of my prey.

       --------------

       Under the alias of The Peregrine Shadow, I’d been stalking the city for years defeating crime, night after night.  If you asked me why I ever started fighting crime, I wouldn’t be able to give a definitive answer.  My father is the Chief of Police, and from a very young age he instilled in me a strong sense of right and wrong, to always stand on the side of justice.  However, I can’t recall what exactly pushed me into masked vigilantism.  One day, it just felt like the right thing to do.

       Three and a half years I had been fighting crime, ever since my sixteenth birthday.  At five feet, seven inches, I’m unusually short for a vigilante, but I try to make up for it with agility. I’d been banged up pretty bad countless times, but never enough to require hospitalizations.  Cuts and breaks were taken care of, either openly or by contacts I had in the world of crime fighting.  There many out there like myself willing to skirt the law to keep the city safe.

       In hindsight, I shouldn’t have been out at all that night.  My ribs still ached and the more I think about it, I probably went on patrol with an untreated fracture.  I’m still paying for my overeager pursuit of justice to this day.

       ----------------

The green van turned onto a dirt road three hours later.  I drove off-road into the cornfield with my headlights off, cruising by the guidance of only by the dim moonlight and my superior night vision.  My bike hummed along silently, the tweaked engine fulfilling its stealth purpose flawlessly.

       One other car sat parked outside the darkened farmhouse.  I watched from inside the rows of corn as the woman turned lights on inside the house, headed upstairs, and went to bed, returning the decrepit home to darkness.  I waited half-an-hour, a good estimate for people to fall asleep, before creeping towards the front door.

       As people in the boonies often do, it was completely unlocked.  I entered.  My eyes quickly adapted to the darkness.

       I spotted nothing of interest on the first floor, and made my way into the basement.  It was recently refurbished, it appeared.  A nice carpet covered the floor.  The walls were made of drywall, though it was frequently interrupted by thick metal doors, one on each side of the basement.  Each of them had numerous bolts and locks, and were all shut, save one, which was slightly ajar.  I could hear voices from the other side.  A woman’s voice.  I listened, but it sounded like insane rambling, random words into the darkness without correlation. 

I approached further, now beyond the reach of any scattered moonlight. I pulled a flashlight from my satchel.

The moment I turned on the flashlight, a yell pierced my eyes and a shadow rushed towards me.  In the darkness, the girl screamed.

I kicked straight forward with my right foot and felt the distinct connect of a man’s crotch.

“Fuck,” he said quietly.  I could hear him thud to the ground.

The dimmest reflection of my scattered flashlight revealed another shadow. I punched out with my left arm blindly.  My fist glanced off the man’s chest and he grabbed my arm underneath his armpit.  He swung out with right hand, punching me in the ribcage, right where I was whacked by a crowbar the previous night.

“Ahhh!” I yelled as I collapse onto my knees, pain tearing through my chest as the goon pushed down on my shoulder. 

“We got her!” he yelled.  The lights turned on and the driver of the van entered the room.

Only with it fully illuminated could I make out what the room was—a dungeon, with chains dangling from the walls and ceilings.  In the corners were two cells, each containing a woman.  On the left, a blond girl sitting on a toilet in a forced position, her arms and legs chained and strapped to the ceiling.  In the other, a thin young woman with dirty brown hair, rocking back and forth mumbling.

“It really is her, isn’t it?  The Peregrine Shadow, captured at last,” said the driver, still wearing the black dress from earlier in the night.  I had been wrong in assuming she had gone to sleep; she was waiting for me.

“Let me go,” I responded.

“Oooh, that hurts,” muttered the man on the floor, clenching his balls.

The woman moved around to my front and bent over, revealing her cleavage beneath her loose black dress. “You aren’t nearly as stealthy as you think you are.  I saw you climb onto the warehouse roof during the meeting as well as when you planted the bug on my van.”

I cursed underneath my breath, knowing that I was finally caught.

She continued, “You’re going to be worth a lot of money when we sell you, right?”

“What… what do you mean?”  I started to panic.

       She laughed, “Everybody in the city wants a piece of you!  You’re probably the most desired item in the city!”  She turned towards her lackeys.  “Hold her down, I want to have some fun.”

       I noticed that the two assailants were twins.  The one of the floor got up, and each of them held an arm and leg and pinned me to the floor.

       She stood between my legs and pressed the bottom of her shoe hard against my cunt.  The pressure made me queasy.  “Why don’t we see what is behind the mask of yours?”

       She bent down and removed my domino mask and headband, letting loose my curly red hair.  “You’re just another stupid little girl that got in too far over her head.  I kind of feel bad for you.  Sooner or later you’re going to end up like Stacy over there.  What a terrible waste of potential,” she said sarcastically.  I turned my head to the girl on the toilet.  A blindfold covered her eyes, and a bit gag stuffed her mouth.  Unkempt blond hair spilled across her shoulders.

       She grabbed my collar and tore down across my chest, tearing my spandex costume down the middle and causing my tits to spill to the sides.  The tear extended down across my panties and to my crotch.  She quickly tore my underwear, severing the side straps so that the main part fell down to the floor.  She slid her hand down and explored my pussy.  “Hmm, you’re a virgin.  Interesting.  That will increase your value substantially.  Now if only…”  Her eyes went wide and her hand retreated from my panties.  “You’re…”  She paused.  “Fuck!  It’s the Chief’s daughter!”

       “What?” asked one of the lackeys.

       “It’s Chief Morton’s daughter!  Damn, damn, damn!  We can’t be doing this.”

       “Why not?”

       “There’s a deal.  Fuck!  Lock her in the cell with Stacy.  We need to sort this out.”

       One of goons grabbed me in an excruciatingly painful bear hug and carried me towards the cell while the other argued with the woman.

       “Why can’t we keep her?  The chief would never know.”

       “Just give me a fucking moment!” she yelled.  “I need to think this through.”

       The man briefly opened the cell door and threw me to the ground.  I screamed in pain, almost certain that one of my ribs was broken.

       The woman walked back and forth across the dungeon frantically, a scared look in her eyes.  Finally, she stopped.  “That’s it.  I need to call my uncle.  Make sure she’s locked up and head upstairs; some of her friends might be still around.”  They left the dungeon and closed the door, leaving me alone with the other two prisoners.

       The naked girl in the opposite cell crawled up to the bars and clenched them with her hands as she leaned as close as she could.  She began speaking in short motor mouthed bursts.

       “Who are you?  I remember you.  I remember everything.  The Peregrine Shadow.  Stupid little girl.  Fighting people much stronger than her.  I did the same sort of thing before I remember.  I was once a detective.  Tried helping the bitch over there on the toilet.  Ended up the same.  Oh, God!”  she retreated from the bars, curled up into a ball, and began to cry, her loud wailings filling the room and hurting my ears. She was skinny, but clearly not starved, and her dirty brown hair reached down to the middle of her back.  Her breasts looked big on her thin frame.  Strange marks ran up and down her arms and legs, like indentations from bindings kept tight for too long.  Her inner thighs were covered in bruises.

       I felt pity for her.  At the time, I didn’t know who she was, but whatever the monsters did to her, it had destroyed her.

       My attentions turned to the girl on the toilet.  She wasn’t nearly as skinny as the other one, and from the looks of it, she had a bit of muscle on her arms and legs.  Her position above the toilet was clearly temporary, as it would not have allowed for her physical condition.  They must have taken her down for exercise, though I couldn’t possibly imagine what that entailed. 

I leaned in closer and accidentally brushed up against her skin, causing her to wake.  She shook her head frantically and moaned into the bit gag stuffed in her mouth.  I reached up and dragged both the blindfold and her gag down such that they dangled around her neck.

       I fell backwards when I realized the identity of the captive.

       It was Stacy Blue, one of my few friends growing up.  Her father and mine were good friends and frequent coworkers, so we would always end up seeing each other.  She was like a big sister to me. Two years ago, when I was seventeen years old and still a novice crime fighter, she disappeared without a trace. Everyone thought she was dead, killed while pursuing one of the mysteries that gave her such joy to investigate.

       “Stacy!” I yelled.  “Oh, my god, you’re alive!”  She looked up at me and smiled, her blue eyes staring directly at mine.  “Let me help you.”  I stood up, ignoring the piercing pain in my ribs, and unlatched the straps that held her to the wall.  The bindings slid off, revealing the extent of the many marks that littered her otherwise perfectly pale skin.  Rarely have I seen skin that untainted by sunlight.

She slowly tumbled from the toilet to the floor and quickly supported herself on her hands and knees and crawled towards me.  Her face was turned up in a mischievous grin, but her eyes were vacant and unfocused, looking straight through me rather than at me. 

I kneeled on the floor and leaned onto my right hand to take the pressure from my left side.  “Stacy, are you okay?  What did they do to you?”

She closed in on me without speaking and licked my face.

“Stacy?”

Without warning, she pushed on my left shoulder, sending me falling backwards.  She pounced and pinned me to floor.  I tried shrugging her off, but my ribs were hurting more than ever.

Stacy Blue leaned in closer to my face and locked her lips with mine.  Her tongue pushed in briefly before I shook my head. 

“Stacy, what is wrong with you?”

My mouth unavailable, she began licking the sides of my face.

“Stacy…” I said, but I knew it was useless.  Whatever they did to her would take more than my simple pleadings to undo.  I gave up and let her have her way with me, or whatever she had been brainwashed to do.  I laid there on my back, arms at my sides and bent above my head.  I turned towards her and accepted her tongue into my mouth.

Her aggression surprised me, and despite not using my own tongue in response to hers, something came over me.  My body grew hotter and hotter as she caressed and kissed me.  When I was wet, she sniffed the air, then turned around and dangled her ass in my face as she began lapping at my pussy and clit with her tongue.  I closed my eyes and let her do what her work.

She explored deep with her tongue while caressing my thighs with her hands.  She worked fast and efficiently, soon bringing me to a body shaking orgasm, which she seemed to ignore, continuing for what felt like hours. 

By the time the Corelli’s pried her off of me, my mind and body were exhausted from pleasure.  However, I still pitied her horrific state, and feared that I might some day end up the same, a mindless piece of meat that could do nothing but pleasure others.

       

       My last vision of the dungeon was of Stacy Blue, curled on a floor, a grin of pure bliss spreading across her face.

       

----------

       They left me naked, gagged, and bound in rope inside a cardboard box on my father’s doorstep.  Wedged between my breasts was a handwritten letter from Pietro Corelli.  Packed beside me rested the shredded remains of my costume.

       My father’s maid, Eleanor, dragged me in to the den, cursing at the package’s weight then entire time.  I screamed into the gag, but she couldn’t hear me. 

My father discovered my package sitting in the center of his den when he came home for lunch.  His face changed to an expression of absolute panic when he beheld my naked and bound body.  He reached down to un-gag me, but his hands stopped as he noticed the letter from Pietro Corelli.  My own father left me in that embarrassing state to read the letter, prioritizing business over his own daughter.

       “What the hell did you think you were doing?” he said moments after unfastening the ball gag.

       “I’m fighting crime, just like you do.” 

       He reared his hand back and slapped me across the face before grabbing my arms and lifting me out of the Styrofoam packing material.  Never before had he hit me.  “You’re lucky they didn’t kill you.”

       “They’re scared of you, that’s why,” I said, recalling their panic when they revealed my identity. 

       He cut the ropes off of me with a pair of scissors before chastising me, his voice filled with uncharacteristic anger.  “Get dressed and get back down here.  We have a lot to talk about.”  He pushed me towards the door.  I sprinted across the living room, doing my best to cover my breasts and pussy.  Eleanor dropped the dishes she was carrying when I ran by the kitchen.

       I wrapped a layer of bandages around my ribcage and came back down minutes later, wearing a tee-shirt, jeans, and non-prescription glasses, thankful to finally be back in normal clothing after my almost twelve hour ordeal at the hands of the Corelli’s.

       My father was sitting in his desk chair, hunched over, sweat beading on his forehead.  Never before had I seem him look so haggard. He turned towards me, “You have no idea what you’ve done, Laura,” his voice wavering.

       “I’m sorry, Dad.  I… I didn’t expect to get caught.”

       “Laura… I don’t know whatever motivated you to masquerade like that, it ends now. You can’t fight crime anymore, or whatever the hell it is you think you’re doing.”

       “I… I can’t just stop helping people.”

       “They know who you are!”

       “They wouldn’t dare touch me,” I said defiantly, believing that my father could still protect.

       “Yes, they will, Laura.  I had an arrangement with them, but it’s over now because of what you did.  You’ve given them the upper hand.”

I stood there for a moment, shocked at my father’s confession of corruption.  Never before had I felt more betrayed.  My father, working with the Corellis?  It was unthinkable.  “You’re the Chief of Police!  How can you ally yourself with such thugs?”

“They threatened unspeakable things to you, your mother, and your sister.  I had to work with them, for all your safety!”

“What did you have to do?  How could you betray the city?

“It was the city or my family, and I chose you, and…”

“We can take them down! I know where they’re keeping Stacy Blue!

He merely looked up at me for a brief moment before turning his head back towards the ground.  “Laura… they know who you are now.  Don’t you understand what that means? You can’t continue like this, and if you continue to fight against the Corelli’s, they can just reveal your identity to the world.  There are hundreds of people that would like to see The Peregrine Shadow suffer, and while you may be willing to take the risk, they’ll undoubtedly target your mother and sister as well.

My heart sunk and I collapsed to my knees on the floor.  Images of my mother and sister subjected to the same horrors that destroyed Stacy flooded my mind, and I could do nothing but sit there in shock.  I screwed everything up.  Things weren’t supposed to end up like this.  There were no longer any solutions.  Not only could they threaten my father, but they knew my identity, giving them near unlimited leverage against our family.

       “We… we have to go into hiding.” I plead.

       “They’d find us, Laura.”

       I began to cry as I realized that it was over.  I screwed up bad, and I would have to pay the price.  I would have to do whatever the Corelli’s asked of me.

-----------

Please, if anyone discovers the truth of it all, please, forgive me.  I did what I had to do survive.

I… I help those people.  My father’s corruption has spread to me.  I know not why my father became the corrupt cop that he is, but now I’m like him, committing unspeakable horrors for self-preservation.  The Corelli’s are true monsters and I enable them to fulfill their evil deeds

       To the public, I am still simply The Peregrine Shadow, champion of the defenseless, but to those that hold true power, I am just a pawn.

       So here I am, an amoral lapdog of the Corelli family.  Rarely a day goes by that they don’t remind me that I belong to them, that they could easily give the other gangs my true name, exposing me to the worst of retribution.

       Even when I have to act as their play thing, I know it could be worse.  I could be like Stacy Blue, the greatest teen detective the world has ever seen, fallen and disgraced.  My greatest fear is that I will be raped and tortured for years and end up like her, and to avoid that, I will do anything. 

No matter how many women I have to betray to retain my freedom, I will do it.

       

The End

Copyright 2008, Razor7826