Mistrusting a Memory
Copyright© 2008 by Lubrican
Chapter 6
Romantic Sex Story: Chapter 6 - Detective Sergeant Bob Duncan was assigned to investigate a routine rape case. But this case turned out to be anything but routine. Somehow, he and the victim became friends '" good friends. Then there was an accident and Bob had to decide whether to arrest her for a crime... a crime she couldn't remember committing... a crime that might land her in prison for the rest of her life.
Caution: This Romantic Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Reluctant Heterosexual Petting Pregnancy Slow Violence
Lacey was ferrying a flash drive containing hundreds of photographs from the dig to the museum. A major discovery had been found. A collapsed cellar had been uncovered and, inside it, there were bones. Human bones. It wasn't clear yet how they had come to be there, but there were no indications of intentional burial. The artifacts found with the bodies suggested that people had taken refuge in the cellar and had died there. The pictures were needed at the museum as soon as possible, so that decisions could be made as to what to do with the find. This would become a political issue now.
It was ten after four, and traffic was a nightmare on the freeway. There was no traffic on the off ramp she took, but things were beginning to bottle up and slow down at the end of it. Lacey hated this kind of traffic. It made her nervous. It was obvious she'd be here for a while, because nothing was moving, even though her lane had a green light. She reached for a cigarette. She was about to light it, when there was the screech of tires, the grinding crunch of metal on metal, and her car lurched sideways. The side of her head smacked into the window, and the cigarette flipped from between her lips.
As her head rebounded, she turned unbelieving eyes to see the blue car that had sideswiped her crash into the back of the car in front of hers and flip, impossibly, in a barrel roll that took it into the air to plow into oncoming traffic. She realized, instinctively, that the car had come down the off ramp of the freeway, behind her, going much too fast. She heard sirens, behind her, and looked in the rear view mirror. How had the blue car gotten past the glut of traffic already behind her?
She heard screams, which galvanized her. She tried her door, but it was stuck. She lurched against it, and with a groan, it popped open and she scrambled out. She felt a moment of vertigo and wavered on her feet. Her head throbbed, where it had hit the window.
The scene was a nightmare. The blue car had rolled over two others and was currently lying upside down, half on the sidewalk. People in the cars it had hit were sitting, or leaning, staring around them in shock. She ran to the one closest to her and peered inside. The roof had partially collapsed and glass was lying in tiny shards all around her. It crunched under her shoes as she moved. A man and woman were half lying, where they had leaned toward each other at the last second. They said they were all right.
She darted around that car and saw that others were helping people out of the second car.
A moaning cry came from the blue car that had caused all this.
Lacey ran around to the driver's side and looked in. With the roof partially crushed, it was dark inside. She smelled the pungent odor of gasoline and saw a puddle of the stuff collecting on the sidewalk, near where she was kneeling to look in. She crawled, reaching into the interior with her left hand, trying to see. "Hello?" she called.
"My leg is broken!" came the agonized groan of the man in the car. He was lying on his side, which looked odd, because he was lying on the ceiling of the car. His hand reached for her. "I can't get out!" he moaned. "Help me. You have to help me!"
It was the voice that paralyzed her and bore, like a red-hot ice pick, straight to the center of her brain. It was a voice she would never forget—that she heard in fevered dreams she still had, but wouldn't tell anybody about. His head turned towards her and his brown hair fell aside. The same eyes stared into hers.
"You!" he gasped.
Lacey was frozen. In some dim part of her mind, she realized that her pants leg was getting soaked with gasoline. Another small part of her brain told her she smelled smoke.
Everything rushed back in, to push all thoughts away. She saw his face, twisted, like it was now, hovering over her. For the first time she remembered his elated voice shouting at her, "CUM, SLUT! CUM ON MY PRICK, YOU DISGUSTING WHORE!"
"YOU HAVE TO HELP ME!" screamed her rapist, and her eyes cleared.
She leaned backwards, in an automatic desire to make her unresponsive muscles work to get away from him.
"HELP ME, YOU SLUT!" he screamed. His hand clamped around her left wrist, squeezing with maniacal strength.
She realized her cigarette lighter was still gripped in her right hand.
"I'll help you," she whispered, her voice choked with emotion.
She flicked her lighter.
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