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What do these things have in common?", "description_bbcode_parsed": "A disgraced office of the law, a family vacation gone awry, and a town in the middle of nowhere. What do these things have in common?", "writing": "There was always a time for complaining, a time for remembrance, and even a time for mulling things over in anger while you waited for the alcohol to kick in, delivering mind-numbing bliss that would make everything better. There were times where you felt that you had to let things go, to stay beneath the radar and hope things blew over as well as the time that you knew you had to stand your ground, digging your feet into the sand and stand up for what you knew was right. Suffice it to say, the former was always a more popular option, if only because it was safer for your career.\n\nThat was his mistake, it seemed, standing up for what he knew was right. He did what he had to do and things invariably went pear-shaped as a result, leaving the “who to blame” bulls-eye to be painted on his back. It was two days before he had been called into the lieutenant’s office of the SCPD, barely having time to shut the door and sit down before the bar-wearing jackass started ranting and raving. All he could do was simply listen and nod occasionally as he got his ass chewed out for the last time.\n\nIn retrospect, after the fires had gone out and the dust had settled, he remained confident that he had done nothing wholly wrong. A simple traffic enforcement action, him flashing the roof lights as he attempted to pull a sedan over for an illegal turn in an intersection and nearly causing a collision. The sedan pulled over and out comes some guy wielding a gun with a kid wrapped against his chest, screaming obscenities and waving the pistol around, pointing it in all directions including the police cruiser as well as the kid’s head.\n\nProcedure being what it was, he radioed for backup involving a 10-32 with a hostage after a routine traffic stop. Dispatch confirmed that backup was less than five minutes away but anything after that was lost as he got out of the cruiser, hand dipping to his service pistol as the gun-toting lunatic kept screaming while the kid looked more and more confused. Little boy probably had no idea what was going on and why his father- assuming they were related at the time- was going nuts and swinging him around.\n\nThe situation was already a high-risk one, the officer doing what he could to defuse the situation while ensuring that the man didn’t start taking shots or getting back in the car. Any cop’s nightmare, really, especially when innocents were involved and more so when they were kids, although all rational thought stopped when the man announced his intention not to go back to prison, bringing his pistol towards the kid’s head.\n\nHis service pistol discharged and the man crumpled without grace or ceremony, the 9mm bullet putting a hole through his head before he could even think about pulling the trigger. It was a life-threatening situation and he had every reason to believe that the kid was in imminent danger of harm, meaning that deadly force was needed to ensure that the hostage in question wasn’t killed on the spot. Backup arrived shortly thereafter as Officer Chase retrieved the sobbing child, putting in a quiet request for EMTs before cordoning off the area.\n\nThat had been all of two days ago and in any other situation involving an officer discharging his service pistol he would have to file an after-action report, maybe see a few days of suspended service as was the policy. Lieutenant Dores, however, simply treated the whole thing as a clusterfuck to end all clusterfucks, especially when the man whom Chase had shot was none other than the Mayor’s estranged son. Yes, of all the lunatics with access to a gun he had to encounter, it was the Mayor’s own fuckup knucklehead whom had kidnapped his son from his ex-wife, although there was no record of him ever visiting a correctional facility as much as he had claimed otherwise.\n\nSo, that was it. Lieutenant Dores nearly lost it, tried to take his badge on the spot, and the only saving grace Chase was offered was the fact that Dores’ own superior, Capt. Donnahue, walked in as Dores held his hand out for the badge. Dores quickly shut up after that as Donnahue favored him with a narrow glance before addressing Chase. He acknowledged the shitty situation, and even commended Chase for doing what he did, and even though it resulted in an unfortunate loss of life he still saved the kid, who was spending a day at the local hospital before he and his mother would be free to return home.\n\nThat, however, was as far as the good news went. The bad news was that he was still being discharged from the force, not as a result of what he did but as a result of the political pressure he was getting from the Mayor and the public backlash. In this day and age a cop couldn’t be expected to take two steps out the door before being demonized by civilians, although it was fair to say that not every Leo on the force acted with the best of intentions, much less tact when interacting with the public at large. The extra shit that rolled downhill from the Mayor was just brown icing on the cake.\n\nSo, here he was, driving along the back roads of the state, miles from home, heading to his next home and assignment. Capt. Donnahue was courteous enough to mask the discharge as a transfer from the police force to a sheriff’s office in the middle of nowhere, something that he didn’t have to do and had no obligations to go through. But he did, something Chase was both thankful and resentful for. He had wanted to call them both out on the bullshit, demanding to know what he did wrong to warrant such treatment and being removed from the force.\n\n“Bullshit,” Chase growled beneath his breath as he reached for a pack of cigarettes, jerking the pack up and down until one of the brown filters popped from the hole in the pack, jamming it between his lips before lighting it with the glowing red metal of the burner that popped out of the dashboard outlet. “All of it.”\n\nHe had been on the road for little more than six hours, following the highway east and occasionally glancing down at the instructions he had been given. The town he was to be headed to was in the middle of bum-fuck nowhere although it was clearly listed on any roadmap so long as you squinted hard enough to see it properly. A quick internet search detailed it as a popular destination for hiking, hunting and camping at varying parts of the year although the main economy was based on exactly this: transient tourism and seasonal attractions.\n\nYeah, this was going to be a fun little vacation, for as much as that word was stressed. Vacations ended at some point, although this felt like little more than an excommunication. Chase had never been one to enjoy the idea of politics, but he couldn’t help but smile at the absurdity of it all as he exhaled a lungful of smoke through his nostrils.\n\nThe car turned off of the highway, pulling up on the exit ramp and heading off onto one of the intrastate highways, the county roads that lined the state like blood vessels running off of the main arterial network. According to the roadmap he had another ten miles of back road to traverse before he would finally arrive in town, although he would be the first to admit that he wasn’t in any real hurry. The longer it would take him to arrive, the more he could postpone this sense of… finality. Like his arrival in town would close some invisible gate behind him and his car, sealing him off from the outside world, never to return.\n\nThe road was lined with trees and foliage, as befitting a state that featured several thousand acres of woodland and forest. The leaves were lush and green with just a bare flash of auburn orange peeking out every so often, marking the pre-seasonal changes that the forest went through. Given enough time the leaves would finish their chromatic change before detaching from their arboreal hosts, cascading to the ground and forming a leafy carpet just in time for the rot to take it back into the soil, covered only by snow once it got cold enough.\n\nThe radio station he had tuned to began to spout more static than music the further and further he went, sometimes fading out entirely before the transmission came back. He jabbed at the radio, tuning to another station and found this connection crystal clear only for it to snap to static the second he brought his finger away. Rolling his eyes he poked at the “seek” button, the radio shifting frequencies until it came to the next one in line that had a strong enough signal. The sound of classical rock filled the car, earning a satisfied smile from Chase as he glanced back at the road.\n\n“Shit!”\n\nHe twisted the wheel as his foot stomped on the brakes, the car narrowly avoiding the van that had been sitting in the middle of the road. Wheels squealed against the pavement but there was no sudden shudder of metal on metal nor the crunch of glass shattering. He threw the car into park and switched on the hazard lights, practically barreling out of his vehicle as his seat belt smacked against the rear window with a clap.\n\nWhat kind of idiot parked in the middle of the road? He glanced at the van, standing with the door of his vehicle ajar but noticed several things that threw him off. The lack of the van’s hazard lights blinking, the doors wide open, the lack of passengers or the driver sitting in the other vehicle or even idling about. You didn’t have to be a cop to get a bad feeling from what he was seeing, his hand dropping to his side to the spot where his holster would have been, had he still carried one.\n\nHe noticed that his cigarette had somehow vacated the spot between his lips, glancing back into the car to notice it smoldering in front of the accelerator, no doubt burning a hole through the floor mat. He quickly put it out and looked back up at the van, his fingers tapping quietly at the roof of his car as he tried to put two and five together.\n“Hello,” he called out, bringing a hand up as one would when they wanted to amplify their voice. The greeting went unanswered and he repeated it, this tine cupping both hands to serve as an impromptu megaphone, for as effective as it would be. “Is anyone in there?”\n\nNot a single response, save for the din of the birds that occupied the trees and the oscillating drone of insects that inhabited the spots closer to the ground. He looked to and fro, nearly begging for someone to show up, even if it involved walking out of the woods covered in blood and carrying an axe. Not that it would be ideal, but it would be something he could deal with instead of the lingering feeling of isolation that came with being in the woods alone.\n\nMaybe he was overreacting, but something felt off to him. He circled around his car and stepped towards the van, the sound of the engine idling greeting his ears as he neared the abandoned transport. The diver and passenger doors were open, as was the rear sliding door that would let additional people sit inside. Nary a soul inside, the engine idling, and whatever luggage he could spy from the windows looked like it had been untouched. There was no telling if there had been a struggle, considering he had next to no experience with tracking people through the forest, but the question of who would simply leave the engine on before abandoning their vehicle still remained.\n\nWhat he wouldn’t do for a radio right now. He checked his cell phone and found that, of course, he had no service to speak of. He stepped towards the woods, calling out a few more times for anyone who could possibly be within earshot but received no response in return. That’s when he noticed something that he hadn’t paid much attention to: the birds had stopped their sing-song antics and had become as silent as the grave. Was it because he, a human, had stepped into their domain, or was it because of something else? There was no telling but he didn’t bother to step into the forest to find out.\n\nHe made his way back to the van and plucked his cell from his pocket, taking pictures of the license plate and the scene in general before getting back into his car. The reception still showed a big, red X where the signal bars would have been, earning a disconcerted curse from Chase as he shut the door and flipped the key in the ignition. He felt disgusted having to leave the van as it was, but without a gun and no way to call for help he wasn’t about to go bumbling into the forest and just hope he would find someone, let alone find his way back to the road.\n\nEither he would find the sheriff, a deputy on duty, or the town and call it in. That was the best he could do at that moment, even if it left him with little comfort in the moment. He floored the accelerator and the car took off down the road, tires swerving back into the proper lane as he kept his eyes open for any cars that bore the mark of the county sheriff’s office. Two miles down the line he found what he was looking for and slammed on the brakes, twisting the wheel to the side as the car skidded to a stop, blocking both lanes of the road as the sheriff’s cruiser came to a halt as well.\n\nChase was out of his car and practically jogging to the cruiser, raising his hands and hoping that the gesture would give the deputy/ sheriff/ whoever due cause to not thing they were about to get stabbed by some lunatic driver.\n“Boy,” the officer called from his window. “Jes’ what the hell you doing, driving like that,” the man sounded like he was pissed, even though his young eyes betrayed the look of surprise and even apprehension.\n\n“Joseph Chase,” Chase announced as he came towards the cruiser’s window, flashing his wallet and the driver’s license. “Transfer from SCPD, I need to report an abandoned vehicle.”\n\nThe deputy- a fair-haired young man with a sun-kissed face- glanced at Chase’s wallet before looking up at the man himself. “Wha’ you talkin’ about?”\n\nA deputy who couldn’t under stand proper sentences, that was just what he needed right now.\n“I am Joseph Chase,” he said like he would to a slow child. “I am a recent transfer from the Star City Police Department. I was on my way into Harrisburg when I found an abandoned vehicle.”\n\nThe deputy nodded, the look in his eyes offering a sense of gradual understanding.\n\n“I need you to get on the radio and report an abandoned van on the roadway,” Chase continued. “Engine idling, doors open, no signs of struggle.”\n\nThe deputy nodded as he reached for the radio receiver in his vehicle, parroting everything back to whoever was running dispatch. As he did that he took his phone out and swiped back to the image of the van’s license plate, showing it to the deputy who, in turn, relayed the plate information. The response he got was to investigate as needed and relay any pertinent information in relation to a potential 10-45. Chase couldn’t help but wonder what an animal carcass had anything to do about this before realizing the sheriff’s department used different 10-codes.\n\nThe trip back to the van was relatively uneventful, the deputy letting Chase lead the way in his own car- something that struck him as odd but he didn’t give it any more thought in that moment. The two-car convoy came to a stop as Chase tapped the brakes and hit the hazard lights again, bringing his own vehicle to a stop as the deputy did the same, flipping his roof lights.\n\nThe van was still parked in the same place he had left it, the engine chugging along as the transmission stayed in park. Deputy McNeil took a cursory look about the van before switching the ignition off and returning to his cruiser as Chase stayed in his car. There was no point in getting out and interfering with the investigation, although he wanted to help however he could. At this point he was just a civilian without a badge and anything he could do would do more harm than good. Even if it didn’t sit well with him, sitting tight was the best thing he could do to help out, unless told otherwise by the sheriff himself.\n\nEventually, the deputy walked towards Chase’s car and bent down to look through the window, asking if he could provide any kind of documentation regarding his so-called transfer. Chase leaned over and fumbled with the glove compartment, his fingers grabbing at a manila envelope that he handed to the deputy. Deputy McNeil opened it and fingered through the papers inside, nodding once before quipping that he would be right back as a tow truck crept by, coming to a stop just before the van.\n\nChase inhaled slowly, trying to clear away the feeling of his nerves and how on-edge he was. There was something that set him off about this whole thing, the feeling that he was missing something important but finding nothing to push the feeling away. He told himself it was just the jitters, caused by everything that happened and the fact that he had, for better or worse, been relocated by they city he had once sworn to protect.\n\nDeputy McNeil came back and handed the envelope back to Chase, flashing a smile before leaning down to the window.\n\n“Sheriff Banes wanted me to get you into town and show you around,” he said with the tone of voice that only a younger man could have. “Musta said something nice about him, considering how he talked about ‘cha.”\n\n“Uh, nice to know,” Joseph blinked. “What about the van?”\n\nMcNeil glanced at the wrecker before looking back at chase. “It’s gonna be towed back to town and Marge already put an APB out.”\n\nWell, that was good news. Didn’t make him feel better, but at least there would be eyes and ears open for the driver and whatever passengers they had.\n\n“Y’all just gotta’ follow me,” McNeil flashed a smile before heading back to his cruiser. It took him a moment to turn back into the lane heading away from the highway, something Chase did with his own three-point turn, the wrecker fading into the greens and browns of the forest as he pushed the car to keep speed with the deputy.\n\nThe last leg of the trip seemed to draw to a close as they passed a gas station, the first marker that they neared the town of Harrisburg. Five miles back, as the van was towed away a smile crept onto the lips of the hunter that had been watching the van ever since the sedan skidded to a halt. He had intended to drive the van into a more concealed spot but the squeal of tires prompted him to stay in the bushes, the green-brown camouflage of his clothing keeping him well out of sight.\n\nThe deputy he brought on the way back was one of the newbies, but that was of little concern in the long run. He had his quarry, strung up and ready to be taken back to his bolthole in the woods. A young buck, a lithe doe, and two fawns waiting in the underbrush where he had left them, although it would take some effort to get them all home before sundown. The buck had given him plenty of trouble, but once he had the fight taken out of him the doe and fawns were easy picking, almost insultingly easy as he wound the rough rope around their wrists.\n\nHe waited for some time after the tow truck disappeared up the road, rising from his hiding spot and stepping through the woods back to where he had left his trophies. The buck, a young man just shy of thirty had struggled in his bindings as the hunter neared, his angry words muffled by the gag he had stuffed and taped over his mouth.\n\nA quick stroke to the head with the butt of his rifle quelled any resistance although the doe, an equally young woman with cream-colored fur and beautiful locks of hair began to sob and plead, although all it did was earn her the same treatment. The young fawns, both a boy and girl, probably no older than 8, simply cried as they tried to understand what happened to their mother and father.\n\nThe sun shifted in the sky, arcing over and down towards the horizon, painting the forest in a brilliant orange hue as the purple dusk followed closely behind. He sat down in his favorite chair, breathing heavily as he let his muscles rest after the trek. It took some knowledge of woodcraft but he had fashioned a shunt out of branches and sticks, piling the buck and doe on like cordwood before laying the fawns on top of their unconscious parents. They had since stopped crying, having run out of energy to do so although the tears still fell freely.\n\nHe had dragged them several miles deeper into the woods to their new home. It wasn’t much in the way of hospitality, but the mining shacks had been long abandoned after the coal veins dried up and the miners abandoned the site sometime in the early 20th century. The mining shafts stayed boarded up but he had claimed one of the old dormitories for himself, setting up his cot and cookware out for an extended stay. The deer, however, were left on the floor on the other side of the building, waiting for him to recoup his strength and figure out just what he was going to do with them.\n\nAfter all, a good hunter left no trace of their presence for other animals to find. The mine shaft was going to be their final home, that was no doubt, but what to do with them in the mean time. He reached for the buck knife he kept, watching the light from the lantern at his side reflect off of the glossy metal surface and the harrowed edge that came with repeated treatment from a good whetstone. Flaying flesh was never easier with a good knife and this was one of the best.\n\nHe looked up to see the deer watching him. The buck was still out cold, blood dribbling from the gash across his forehead while the doe was watching him with tear-stained eyes, her hair disheveled and her posture one of fearful submission. The two fawns were still crying, their muffled sobs punctuated by the odd hiccup that erupted from their throats and chests.\n\nOh, yes, he knew exactly what he was going to do with them. Dress the buck, save the doe, and see just how lively the fawns could be. He got to his feet, the knife left on the crate he had been using as a table. The young doe shrunk from his presence, a whimper rising in her throat, only to turn into a panicked shout as he grabbed at the young girl’s hair, pulling her to her feet.\n\n“Come on, now,” the hunter chuckled as the girl screeched at the feeling. “We’re going to play a game, little one.”\n\nHunting was a sport, almost like baseball or soccer. You won when you got your prize, although the rules were much different than anything played on the field. Of course, he never did fully appreciate the prizes he received when it came to hunting, not fully anyway. Some meat, a fun story, even a decent pelt to turn into a rug, if not tan it for leather later. That was when he changed the rules and found he got much more fun prizes, the kind that everyone else would gawk at if it weren’t for being true.\n\nHe led the girl to his cot and pulled up on her, raising her to the tips of her toes as he brought the knife closer to her face.\n\n“See this,” he asked slowly, turning the blade over so it caught the light. Her eyes quickly became transfixed on the metal edge, her eyes widening. “You know what this is, don’t you?”\n\nShe managed to nod, albeit barely.\n\n“If you scream, then this will start to hurt,” he smiled as if offering comfort. “It’ll hurt your mommy, and your daddy, and your brother, and then it’ll hurt you.”\n\nShe began to tremble but nodded again.\n\n“Good girl,” he grinned before running the flat of the blade against her throat, pulling it down to the neck of her shirt, slicing through the teal fabric and the rainbow iconography as her chest and belly were revealed to his peering eyes. “After all, we don’t want you to bleed, do we?”\n\nHer chest heaved as he brought the knife around, hooking the tip against the shredded remains of her shirt and pulling it away, revealing the undeveloped buds of her breasts and the tiny nipples she sported. A fine young fawn in perfect health, and her brother would no doubt be of the same stock. He chuckled as he ran the edge over one of her fur-covered nubs, feeling her bristle against the sensation as she screwed her eyes shut.\n\nHer shorts soon suffered the same treatment as the blade slipped beneath the waistband of her khakis and toon-covered panties. It wasn’t long before he had her standing before him, wearing nothing but her restraints and shoes while her mother wailed in the background. It wasn’t unusual for a buck or doe to cry out like that when they were afraid, it was something you got used to after hunting for long enough. She stood stock still, tears leaking down her cheeks before she felt him release her hair for a split second.\n\nShe cried out as he pushed her over, her back connecting with the worn wood of the floor. Pain ran through her shoulders as her weight came down onto her bound arms, earning a restrained cry of pain that stuck in her throat. He gave a firm kick to her ankles, spreading her legs apart as he tossed the knife away, his free hand working at the buckle of his belt.\n\nLittle Abby had been so happy to go on a trip with her family. After having graduated from first grade with her dummy brother mommy had been keen to tell her that daddy planned for them to go camping, just like they did last year. Abby was beside herself with excitement, wondering if she would be able to see the funny bird again, what daddy had called an “owl”. Now, as she lay prone on her back, legs asunder she couldn’t help but wonder why this was happening and why mommy was crying like she was.\n\nThe burly man fell upon her, his body pushing against hers as something hard poked around her thighs. Daddy had once told her that no-one was allowed to touch her “funny area” and if anyone did she was supposed to scream for help. The sock that was wedged in her mouth tasted awful and it didn’t let her talk, but she remembered what to do and scream she did when she felt a stabbing pain in her funny area as the man pushed his hard thingy into her. Something tore with burning agony and her voice went shrill, even through the gag.\n\n“Come on, sweetie,” the smelly man groaned as he rocked against her, like daddy did to mommy that one time. \n“Take it like a good girl!”\n\nMommy wailed and Abby wailed as well, two mournful sobs of pain, anger and remorse filling the air as the smelly man continued to stab her with his thingy, his thrusts growing shorter and faster before he shoved it as far as it would go, Abby’s brown eyes widening as she felt it push against her insides before something hot could be felt. He stayed like that, pushing himself against her for some time before retracting his thingy from her funny place, the floppy thingy covered in red and white jelly.\n\n“Good girl,” the smelly man smiled as he ran a hand over Abby’s belly. “Such a good girl, your mommy must be proud of you,” he looked up at her mother, smiling as the older tabby spat obscenities through her gag.\n", "writing_bbcode_parsed": "There was always a time for complaining, a time for remembrance, and even a time for mulling things over in anger while you waited for the alcohol to kick in, delivering mind-numbing bliss that would make everything better. There were times where you felt that you had to let things go, to stay beneath the radar and hope things blew over as well as the time that you knew you had to stand your ground, digging your feet into the sand and stand up for what you knew was right. Suffice it to say, the former was always a more popular option, if only because it was safer for your career.

That was his mistake, it seemed, standing up for what he knew was right. He did what he had to do and things invariably went pear-shaped as a result, leaving the “who to blame” bulls-eye to be painted on his back. It was two days before he had been called into the lieutenant’s office of the SCPD, barely having time to shut the door and sit down before the bar-wearing jackass started ranting and raving. All he could do was simply listen and nod occasionally as he got his ass chewed out for the last time.

In retrospect, after the fires had gone out and the dust had settled, he remained confident that he had done nothing wholly wrong. A simple traffic enforcement action, him flashing the roof lights as he attempted to pull a sedan over for an illegal turn in an intersection and nearly causing a collision. The sedan pulled over and out comes some guy wielding a gun with a kid wrapped against his chest, screaming obscenities and waving the pistol around, pointing it in all directions including the police cruiser as well as the kid’s head.

Procedure being what it was, he radioed for backup involving a 10-32 with a hostage after a routine traffic stop. Dispatch confirmed that backup was less than five minutes away but anything after that was lost as he got out of the cruiser, hand dipping to his service pistol as the gun-toting lunatic kept screaming while the kid looked more and more confused. Little boy probably had no idea what was going on and why his father- assuming they were related at the time- was going nuts and swinging him around.

The situation was already a high-risk one, the officer doing what he could to defuse the situation while ensuring that the man didn’t start taking shots or getting back in the car. Any cop’s nightmare, really, especially when innocents were involved and more so when they were kids, although all rational thought stopped when the man announced his intention not to go back to prison, bringing his pistol towards the kid’s head.

His service pistol discharged and the man crumpled without grace or ceremony, the 9mm bullet putting a hole through his head before he could even think about pulling the trigger. It was a life-threatening situation and he had every reason to believe that the kid was in imminent danger of harm, meaning that deadly force was needed to ensure that the hostage in question wasn’t killed on the spot. Backup arrived shortly thereafter as Officer Chase retrieved the sobbing child, putting in a quiet request for EMTs before cordoning off the area.

That had been all of two days ago and in any other situation involving an officer discharging his service pistol he would have to file an after-action report, maybe see a few days of suspended service as was the policy. Lieutenant Dores, however, simply treated the whole thing as a clusterfuck to end all clusterfucks, especially when the man whom Chase had shot was none other than the Mayor’s estranged son. Yes, of all the lunatics with access to a gun he had to encounter, it was the Mayor’s own fuckup knucklehead whom had kidnapped his son from his ex-wife, although there was no record of him ever visiting a correctional facility as much as he had claimed otherwise.

So, that was it. Lieutenant Dores nearly lost it, tried to take his badge on the spot, and the only saving grace Chase was offered was the fact that Dores’ own superior, Capt. Donnahue, walked in as Dores held his hand out for the badge. Dores quickly shut up after that as Donnahue favored him with a narrow glance before addressing Chase. He acknowledged the shitty situation, and even commended Chase for doing what he did, and even though it resulted in an unfortunate loss of life he still saved the kid, who was spending a day at the local hospital before he and his mother would be free to return home.

That, however, was as far as the good news went. The bad news was that he was still being discharged from the force, not as a result of what he did but as a result of the political pressure he was getting from the Mayor and the public backlash. In this day and age a cop couldn’t be expected to take two steps out the door before being demonized by civilians, although it was fair to say that not every Leo on the force acted with the best of intentions, much less tact when interacting with the public at large. The extra shit that rolled downhill from the Mayor was just brown icing on the cake.

So, here he was, driving along the back roads of the state, miles from home, heading to his next home and assignment. Capt. Donnahue was courteous enough to mask the discharge as a transfer from the police force to a sheriff’s office in the middle of nowhere, something that he didn’t have to do and had no obligations to go through. But he did, something Chase was both thankful and resentful for. He had wanted to call them both out on the bullshit, demanding to know what he did wrong to warrant such treatment and being removed from the force.

“Bullshit,” Chase growled beneath his breath as he reached for a pack of cigarettes, jerking the pack up and down until one of the brown filters popped from the hole in the pack, jamming it between his lips before lighting it with the glowing red metal of the burner that popped out of the dashboard outlet. “All of it.”

He had been on the road for little more than six hours, following the highway east and occasionally glancing down at the instructions he had been given. The town he was to be headed to was in the middle of bum-fuck nowhere although it was clearly listed on any roadmap so long as you squinted hard enough to see it properly. A quick internet search detailed it as a popular destination for hiking, hunting and camping at varying parts of the year although the main economy was based on exactly this: transient tourism and seasonal attractions.

Yeah, this was going to be a fun little vacation, for as much as that word was stressed. Vacations ended at some point, although this felt like little more than an excommunication. Chase had never been one to enjoy the idea of politics, but he couldn’t help but smile at the absurdity of it all as he exhaled a lungful of smoke through his nostrils.

The car turned off of the highway, pulling up on the exit ramp and heading off onto one of the intrastate highways, the county roads that lined the state like blood vessels running off of the main arterial network. According to the roadmap he had another ten miles of back road to traverse before he would finally arrive in town, although he would be the first to admit that he wasn’t in any real hurry. The longer it would take him to arrive, the more he could postpone this sense of… finality. Like his arrival in town would close some invisible gate behind him and his car, sealing him off from the outside world, never to return.

The road was lined with trees and foliage, as befitting a state that featured several thousand acres of woodland and forest. The leaves were lush and green with just a bare flash of auburn orange peeking out every so often, marking the pre-seasonal changes that the forest went through. Given enough time the leaves would finish their chromatic change before detaching from their arboreal hosts, cascading to the ground and forming a leafy carpet just in time for the rot to take it back into the soil, covered only by snow once it got cold enough.

The radio station he had tuned to began to spout more static than music the further and further he went, sometimes fading out entirely before the transmission came back. He jabbed at the radio, tuning to another station and found this connection crystal clear only for it to snap to static the second he brought his finger away. Rolling his eyes he poked at the “seek” button, the radio shifting frequencies until it came to the next one in line that had a strong enough signal. The sound of classical rock filled the car, earning a satisfied smile from Chase as he glanced back at the road.

“Shit!”

He twisted the wheel as his foot stomped on the brakes, the car narrowly avoiding the van that had been sitting in the middle of the road. Wheels squealed against the pavement but there was no sudden shudder of metal on metal nor the crunch of glass shattering. He threw the car into park and switched on the hazard lights, practically barreling out of his vehicle as his seat belt smacked against the rear window with a clap.

What kind of idiot parked in the middle of the road? He glanced at the van, standing with the door of his vehicle ajar but noticed several things that threw him off. The lack of the van’s hazard lights blinking, the doors wide open, the lack of passengers or the driver sitting in the other vehicle or even idling about. You didn’t have to be a cop to get a bad feeling from what he was seeing, his hand dropping to his side to the spot where his holster would have been, had he still carried one.

He noticed that his cigarette had somehow vacated the spot between his lips, glancing back into the car to notice it smoldering in front of the accelerator, no doubt burning a hole through the floor mat. He quickly put it out and looked back up at the van, his fingers tapping quietly at the roof of his car as he tried to put two and five together.
“Hello,” he called out, bringing a hand up as one would when they wanted to amplify their voice. The greeting went unanswered and he repeated it, this tine cupping both hands to serve as an impromptu megaphone, for as effective as it would be. “Is anyone in there?”

Not a single response, save for the din of the birds that occupied the trees and the oscillating drone of insects that inhabited the spots closer to the ground. He looked to and fro, nearly begging for someone to show up, even if it involved walking out of the woods covered in blood and carrying an axe. Not that it would be ideal, but it would be something he could deal with instead of the lingering feeling of isolation that came with being in the woods alone.

Maybe he was overreacting, but something felt off to him. He circled around his car and stepped towards the van, the sound of the engine idling greeting his ears as he neared the abandoned transport. The diver and passenger doors were open, as was the rear sliding door that would let additional people sit inside. Nary a soul inside, the engine idling, and whatever luggage he could spy from the windows looked like it had been untouched. There was no telling if there had been a struggle, considering he had next to no experience with tracking people through the forest, but the question of who would simply leave the engine on before abandoning their vehicle still remained.

What he wouldn’t do for a radio right now. He checked his cell phone and found that, of course, he had no service to speak of. He stepped towards the woods, calling out a few more times for anyone who could possibly be within earshot but received no response in return. That’s when he noticed something that he hadn’t paid much attention to: the birds had stopped their sing-song antics and had become as silent as the grave. Was it because he, a human, had stepped into their domain, or was it because of something else? There was no telling but he didn’t bother to step into the forest to find out.

He made his way back to the van and plucked his cell from his pocket, taking pictures of the license plate and the scene in general before getting back into his car. The reception still showed a big, red X where the signal bars would have been, earning a disconcerted curse from Chase as he shut the door and flipped the key in the ignition. He felt disgusted having to leave the van as it was, but without a gun and no way to call for help he wasn’t about to go bumbling into the forest and just hope he would find someone, let alone find his way back to the road.

Either he would find the sheriff, a deputy on duty, or the town and call it in. That was the best he could do at that moment, even if it left him with little comfort in the moment. He floored the accelerator and the car took off down the road, tires swerving back into the proper lane as he kept his eyes open for any cars that bore the mark of the county sheriff’s office. Two miles down the line he found what he was looking for and slammed on the brakes, twisting the wheel to the side as the car skidded to a stop, blocking both lanes of the road as the sheriff’s cruiser came to a halt as well.

Chase was out of his car and practically jogging to the cruiser, raising his hands and hoping that the gesture would give the deputy/ sheriff/ whoever due cause to not thing they were about to get stabbed by some lunatic driver.
“Boy,” the officer called from his window. “Jes’ what the hell you doing, driving like that,” the man sounded like he was pissed, even though his young eyes betrayed the look of surprise and even apprehension.

“Joseph Chase,” Chase announced as he came towards the cruiser’s window, flashing his wallet and the driver’s license. “Transfer from SCPD, I need to report an abandoned vehicle.”

The deputy- a fair-haired young man with a sun-kissed face- glanced at Chase’s wallet before looking up at the man himself. “Wha’ you talkin’ about?”

A deputy who couldn’t under stand proper sentences, that was just what he needed right now.
“I am Joseph Chase,” he said like he would to a slow child. “I am a recent transfer from the Star City Police Department. I was on my way into Harrisburg when I found an abandoned vehicle.”

The deputy nodded, the look in his eyes offering a sense of gradual understanding.

“I need you to get on the radio and report an abandoned van on the roadway,” Chase continued. “Engine idling, doors open, no signs of struggle.”

The deputy nodded as he reached for the radio receiver in his vehicle, parroting everything back to whoever was running dispatch. As he did that he took his phone out and swiped back to the image of the van’s license plate, showing it to the deputy who, in turn, relayed the plate information. The response he got was to investigate as needed and relay any pertinent information in relation to a potential 10-45. Chase couldn’t help but wonder what an animal carcass had anything to do about this before realizing the sheriff’s department used different 10-codes.

The trip back to the van was relatively uneventful, the deputy letting Chase lead the way in his own car- something that struck him as odd but he didn’t give it any more thought in that moment. The two-car convoy came to a stop as Chase tapped the brakes and hit the hazard lights again, bringing his own vehicle to a stop as the deputy did the same, flipping his roof lights.

The van was still parked in the same place he had left it, the engine chugging along as the transmission stayed in park. Deputy McNeil took a cursory look about the van before switching the ignition off and returning to his cruiser as Chase stayed in his car. There was no point in getting out and interfering with the investigation, although he wanted to help however he could. At this point he was just a civilian without a badge and anything he could do would do more harm than good. Even if it didn’t sit well with him, sitting tight was the best thing he could do to help out, unless told otherwise by the sheriff himself.

Eventually, the deputy walked towards Chase’s car and bent down to look through the window, asking if he could provide any kind of documentation regarding his so-called transfer. Chase leaned over and fumbled with the glove compartment, his fingers grabbing at a manila envelope that he handed to the deputy. Deputy McNeil opened it and fingered through the papers inside, nodding once before quipping that he would be right back as a tow truck crept by, coming to a stop just before the van.

Chase inhaled slowly, trying to clear away the feeling of his nerves and how on-edge he was. There was something that set him off about this whole thing, the feeling that he was missing something important but finding nothing to push the feeling away. He told himself it was just the jitters, caused by everything that happened and the fact that he had, for better or worse, been relocated by they city he had once sworn to protect.

Deputy McNeil came back and handed the envelope back to Chase, flashing a smile before leaning down to the window.

“Sheriff Banes wanted me to get you into town and show you around,” he said with the tone of voice that only a younger man could have. “Musta said something nice about him, considering how he talked about ‘cha.”

“Uh, nice to know,” Joseph blinked. “What about the van?”

McNeil glanced at the wrecker before looking back at chase. “It’s gonna be towed back to town and Marge already put an APB out.”

Well, that was good news. Didn’t make him feel better, but at least there would be eyes and ears open for the driver and whatever passengers they had.

“Y’all just gotta’ follow me,” McNeil flashed a smile before heading back to his cruiser. It took him a moment to turn back into the lane heading away from the highway, something Chase did with his own three-point turn, the wrecker fading into the greens and browns of the forest as he pushed the car to keep speed with the deputy.

The last leg of the trip seemed to draw to a close as they passed a gas station, the first marker that they neared the town of Harrisburg. Five miles back, as the van was towed away a smile crept onto the lips of the hunter that had been watching the van ever since the sedan skidded to a halt. He had intended to drive the van into a more concealed spot but the squeal of tires prompted him to stay in the bushes, the green-brown camouflage of his clothing keeping him well out of sight.

The deputy he brought on the way back was one of the newbies, but that was of little concern in the long run. He had his quarry, strung up and ready to be taken back to his bolthole in the woods. A young buck, a lithe doe, and two fawns waiting in the underbrush where he had left them, although it would take some effort to get them all home before sundown. The buck had given him plenty of trouble, but once he had the fight taken out of him the doe and fawns were easy picking, almost insultingly easy as he wound the rough rope around their wrists.

He waited for some time after the tow truck disappeared up the road, rising from his hiding spot and stepping through the woods back to where he had left his trophies. The buck, a young man just shy of thirty had struggled in his bindings as the hunter neared, his angry words muffled by the gag he had stuffed and taped over his mouth.

A quick stroke to the head with the butt of his rifle quelled any resistance although the doe, an equally young woman with cream-colored fur and beautiful locks of hair began to sob and plead, although all it did was earn her the same treatment. The young fawns, both a boy and girl, probably no older than 8, simply cried as they tried to understand what happened to their mother and father.

The sun shifted in the sky, arcing over and down towards the horizon, painting the forest in a brilliant orange hue as the purple dusk followed closely behind. He sat down in his favorite chair, breathing heavily as he let his muscles rest after the trek. It took some knowledge of woodcraft but he had fashioned a shunt out of branches and sticks, piling the buck and doe on like cordwood before laying the fawns on top of their unconscious parents. They had since stopped crying, having run out of energy to do so although the tears still fell freely.

He had dragged them several miles deeper into the woods to their new home. It wasn’t much in the way of hospitality, but the mining shacks had been long abandoned after the coal veins dried up and the miners abandoned the site sometime in the early 20th century. The mining shafts stayed boarded up but he had claimed one of the old dormitories for himself, setting up his cot and cookware out for an extended stay. The deer, however, were left on the floor on the other side of the building, waiting for him to recoup his strength and figure out just what he was going to do with them.

After all, a good hunter left no trace of their presence for other animals to find. The mine shaft was going to be their final home, that was no doubt, but what to do with them in the mean time. He reached for the buck knife he kept, watching the light from the lantern at his side reflect off of the glossy metal surface and the harrowed edge that came with repeated treatment from a good whetstone. Flaying flesh was never easier with a good knife and this was one of the best.

He looked up to see the deer watching him. The buck was still out cold, blood dribbling from the gash across his forehead while the doe was watching him with tear-stained eyes, her hair disheveled and her posture one of fearful submission. The two fawns were still crying, their muffled sobs punctuated by the odd hiccup that erupted from their throats and chests.

Oh, yes, he knew exactly what he was going to do with them. Dress the buck, save the doe, and see just how lively the fawns could be. He got to his feet, the knife left on the crate he had been using as a table. The young doe shrunk from his presence, a whimper rising in her throat, only to turn into a panicked shout as he grabbed at the young girl’s hair, pulling her to her feet.

“Come on, now,” the hunter chuckled as the girl screeched at the feeling. “We’re going to play a game, little one.”

Hunting was a sport, almost like baseball or soccer. You won when you got your prize, although the rules were much different than anything played on the field. Of course, he never did fully appreciate the prizes he received when it came to hunting, not fully anyway. Some meat, a fun story, even a decent pelt to turn into a rug, if not tan it for leather later. That was when he changed the rules and found he got much more fun prizes, the kind that everyone else would gawk at if it weren’t for being true.

He led the girl to his cot and pulled up on her, raising her to the tips of her toes as he brought the knife closer to her face.

“See this,” he asked slowly, turning the blade over so it caught the light. Her eyes quickly became transfixed on the metal edge, her eyes widening. “You know what this is, don’t you?”

She managed to nod, albeit barely.

“If you scream, then this will start to hurt,” he smiled as if offering comfort. “It’ll hurt your mommy, and your daddy, and your brother, and then it’ll hurt you.”

She began to tremble but nodded again.

“Good girl,” he grinned before running the flat of the blade against her throat, pulling it down to the neck of her shirt, slicing through the teal fabric and the rainbow iconography as her chest and belly were revealed to his peering eyes. “After all, we don’t want you to bleed, do we?”

Her chest heaved as he brought the knife around, hooking the tip against the shredded remains of her shirt and pulling it away, revealing the undeveloped buds of her breasts and the tiny nipples she sported. A fine young fawn in perfect health, and her brother would no doubt be of the same stock. He chuckled as he ran the edge over one of her fur-covered nubs, feeling her bristle against the sensation as she screwed her eyes shut.

Her shorts soon suffered the same treatment as the blade slipped beneath the waistband of her khakis and toon-covered panties. It wasn’t long before he had her standing before him, wearing nothing but her restraints and shoes while her mother wailed in the background. It wasn’t unusual for a buck or doe to cry out like that when they were afraid, it was something you got used to after hunting for long enough. She stood stock still, tears leaking down her cheeks before she felt him release her hair for a split second.

She cried out as he pushed her over, her back connecting with the worn wood of the floor. Pain ran through her shoulders as her weight came down onto her bound arms, earning a restrained cry of pain that stuck in her throat. He gave a firm kick to her ankles, spreading her legs apart as he tossed the knife away, his free hand working at the buckle of his belt.

Little Abby had been so happy to go on a trip with her family. After having graduated from first grade with her dummy brother mommy had been keen to tell her that daddy planned for them to go camping, just like they did last year. Abby was beside herself with excitement, wondering if she would be able to see the funny bird again, what daddy had called an “owl”. Now, as she lay prone on her back, legs asunder she couldn’t help but wonder why this was happening and why mommy was crying like she was.

The burly man fell upon her, his body pushing against hers as something hard poked around her thighs. Daddy had once told her that no-one was allowed to touch her “funny area” and if anyone did she was supposed to scream for help. The sock that was wedged in her mouth tasted awful and it didn’t let her talk, but she remembered what to do and scream she did when she felt a stabbing pain in her funny area as the man pushed his hard thingy into her. Something tore with burning agony and her voice went shrill, even through the gag.

“Come on, sweetie,” the smelly man groaned as he rocked against her, like daddy did to mommy that one time.
“Take it like a good girl!”

Mommy wailed and Abby wailed as well, two mournful sobs of pain, anger and remorse filling the air as the smelly man continued to stab her with his thingy, his thrusts growing shorter and faster before he shoved it as far as it would go, Abby’s brown eyes widening as she felt it push against her insides before something hot could be felt. He stayed like that, pushing himself against her for some time before retracting his thingy from her funny place, the floppy thingy covered in red and white jelly.

“Good girl,” the smelly man smiled as he ran a hand over Abby’s belly. “Such a good girl, your mommy must be proud of you,” he looked up at her mother, smiling as the older tabby spat obscenities through her gag.
", "pools_count": 0, "title": "Backwood Chronicles: Chapter 0", "deleted": "f", "public": "t", "mimetype": "application/msword", "pagecount": "1", "rating_id": "2", "rating_name": "Adult", "ratings": [ { "content_tag_id": "3", "name": "Violence", "description": "Mild violence", "rating_id": "1" }, { "content_tag_id": "4", "name": "Sexual Themes", "description": "Erotic imagery, sexual activity or arousal", "rating_id": "2" } ], "submission_type_id": "12", "type_name": "Writing - Document", "guest_block": "f", "friends_only": "f", "comments_count": "0", "views": "983" }