Heather Brown - Raped policewoman

What a way to go, I thought, but just as quickly realized that I was still in one piece and that the gunshot had come from somewhere outside the car.

"Oh, my God, Ted!" I blurted and suddenly found myself back in reality, and embarrassingly so, with a throbbing prick stuck up my foaming cunt and the steel prong of a gun barrel six inches up my ass.

I pulled out and fell down from the backrest, opening the front door in the same motion as I toppled to the seat. I got out of the car and yanked up my sopping panties and pulled down my skirt and ran toward the crack of the shot, my service revolver unholstered for the first time since I'd held it on that boy in the alley.

"Ted… Ted!" I called. "Are you all right? Did you fire that shot?"

Blam! Another shot rang out, but this one a lot closer to me as I edged around the corner of a crumbling building.

"Ted!" I implored.

Blam! This one was so close that I could feel it. It passed just inches over my head, seeming to part my hair, ricocheting off the bricks and screaming into the night.

There was no doubt about it, they were shooting at me.

Instantly, survival became the only consideration in my frantic brain. Before I could help anybody, I had to take care of this maniac shooting at me. Otherwise, I was dead.

My eyes combed the darkness, sifting through it for some sign of whoever was shooting at me. Everything was an inky blackness, until it was breached for a split second by an orange flash accompanied by the explosion of gun powder. Another shot whizzed by me and thudded into the wall behind me.

It was pure reflex that made me pull the trigger, sending a shot of my own whistling in the direction of the flash I'd seen. I was quickly answered by a retaliation of fire from the same spot and I squeezed off two more of my own, pumping them in rapid fire at my invisible target.

Then, to my surprise, there was no more gunfire and I just waited in the total darkness. Just as I was wondering what move I should make next, the eerie silence of the night was shattered by a mournful groan coming from where I had seen the gunfire.

"O'Hara," I yelled back to the car.

"Yeah?" he called back.

"I'm over here… by the nearest building."

"Yeah, yeah, I got you spotted."

"Then come over here and cover me while I go check on what's happened. Somebody was shooting at me and I think maybe I hit them."

When O'Hara had caught up with me, I left him there and advanced toward where I thought I'd heard the moaning. After about ten feet I knew I was on the right track as I heard a second moan coming from somewhere right along my path.

Twenty-five feet farther in an alley a third moan was ringing in my ears and I realized that it was coming from right around the corner of a building where whoever it was had taken cover.

I stepped around the edge of the building with my gun cocked and pointing down, ready to pull the trigger if anything moved. It's a good thing he was unconscious because if he had moved a muscle I would have blasted him point-blank. As it was I was staring Ted in the face.

Yes, it was Ted. O'Hara's grisly prediction had come true – we had wound up shooting at each other in the total darkness. Only I, the rookie on the force with no experience with a gun, had wound up being a better shot than Ted, an experienced, crack detective.

There were two gaping holes in his chest where I had apparently hit him side by side with my final salvo of shots. He was breathing, but just barely as the blood welled from the oozing holes, one of them dangerously near his heart.

He lay there on his back, clutching his now useless gun in one hand and something else in the other. Something made me look down and see they were a pair of white panties, torn and bloody.

"Oh, my God, what's happened!" I exclaimed as a queasy feeling attacked me and I began to faint, my gun clattering to the ground and going off from the impact, the explosion echoing wildly in the alley.

The last thing I remember before I slipped to the ground and closed my eyes to a blackness even deeper than Tyler Blvd. was O'Hara catching up with me and saying with bitter words that momentarily sliced through my haze before I passed out, "So you killed your partner, huh?"

They tried everything to save him and he was so tough he hung on for days. But after a second bout with emergency surgery, Ted died.

There was an investigation, but there was never any official hearing. They were being kind, I guess. Oh, not to me – they would have liked to have fired me. They were being kind to themselves. They were afraid of all the bad publicity if it came out in public that one of the policewomen that they'd taken so much credit for hiring, wound up shooting her partner. So they just put me on paid suspension by direction of the commissioner's office and were waiting for the whole thing to blow over so they could decide what to ultimately do with me.

I didn't argue with them. I didn't have the stomach for police work anymore. I was too washed out to go back to some other kind of work, so as much as my pride hated to admit it, I needed the check they sent me every two weeks.

The panties in Ted's hand had turned out to have belonged to the head nurse at General Hospital who was raped that night just before Ted and I took out after the rapist. Apparently, Ted had either cornered the rapist and grabbed the panties before the guy got away, or Ted had found them after the rapist had dropped them while in flight. In any case, the panties in Ted's hand proved that it was the rapist we had been chasing.

Somewhere, for some reason, Ted had fired a shot, probably at the fleeing suspect. When I came onto the scene he probably thought I was the rapist still lurking around and shot at me. I shot back, he returned my fire, I answered with more shots of my own, and the next thing I knew I had killed my partner, who also happened to be the only man I'd ever loved. The thought that I was busy fucking that callow kid O'Hara when I should have been backing up Ted haunted me. If I'd had enough alertness to go with him at first instead of fumbling around like a schoolgirl, we would have known each other's positions and probably would have caught the rapist with nobody hurt.

The idea of letting my cunt tell me what to do and giving into O'Hara was even more disturbing when O'Hara gave a lot of evidence against me, saying I was incompetent and didn't seem to know what I was doing and had abandoned my partner. He never mentioned that we were fucking in the patrol car, but I could only be thankful that there was never a hearing for him to testify under oath.

Sitting around the house with nothing to do, I just moped through the days, tranquilized on all the booze I was drinking and pot I was smoking these days. But the nights were different. The minute I went to sleep and started dreaming, all hell broke loose. I was haunted by an endless replay of the night that Ted was killed. In my dreams, sometimes things would seem to come out okay and I was sure that it had all been a big misunderstanding – but then, at the last instant, something shocking would happen and I would be standing there again with my smoking gun in my hand looking down at Ted's corpse. And then the dream would end with O'Hara braying at me, yelling, "You did it, you cunt, you killed your partner," joined by a chorus suddenly materializing in the background of all the men at the 69th precinct screaming, "You can't trust any cunt with a gun."

Did I blame myself? Well, obviously. But half the problem was that I wouldn't admit it to myself while I was conscious, thereby refueling the fires of my nightmares. My initiative remained paralyzed, my guilt fighting to get free at night and bottling everything up during the day when my emotions were buried under a blanket of drugs.