You're the night beat cop. That dreaded graveyard shift where the only things that keep you sane are the fantasies of sunrise, a good cup of hot coffee and memories of the days when you were walking around when there were more people awake than asleep. Once again, you and your partner are called to a domestic dispute call, where morons who have no business going anywhere near alcohol have consumed three times the amount of an average person and then decided that they needed to re-create the last episode of The Jerry Springer Show in their living room and then let it spill out to the front yard. The nice, average neighbors who bemoan the fact that they are cursed with wretched neighbors have once again fulfilled their obligation to notify the authorities that there is a disturbance of the peace and it's keeping them awake. Your partner checks on the inebriated couple as you walk over to assure the fifty something couple in their robes. After about ten minutes of assuring them they did the right thing, listening to them worry about the supposed demise of the neighborhood, and encouraging them to go back to their home, you are mentally and emotionally drained.
You make your way next door to help out your partner. The fighting couple has been subdued and are well on their way to what you can only assume will be make up sex unless you or your partner decide there is a need to arrest one or both parties. After checking out their stories and deciding that they will get a citation for disturbing the peace, you and your partner decide to head back to the station.
On your way back to the station, you are filling out the necessary paperwork on the computer as your partner drives. He suddenly slows to a crawl, peering out your side of the cruiser. "What's going on?" you ask.
"There's a girl walking," he says. "She looks like she might be in trouble."
You notice that she does not seem to be wearing much and that she is hobbling along on one heel in what seems to be a drunken stupor. As your partner slows the car, your pulse quickens.
No way! It can't be...it is! What is she doing out this late? And half naked? DRUNK?! I'm gonna kill her…ok so not kill her, but she's not going to be cut any slack just because she's my daughter. Great! Do I tell my partner that this is my daughter? What do I do?
Before you can decide what to do, your partner pulls up beside her and parks the car, getting out. He walks up to your little girl, who isn't so little any more and starts to talk to her. He asks for ID when she asks to be taken to the station to see her dad. "Who's your dad?" he asks in a nearly sarcastic manner. When she says your name, his gaze quickly moves to you. You haven't moved. You're still sitting in the front of the cruiser in shock, wondering what to do. Your partner motions for you to join him on the sidewalk. Reluctantly, you step out of the cruiser and walk up to your daughter, who you can now see is wearing only a long-sleeved button up shirt that goes to her knees and even that is torn and most of the buttons are missing. Her waist-long red hair is a tangled mess. You instantly go from concerned to raging mad, thinking of your college aged little virgin girl walking around like a slut in the middle of the night.
Your mind wanders over the past three years since your little girl has turned 18. You remember the many times after her mom left that she stood naked and dripping from the shower in her bedroom, the door wide open. How many times she told you that her dates were lame and she preferred older men, stronger men. How many times she assured you that she still had her virginity because she was waiting for the right guy to finally notice her. You asking about the right guy and she would plop in your lap and tell you all about this handsome, older daddy-type figure while you wracked your brain and tried to figure it out; the only person you knew matching her description was yourself. Remember how she would dress so slutty and parade around the house, then dress demurely to leave. Remember how she would crawl into your bed on weekends and you could swear she had been touching you right until you woke up. Remembering how…with her actions…she has been begging to be shown the side of life she has only dreamed about until now. You would catch her tying herself to the bed to masturbate, moaning about daddy and master all the while. She would leave furry little handcuffs lying around her room. Instantly you know how to handle your deviant little princess.
Walking up behind her, you roughly grab her wrists and pull them behind her. Holding both wrists in one of your hands, you reach and get your handcuffs. "Let's take her in," you tell your partner. You fasten her cuffs tighter than necessary and roughly pull her to the cruiser. "I need to cool off before I read you your rights, so just stay quiet," you whisper to your daughter.
"Daddy?" she whispers incredulously and turns her head.
