Officer Evey responded to the call with standard procedure, approaching the silent residential house with caution. The front door was ajar, a bad sign. Stepping into the hallway, her heart rate elevated, she called out, "Hello? Anyone here? This is the police." Her voice echoed in the empty house, unanswered. She moved deeper into the premises, her attention focused on the shadows ahead, completely missing the danger lurking right behind her. Frankie, the burglar, hadn't fled; she had waited. Seeing an opportunity to upgrade her loot from jewelry to justice, she struck.
From the blind spot of the hallway, Frankie lunged. She wrapped a strong arm around Evey’s neck and clamped a rag soaked in chloroform over the officer's nose and mouth. Evey’s hands flew up to claw at the cloth, her boots scuffing the floor, but the chemical sweetness dragged her down into a swift, dark oblivion.
Evey awoke to a nightmare. She wasn't in her patrol car; she was sitting on the stairs, her arms wrenched high above her head and handcuffed securely to the wooden banister. She was displayed, helpless and exposed. Frankie stood over her, not with fear, but with a pair of sharp scissors and a cruel smile. "Let's see what's under the badge," the burglar taunted.
Systematically, Frankie cut the back of Evey’s crisp white uniform shirt. She ripped the fabric away, peeling the officer out of her authority until Evey was left shivering in her black lace bra and trousers. Evey struggled, pulling against the cuffs, but she was trapped. To ensure the officer couldn't call for backup even if she got free, Frankie forced a large ball gag into her mouth and buckled it tight. The burglar gave her handiwork a final pat, leaving Officer Evey stripped, bound, and silenced on the stairs—a helpless trophy for whoever walked in next.
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