Our Little Secret

The call came in around seven in the morning.

“110, what’s your emergency?”

“My husband. He’s… He’s… He’s…” The woman broke down sobbing.

“Ma’am? Ma’am? I’m going to need you to calm down. Take a deep breath.”

The woman on the other line took a deep breath. She whimpered at the same time.

“Okay, what happened? What happened to your husband?”

By 8:35 a.m., the police arrived. The house was a mess. Upturned furniture, things thrown around the room, and family photos knocked down. The only thing missing was one butcher knife. The real crime lay in the living room.

Someone went to town on the body. The man was in his late forties. He lay face down in his boxers. His head had been bashed in. His back was covered in stab wounds. He had been shot once in he back. Vince shook his head.

“So much violence,” he muttered.

“For a home invasion?” one of the CSIs asked.

“Exactly,” the PI said. No one else was hurt. The man’s wife claimed she got home for a late shift at work and found him like that. Her daughter was locked in the closet during the attack. The three younger children slept through the home invasion upstairs in their room.

But something didn’t add up. Nothing valuable was stolen. No one else had been seriously harmed.

“Where is the daughter?” Vince asked.

“The kitchen,” the CSI said, nodding over to the doorway.

“Thanks,” the PI said. He made his way to the kitchen.

----------

The daughter sat at the kitchen table. She drummed her fingers on the table’s surface. There was no emotion on her face. She didn’t look hurt at all. Vince sat down in front of her. The girl lifted her head.

“Good morning,” Vince said. The girl didn’t answer.

“Are you okay?” he asked. She glared at him. No, glared wasn’t right. Her eyes looked so cold. Vince had to be careful with this.

“I’m not,” the girl said. Vince blinked. Did he hear that right?

“Listen, I know how the shock can numb you.”

“No, you don’t.” Her voice came out bitter. She clenched her fists on the table. Vince raised his eyebrow. Where was she going with this?

“What is your name?”

“Julia.”

“I see.” Vince paused for a beat. This next question would be a landmine.

“What happened last night?”

Julia sat back, frowning. “I killed him.”

Vince stared at her. “What?”

“He was a monster. My mom can’t see that.”

“What did he do to you?”

Julia looked a little hurt. Was she going to cry? The girl’s body went stiff.

“How bad was it?” the PI asked. Julia pressed her lips together. Her eyes shifted away from him.

“Julia.”

“He raped me!” She practically screamed that answer. She lowered her head. Vince was not prepared for this.

“Julia…”

She shook her head. The girl shivered.

“How many times?” Not the right question, but…

“I apologize. You don’t have to say anything.”

Julia shook her head again. She looked visibly ill. She started telling a stomach-churring of abuse and horror. Julia took most of it. Her younger siblings had bruises and cuts under their clothes.

“Did your mother believe you?” Vince asked. Julia shook her head.

“Did you tell her?” he asked. She slowly nodded.

“And she didn’t believe you?”

“No.”

It started to make sense. Vince put the pieces together. However, there was one part missing.

“You didn’t do this alone, did you?” the PI asked. Julia froze.

“Who helped you?” he asked. What she said next set off alarm bells.

“Hm? What did you say?” Vince asked. Julia didn’t look up.

“There was a text,” she said in a whisper. That made the PI freeze.