The Detective Duo

[This short story contains crude language and sensitive themes such as physical abuse, domestic violence, gore, mental health issues, homicide and suicide.]

Most people would think bringing a child to a crime scene is a horrible, atrocious act; however, Lillian…well she does just fine. Nothing scares her, she’s like a steel trap. Bodies, blood, guts and bones. None of it gets to her. It’s almost a little concerning. Even I can’t handle it all that well sometimes.

I see the way they look at me though, the other officers, I see the judgement in their eyes. No, it's more than that. I feel the hatred that comes from them. ‘Jack what the hell is wrong with you?’ They ask. ‘You’re a piece of shit.’ They say. 

I guess I understand. This life is hard even for adults, but Lillian and I, we handle it. Together. I don’t think they understand. We’re inseparable. We’re a team. ‘The Detective Duo.’ That’s her nickname for us. 

After I found her alone and scared all those years ago, I could never let her go. I’d—Well, it would just be too dangerous for her. I couldn’t let her go off into that world. Regardless, this is our life now. Investigating crimes one at a time, together. She’s pretty damn good at it. I have to assume she was into detective stuff as a kid, she knows too much not to have been. Hell, she solves half the cases I can’t. Although sometimes I might pretend like I can’t solve it. She is still a kid after all.

When we arrive at the scene, Lillian and I get out of our squad car, stepping into the street. Across the road is a nice, suburban home. It looks brand new: fresh wood, clear windows and freshly cut grass. I can smell it. Off to the side, past a massive cliff, is a beautiful ocean. 

“I love that ocean,” Lillian says. 

“You know, I do too. It’s pretty.”

“It sure is.”

We return our sight to the house. We were dispatched to this crime scene today due to a nine-one-one call from a concerned neighbor. There’s a trail of blood leading up the stairs and through the front door. It’s as still as the ocean.

“The pattern and smearing of the blood indicates someone crawled through. Or they were dragged.” Lillian says standing at my side. 

“Sure does.” I sigh. “Come on, let’s check inside.”

The blood trail leads into the living area, where one body rests. A woman, mid thirties. Judging by the bruises and brash marks, she was beaten to death. As I flip over her body I immediately notice a stab wound. The skin is shredded. A serrated knife was the cause of the initial wound, the beating came after, except for one healed bruise on her cheek. 

“She was stabbed. Fear and survival instinct caused her to run out of the house.” Lillian pauses. I look back to check on her. She inspects the lip on the front door. “Skin and blood. She ran out through the front door, tripped here and fell into the front yard. The assaulter, presumably her husband or partner, chased her out, possibly hitting her a few times before dragging her back into the house, face down, leaving the trail.”

“Precisely what I was thinking. Here's the scrape on her foot.” I responded, pointing to the woman's foot. I swear, Lillian gets quicker and smarter every day.

“The other body could be the woman's partner.”

“It could but—”

“It’s unlikely, I know. It's most likely a child or someone else related to the first victim.”

I stand up over the woman’s corpse. An indescribable feeling washes over me. I hear a whisper. ‘Please stop!’ It says. For a moment, the body changes and an entirely different woman takes root in my mind, but her face is blurred. Then, she’s gone, reverted back to the real corpse. 

“What’s wrong?” Lillian asks. “Did you know her?” 

“I’m not sure.” I say rubbing my head. “I’m okay, let’s check the other rooms.” Slowly, we walk through the house, glancing into each room for the other body. Eventually we make our way to a closed door that sits at the end of the hall. My arm extends for the handle smeared with blood. Lillian stands behind me as I push down on the handle, letting the door open on its own due to the angle of the house. Inside there is a small bed with a pink blanket embroidered with a bear. Glow in the dark stars are stuck to the ceiling. On the nightstand, under a lamp, is a leather journal adorned with a metal letter “L”. It’s in perfect condition. I scan the room, turning to check each corner, each crevice. Next to the door I had opened lies another body. A young girl, no older than seven years. More bruises cover her body, the most obvious being a black eye. Blood is smeared on the wall behind her, dripping down to the floor. 

“Her head was smashed into the wall.”

“Yeah, it seems that way.” I say looking down at her. Suddenly, just like before, the body flashes before my eyes, transforming into a different, faceless figure just as the older woman had earlier. And like earlier, I quickly snap back to reality. I hear Lillian crying behind me. It’s not a hard cry. She sniffles. I swear I can hear her tears hitting the wood floors. Then I turn around to look at her.

“Did you know her?” She asks, sniffling harder when she finishes the question. Her face is blurred just like the body had been in my mind. 

“Lillian…What happened to your face?” I begin to panic. “I—I don’t remember what you look like.” Tension in my chest and throat increase with each word. “I can’t remember your face. Lillian…” I hold her body tight in my arms. Holding her shrouded face in my chest, I look back down to check again, hoping that this has just been one big, terrible dream. A nightmare. But as my eyes pull down, all I see is the wet spots on the wood floor. She’s gone. “Lillian…Lillian where did you go? Where are you Lillian?” 

A soft, faint voice whispers a response. “I’m not there.” It pauses. “There's no one there.” 

“Lillian…” I whisper back. “Is that you? Why did you leave me?"

I fall silent and so does the rest of the house. No noise fills the air except for the sound of dripping water. I look up toward the ceiling to see the pipes are leaking and the wood of the ceiling is old and rotted. My eyes flicker to different parts of the room. The little girl’s body is gone. The walls are partially burned and the window’s broken and boarded up, I can just barely see the grass tickling the sill. The blanket on the bed is partially burned as well and the lamp shade is nearly destroyed, barely covering the broken bulb within. The journal next to it is withered, almost burnt to a crisp. The metal “L” on the cover is bent, but still in decent condition. 

Tears fall from my face almost in conjunction with the leaking water. I stand up and grab the journal from the nightstand. Flipping through the pages, I stop on the last visible entry. It reads, “Daddy’s scaring me. When he came home from work tonight he seemed really angry. Mommy tried to say hi but he ignored her. I watched them through the crack of my door. Mommy was cooking dinner. Daddy kept pacing around the living room, rambling on about a case. The only thing I could understand was him saying ‘I have to protect her, I must protect her.’ Just a few minutes ago I heard a loud noise outside my room. I think I heard Mommy scream but it’s quiet now. It was probably a happy scream.” That’s where the entry ends.

I close the journal and set it back down where it was on the nightstand. Making my way toward the entrance of the house, I notice everything is destroyed or rotted and the woman’s body is gone. The couch is disgusting. The front door is completely busted, half off its hinges. The whole house smells. 

I’m met with a nice, cool breeze of fresh air as I step outside. On the other side of the road is an old, rusty parked car. When I make my way over, I open the door and sit down in the driver's seat. A piece of paper rests on the dash. My hands shake as I reach for it. When I finally hold it up to read, I quickly notice parts of it are scratched out. “Due to mental damage, psychological impairment and I quote 'Seeing —', we deem Jack —, undeserving of —. He shall be rehabilitated and recover to a healthy mental state, serve thirty years —, and then if he proves to be right of mind, he will serve one year’s worth of —.” 

“Healthy state of mind”, I laugh to myself.

I look up and gaze through the windshield. There’s that beautiful ocean again. Through the rearview mirror I notice Lillian. 

“Hey, you came back.” I say.

“I never left.” 

A smile comes across both of our faces as Lillian looks out the window. Turning the key in the ignition, shifting the gear to drive, I slam my foot on the gas and stare into the water as the car begins to fly.

“We always loved that ocean, didn’t we, my 'Detective duo'?”

“Of course we did, Daddy! It’s pretty.”