1Chapter 1

Julian had awakened in a blood stained hallway, in what could have been hell. Sunlight poured in through the window on the east end of the corridor, the rays of light sparkling with the plentiful dust in the old stale farmhouse. Where was Micah? Why the hell was he still wearing cuffs?

He forced himself to sit up, groaning with the creaky floorboards beneath him, and humiliation became a nauseating feeling in his stomach. He would soon kill the old man. This is what he kept telling his sister, Micah. This is why he would have to leave so that no one would have to die, and this was the last straw.

“Micah,” he called out to her. It was Saturday morning. His grandfather was going to visit his girlfriend a few hours away, so there was no fear that he was in the house. He would be gone for the weekend, and Julian and Micah would be gone before his return, far as they could, away from those hellish musty walls and their evil inhabitants.

His sister came around the corner only seconds after he called her. She must have been close by to come so quickly. Micah looked tired and disheveled, though still beautiful all the same. There were no bruises on her face, there never were, and she wore a long sleeved cardigan over the long, blue, flowered sun-dress, so the bruises she had were well covered.

They learned to hide them, learned what to wear to keep the discomfort at a minimum. When abuse was as normal as it seemed to them, there appeared no other way to live except in secret, shielding themselves from others. After a while, they grew to feel distant, to feel like one of the outsiders. They grew to trust no one. Julian’s eyes fell to the small camcorder that hung in his sister’s hand. Micah caught the look.

“I found it. It was in his room,” she laid it down upon the forever dusty buffet several feet from where Julian sat, wearing only dark jeans, and no shirt. Dust was everywhere in the old house. Micah would clean and clean but the dust was always there covering every surface, its dry scent lingering in the air. “I wanted to find the video from last night...to throw it away. But it’s not the same tape.”

“You need to get the keys and get these fucking things off of me.” Julian wasted no time. “We’re getting the hell out of here.”

Micah approached him, kneeling down, and fished the keys out of the pocket of her dress. “I would have done it sooner... I couldn’t find them in his room.”

Julian turned so that she could work the key into the hole releasing one cuff at a time. She tossed them to the floor, but she didn’t move. Julian could see the tears welling up and tumbling helplessly down her olive cheeks. She fell into sobs.

“I can’t go, Julian.”

“You have to. I’m not leaving you here! Are you crazy?”

Micah cried harder, “Papa will kill me. He told me. He said that no one would believe us, and no one will care. He’ll get me back. Legally they would have to send me back to him. You know he would be so pissed. What will he do to me?”

Julian enveloped her in a close embrace. “He wouldn’t do anything to you. I wouldn’t let him.”

Julian wasn’t really sure of his words. Just the idea of Julian moving out had gotten his grandfather, Vincent Angeloro, mad enough to beat Julian senseless. It wasn’t the first time, and if he stayed it wouldn’t be the last. He was eighteen now. He was free to go, but Micah wasn’t. She was too young, and she was the only reason he stayed there for as long as he had. He would have taken her and left years ago, but he wouldn’t have been able to provide for her.

Micah had been a bit more brain-washed, groomed to her grandfather’s pleasure. She was still too young to realize that everything he said was lies. There was no powerful secret society that he was involved in, as he used to tell them when they were small; no underground mafia that would kill them if they left. There was just their twisted grandfather and his empty threats. There were just the perverts he sold the child pornography to. How discrete he had been about it all, not keeping the videos at his house. Now that the child pornography was over for Julian, it was still happening to Micah, dainty little Micah, still not legal, fifteen, yet still young enough to a pedophile’s liking.

“You can go, Julian,” she said, sniffling. “I’ll be okay. I’ll leave when I can.”

“No, listen to me. He’s fucking lying to us, Micah. They would believe us. We have proof.”

Micah shook her head, “No, we don’t. We don’t even know where he keeps the pictures, the videos... and he said they can’t come in here without a warrant.”

Julian was silent for a moment, a thoughtful look crossed his slightly battered face. “We can just tell them, Micah. It will be enough to get a search warrant. You have bruises. They’ll run tests... There’s no way he would get away with it.”

“No. I can’t do that. You know I can’t, Julian. You promised you would never tell. You can’t do that to me. If people know I would feel so dirty. You swore...” Her eyes pleaded with his. “Come on... we have to clean up. Papa said he may come back tonight and bring his girlfriend. If the house is messy...”

“No!” Julian interrupted, “I’m not leaving you here, Micah. You know I won’t. We’ll go so far that no one will ever find us. I’ll take care of you.”

Micah was silent. She was thinking about it. He could see it on her sullen face. Her cheeks were still wet with tears, but none fell.

“What about Anya?” she asked.

“I will miss her, but I can’t let you stay here. Maybe she won’t forget me.” He looked a little sad suddenly at the idea of leaving his girlfriend behind. “I’m doing whatever it takes... to get us out of here, okay? Don’t worry about Anya?”

Suddenly there came a soft knock upon the door, intruding her silence.

Micah and Julian both looked at each other, silence ensued several moments, and Julian quickly pulled himself off of the floor. “See who it is before you open it. I’m going to clean myself up.”

Julian hurried off to the bathroom, and Micah made her way slowly towards the door, beneath the stairway, and through the large sitting room until she stopped in the foyer. She peaked out of the tinted windows to the side and could see two well dressed men, accessorized by flashy rings and dark sun-glasses. Something caught her attention further down, snapped in securely to their snug black belts were shiny silver badges.

The tall skinny white-guy reached out to knock again. This knock was hard, demanding attention, full of authority.

Micah pushed her damp hair behind her ears. The first thing she’d done when she’d awakened was taken a hot shower, and scrubbed the old man off of her. She was certain Julian wanted to do the same. She opened the door, not all the way, just enough to see and be seen.

“We’re looking for Julian. Is he home?” The tall guy spoke up.

Micah appeared expressionless but she was nervous and curious as to why two cops were asking for her brother.

“Yes. Is something wrong? Is he in some kind of trouble?”

“Sure hope not,” the red-haired man, beside his towering friend, spoke up. “Look, we just want to ask him a few questions...”

“Can I help you?” Micah heard Julian speak up behind her as he gently pulled her aside to step through into the blinding sunlight. The conversation moved out to the porch. The sun was warm, but the two men’s stern expression was beginning to send a sort of chill down his spine.

The thin man got straight to the point. “I’m detective Frances. I work for the Saint Parrish Police Department. Julian, your girlfriend was found dead early this morning.”

“Anya?” Julian’s day had suddenly taken an even crazier turn. He grew pale, unbalanced, nauseated all over again. He needed to sit, so he made his way through the mental fog to the old swing on the termite infested porch. He was surprised the swing still held up.

“What happened?” he forced himself to speak, but didn’t want to succumb to the reality of it. He could see Micah standing with her hand over her mouth staring at him so sympathetically, but it didn’t feel real.

“She was murdered, Julian.”

Julian didn’t look up to see which one spoke. He was looking at the gray tarnished wood beneath his feet. Who would kill Anya? No one disliked Anya. Everyone loved her. The girls wanted to be her, and the boys wanted to date her. Anya had no enemies.

“Who would do that?” he said the words so quietly he wasn’t sure if the two men had heard.

“We don’t know yet, but we’ve got a pretty good idea.” Julian could hear a slight change in the investigator’s tone, and he continued. “Whoever did it pulled it off in a way quite similar to your dad.”

Julian picked up the tone then, a bitter sound that told him he was a suspect.

“Where were you last night, Julian?” the tall man asked.

Julian felt more numb than ever. The flesh around his wrist was bruised and sore, reminding him quite well where he’d been that night. The long sleeves covered it from their suspicious eyes.

It was all happening much too fast, and he hadn’t yet let the idea sink in that Anya was dead. He had just seen her beautiful soft face the night before, laughing, smiling, kissing him. She was something wholesome in his life, one of the few things he had left. It was setting in then, and burying itself deep inside of him. Anya was dead, and whoever was responsible for destroying a person as beautiful as she was had to be a very evil person.

“I was home. I dropped her off at her house at twelve and I came straight home.”

“Can you tell me what happened to your face, Julian? Where did you get those cuts?”

“I got into a fight...”

“Can someone verify that?” The red-head questioned.

“Julian was here,” Micah spoke up. “He was here all night.”

“We’re going to need you to come down to the station with us. We want to ask you a few questions... see what you can remember about last night.”

Julian nodded absently. If he cooperated, they would realize it wasn’t him and move on. He would do whatever it took to help out.

He stood and could feel the dread spreading through his body. He was beginning to tremble, his chest was growing tight. Fighting against the tears was becoming a tiring feat, but still he held his ground. Anya was dead. It was sinking in deep.
“Julian...” Micah’s voice was embedded with confusion as Julian followed the two men towards a black crown victoria, parked in the driveway, several feet from the porch.

He stopped as his little sister approached him. “It’s okay, Micah. Just go inside. I’ll be back in a little while, okay?”

Though worried as she looked, she nodded, and watched him follow the two men to the awaiting car. The taller, red-haired man, opened the door for him and he took a seat inside the vehicle.

“Buckle up,” the man getting behind the steering wheel suggested.

Julian obeyed.

“You have any idea why someone would want to murder Anya, Julian?” the man behind the wheel questioned as he started up the vehicle.

“No,” Julian answered. “No one would I know would ever hurt her.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because she’s one of the nicest people I’ve ever known.”

“Well, someone did hurt her. Someone murdered her, and you were the last person seen with her.”

Julian watched Micah grow smaller and smaller as they pulled away. The houses went by in blurs. He was being blamed. He would have to tell what happened, where he was last night after he dropped Anya off. He was at home, at his grandfather’s perverted distortion of mercy.

“I didn’t even walk her to the door...”

The officer laughed from the passenger seat. “Gentleman...”

“I waited until she went in. Do I need a lawyer?”

“Now why would you need a lawyer? Sit back. Relax. You hungry? We could stop by McDonald’s...”

“No.” He muttered. His throat was getting tight. The tears would eventually win. His emotions were overwhelming him. “I don’t eat meat.”

“You a vegan?”

“Vegetarian.” He wished they would shut the hell up. He wanted to go lock himself up in his room and scream into his pillow, or rip it to shreds. The thought of food disgusted him at that moment. This wasn’t happening.

But it was.

They took him to the station and led him to an empty room. Plain white walls were on either side. He felt rather claustrophobic in the small room. A simple gray table, and three chairs were the only items furnishing the room, but nothing was comforting about the small space. Julian had forgotten about how badly he’d wanted to shower when an intimidating black man who was quite the candidate for the big and tall selection, and void of any hospitality, stepped into the room, shutting the door behind him.

He approached the table, tossing a manilla folder down on the table, then he slid the chair from beneath the table and took a seat.

“Julian, I’m officer Myers. It has been a long damn day, so we’re just going to get straight to the point. Can you be honest with me, Julian?” His voice was so deep it seemed to thunder around the room. “Because I don’t like to be jerked around.”

“Yes sir,” Julian answered.

“Do you know something about what happened to Anya?”

“No sir. I dropped her off and I went home. It was the last I saw her or spoke to her.”

“But you did get into an argument with her... I have witnesses that say they saw you and Anya having a disagreement at the party last night. What was it about? Did she do something you didn’t like?”

“What? No. It was nothing like that. I was taking care of her. It wasn’t really an argument.”

“What do you mean?”

“She wanted to get high, sir. I was trying to talk her out of it.”

The man’s face was unmoving, like a statue. Then he spoke. “Did she do it anyway?”

“Yes.”

Officer Myers was staring dead into Julian’s eyes, making him even more uneasy. “You got mad about that, didn’t you?”

“I was disappointed.”

“Did you lose control?”

“Are you asking me if I killed my girlfriend?”

“I'm asking you if you lost control. Maybe you got pissed that she didn't listen to you.”

“No. I didn't lose control. I didn't hurt Anya. You're wasting your time. I took her home and left.”

Officer Myers looked a bit unhappy. It was obviously not what he wanted to hear. “Do you realize how serious this is, son? Right now I’m the best friend you got. There’s forensic evidence all over her room that says you killed her. You know that right? You knew her parents weren’t home. A confession will make it a lot easier on you. You deny it and you’re looking at the death penalty. Is that what you want?”

“No. I would never hurt her. Why the hell would I do that? I wasn’t the only person who knew her parents would be out of town. Everyone knew.”

“I know it’s not a coincidence,” the intimidating man said flatly. “I’m willing to bet that when we get your print, it will match the bloody fingerprint left at the scene of the crime.”

“Then get my fingerprint and let me talk to my lawyer. You have to let me go, right? You have nothing to hold me on, so I wanna see my lawyer.”

Myers shrugged, “If you want a lawyer you can have one. I’m not sure why you need one if you didn’t do anything. I just wanna ask you a few questions, son. I haven’t pinned anything on you, but I am curious about your face. How did you get those cuts?”

Julian swallowed. “I got into a fight.”

“Who? Give me a name.”

Julian fell silent.

“You can’t, can you?” The tough cop began. “There will be DNA beneath her nails, Julian.”

“It’s not scratches,” Julian blurted. “I was in a fight, and it had nothing to do with Anya.”

This time the officer fell silent. “No one ever gets away with this stuff, son. It’s always the little things that get you caught. It was the same for your dad.”

Julian looked down at his hands, still shaking, his chest still tight as ever. His breakdown wasn’t far away. His emotions were crumbling even more. They were doing this all because of who his father was. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure that out.

“There will be no evidence,” began Julian, “because I wasn’t there. I want to talk to my lawyer.”

“Well, when I get some straight fucking answers we’ll call your lawyer.” The officer reached into the manilla folder, pulling out a stack of photos.

He spread them out upon the table, and Julian’s eye fell upon one particular photo. A close up of Anya, taken from her torso up, her throat had been cut, savagely slashed open. She had been nearly decapitated. Dark crimson was soaked into the pink sheets beneath her, and her pale blue eyes, clouded over, no longer sparkling with life, stared vacantly into the camera lense. Another picture showed her lying upon her stomach upon the bed, her hands taped behind her, her nightgown shoved high above her waist exposing her nudity from the waist down.

“She doesn’t look too much like the way you say you left her last night, does she? Is this what you do to people when they don’t do what you say? You rape them, beat them up, and slit their throat?”

Julian buried his face in his hands then, the trembling worsened, the tears came. Then it was real. “No, I didn’t hurt her.” Julian sobbed as he hadn’t in quite some time. “I didn’t do that.” Even the tough interrogator gave him time to cry. Who would do that to her, Julian wondered over and over. His skin was crawling, his brain was hurting, and the headache that was coming on would most likely get worse as he silently assured himself that they wouldn’t convict an innocent man, but he wasn't so certain anymore.