Chapter One
A few years ago, Justin would have never even thought he'd be standing here staring at a sight like the one before him. But a few years ago, he hadn't been working like he is now. The woman sprawled out on the bed before him had to be in her late twenties, possibly early thirties. Her brown hair had blond highlights, and her vacant, honey eyes stare pass him. Even after having seen numerous crime scenes, occasionally the crafty work a killer left behind still made him queasy. At twenty six, he was the youngest homicide cop in his district, but he worked hard. Right now, the sickness boil up in his stomach is restless as he gazes at the woman's corpse. Her slim body is torn open from her throat down her stomach. A long slit runs it's course up her inner arm, and bruises decorate her hips. The tell tale signs of a former cutter are present on her arms and inner legs, all old scars that must have been painful memories of her past, but the killer left his suicidal like mark on her inner arm showcasing the proper way to slit your wrist if you wish for death.
Beside her is the worst thing Justin could ever find. A young girl, barely pass her sixth birthday, lies deathly still. Her pale blues unseeing. Unlike her mother, the child had not been cut up, yet the matching bruises on her hips tell a far worse tale. The girl had been robbed of her innocence, then her life. The cause of death for her was one of two reasons, either the bruises around her throat meant suffocation or head trauma from the blow she sustained when she accidentally walked in on her mother's demise.
Taking a deep breath, Justin glances at the photographers and crime scene detectives. "This is the third body found in exactly the same way. The little girl must have surprised him," one detective says, and nodding he adds, "At least we're beginning to see a pattern, all of the victims had been cutters at one point in their lives." It wasn't much to go on, and alone wouldn't solve the case, but it's still better than no pattern. A shiver runs through him as he absently rubs his wrist, a reminder that he had once been a cutter, too.Walking out of the house, Justin sheds his identity as a homicide cop and becomes once again just normal, slightly depressed Justin. Glancing around at the neat houses that surround the one he just exited, he can see the nosy housewives of Wisteria Lane gathering on their porches to catch the latest gossip. It had been years since he talked to anyone on this street, but his job requires him to ask the neighbors questions. Within a year in the business, he had discovered that women reacted better to his inquires when he approached them with a friendly smile and casual demeanor, and that men answered his questions accurately when they felt their manhood being threaten.
First, as always, is the next door neighbor. "Ma'am," he says softly, though confidently, and she turns to look at him with a bright, yet quivering smile and sad eyes. "Poor Sandra, and her little girl. They didn't deserve to die at all," she says and nodding he sits down beside her saying, "I'm sorry ma'am to have to bother you like this, but I need you to answer some question, okay? My name is Detective Justin, I feel as if using my last name makes me seem too unreachable. I'd like for you to tell me anything that you can remember about Sandra, or if you recall anything odd going on between midnight and three o'clock this morning?" Biting her lower lip in concentration, the woman shakes her head slightly then says, "Sandra was a good mother, her child always came first. She didn't gallivant with men, actually I don't recall her ever having a man over besides her father. The child's father left that poor woman to raise her on her own. Last night, though, I went to bed around ten right after the news was over and because of the heat I had my air conditioning on so the house was closed up tight. Roger, my husband who died a few years ago of heart failure, god bless his soul, always wanted a quiet house so our bedroom is soundproof. However, I did notice that her flowers had been trampled on yesterday, but I put it off as perhaps one of the kids in the neighborhood carelessly ran them over. But now that I think about it, the kids never went onto Sandra's yard unless they we're playing with Abigail. Even then; though, they never stepped on the flowers. It was an unspoken agreement that the kids could come over and have cookies while playing as long as they didn't disturb the flowers. Not even Lynette Scavos kids destroyed those flowers."
Nodding, Justin smiles warmly and rises to his feet. "Thank you, ma'am, for your help and cooperation. If you think of anything else at all that could be of any help, just call this number and ask for me." The woman nods, shivering despite the heat, and asks, "Is there anything I can do to keep myself safer?" "Yes, ma'am. Keep your doors locked, take precaution when going in and out of your house. And please, ma'am, if you have a spare key hidden somewhere move it. Most criminals out there know of every place to search for a spare key." The woman nods, her hand immediately going to the pearls around her neck, and says, "Thank you, Detective Justin. Take care of yourself." Plastering his trademark grin onto his face, he dips his head politely and says, "You too, ma'am"
"Kid, go get some lunch. You've done all you can do here for right now. The rest is up to the crime lab. All you have to do is eat, then write your report," his partner says, her voice carry a tone that proves her authority over him, and he grins slightly at her saying, "Thanks, Leah. How the kids doing?" She smiles briefly, knowing he's trying to cheer her up, and says, "They're fine, Justin. Actually, Rhett was wondering if you would come with us tonight to watch Hamlet since he plays the morose lead." Unconsciously his smile brightens, and he says enthusiastically, "Of course! It's not every day my favorite fourteen year old gets the lead in such a brilliant play."
Stepping into the deli, Justin's blues nearly pop out of their sockets. Even after years of not seeing him, he'd recognize him anywhere. Andrew Van de Kamp sits at a table talking quietly to his mother and sister about Danielle's upcoming wedding. Danielle had invited him since they began talking when she began dating one of his good friends from hospital. When she spies him, her entire face lights up, and immediately she's out of her seat and rushing into his arms. "Oh my god, Justin. Look at you, so handsome and well built. How have you been?" Both Bree and Andrew Van de Kamp stare at him in shock. "Good, and I take it the wedding plans are going well," he says in response before ordering a ham and turkey sub with fries on the side. "Great, actually. Chris has been meaning to ask you to be his best man, but he can never get a hold of you. The new case must be killer," she says, oblivious to the terrible pun she had just made, but he smiles with a shrug and says, "Yeah, but tell him to call this weekend and we'll talk it over."
Almost as if Danielle just realizes that her mother and brother are staring at them, she smiles at them and says, "You remember Justin, right?" The question hangs in the air as an uncomfortable silence falls over them. Suddenly Justin's phone rings, and he answers quickly, "Detective Justin." "Hey, we need you here asap." "Not another one," he groans knowing and uncaring that he sounds unprofessional, and the person on the other line says, "Sorry, but it is." Quickly he jots down the address dictated to him. Hanging up, he glances at Danielle's worried face and says, "I have to go, see ya around."
Sitting back down, Danielle frowns and says, "I've never seen him look so haggard." Despite her teenage rebellion, she found herself behaving like her mother more and more as the days pass. Even now, she's folding her napkin perfectly over her lap so that no wrinkles exist. "What is he doing," Andrew asks, trying desperately and failing not to sound too interested, and she says softly, "He's a cop, more pacifically a homicide cop." Andrew's hazels darken with some odd emotion.
The crime scene is different, but the victim is the same. A former cutter. This time, a pretty redheaded woman swings from the chandelier with a noose around her neck; however, the same vertical cut up her right arm is dripping blood. A curse releases itself from Justin's mouth as he spies a small boy hiding in a partially open cabinet. "Why hasn't anyone gotten him out of here?" No one answers his question. The little boy looks scared when he approaches, and nearly bites his hand when he reaches to help him out. "Hey, we're not going to hurt ya," he coos, holding his hands out in an unthreatening manner, but disbelief enters the boy's orbs. "You sound just like my dad, but he hurt us," the boy whispers, angry tears forming in his nearly vacant eyes. Suddenly Justin finds himself wondering what happened to this child to make him so cold, and can he be helped. Even as a child, he could tell when someone was being hurt by their actions and if they could be saved. Some people couldn't, and those are the ones that usually turned out to become killers. "I'm not your dad, and I wont hurt you," Justin says deciding that the boy is still able to be saved. "What's your name?" The little boy looks distrusting, but answers, "Edward. Is my mom dead?" Not knowing what to say, Justin tussles the kid's black hair and says, "Did you see what happened to her?" The boy shakes his head, his black curls flying everywhere, and when his dark eyes focus on him he sees the passion still there. Even though, it's only slight embers left, the boy is still fighting to live. "Daddy dropped me off after taking me down to the special spot. He had to go back to work for a little while. When I came in, she was up there. I called Daddy and the cops."
Special spot. You remember having a special spot, don't you? You're daddy took you there, too, didn't he? You and you're daddy had a secret that no one was allowed to know of. Isn't he the reason you became a cop?
Shaking his head to relieve himself of the taunting voices, Justin leads the boy outside and sits down with him on the porch. He knows the drill well enough. Leah takes care of the body and evidence while he takes care of the children if they are still present. "I take it you don't like your dad too much, right?" Black eyes glance up at him fearfully, and he grins saying, "Don't worry, I wont tell him what you say. I only care about helping you, and finding who hurt your mother." Nodding the boy slowly relaxes, but his eyes keep darting towards the driveway as he says, "Daddy's mean to mommy and me." "How is he mean to you and your mommy?" "I can't tell you, he said he'd hurt me even more if I did." Looking away, recalling hearing similar words, Justin says, "Your daddy wont hurt you ever again if you tell me." Hope slowly seeps into the boy's eyes and quietly he says, "He hits her a lot, and forces her to go to parties with him. She always comes home crying with bruises on her, but she never says what the parties are for. He calls her a whore, though, afterwards." Patting the boy's head softly and slowly as to not startle him, Justin asks, "What does he do to you?" Shaking his head, Edward smiles bitterly and says, "I can't tell you that otherwise it wont be a secret. Daddy says it's a special bond between us"
Disgust floods Justin, and he almost wants to find the man and rip him apart but calms his temper quickly. "You can tell me. My daddy and I had a special bond, too." Edward looks up smiling, and says softly, "Did you have a special spot?" Nodding, Justin says, "Sure did, but what my daddy and your daddy do to us is wrong. I didn't know that until I talked with some other people. Most daddies don't do that to their children." Edward's eyes close off, and his smile drops. "But daddy says it's okay," the boy argues, his defenses up, and Justin shrugs saying, "Maybe it is, but you have to tell me what he does so that we know the truth. Do you want your daddy to get in trouble for doing something that isn't bad? If you tell me what he does, then I can decide if what he's doing deserves punishment. You get punished when you do something wrong, right?" Nodding the boy glances once again at the driveway, and says, "Can we talk somewhere else? Don't you need a tape recorder anyways? In all the movies, the cop uses a recorder."
Driving down to the park, Justin watches the boy play with the tape recorder and says, "If I tell you, then I'll have to testify against him, wont I?" "You might, but that's only if what he does if bad. Do you want your daddy to go away?" Grinning the boy says, "Yeah, far away where he can never hurt me again. Did you want your daddy to go away?" Nodding Justin parks the car, and says, "I did, but because I never told anyone what he was doing he never did." "Then how do you know it's wrong?" The boy's question poses as an accusation, and quickly he says, "I finally told someone, but by then it was too late." "He touches me." Even though he knows what Edward means, he needs him to elaborate. "Where and how, Edward?" Hesitantly, the boy glances down and says, "My penis, he strokes it and occasionally sucks on it. He touches me everywhere else, too." "That's all I needed to know," Justin says turning the tape recorder off as tears flow down the boy's cheeks. Driving to the station with the boy still in the passenger seat, Justin grins as an idea forms in his mind. "I'd like to adopt him," he says to Leah as she studies Edward while he sits at Justin's desk playing with the pens. "I can get you the paper work and talk to my lawyer about helping you, but first his dad needs to be convicted and sentenced." Nodding Justin sits back in her chair as she fetches coffee and says, "Are you willing to tell a jury what you told me?" Fearfully Edward looks up, and after studying the man nods. "I'll have to tell the lawyer, right, and get a check up," the boy says softly, and nodding Justin realizes that this is his chance to redeem himself. I'm giving him a chance that I never got.