Full Summary:
Carey is the new rookie in the 15th, but she has a dark past that she wants to keep a secret from everyone. What happens when Carey disappears? Will her co-workers look for her? And how about the woman that suddenly shows up at the 15h asking for help with her brother? Are the two cases related? Will Carey be okay?
Nightmares To Forget:
Past:
Year 1990:
I was six when he brought the first girl home. He said she was my new play mate and that if I behaved, we could keep her. Some things aren't meant to be kept, that much I knew. I knew that this girl would be missed by her family and friends, but still, having someone to play with meant everything in the world to me since my own father would not. Six isn't that old, but it is old enough to know the difference between right and wrong and what he didn't to the girl next made me afraid of my father from that moment forward.
We were playing in my room when he came in and grabbed her by her arm, pulling her out of the room. I could hear her screaming but I could do nothing. We lived out in the country, too far from the nearest neighbors which were three miles away. The girl could scream all she wanted, nobody was going to hear her except me and my father who didn't seem to care. As soon as they were out of the house and headed for the barn, I grabbed my small notebook that I had deemed for the diary I had started keeping. My father knew nothing of it and I didn't expect him to. I wrote down her name and where she was from. I wrote her age down and all that I knew about her from what she had told me.
Just The Past:
I knew that if my father was ever caught, they would want an accurate description of what had happened, or at least a list of all his victims. He never took me with him when he tired of one of his victims. He always said that my time would come and that when that happened that there was no stopping whoever decided to take my life. Most of them fought him because they just wanted to go back to their families. I recorded the year they were taken as well as what they had liked to do.
My father grabbed a few girls every year, and with his job as a traveling businessman, he was able to bring back his victims, pretending that they were his daughter by taking my passport and putting their photos where my photo had been. He was so good at taking girls across North America that he started taking girls from around the world. That didn't last long. He was only able to grab two girls from two different countries before someone linked him to them. He of course told his bosses that it wasn't him, that he had had me with him and they had believed him.
He was so good at telling lies that it didn't stop at his kidnappings and killings. He would tell my teachers reasons why I wouldn't show up for school some days. He would tell the cops why I looked the way I looked when my teachers called them in concerning the marks on my skin. He would tell the judge when he went to get me back for the third or fourth time from Child Protective Services that he was a good father and he even cleaned the house to make it look nice and clean for me to go back to.
But the lies were just that, lies. It was hard to live with my father and as I grew older, his victims did as well. His victims were always my age and even though I tried to help them flee on numerous occasions, he always was able to stop us. He would throw me into the basement and kill the girl before she even had a chance to scream. Living with a serial killer was the worst because I knew that somehow, his first young victim wasn't really his first victim. My mother had disappeared suddenly when I was four years old and though my father told me that she went to live in the states, I knew that he had really killed her and that she was his very first victim.
There wasn't much I could do for his victims, though when I look at myself, I know that I also was one of his victims as well, I just never saw myself as his victim, just his daughter that tried to save every single one of his victims. When I was seventeen, shortly after he'd killed his fortieth victim, I went to school and then to the principal's office. I asked the principal to call the police, which he did. I had brought all of my journals to school with me which detailed every victim my father ever took, their names and where they were from. When the cops got to the school, I showed them the journals and told them what my father had been doing. When they asked me why I was just now coming forward with the information, I told them that he had threatened me, saying that I was his next and last victim and that I didn't want to die.
Two hours later, my father was arrested on kidnapping and murder charges. There were other charges thrown in as well, but because I had turned him in, they were keeping me in Protective Custody, just to make sure that he couldn't get to me if he was able to escape custody. He was held at the 15th District's Precinct and then sent to the prison from there. I testified in court against him and then he was sentenced with life in prison. I went about my life and when I was old enough, I had my last name legally changed so that I would never be linked to him if anyone did some digging around into my past.
Year 2012:
I am 28-years-old now and have grown into a talented young woman. Though I didn't grow up a normal child, I still knew the difference between right and wrong even though my father did not. My father, Jacob Petrowski, was nearly killed in prison his first year in. They moved him into Protective Custody so no one else could get to him and he had stayed there ever since. He tried to get me to come and visit him, said that he forgave me for turning him in, but I never went to see him.
I'm a cop now stationed out of the 15th District Precinct, the same Precinct that had arrested my father after I turned him in. I had short hair back then but had let it grow out so that no one would recognize me. Despite the fact that everyone thought that I had died my hair to have streaks in it, the gold streaks in my hair were a natural occurrence. My black hair was streaked with gold strands and it didn't matter how many times I tried to make it all one color, the gold always shown through.
Being a rookie at the 15th had its ups and downs but thus far, nobody had figured out who I was. They were too busy trying to keep their personal lives and professional careers from colliding to even care. With my testimony the sole reason my father went to jail he was also labeled a serial killer. But because I had had my last name legally changed to Petrovic, nobody had put the dots together. The family members of the victims my father had kidnapped and killed had been at the trial and I had seen most of them when I had testified. They all seemed pissed up until the point where I told the court that I had tried to help some of them escape only to be caught by my father. The hell I went through after trying to help the kids escape was torture, but it didn't matter.
The families forgave me, knowing that I was an unwilling participant in something so inhuman that nothing could describe it. When asked where the victims had been buried, I had been unable to answer that question since I had not been there when he had buried his victims. It was unfair to say that I had, but I had given the detectives full authority to search the farm that we lived on, knowing that there was a possibility that they were buried somewhere on the land.
I wasn't expecting to run into any of the siblings of the victims my father had killed so I normally took the same route to and from work every day. Even my father didn't know where I was living since we had been living in Big Nickel when he had started killing his victims. Walking up the sidewalk to my apartment building that night after getting out of my car, I got the strangest feeling of being watched, even though I didn't know if I was. I shook it off to being a cold night and left it at that.
I got to my apartment door before I realized that something was off. I never made it into my apartment. I felt something being put over my mouth and nose and then knew nothing more as I sank into unconsciousness. I woke up in what looked like the basement of a warehouse a few hours later, strapped to a wire bed. And I knew that what my father had told me when I was a little girl was about to come true. I just hoped those I worked with would realize that I was missing and come to find me and soon.
Will Carey be okay? Why was she taken in the first place? And is the person who took her connected to one of the victims her father killed?