Before we start this story, I want to give a quick trigger warning for this fic:

Themes and mentions of CSA (Child Sexual Abuse), DV (Domestic Violence), Murder, General Abuse, Police/CPS negligence, Canon Compliant Alcohol Abuse (Miriam). I won't be detailing these things crudely, but they will be focused on, so proceed with caution.

This fic won't be too long, I predict less than 10 chapters, but I won't put a number to it because I am super inconsistent. This fic is sort of an outlet for me, a lot of this may come off as deeply personal, but who doesn't put a little bit of themselves in their shitty fanfiction? Anyway, welcome to Chapter One of October 8th: The Ugly Truth.

It was October 8th when Miriam Daryna Shevchenko-Pataki found herself widowed, and as she sat in the police station, preparing to be interrogated, her intoxicated mind was forced to grapple with the fact that it was her own daughter that had done it.

Her daughter of twelve years, her daughter who had not yet grown out of training bras, her daughter who still wore underwear with unicorn prints and pyjamas with Care Bears on them, her daughter who's eyes were often glued to Cartoon Network, her daughter who's favorite books were Dork Diaries and Rainbow Magic because she wasn't allowed to read the mature 'grown up' books. It was that very same daughter who had shot her husband six times in the chest, leaving her widowed.

She could just barely remember the events that took place, having written her foggy ramblings down in a statement. She remembered hearing arguing, screaming, and then suddenly BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG. Then came her daughter down the stairs, her side covered in blood splatter, her face drenched in tears and mucus from her panicked sobs. She remembered stumbling of the couch, trying to comfort her but being too drunk and confused to say anything of note. According to the authorities, it was a neighbor that had called the police.

Now she sat in this accursed room, waiting for the reckoning. It had been nine hours, just enough time for Miriam to sober up enough to form sentences. As the burning white lights assaulted the back of her neck, the middle-aged mother of two was left twiddling with her fingers, hoping that this was all some liquor fuelled nightmare. She had these a lot when she was especially out of it, nightmarish visions of horrific magnitude. Yet, when a brunette woman in a brown shirt and khakis came in with a notebook and pen, she knew that it was all real, and she was forced to face it.

The woman was strangely beautiful, with her high cheekbone, full blushed lips, and sharp jawline all complimented with dark brown freckles, arched eyebrows and piercing green eyes, she looked more like a magazine model than a detective. The sort of women Bob always compared her to.

Fake Angelina Jolie was quick to take the top of her pen and open her notebook, she looked at Miriam with indifference, as if dealing with children who kill their parents was an everyday occurrence for her. She scribbled something down, though Miriam was too dazed to notice, before she then looked up at the tipsy blonde.

"Hello Miriam, I'm here to ask you a few questions regarding the alleged homicide that took place at your home today at approximately," she tapped her pen for a few seconds, "6am. I looked over your written statement and as established earlier today that will make up the bulk of our discussion; though just to be sure, I was made to believe you had been read your rights before I came in by Officer Grangly?"

Miriam nodded.

"I need verbal confirmation Miriam."

"... Yes."

"Good," fake Angelina Jolie said before writing something down, "just in case you are not aware or may have forgotten, this entire conversation will be recorded and may be used in a court of law. I am asking for the upmost honesty from you Miriam, understood?"

"... Yes," Miriam muttered, "wait... how is she?"

"Who, Helga?" when Miriam nodded, fake Angelina Jolie stated, "she's alright, though she's very uncooperative right now. We have a duo of child psychologists who are working on her interrogation, hopefully she opens up soon."

When Miriam didn't reply, fake Angelina Jolie then continued, "with that out of the way, let's begin. I am detective Angelina Sawyer, and I will be asking you a few questions regarding your statement, the general sequence of events and other information that may be relevant to the case, are you able to answer me?"

If she didn't feel so numb, Miriam would have laughed at the irony of the woman actually being named Angelina, "Yes, I... can."

"Good, Good... so, you stated here in your written statement that you were asleep on the couch and hadn't any clue about what was going on until you heard gun shots, could you elaborate on that please?"

Miriam twiddled her fingers nervously, before taking in a deep breath, "I'd been sleeping on the... couch for a few days now, B didn't want me in the bed—"

"B?"

"Bob, my... husband," when Angelina nodded, scribbling down her notes, Miriam continued, "like I said, I'd been sleeping on the couch, B and I were having... marital problems."

"How long had these marital problems been going on?"

Miriam let out a hollow, humorless chuckle, "since the day we got married?"

"Elaborate, if you will."

"Well... I got pregnant when I was nineteen, my parents forbid abortion, but they also forbid an out of wedlock baby... so they made me and B get married. I loved him, I know I did, but... we just never worked." Miriam sighed, shaking her head, "it had been getting worse lately... so I slept in the couch."

Angelina diligently wrote as Miriam spoke, when the woman had finished her point, the detective was quick to ask, "so what was the relationship between you, your husband and your youngest?"

"What relationship?" Miriam mumbled, "we were a biological family, that was it. The last time she ever called us mom and dad was when she was a toddler."

For a few minutes, the two sat in awkward silence, with Angelina simply staring at Miriam, and the latter peering at the ground. The widowed Pataki could never handle scrutiny, the peering eyes of someone judgingly. It reminded her of the many times her daughter stood at the doorway, staring as her drunk mother lay motionless on the couch. With each passing second, Miriam could feel her heart pounding faster and faster, sweat began pooling at her forehead and armpits, and her entire body began shivering.

"I love her," she suddenly blurted, "I love my daughter, both of them, I don't hate her."

"That should be a given, considering you're her mother," Angelina dryly replied, "what makes you say this?"

"Because... I don't know..."

It was from that point that the interrogation screeched to a staggering halt, no matter how much poking and prodding Angelina did, it seemed that Miriam's story didn't change. Now, she didn't think Miriam was consciously lying, perhaps she was being biased but she didn't believe the widow was bright enough to formulate some deep act of perjury, but she was aware that at the time of the crime (and the many days leading up to it) Miriam Pataki was in a perpetual state of drunk and or hungover, this being corroborated by statements collected from the remaining Patakis as well as those that knew them. Knowing this, there was something that the detective knew she was missing, something that Miriam was actively not providing.

Maybe it was her bias that made her feel this way. Angelina had a niece, a sweet little girl no older that their perpetrator. Her niece even knew said perpetrator, often talking about her whenever Angelina could see her. She spoke of a rough girl who was quick to push people out and seldom let people in, she mentioned how everyone thought she was just a mean bully, but her niece had proof that wasn't the case, and that she knew it was all a persona. Her niece spoke of wanting to befriend the perpetrator, because even if she was as hard as stone, she knew that the girl just wanted someone she could trust.

Little girls are nice like that, they want to help each other and be friends, they dream of being princesses or astronauts and argue over which Disney Princess was the best. Little girls don't shoot grown men six times in the chest, and Angelina could just tell there was something missing from the equation.

"You've been here for nine hours Miriam," Angelina began, "you were questioned by Officer Grangly and Officer Majors before I came here, I no longer want to know what happened, I want to know why it happened."

It was subtle, but Angelina could see a sudden spike in Miriam's breathing, "I can accept that your family ties were not that strong — your eldest told us as much during her own questioning — but little girls don't just shoot their fathers six times in the chest over petty disagreements, so unless you want me to believe that you were raising a little Rhoda Penmark, I suggest you tell me what happened in that house that was so severe that it made your twelve year old daughter reach for a revolver."

Yet, Miriam couldn't bring herself to say anything. It was as though she were allergic to the mere thought of it, simply recalling what happened made the back of her throat feel sore, it made her nostrils flare and her eyes swell, it made her skin burn and sickness boil in her stomach, it made her feel so dizzy that she believed she was seconds away from throwing up all over herself. Miriam clutched her sides, and as she leaned over she allowed her head to rest on the table. Yet again, Angelina simply stared at her, occasionally prodding the widow in an attempt to make her confess whatever she knew that could've pushed her preteen daughter to commit such a heinous act.

This went on for about an hour, Miriam mumbling incoherent nothings against the table as Angelina tried to get her to say something, anything, that could help answer why this tragedy took place. So, it came as a surprise to Miriam when the detective stood up, and left the room, leaving her alone with her thoughts. Miriam never liked thinking, it was the worst part of sobriety, even through all the withdrawal, the hangovers, the illness, the weakness, the worst part of being sober was being left with her thoughts. She could see them clearly, she could hear them in her head, they weren't blurred or muffled, they weren't impossible to decipher, she was aware, and she could see. She hated every second of it.

It was about fifteen minutes when someone entered the room- actually, no. It was two people.

The first was Angelina, who sat back in her previous spot with a sigh, but Miriam's heart stopped when she saw who the second woman was. With red cheeks, stained with tears and mascara, smudged pink lipstick and puffy pink eyes stood the Pataki pride and joy, Olga. Her eldest sat down in front of her mother, with a packet of tissues in her left hand. Olga's hair was sprayed stiff, and on her body sat a silver, form-fitting gown. Her neck, wrists and ears all adorned immaculate jewellery. She was supposed to be accepting a local award for her role in a town musical she starred in, had it not be harshly interrupted by the events of the morning. Miriam couldn't help but notice how, even in tearful catatonia, Olga looked absolutely beautiful. She was a splitting image of her younger self, and yet there was a certain radiance that Olga possessed that Miriam never had.

"Mommy..." the woman sniffled, "they finally let me talk to you! I wanted to talk to baby sister but they wouldn't let me!" Olga's hiccups became louder as her body shook in anguish, "I j-just can't believe it! D-Daddy's gone and my own baby sister did it!"

Angelina caressed the weeping blonde's back in an attempt to comfort her, "she was begging to speak to you, we couldn't let her near Helga for obvious reasons."

"Olga..." Miriam barely uttered, yet her soft plea was overtaken by her daughter's wailing.

"How could she!" Olga cried, "I-I know her and daddy struggled to get along, b... but she didn't have to kill him! My daddy's dead!"

It came as no surprise to Miriam how broken her eldest was. Olga was probably the only person in the world Bob respected and loved, he'd give the world for her, and she pretty much revolved around his. He hadn't even shared a fraction of that love to his youngest. For a bit, the room was only filled with Olga's loud tears as she went on and on about how distraught she was to lose her father at the hands of her own little sister. Miriam's stomach tightened as Olga's words became more bitter towards Helga. As she began mentioning her attitude, how 'ungrateful' and 'mean' she was, how jealous she behaved when her father didn't give her any attention. Olga thought Helga killed Bob out of pure spite and malice, and it made Miriam's stomach churn.

"The nice police man asked me if I would testify against Helga," Olga quietly said, her crying having calmed slightly, "I-I said yes."

Miriam was sure the sound of her heart hitting the floor could be heard world wide, "what? Olga, she's... your sister!"

"And she killed my father!" Olga yelled, "she killed my father because she has a nasty temper!"

"Olga..."

"My daddy's dead because she was angry!" she screeched, "all because they had a disagreement!"

Miriam shook her head, yet Olga continued, "she's my sister, but she killed my father, I can't forgive her!"

Miriam felt her head spinning.

"I have to go the rest of my life without my father because she was bitter and angry!"

Miriam shook her head even faster.

"She's cruel! She's cruel and nasty and crude and mean! And... and..."

Miriam's lip began to shake.

"And she killed my father for no reason!"

"HE FUCKED HER!"

It was in that moment that the room became so silent, that one could hear a feather land on the desk. Miriam had slammed her hands against the desk so hard that they began throbbing in pain. Her face began flooding with tears, and her breathing was so heavy it sounded like heaving, "every morning at 6am he would pick her from her room, take her to our room and fuck her on our bed," she panted, "and I would be slumped on the couch, unable to move, forced to listen to every second, every creak, every cry, every time she yelled MIRIAM! MOM!"

The widow began pacing around the room, "w-whenever she left for school, I'd beg him not to do it the next morning! 'B stop it! You have a wife, fuck me instead!' but he'd tell me to shut my drunk ass up! Every morning for THREE WEEKS STRAIGHT he would fuck MY DAUGHTER instead of ME!"

Miriam then fell on the floor, Angelina was quick to get up and run over to the frantic woman, "I couldn't sleep in that bed! Knowing that my husband was fucking my baby on it! And now he's dead! He's DEAD!"

As Miriam's rambles began degenerating into an incoherent mess, the other two were forced to process everything she had said. Angelina's face scrunched in anger and pity for the child, her gut told her there was probably some sort of abuse going on, but it pained her to know just how far it went. She had dealt with enough of these cases that she didn't break, but she would never truly become desensitized.

Olga however was completely different. The Pataki pride and joy was frozen, with a look of pure horror on her face, her pupils had dilated, and her body shook. Her hands were brought up to cover her face as she stepped back, shaking her head, "d...daddy had sex with Helga?"

"You can't have sex with a child Olga," Angelina bitterly muttered, "he was consistently raping her."

Angelina helped Miriam back on her feet, as Olga sat down, crying out a loud, "no!" as she was reduced to tears. The detective brought her notebook closer to her, as Olga wept into her hands, muttering different variants of 'daddy no...', Angelina glared at a heavily breathing Miriam.

"When did the molestation of Helga begin? You said it went on for three weeks straight?"

Miriam nodded, "exactly three weeks to today so... September 24th..."

"Elaborate," Angelina snapped, "how did you come to discover this?"

Miriam paused, taking in a breath, "B had been being weird with her for a while, I think he thought I was too drunk to notice... the way he would stare at her... the way he'd talk about her growing up... it was all inappropriate..."

"Yet you did nothing about it?" Angelina cut in.

The widow reluctantly nodded, "I remember the day... I woke up, and then I heard weird noises... I walked upstairs and looked through the door and saw it..." Miriam choked, "B was fuck—"

Angelina glared.

"R-Raping my daughter," she managed through a held back cry, "I said 'B, what are ya doin'? She's a kid B, our kid, you can't do this B, you'll get in trouble' and he told me to get the fuck out"

"So what did you do after catching your husband raping your child?"

"I..." Miriam began crying again, except this was more subdued, quiet, "I did exactly what he told me to, I got the fuck out"

"NO!" Olga cried out again, "N-No!..."

Angelina simply wrote it down, "so you knew about his sexual abuse and did nothing to stop it?"

"I-I told him not to..."

"You did nothing tangible," Angelina spat, before continuing, "so you said Bob did this every 6am?"

Miriam nodded, "I don't know why..."

"So since the shots were reported to have been fired between 6:08am to 6:15am, would you assume the shooting took place during or after the assault?"

"Probably... B kept his revolver in the top drawer, in case someone broke in."

The room was silent again. It was out now, the truth of the Pataki household was now out, Miriam had admitted it. Angelina sat as both women sobbed into their own hands, their voices laced with regret and anguish. Yet, the hardened detective felt her heart shatter when she thought of the only true victim in this entire fiasco: twelve year old Helga Pataki. Abused in the worst way possible, forced to endure it as her mother turned a blind eye, now being scrutinized for protecting herself against her abuser. Angelina couldn't imagine how afraid she must have been, knowing every morning that sick bastard would come and take any last ounce of her innocence he could, knowing that she had no one to protect her. Her heart pained at the idea of her calling to her mother for help, while her mother drowned away all the noise in booze.

"H-He didn't... he c-couldn't, daddy would ne- never! He... Oh God, Helga!"

Olga ran to the nearest trash can, unceremoniously throwing up into it. As Angelina closed her notebook, having received all the information she needed, she stared at the widow in front of her.

"My baby... my baby..." she mumbled repeatedly, her eyes wide with shock, "my baby... h-he kept doing that to my baby... he did it every day..."

Angelina wanted to yell, she wanted to chastise Miriam, to call her a pathetic excuse for a mother who was just as guilty for turning a blind eye, to shame her for initially caring more about Bob not fucking her as opposed to him abusing their kid, to threaten her with losing her parental rights and never being allowed to see the daughter she had failed enough. Instead, Angelina took one of Olga's tissues and handed it to the distraught woman.

There would be enough time for that later.

Next chapter will follow the two child psychologists tasked with questioning Helga.

R pls! I appreciate it loads :)