5th Street

Ryan Seaman was never quite comfortable with his job, though he couldn't say that he was unhappy with it. Being the assistant of a detective had its highs and lows. He thought hard about the crime scene pictures in his arms– the things he had seen– as he raced to the upper west wing where Detective Dallon Weekes sat in his office. This was one of the lows. A dreaded new case. A body outside a 5th street apartment building. Ryan shook the thoughts from his mind with a solemn sigh as he reached up to knock on the detective's door. Hesitantly, his fist raised and hit the large wooden door three times.

"Come in, Ryan," Detective Weekes called through the door. "Have you got another case for me already?"

Ryan twisted the handle and pushed open the door, watching Weekes turn his chair to face his timid guest. Ryan closed the door behind him and let out a long breath, stepping toward Weekes' desk as the detective raised an eyebrow.

"Yes, Sir," Ryan bit his lip. "But it's personal. It's– well... It's Charlie."

Weekes' face turned grave, "Charles Willox?"

Ryan nodded his head and sprawled the crime scene photos across Weekes' desk, grimacing and inconspicuously turning his head to look at the wall, rather than the mangled body. He heard the detective make a noise somewhere between shock and disgust. The pair had seen plenty of scenes like this before, but none wherein they had known the victim. None wherein they had mixed feelings about the untimely death.

"I feel unallowed to say I'm relieved," Ryan swallowed. "Not a soul in this town is unaware of how he treats Mary."

"Don't make me have to investigate you too, friend," Weekes gathered the photos and documents together in one pile and grabbed his coat from the rack behind him, throwing it over his broad shoulders. "Let's not waste any time."

Detective Weekes swung open his office door and Ryan followed him hastily. Once the two made it outside the apartment on 5th street, they were met with police officers examining the scene and a grave-looking Mary Willox. Her face was downcast and dark from a bruise under her left eye. She was covering her mouth and staring at the tarp-covered body on the curb. Once Mary saw the detective and his assistant, she walked toward them slowly.

"Hello, Mary," Ryan tipped his hat and looked down.

"I'm sorry we've had to meet under these circumstances," Weekes bit his lip.

"I know what you must think," Mary didn't acknowledge Weekes' condolence. "But I had nothing to do with this... this act. It makes my stomach turn just to think..."

Mary let herself trail off and she covered her face with her hands again, leaning onto the detective's shoulder. Ryan, feeling as if he was interrupting, turned toward the police officers. They were backing bystanders away from the scene and taking photos under the tarp, writing on clipboards. Ryan could hear Mary and Weekes mumbling to each other, no doubt discussing Charles and his past behavior, if not his untimely demise.

"We should go inside," Ryan turned back to the detective and the wife of the victim. "The sooner we interrogate, the sooner we close this case."

Weekes and Ryan followed Mary inside of the apartment building and up the steps to her floor. The building smelled putrid, like smoke and death. Though, once Mary opened the door to apartment number 56, her apartment, it smelled like vanilla candles. Ryan was glad to be rid of the awful smell from the rest of the building.

"Angel hasn't been herself lately," Mary closed the door behind her guests, gesturing to her 11-year-old daughter, who was sitting on her knees on the floor, writing in a small book.

"I'm right here, mother," Angel looked up and the light from the lamp shone on her face. Her bottom lip was split and when she stood up, Ryan took a sharp breath in at the bruises cascading down her arms.

"Sorry, dear," Mary apologized.

"Hello, Angel," Detective Weekes took off his hat and stepped closer to the girl. "I'm Detective Weekes. This is my assistant, Ryan Seaman." He gestured to the other man, who waved. "May we take a look at you?"

"Yes, sir," Angel quickly closed the book she was writing in and locked it with a key she hung on the end of her necklace.

"Ryan," Weekes faced his assistant. "I'm going to talk to Mary, if you wouldn't mind having a talk with Angel."

Ryan nodded and got the memo, watching as Weekes led the victim's wife out of the room. Ryan stepped closer to Angel and asked her a few small-talk questions as he examined her bruised arms and face. Her legs didn't seem to be injured, other than a small contusion on her calf. Her cheek was slightly bruised and her bottom lip was split, but other than that, her face seemed to be fine in the examination.

"Where did you get these from, Angel?" Ryan gently held Angel's arm up and pointed to a few bruises.

"My father."

Ryan was taken aback by her honesty, especially since her father's recent death. Most children would subconsciously cover for a parent, but Angel was honest. That raised more questions in Ryan's mind.

"Okay," Ryan put on an uneasy smile. "Do you know what happened to your father?"

"Yes, sir," Angel looked down at her hands. "He's dead."

"How did he die?" Ryan sat down on the couch and pulled out a notebook.

"He fell from the window," Angel responded.

"Did you see him fall?" Ryan wrote down what Angel said.

Angel was quiet. She looked up at Ryan as if she had just been cornered. Alarm bells immediately rang in Ryan's head. He stopped writing and closed his pencil in his notebook.

"Can I read what you were writing?" Ryan asked.

"No, sir," Angel held her book tightly.

"I have to see what you wrote," Ryan pressed. "Or else you and your mother could be in a lot of trouble, Angel."

The girl bit her lip and whispered a timid "okay" before unlocking the book and opening it to the page titled with the current date. Ryan slipped on his glasses and read the first few sentences in shock.

"My mother told me to never let a man put his hands on me. I had to do what I did, and Mother told me that God will forgive me."