The Nameless Girls

Chapter 1

People only leave Boston for two reasons. The first is that they need to. I don't say need very often, you need to have water to survive.

When people need to leave Boston it's not because their jazz band is failing or no one is buying there half price tuxedos. When people need to leave its because staying would result in physical or Emotional harm.

Now, Ive never met a person like that, so I don't know what that could be. The second reason is they have to. Now, these two may be similar, but the point in making is no one leaves Boston because they want to. No one gets up one morning and decides that they would rather move to somewhere with a higher chance of getting invaded by Germans because the want to.

Yes, people do want to leave Boston. But trust me, they never do. I was born here, this darkened, Bleached city. But God, the moment I got out it was like taking off a suffocating gas mask in a room with unknown air. Cities like Boston don't change when you leave them, they don't care about one  stupid orphan and her prettier sister.

1945 Boston is hollow, Jewish people crying up in there one-bedroom apartments because they heard a single word about what's happening. How easy it would be for them to barge in and snatch them away. I don't like to think about it too much. I'm sure you would like to know my name, my story? It's not frankly interesting, but I suppose that's what your supposed to do before you start talking about Cult leaders. My name is Emma. *Gasp! They gave a woman a chance to speak for once?!*

Yes, they did. If you don't want to gasp more, you shouldn't know that I'm a private investigator, or Police officer, or Detective, or unmarried. All the things a woman the age of 27 should never be. Now, here's my current situation,

Three women, with out any sort of identity, were found at the burning of a church about a mile outside town. When asked why, they said it was for a man named Charlie, and he told them that by burning it, they were helping him. The most terrifying thing? police sketches show two of the women as the suspects of a murder in Colorado three months ago.  I haven't seen any of them in person, and barely trust those sketch artists anymore.

They gave full confession. The same story. For Charlie. For Charlie.

And that was all we knew at this point. All three of them were at the station, awaiting full diagnosis. So now, as I walked in the front door of my shallow house, my blood stopped being so cold.

It would be hard to sleep, but not impossible. But whoever Charlie was, we didn't have him. Yet.  All of this had been presented to be by Detective James Monroe, who considers himself the head of Precinct. James was the type of person that if you ever tried to explain you would have to end each sentence with "You had to be there." James was so committed and hard-working it made you feel bad. He was a beautiful person, a word it don't usually use for men, but the correct one. I don't know why he accepted the case, especially because one less then and hour away had the right amount of space. But that's James, and me, frankly.
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The next morning The streets were weary with the broken street lights. It seemed to have rained last night, but I was unaware until I stepped outside. I loved the rain, and the many stunning shades of blue and grey it captured from the unnecessary human light.
The air inside the precinct was colder than outside, that was always the first thing I noticed. The second was the smoke. Every single person

had at least 10 cigarettes a day, and anyone who entered was aware of that.

The door was loud and metal, causing me to slightly jump. I gave a small smile to the receptionist and entered the main office.
My eyes involuntary drifted toward the holding cell. There they were. 

I didn't move. My mind was blank and cold. They were so terrifying, yet, I wanted to help them. You could tell by the way they were dressed that it was religious, so conservative and similar it dug a trench in my stomach. I Hadn't expected it. It was just as much physical as it was mental. I was scared of them, or whatever they were.

Monroe came and stood next to me, I realized I was staring. I shook myself out of it and looked away from them and stepped toward my desk.

He was average height, with messy red-blonde hair and a handsome smile that was faced towards the other officers who were laughing at something he had said.

I coughed and he turned around to face me. Before I could say anything to him, Monroe stepped in front of me. "Jeremy. This is Emma Devereaux. You have been warned." I shoved him to the side.

"My desk." Jeremy smirked. "Really? Well trust me, I'm very worried ." He laughed and turned back to the other men. "Well I don't bite, but if you don't get off, that's a different story."

He nodded and stepped of, then held out his hand. "As you wish princess." I narrowed my eyes. "Emma Devereaux. It'll do you well to not call me that." He held out his hand.

"Jeremy Preston. Being the first American girl I've met, you have made quite the impression, Emma Devereaux." I smiled. "I'm taking that as a compliment."

"Monroe said he wasn't sure I should speak to the women yet, to which I was slightly obliged." Jeremy shot a glance at Monroe.

"Where..where are the other women?"

I looked back at Monroe, amused. "You told him there was going to be other women?" He cringed "Maybe." Jeremy interrupted.

"So, she's... Your the only one!?" I smiled and nodded "Afraid so. If this makes you wanna run back to England don't feel and pressure to stay." He smiled. "Monroe, tell the girl why I'm here."

Monroe sighed. "Emma, he's here for the women's case." My eyes widened.

"That's MY case. I covered it, I went to the church site, and now your giving it to some Brit who wandered in one day!? God I didn't think you were such a sexist twat!"

Monroe sighed. "I know, but right now we think Charlie's in England with the women. Jeremy has been covering that entire side of it, I don't know what to say Devereaux."

I covered my face with my hand and Jeremy sighed. "I don't know how to read those insane polygraphs, if you could help me with the murder and the church burning side we might get it done quicker."

I looked back at him. He was kind of gorgeous. He had these big brown eyes, you honestly wouldn't believe me. He had this breathlessness to him that I couldn't understand. Even when he wasn't smiling, it seemed like he was. He was a beautiful person, who was probably married to a women with bad teeth and had adorable children who missed him dearly. So I stopped myself from staring, even though God, I wanted to.

I sighed. "Fine, I'll help you with the American side of the story, but can someone tell me how a known serial killer and a group of women made it to Europe?" At that point, a young, dry voice spoke over all of us.

"Charlie made it." We all turned back to the girl in the holding cell.

"He said he would."