Have you ever dreamed of going to a large city where no one knew your name? Not for a business trip or because you are on vacation, but because you needed a new start? Well, so has Zaira.
Zaira O'Cain is someone that hasn't been on the best of term...
Uncle Les had said back at 221B that he had a spare room I could stay in if I needed it. Of course I did need it. The police were still at my apartment for some reason. Maybe they found some more stuff she had stolen. Or they were going through my bags to see if I was in on anything. He got a call about the place before we exited Sherlock's apartment. Mrs. Hudson and John waved goodbye to the two of us as we made our way out.
Greg and I didn't call a taxi. We just walked down the street to my place since it wasn't that far and I wouldn't let him call one. We needed to have a walk together even if it was so short. My coffee was still in hand and it was only halfway done.
"So," he started.
Oh no. Why does he always feel the need to start it? I'm supposed to be the one to bring up the big problem this time. Not him. Greg is supposed to listen this time. But does he get that at the moment? No--
"What happened to your father?"
I glanced up at him a bit shocked. "Oh, uh, Dad?" I cleared my throat. "He's. . . He's good, I guess. I mean, I haven't seen him since my parents got divorced."
He looked down at me. "Your parents are divorced?"
Oh right, I haven't told him. "Um, yeah. That time that we left early, we had scheduled to go to the courthouse to get the custody thing figured out. Julie won it miraculously with a bunch of stuff that she made up and stuff that she knows my father did. She was using all of the things he's done for me against him and claiming that she did them instead of Dad. Of course, we had a female judge so she believe that the male was at fault which I think was unfair. My mom just kind of left me in the car so I couldn't help Dad get custody.
"After the courthouse, Julie and I went home and Dad had to start packing. When he left, that's when it became really bad. She used to only get me in my rear, but then she started to beat me everywhere else that people wouldn't be able to see. I've got scars on my back, stomach, some on my shoulders, my thighs, and I've got a few on the back of my neck. She never let me wear anything that would expose what she's done to me. We didn't even own hair ties because of her beatings. I tried once to get my hair cut short, but she convinced my hair dresser that I had this really contagious fungus on the back of my neck and to just trim my hair instead of chopping it off. Then she locked away all of the scissors and knives unless either of us truly needed them. I still don't know the code to the safe she put them in."
His expression changed from confused to utterly surprised. A small gap now existed between his lips. "Oh, wow. She put them in a safe?" I nodded as we continued our walk. We turned the street corner and saw that only a few squat cars remained.
We entered through the front door to my apartment passing a few officers on the way.
"Detective," a woman greeted Greg. She had large brown hair with tight curls and had a dark complexion. She shook hands with my uncle.
"Sergeant," Greg nodded. He gave a forced smile before stepping out of my way.
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