Page 4 of Secrets

She knew what he was doing. He was trying to put the fear of her family in her. And it worked. But not in his favor.

She was yelled at, slapped, punched, and starved for the next week.

“I’m asking you one more time, Millie, what did you tell him?” asked her father.

“I-I didn’t say anything. I swear to you. Don’t you think if I had said something, he’d be here already? I said nothing!”

“Dad, we gotta go. We gotta meet the Scorpions.” Her father nodded, slapping her one more time for good measure.

“Lock her in the shed.”

“No. Please, Dad, no. I’m not going anywhere. I didn’t tell him anything!”

“This will give you some time to think about what you’ve done.”

“I’ve done nothing! I hate you! I hate you all! I’ve done nothing. You’re just trying to justify killing me! Well, kill me!” she screamed.

Her brother Tick stared at her, tears filling his eyes. He was twenty-four now and tried to protect her as much as he could. But the look in her father’s eyes and Jay’s told her she’d hit the nail on the head.

“I’ll kill you when I’m good and ready,” said her father. “Don’t rush me.”

Jay only stared at her as he shoved her inside the shed.

“We’ll be back in a little while. I’ll try to talk to him,” he said. She had no idea what that meant. Jay had never done anything to come to her defense before, why would he do so now?

She’d been locked inside the shed before, but never with the thought of her father returning to kill her. Beat her? Yes. Kill her? Maybe. Today was a definite.

It felt like hours later, but it was only minutes when she heard someone fiddling with the lock. When it opened, she was shocked to see the man who had been at her school.

“Millicent, let’s go,” he said.

“No. No, they’ll kill me.”

“They’re going to kill you either way, honey. Let’s go,” he said, reaching out a hand.

She knew he was right and took his hand. Although they lived in a nice suburb of Chicago, his car was headed to Indianapolis.

“Wh-where are we going?” she asked.

“Headquarters for the FBI,” he said, handing her several wet wipes. “Clean your face off best you can. We’ll get you some medical treatment once we get there.”

“It won’t matter. He’s going to kill me.”

“Not if I can help it,” he promised.

Hours and hours of questions and writing things down. Places where they’d find buried bodies and buried money. Weapons hid in walls, floors, and cars in junkyards. It seemed to never end.

“Come on, kid, we’re going to put you in a safe house,” said the man.

“Will you at least tell me your name?” she asked.

“Agent Stan Fowler. I’ve been after your dad and brothers for nearly ten years now.”

“They’ll find me,” she said through swollen lips.

“Trust me,” he said, smiling at her.

The safehouse was in a nice neighborhood with mature trees and flower boxes on the windows. She didn’t belong here. She didn’t belong in a place this nice or a neighborhood that felt this safe.

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