Just Right

        Grimm knew they were close before he could even see the house. The police lights were visible from a quarter mile away, as they were the only form of light in the dark woods. His partner sitting next to him was quiet, a change from her usual talkative self. Her hands clutched the steering wheel, and her lips were sewn tightly together. The case hit her close to home. It affected everyone in the precinct, of course, but no one else he worked with was a mother.

            Funny thing was, just yesterday she had complained about working the cold cases. “I want to see the people I’m helping. To be involved.”

The chief finally got fed up with her complaining and promoted her. “I don’t want anything else coming outta your mouth unless it’s a ‘thank you’ to your gracious chief.”

As they approached the flashing lights they found themselves at a cottage that crouched in the back of a small clearing. It would have been charming in the daylight, but the splatter of red and blue police lights gave it a devilish, ghostly glow. Grimm got out of his car and saw the owners of the house standing shaken in front of the handful of policemen. A baby squirmed in his mother’s arms as the father spoke to officers. The mother kept looking back at the house to the upstairs window, her face stained with red, blue and worry. She clutched her child closely, protecting him from whatever was up there.

“We should check upstairs,” said Grimm, turning to his partner.

“Why do you say that?” she asked, squinting her flashing eyes around at the crime scene. Before he could answer, though, she spotted the distraught mother and nodded.

When they entered the house the signs of a disturbance were immediately clear. A broken chair lay on the floor of the living room. The family’s dinner was still out on the kitchen table, with two of the meals left untouched. The detectives made their way up the stairwell lined with family photographs. Grimm couldn’t help but watch the images as he passed them. Like happy memories coming in and out of focus, they flickered in and out as the police lights snuck through the front window.

There were only two doors at the top of the stairs: one directly in front of them that led to the bathroom, and one on their left to the bedroom.

“I’ll check the bedroom,” said Grimm, automatically assigning his partner the bathroom.

“No jumping on the beds,” she responded. She did still have a sense of humor.

Entering the room, Grimm turned on his flashlight to find three beds, each one bigger than the next. An abnormal arrangement for two parents and their son, he thought, but then again this was not a normal family. The first two beds were still made, though the comforters were ruffled, and the third brought a gasp out of Grimm just past his lips. A small lump rested under the covers, and at the head of the bed was a brilliant head of hair, billowing across the pillow like golden thread.

The rest of it all made sense now. Why an empty bowl sat among two on the kitchen table, why the shattered bones of a chair lay on the living room rug, and, most importantly, why the family still stood outside still cowering in fear.

“Detective Goose, you’d better get in here,” he called to his partner.

“What is it?"

“You were complaining about working cold cases, right?” he said, keeping an eye on the motionless girl. “You’re in luck. This one’s just right.”