Free House of Secrets by Lowell Cauffiel

decided, now was not the time to talk about the rules. “Machelle, you need to tell me what has happened to you,” Anne said. She felt her body tremble. “We know you’re not pregnant,” she continued. “But Machelle, why do you think you are?”
     
    Machelle began to cry softly. Anne thought, this girl doesn’t even know me. I’m just a stranger. I’ll never get through. When the girl finally spoke, her body was shaking, her voice hardly audible. “My dad raped me,” she said. They talked over the next 10 days. Anne gave Machelle her home phone number. She’d never done that with a client before. The rape should be reported to authorities, Anne finally said, suggesting it would help Machelle put the trauma behind her. “No, I try,” Machelle said.“But I can’t forget.” One day, she also asked Anne, “I don’t understand why I bled.” That’s what happened with virgins, Anne said. “It was all my fault,” Machelle said. “If I’d just been stronger.” Machelle began dropping hints of other abusive behavior in the household. Her father beat the children. He beat her mother.
    There were other secrets. Her younger sisters were in danger. Anne suggested again she talk to police, for the protection of her brothers and sisters. “No,” Machelle said. “There are secrets that should never be told to anyone. ” Her father had spies and sources everywhere, Machelle said. He had friends in the police department.
    In fact, Ed Sexton was a booster member of the state lodge for the Fraternal Order of Police. The Sextons had FOP cards for their wallets and bumper stickers for the cars. If she told, her father would find out, track her down and kill her, Machelle said. He’d been promising that for years. He’d lift an index finger like a cocked gun and say, “A good snitch is a dead snitch.” Machelle said, “I’m afraid.” Anne made the first overture to the police herself. Her new son*n-law was a Stark County sheriff’s deputy. He had contacts in the Jackson Township Police Department. A phone call led to the desk of Jackson detective sergeant named Glenn Goe. “This girl is opening up to me,” she told the detective. “She says this is the first time she’s told anyone.
    She was raped by her father, And beaten. But I think there’s even more going on in that house. “Can you get her to come in?” Goe asked. It took another 10 days of talking, 10 days filled with other problems.
    Machelle’s shepherding family was getting phone calls, someone calling, not saying anything, just breathing. The host family, already frustrated with Machelle’s curfew problems, wanted Machelle Sexton removed. Anne checked the teenager into a Canton safe house for battered women, its location secret, its security insured by a host of resident Machelle finally agreed to talk to the police, but only if she did not have to go the police station. “Dad always said if I went there they would lock me up there and take his side,” she said.
     
    Detective Glenn Goe suggested the compromise. They could meet at the D. A.R. E. office in Shortridge Villa. The office was small and unofficial looking, used by police for a drug prevention program for teens. “That might work,” Anne Greene said. Considering Machelle Sexton’s apprehension, Goe in some ways was the perfect choice for the interview. At 31, he had boyish good looks, a fondness for sweaters and a frequent, easy-going smile. He’d been with the department for 11
    years, making sergeant after only four years on the road. Goe already was somewhat familiar with the Sextons. He’d made a run to the house on Caroline years ago to secure property after a suspicious fire. Goe had been a detective for a year, handling typical suburban crimes. Now and then a criminal assault would come through. But mostly, Jackson detectives dealt with property crimes, B&Es, petty theft, vandalism.
    Goe had only handled a handful of sexual assaults. “We’d actually be a very