My Dead Angel

October 18th, 1889; Wisconsin-this is the day my 12 year old daughter went missing. November 25th, 1990- the day they found her body. Receiving the news hurt me inside, even though I knew it wasn’t possible for her to be alive. It haunts me to think of what had happened to her and I knew I could have prevented it.

I washed my hands and got rid of the clothes on my back before I reported to the police that Gracie didn’t come back from school that evening. They began their investigation by questioning me. I firmly stated- “Gracie did not come home from school today. She left wearing a pink jacket and jeans with blue sneakers. She always comes home, she’s a good kid and she has not been in any recent fights with anyone. She’s my little angel and I do not know where she could have gone”. By morning, a missing child report was filed. Friends and teachers said she left for home just as she usually does, so the search continued.
I waited at home and kept conversations with neighbors at a minimum while the investigation went on. Before she went missing, I felt terrible inside for losing my job. I worried about how I would support her. Her mother left us with nothing and it doesn’t look like she’s going to come back. I was scared and angry. How could she live happily if we had no money? There would be no point if I- as her father, could not provide her what she needed. I was agitated.
The days came and the nights passed, but still no Gracie. Since we lived near the Nicolet National Forest, it could be an easy predicament that she got lost there. The police brought their search into the forest by the beginning of November. A whole month had passed already and I began to feel colder. Then, on the morning of November 24th, I received news that they found her jacket caught in one of the trees. The jacket was covered in blood and ripped in several spots. I began to feel anxious and worried. Blood on her jacket? - She wasn’t alive. There was no way. I looked at the scars on my arm. I told the police they were from a fall I had the other day. He believed me, but very reluctantly.
The next day, they told me they found her body deep in the forest, half buried in a pile of dead leaves and tree branches. Her body was covered with cuts and knife wounds; she was bruised and appeared to be strangled. I was angry. Why did they have to find her body not only dead, but hurt? Had they found any other evidence? Who did they say killed her? Would they find this person? And what would happen to the killer? Questions of worry filled my head. But the worry wasn’t for Gracie.
The more evidence they found, the more I began to worry. My scars were checked by the police and were compared with Gracie’s. My blood was found on her, my fingerprints were taken and the strangle marks on her throat were examined. The police started to accuse me of murdering my own daughter. I laughed at his suspicion. What kind of mad person thinks a father would kill his child? But after a while, I couldn’t hold my ground. The evidence piled up and a week later, I was sent to trial
At my trial, I knew I couldn’t win. Killing Gracie was the biggest mistake I could ever make and I deeply regret it. So instead of trying to cover up my actions, I confessed. I didn’t want to fight over something horrible that I had done. I felt like I was going crazy.

December 8th, 1990- I was given a life sentence for the murder of my 12 year old daughter. My dead Angel.