Hushed Confessions

Police Failures

Sajdaa Taha

"Sir, please. I think this person who texted me killed my uncle!" I pleaded with the officer in front of me.

He didn't even look up from his paperwork as he said, "Unless you have proof, then we can't help you."

I glared at him, my fists clenching at my sides. "I have proof, but you just refuse to do your job correctly and look at it."

He looked up at me. His blonde hair brushing over his dark blue eyes. He looked middle-aged. His expression stone-faced. "Young lady, that is no way to treat an officer," he stated, pointedly.

My jaw clenched. "Well, this is no way to treat death threats, now is it, Officer?" I practically seethed.

He crossed his arms over his chest. "It could probably be one of your classmates messing with you."

"Can you just look at the text?"

"No."

I face palmed. "What is so hard about looking at a text message?" I asked.

"For all I know, you're faking it to get a news story," he shrugged.

"Are you even listening to yourself? I'm freaking seventeen. I don't even know how to get my teachers to pay attention to me, let alone a news channel."

He scoffed, "Your kind keeps telling lies to the media and I have to deal with all the paperwork because of it."

"Excuse you? My kind, as you so generously put it, are Muslims," I emphasized. "Is that too difficult for your bigotry filled mind to hear? Or are you just an old white supremacist that doesn't understand diversity or how to do his damn job!" I exclaimed with my hands in the air from frustration.

He slammed his hands down on the desk. His blue eyes were flaring with anger. Good, I hit a soft spot. "Leave right now. You cannot expect someone to help you if you are this rude to them."

I put my hands on my hip. "Listen, jerk. I know you won't even consider my case because I'm a Muslim. I've just been through hell and found out someone special to me died. Now I have someone threatening my life. You want me to be nice? Then hear my case," I said, angrily.

My blood was boiling. Most of the town hated Muslims. They despised me. I was labeled a killer before I even knew the meaning of death. Yes, I was rude to this officer, but when I'm being threatened, and he takes it as a joke, then we have a problem. This town was even labeled as one of the most racist areas. I lived in a community near the masjid here. The few Muslims here also lived in my neighborhood. It was the only safe place for us.

He laughed, bitterly. "Okay, let's see how this prank of yours goes." Then he called out one of the police officers that just came in. "Malik, take a Muslim case for me. You understand them better."

"Boss, I told you not to compare me to them," this Malik guy groaned.

I raised my eyebrows at the police officer, "This is the guy you're assigning to help me?" I asked, incredulously.

Malik tilted his head at me. His hazel eyes sparked with amusement. "Is there a problem, Miss?"

"Nothing you need to know," I mumbled.

"I beg to differ. Either you accept my help, or you can leave. Your choice," he said with a smug look on his face as he crossed his arms over his broad chest.

I rolled my eyes, "Alright, I'll accept it."

He nodded and led me to his office. Malik was dressed in the regular police officer attire. He had dark brown hair that curled on top of his head. He seemed pretty young like a guy straight out of college. He was well-built and toned. Obviously, I face palmed. He's suppose to be able to fight.

Malik opened the door to his office. I gave him my ice cold glare as I walked in. "Keep the door open," I said.

"As you wish."

Then, he proceeded to take a seat behind the huge coffee colored desk. I sat across from Malik, making sure to move the chair a little bit farther from him. The desk was really shiny, and quite distracting. How do these guys keep their offices clean? Oh right, because they don't do anything.

"So let's see this life threatening text," he mockingly said.

"You know, your enthusiasm really makes my day," I said sarcastically as I gave him my phone.

"Really?" he chuckled.

"Don't kid yourself."

He ignored my comment as he read the text. I examined the picture on his desk. It was a small family, with Malik in the middle. Malik looked extremely young. In fact, he didn't even have his muscled body or facial hair. He looked like a prepubescent white or Arab boy. I couldn't tell. The woman next to him held onto his arm as she smiled widely. She wore a floral hijab and black abaya. Her husband, I assumed, stood there with a large grin as his arms wrapped around Malik's shoulders. He had a long brown beard, wearing his white thobe. Malik looked so different now.

"You're a Muslim?" I asked.

He looked up, confused. Then his eyes landed on the picture. "Not proud of it."

I frowned, "Why?"

"Because Muslims are ruthless killers. They blindly follow without understanding the truth about their religion," he said, his voice was void of emotions. He started typing stuff on his computer.

I leaned back against the chair, glancing at the photo again. What made Malik's heart change? Clearly, he came from a practicing family, yet he refused to be labeled as a Muslim.

"Are you sure that you're not the one who blindly follows western stereotypes without understanding the truth?"

He stopped typing and glanced at me briefly. "Why do you care?" he asked, suspiciously.

"I don't. Your relationship with Allah is none of my business, but I can offer some sort of advice."

"Like I'd listen to a teenager," he scoffed as he returned to his typing.

I glared at him. "Hey pal, I'm not here to question your faith. I'm here to find out who killed my uncle and why they're after me."

"How do you know he was killed?"

"Because he was poisoned, according to the medical reports," I said.

"Do you have any idea who could have sent you this text?" he asked, seriously. His face scrunched in concentration as he continued typing. His eyelashes shielding his hazel eyes.

"Considering that I'm a hijabi, I have a feeling a lot of people don't like me around here."

He rolled his eyes. "That's not going to help me."

"Didn't say it was."

He narrowed his eyes at me, "You sure do have a big mouth on you."

"I like to be respected," I shrugged.

"I see."

Minutes of typing passed. I played with my thumb as I stared at the clock. It was almost time to pray and I promised Mom that I'd be home soon. My thoughts wandered off to my uncle. Who could have killed him? Whoever this killer was, he or she was out to get me and my family. I can't lose another person.

I remembered my uncle's laughing face. He used to let me beat him with pillows to wake him up. My heart ached for his kids and wife. The kids were so little, yet they would grow up without their father. His wife must feel even worse. I should call her when I get home.

"Bullshit!" exclaimed Malik.

"I'm sorry?"

"I can't track the text. Whoever sent this is smart," he groaned as he ran his fingers through his curled brown hair.

"And there's nothing you can do?" I asked, nervously. This cannot be happening to me.

He sighed, "Right now? No, I can't. I need more information."

I bit my lip. There's a killer on the loose and Officer Malik can't find him. Malik seemed to notice the distress etched on my face. His gaze softened.

"Hey, I'll see if I can find out more, okay?" he questioned, softly.

I mutely nodded my head. Allah, I beg You. Please, keep my family safe.