Lost Boy - Ker Dukey Page 0,7
See you later.” I open the door and step out into the torrent of rain, the puddles soaking my boots in rainwater.
My heart pounds at the lights swirling, blinking over my face.
“You’re safe now. Crawl toward my voice, sweetheart.”
Flash.
Flash.
Flash.
I don’t know how long I was under that bed. My pee had turned cold, stinging my thighs. The tears had dried against my cheeks, leaving them red and raw. Can you deplete your body of water just by crying?
Flash.
Flash.
Flash.
Sirens screamed in the distance, getting closer with every shaking breath I took, then the house was alight with the whirling of those blue lights.
Flash.
Flash.
Flash.
The rain threatens to drown me. I’m slipping under, into my memories.
My fingers seek out the scars to bring me back to the now. “Move the tape farther back,” a man barks, stepping out of a black sedan, a red light flashing on the grill of his car. He’s dressed in a suit and long raincoat, salt and pepper hair soaking to his scalp, a frown tugging at his brow. “Move these fucking people back and get a tent over the body,” he booms, waving his hands frantically.
Over the body?
The body?
My hands begin to shake. Clenching them into fists, I shove them into the pocket of my jacket. A crowd has gathered, concerned whispers floating on the wind. Faces with creased foreheads peer beyond the police line, trying to get a better look. It’s human nature, morbid curiosity to want to see what’s happened. The brain wants to evaluate the situation from the safety of the police tape.
The rain drowns my body, running down my face, wiping any attempt to look presentable away, leaving the fucked-up mess of a girl I am on the inside bare for all to see. My feet move without permission, pushing toward the front of the crowd, not stopping until my stomach makes contact with police tape.
My eyes devour the scene, flicking to every inch of the blocked off area. Rain hammers the asphalt. Rubbish blows across the street from an overturned trashcan. What happened?
“This is a crime scene. I’m going to have to ask you all to move back at least fifteen feet,” a police officer yells out, waving his hands to get his point across, but my legs are frozen, my eyes drifting to just behind him, a female’s legs showing from behind a dumpster. They’re bare with bruises dark enough to see from this distance.
“Don’t look.”
“What happened?” I croak out. My head spins, making me sway on my feet. My eyes can’t look away from the body.
Red polished toenails stand out in contrast to her pale skin. Contusions and discoloration running up her legs scream of angry, cruel punishment. Who is she?
“I can’t answer that, ma’am. I need to ask you to step back.” His tone leaves no room for argument. Had I asked that out loud? I back away a few yards to the new perimeter another officer is making. The clouds above swim through the sky, leaving the streets cast in a gray hue.
“Awful. She’s just a young girl,” a woman weeps, gaining the attention of everyone close enough to hear her. They huddle under umbrellas, herded together like farm animals.
“Did you see what happened?” another asks. I move closer to them, straining to hear the gossip, shame seeping into me. She’s a person—not a spectacle for us all to gawk at and talk about.
“I got here just before the police. Some guy found her and called them. She was naked and had cuts all over her. She must have been there through the night.”
She sniffles, her head bowing. The trauma of what she witnessed will stay with her forever—a mark on her soul.
“Keep your eyes closed, sweetheart.”
“Who would do something like that?”
Sickness coils in my gut.
“He’s killed both women.”
Memories of those tormented pleas and flashing lights illuminating my house as a child crash over me. My nails dig into the palms of my hands, causing a grounding sting.
“The rain will wash away the evidence. They’re taking too long to get the tent over her,” I rasp out.
“Got to be a domestic, right? Or an accident?” an older woman says. She wraps her jacket tight around her body, as if it can protect her from the horrors laid bare before her.
“It was no accident,” the first woman chokes.
“We will know soon enough with those awful people taking photos of the poor girl. The police will have to make a statement.”
Anger and pain slice into me at the thought of