| Body |
My name is Megan Eleanor Schock and I rebuild the dead.
I'm not being dramatic either. As we speak, I'm contemplating Emily, a woman who sits in the corner of my office where I greet her every morning and promise justice. She's young. Probably a teenager, tossed away like trash and left to the utter warfare imposed on a human body when animals and Mother Nature feast on it.
I'm not even sure Emily is her name. All I know is when they come to me, usually via a law enforcement official trying to solve a cold case, I need to give them life. An identity someone stole from them.
My sister, Charlie, thinks I'm obsessed.
I might be.
Ask if I care.
We formed a private investigation firm and share equal partnership in it. Charlie, a forensic psychologist and one hell of a profiler, does most of the investigating while I do the sculpting. Forensic sculpting is one of my specialties and I, unfortunately, have a steady stream of subjects to further hone my skills on.
One of those is Joseph—at least, that’s the name I've given him. He was brought to me by a sheriff from Louisiana. It's yet another cold case that needs to be solved so I've volunteered my services to see if we can get this man identified. Maybe find his killer.
I peel my gaze from Emily and focus on Joseph. The chime of the back door sounds. Only staff and a certain other few come through it so this must be Matt, an investigator we hired to help with our caseload. Our only other employee is Haley, the receptionist, and I can hear her fielding calls at her desk near the front.
A second later, JJ Carrington steps into my doorway. As usual, he's dressed to kill in an expensive gray suit, a crisp white shirt, and blue print tie. His dark hair is neatly combed and the artist in me itches to sketch him, to capture the perfect lines of his cheekbones and jaw.
At least until my eye snaps to the plastic shopping bag he's holding. "Swear to God, JJ, if that's what I think it is, I'll stab you."
Unruffled by my threat—he's dealt with far worse than me—the U.S. Attorney for the District of Columbia, aka the Emperor of Cold Cases, steps to the worktable beside Joseph and clears a small space amongst my sculpting tools. He gingerly sets it down and I know, without a doubt, he's brought me yet another victim.
In a shopping bag.
For that alone I should maim him. Who am I kidding? JJ only brings me the ones investigators are absolutely stumped on.
Or that are possibly related to another case.
A case like the one from when I was in sixth grade and nine—I remember the number quite clearly—other sixth graders in the area went missing. My mother cried every time a child vanished and I spent the whole of my sixth grade paranoid I’d disappear too. That turmoil still sticks. No matter how old I get, it sticks.
To this day, none of those children have been discovered.
Not one.
I guess I keep hoping someday one of their skulls will come my way, and I’ll be able to help give them justice.
That case has made me a freak about my loved ones and the idea of a family having to live with the heartbreak of a missing person. Add to that my artistic talent and watching my older sister immerse herself into the justice system and here I am. Ready, willing and completely able to help. I can’t say it’s fun, but it satisfies something in me. Makes me feel as if I’m doing my part in some small way.
JJ points to the bag. "Found eighteen months ago in Rock Creek park. Zero leads. If we don’t come up with something, the case will go unsolved. There’s some public safety group making noise about the area being unsafe.”
“Crimes happen in plenty of parks.”
“Tell me about it. We’re getting pressure from the National Park Service who doesn’t want this case used for propaganda."
I peek inside and see a cast of a human skull. When it comes to my work, I'm only ever brought duplicates made from molds taken of the actual victims.
"And you put him in a shopping bag?"
"I didn't say it's a him."
I like JJ, but his years as a prosecutor have gobbled up the last of his sensitivity. "Well, I'm not calling him—or her—it so until I determine a gender, he's a him."
I peel back the sides and, using both hands lift him, studying the eye sockets and teeth. It’s small and I immediately question myself. A woman then, perhaps. Just like Emily, who has sat in my office, each day reminding me her killer is still out there.
Want more?
Amazon >>>> https://bit.ly/40FK9N2
|