Pieces of You

Prologue: Jana

I'm close, I can feel it.

I study my cell phone, sweaty in my hand, as I walk forward to where x marks the spot. It's a hot day and the sun beats down on my t-shirt, causing rivulets of sweat to trail down my back. I'm longing to get back in the air conditioning of my car, but I'm determined to find this last cache on 'to find' list. 

That, and I'm enjoying the momentary peace since the havoc Sam caused last week by calling me after six months. Asshole. Does he think he can just walk back into my life after what he did? I force the thought out of my mind and focus on the map on my phone. 

Where are you?

The dot that shows my current position comes closer to the x. I take a few more steps and am almost on top of it. I look up, where two trees are entwined with each other. In the gap between them, I see a piece of white plastic peeking out.

Aha. Got you.

Grinning, I click the cache as 'found', stuff my phone in my back pocket, and reach out to grab the cache. It's about the size of a pencil box and has a sticker on top that says "Official Geocache." Cute. I open the lid, expecting to find some small toys, erasers, or stickers that people generally hide within the caches. On top there's a piece of paper that has been signed by the treasure hunters who've come before me, as well as a pen. I pick up the paper to sign it and then gasp.

Nestled beneath the paper, is something that looks like human flesh. A nose, to be precise. It's lying flat on its back, nostrils aimed up in the air. It almost looks like a pig's nose--in fact, maybe that's what it is. Still gross, but not as horrific as contemplating a piece of skin and cartilage once being attached to a human being. 

I drop the geocache and kneel over the grass, retching. 

When I'm finished, I scoop the box back up, but the contents have spilled out. I take a stick and poke at the disgusting thing, trying to tell myself this has to be some prank. Maybe a couple of farm kids decided to gather parts from a butchered hog to mess around with people's heads.

 But there's a part of me that knows it's human.

That part of me makes me dig out my cell phone and dial 911. I feel ridiculous, telling the woman on the other end of the line what I'm dealing with. I explain that I'm not certain it's a human body part and am simply calling in case--in case it's real. The woman sounds dubious but says she'll send a patrol car just to check things out.

My heart won't stop pounding in my chest. I looked around, wondering if I'm being watched. Maybe, if this is some sort of prank, someone's taping my reaction. But I get nervous enough to walk back to the trail and follow it out to the break in the woods. After about five minutes, a police car drives into the parking lot, and two officers climb out. I jog toward them, sweat rolling down my forehead and cheeks.

"It's this way," I call to them, pointing toward the trail. One of them shoots the other an amused glance. It's not every day they receive calls about dismembered noses. I feel foolish for a moment, but then reassured myself that I did the right thing by calling. Better safe than sorry, right? If it turns out that someone is really in trouble, I want to be able to say I did something.

I follow them to the entwined trees and point out the white plastic case that is lying spilled on the forest floor. Just seeing it again makes me queasy. I turn away, sure I'm about to be sick again. One of the officers kneels down and picks up the cache. Surely, they aren't amused anymore.

I want them to laugh, to say, Silly girl. Why are you calling the police over such a stupid prank?

But that's not what they do.

One of the officers, one much younger than me, probably barely old enough to drink, gags. "Is that a fucking nose?"

The older one, holding the cache, grimaces. He sets it gently in the grass and points toward me. "Get her out of here."

It's not what I want to hear. Because the way they're treating this is making it seem real. Not some joke, not a funny story to tell the officers back at the station. 

This is fucking real. 

Everything seems to melt away--the scalding day, my quick jaunt to the woods to cross some caches off my list. I feel a hundred miles away from it all, as if I'm watching it from very far away, something happening to someone else. Because this?

This just doesn't happen.

The younger officer takes my elbow gently. "Let's go back to the car, and we can get your statement." I let him lead me away, but I don't feel my legs as they carry me through the woods and back to the parking lot. Everything becomes a blur--the bottle of water he gives me, the blanket he puts over my shoulders because I just can't seem to stop shivering, even though it's so hot outside. Other police cars pull into the lot, lights flashing. I sit in the back of the squad car, trying to remind my way, return to the beginning when everything had been so normal.

I watch as they tread out into the woods. A woman in uniform unfurls yellow tape from one post marking the beginning of the trail to the other. 

I sit and wait. 

And wait.

Finally, a man approaches the car and raps on the window with his knuckle. He is tall, a little older than me, perhaps late thirties, with dark hair and a neatly maintained beard. He leans over and looks through the window. His blue eyes are kind. 

I jump when he opens the car door and says, "Jana? Jana Stephens? Is that your name?"

Nodding, I pull the blanket tighter around myself. My name seems strange on his lips.

"I've got some questions for you. Do you feel ready to talk?"

I force myself to focus. 

"From the beginning?" He coaxes.

Yes. 

Yes, I'll talk. 

Maybe that will make this nightmare make sense.