Mary's Bones

FOUR

"Are you sure you didn't touch anything on the radio?" John asked again.

I scoffed at him and crossed my arms. "Yes! It just came on by itself while I was driving home from work. I'm not making this up!"

"Okay, okay. Calm down. We'll take it back to Tony this weekend to get it looked at. Just don't mess with it," John replied.

I threaded my fingers through my curls, sighing in frustration. First, I had to deal with my car breaking down. Now, I had to deal with a broken radio. I'd only bought this car last year. Could it have been time for a new one already? Seriously? Damnit, we weren't made of money.

"Okay fine, I won't. . . Sorry for yelling at you."

"Try to relax, please? At least until I get off work," John pleaded.

"I will, I will. I promise. I'll try and keep myself busy until then."

"Good. I'll be home soon. I promise," he said.

"Okay," I mumbled. The call ended as soon as I spoke. My shoulders sagged as I slouched back, my body sinking into the couch cushions.

 Cory's case folder taunted me. It was as if the files could sense my annoyance with the universe. They sat on the coffee table along with his journal for the case, untouched, waiting to be opened. I wasn't going to cave in. I wasn't. I'd promised myself. But I couldn't relax either.

I huffed and crossed my arms again, turning my head away from the coffee table.

Lately, thoughts of Cory were affecting me worse than usual. His laughter, his personality, my mourning for him—it all reminded me too much of how I was missing him. If not for finding that little girl's remains, I could've rid myself of Cory's image, at least for a little while. But now, his presence was stronger than ever, eating at my brain.

I shouldn't have thought about that. Oh, who was I kidding? I had no choice but to reopen that folder. It may not have been my investigation to solve, but it was Cory's. So, in a way, it felt like mine. Not only because I found what he spent years searching for, but because I finished what he started. Or so that's what I told myself. I knew discovering Mary Drake was only the beginning. 

Nipping at the skin on my bottom lip, I slid my way onto the carpet with my legs crisscrossed. I then shoved everything to the side, opening the folder and scattering the papers across the table.

Knowing Mary Drake was the first child of all thirteen children to go missing helped me understand why Cory decided to put her picture first. Now that I got a better look at her, it was obvious she was of Filipino descent. Her skin wasn't fair, but it wasn't as dark as mine either. Straight, long, black hair ran down her back. And her cheeks were chunky like chipmunks.

I smiled, tracing my fingers along the outline of her picture. The smile slowly faltered when I reached the bottom. I clenched my fist and took a deep breath.

Her picture made me think about death and all the possibilities that could've been. All the possibilities that John and I would have to keep Rosemary safe from for as long as possible. I didn't want to think down that negative road, but I had to because this was reality.

Mary was the youngest of all the children. I couldn't think of a motive. Honestly, I didn't want to think of a motive. After all, the perpetrator obviously had a specific profile feature-wise when it came to these kids. But they were each a different skin tone and height. One similarity that struck me the most was that all the victims were girls.

"Holly Adams, eight years old, reported missing by her father September 1st, 2016," I read the information under the next picture. Blonde hair, blue eyes, fair skin, and a freckled face stared back at me.