Phantom [h.s]

Twenty five

The events that commence after I hang up the phone are somewhat of a blur. My parents are asking me what's going on, but the only thing I can manage to think is that I need to find Harry. There is no doubt in my mind that it's his body. Making a mistake would make me seem mentally unbalanced and neurotic, but I am not making a mistake. I know it.

"Jane, are you hearing me? What's going on?" My mother asks. "What aren't you telling us?"

I don't answer her, not knowing how to in my immense state of shock.

Soon enough, police cars begin to pull up in our driveway, and I walk outside to find Detective Whitmore slamming the door of a cruiser behind her. She wears dark slacks and a white blouse, her dark hair falling over her shoulders. Her expression is irritated.

"We would have been here sooner if Lyle wasn't such a shitty driver. I'm tempted to ticket him for idiocy," she snaps, shooting Officer Lyle a glare as he gets out of the car. She looks back at me. "Show us where the body is."

I nod and lead her around the house, my parents watching dumbfounded from the back porch.

Whitmore manages to keep up with my brisk pace as we walk down the path, a group of officers behind us.

"There," I say. "See, the grass isn't grown through as much as the rest. It looks long enough that someone could be under there."

Whitmore looks at me, her expression hard to read. "How do you know it's Harry Styles that's down there?"

I don't know how to explain it to I don't know how to verbalize the er; overpowering instinct I have. "Trust me," I say. "Just trust me."

She stares at me for another moment, frowning. Finally, she looks over her shoulder at the group of officers. "Well, what are you waiting for? Get digging."

My heart is beating out of my chest as I watch Officer Lyle and four other officers walk over to the patch and begin digging, upturning dirt and throwing it to the side.

Whitmore turns away slightly, speaking into a radio. She finishes talking and looks back at me. "The police captain's on his way over. We might get some press for this."

No one pays attention to anything but the digging in the clearing, but as my eyes trace the treetops they lock onto a pair that match the dark green of the leaves.

Harry sits among the branches of a tall oak, partially obscured from vision. If I wasn't so used to seeing him sitting among the trees in this clearing, I never would have noticed him.