It hung heavy in the air, giving the usually calming stretch of forest an ominous, sharp feeling. It stuck out against the crisp, refreshing air of the forest.
We wound through the trees and popped out in a clearing; the foliage was heavy but shorter here, and I was able to spot slivers of the roaring ocean through the trees. The scene would have been picturesque had it not been for the police officers, the men in their white-lettered FORENSICS jackets, and the two sheeted bodies laid out on the dirt. I sucked in a breath and steadied myself.
“Something came through here like a tornado.” Detective Campbell was standing with his back to us, staring out over the ocean and speaking to no one in particular. He was built like a fireplug with a basketball-shaped head that seemed to bleed into his shoulders, into his thin white button-down shirt. He jammed his hands into his pockets and spun around, shaking his head and clucking his tongue like we were dealing with an errant teenager rather than a heinous crime scene.
My eyes followed his to the half circle of redwood trees that surrounded the clearing. The bark was torn clean from one of them, and it looked as if someone had taken an ax to the trunk, leaving four clean slice marks across it. The lower branches on the surrounding trees and the suckers around that were mashed down and broken; the soft pine underbrush was kicked up and scratched into two deep grooves.
“Grace!” Campbell’s face broke into a wide smile when he noticed Alex, and I snapped to attention.
Alex shook Detective Campbell’s hand. “What happened?”
The smiled dropped from the detective’s face and he led Alex by the shoulder, stepping cleanly over one of the sheeted bodies. My stomach twisted and the backs of my eyelids pricked; someone was underneath that sheet and the detective stepped over him. Suddenly, strangely, I was overcome with sadness and I crouched down to brush off the bits of pine needle and dust that Detective Campbell’s shoe had rained over the body. My hand stopped, frozen, when I saw the bubble of blood seeping from beneath the sheet. It moved in a slow river at first, picking up bits of debris from the forest floor, then moving faster, pooling.
I felt the acid churning in my stomach and burning the back of my throat. My brain commanded me to stand, to move, to run, but I was rooted to that spot and now everywhere I looked was marred by blood—in smears and in pools, congealing, dirty, splattered. The smell was overwhelming and my head felt heavy, my knees weak. I saw the forest roll upward and the blue of the sky before Alex grabbed me. His hands were rough—one around my waist and one on my upper arm—and I tried to right myself, but his lips were on my ear.
“I told you to stay in the car.”
I shook him off and swallowed hard, willing my stomach to settle. “Wha—what happened to them?” I asked.
Alex shook his head, waiting until I stood on my own before turning toward the detective.
“Any word—murder weapons, wounds, anything?” Alex nudged his chin toward the bodies and Detective Campbell nodded, flipping open his black leather notebook.
“We don’t have positive IDs yet. So far, we’re fairly certain it’s two females, late teens early twenties, maybe.”
“You’re ‘fairly certain’ they’re females?” I asked.
It was then I noticed the chalky bits of spit gathered at the corners of Detective Campbell’s mouth. His skin was ashy. “It’s that bad.”
Alex put his hands on his hips, dropping into cop mode. “What are you thinking?”
“Wild animal, maybe. Never seen anything like it before. Not out here at least.”
Without warning, the detective leaned down and pinched one corner of the sheet, pulling it up. I felt my eyes grow and every muscle in my body tightened, curled in on itself, crushed my breath from my lungs. When Alex pressed a palm to the back of my neck I leaned into it, loving the cool feel of his skin on mine. A breeze kicked up and sent a shiver through me; I realized that my whole body had broken out into a bitter sweat and I clamped my eyes shut instinctually, bent over at the waist.
“You okay?” Alex’s voice was a throaty whisper and I let him help me upright.
I cleared my throat, but my voice was still hoarse. “What happened to her?”
The detective dropped the corner of the sheet, but the image of the woman—decimated, torn—was seared into my mind. Her skin looked like it had once been a flawless, pale porcelain but was shredded into snarled ribbons now; what remained of her clothes and stringy blond hair was blood soaked and caked with mud and pine needles. I gagged when I realized that she hadn’t been placed so much as dumped—limbs next to torso, torso next to head—and none of the limbs were attached.
I turned around and gagged, not caring who saw me vomit. I tried to keep my eyes open because every time I pinched them shut, the girl—what remained of the girl—was burned into my eyelids and I gagged again.