by Tammy Bird
The echo game grew old. Andrew clicked the button on the side of the phone and watched the screen go dark. He looked out over the beach. Images of Frisbee in the sand when he was a child meshed together with time in the US Marines when he watched a twenty-year-old blonde recruit explode less than a foot away. Two beaches. Opposite ends of the world.
After his parents sold his childhood home last year, it made sense for Andrew to come back to the Outer Banks. His parents told him they needed to move forward. He needed to move forward. He knew they were tired of taking care of him. He was a grown man in the home where they cheered his first steps, not once, but twice: first as an infant and second as a broken shell of a man honorably discharged from the only life he thought worth living.
At twenty, while driving a Humvee emergency vehicle overseas, an IED almost ended his life. When he was released from the Walter Reed National Military Medical Center in Bethesda, MD, his parents welcomed him home with open arms. And now, at twenty-nine, with a Purple Heart hanging in a frame above his childhood bed, he was living in the same place where he returned to heal.
After the incident, the Internet became Andrew’s life, his means of socialization. He learned to code, learned the dark web, learned to troll. He loved all aspects of it—the good, the bad, and the ugly. He discovered the dark web in the days after he wished he were dead but couldn’t die, when his mom fed him soup and told him how much she loved him, how much she needed him to live. Slowly he had lived and relearned to walk and talk. When he started school, he incorporated what he learned inside Tor’s dark web with what he learned in class, and soon he was making money offering his services under the cover of invisibility. Hacking, researching, coding. People paid a lot for his ability to reach the unreachable, for his ability to keep them invisible. He could no longer be a paramedic with the US Marines, but he could apply the fierce dedication and precision he had learned and reinvent himself.
In the cavernous corners of the deep web where the outlaws and misfits go to play late into the night, Andrew made more connections with like-minded computer blips on the screen. Every day he trained harder, hacked deeper, and became more valuable to those who sought him out. Soon there was no limit to what a person would give in exchange for his services. He thrived on reaching into the anonymous, hidden-onion domains, accessible only through the Tor network.
His ability to communicate in innuendos and code did nothing to help him reenter the face-to-face world of his peers. He didn’t care. He liked his anonymous world and the jobs that allowed him to work long into the night until he was numb enough to fall asleep in his childhood bed.
Andrew Hunter thought he had the best of both worlds: A place to live that left him behind a wall of childhood safety, and a job that let him feel important and needed behind the wall of adulthood logic. And then his mom told him he had to leave.
In those early morning hours, long after most of the world was sleeping, he brought up Tor on his homemade workstation. Maybe a job will help me stop thinking about my mother’s announcement, he thought.
His search in the predawn hours of that day led him to Gerald and ultimately to Buxton. So in a way, all of this was his mother’s fault.
Andrew thought about Katia back on the sand. He pictured her surrounded by rubble. The muscles in her back pushed hard against the blue of her uniform as she moved pieces of a boat with her rubber-gloved hands. When she was in the zone, she appeared invincible. He thought of her later, at the dune, the way the invisible torment pulled her to her knees. Her vulnerable side was new to him. In her moment of weakness, he wanted desperately to put his hand on her shoulder, to comfort her. He didn’t. And right now, he hated himself for that. It was yet another missed opportunity to connect with a woman he admired. Being despised by the fairer sex was the fate of the socially awkward, and Andrew was an expert in awkward.
He looked across the pavement and across the sand. He felt the heat rise from his chest to his cheeks. Katia was just like the rest.
Chapter Four
Katia saw the Companion Animal Mobile Equipment Trailer pull into the far side of the parking lot and made her way over. Bob was taking a German shepherd dog from the back. Paige waved her over to the side where she prepped for the job ahead. Katia placed her hand in Paige’s and pulled her in for a brief shoulder-to-shoulder hug.
“You look like shit, Katia.” Paige leaned back slightly without breaking contact.
Katia nodded, attempted a smile. “You know. Just another day in the twenty-four-on, forty-eight-off roller coaster.”
“Hm.” Paige looked toward the horizon and the setting sun. “What’s that mean for you? Thirty-five on, zero off?” Paige let go of Katia and took a step back.
“Something like that. We were twenty-one in when the call came through. I’m off now, though. Don’t imagine I’ll go back before the mandatory psych eval, at least.”
“So why’re you here? You have to be out of spoons. Seriously.”
Katia was both aggravated at the insinuation she was unable to cope and impressed that Paige used the spoon reference. It was a reference used throughout the autism community. Obviously, it was now more mainstream. Paige was right. She rubbed her temples and gave a weak smile. “It’s okay. I borrowed from tomorrow’s.”
Paige didn’t smile in return.
“Zahra texted you, didn’t she?” Katia asked.
“She said you would meet us up here.”
Katia knew from Paige’s tone there was more. “And?”
“And that you preliminarily ID’ed the body.”
Katia turned her attention to Paige’s brother. She shook his hand briefly. “Hi, Bob.”
“Hey there.” His handshake was no nonsense. “Nietzsche’s ready to get on with this.” He wrapped the leash around his hand several times before he spoke to his sister. “We don’t have much light left.”
Paige nodded and started to move toward the scene.
Bob and the shepherd stayed several steps ahead of the two women.
“It’s Gina Dahl, Paige.”
“I’m so sorry.” Paige looked at the ground as they talked. There were too many obstacles, too much water, to look away for more than a second or two.
Katia was thankful Paige didn’t remind her that the ID wasn’t confirmed.
“She cares about you. Zahra, that is.”
Katia’s boot sunk several inches into the soft sand. She paused to pull it free and took several quick paces to fall back in step with Paige. “She cares about preserving the scene and maybe thinks I’m a bit of a distraction. But seriously care about me?” She furrowed her brow and tilted her head. “That’s a stretch.”
“Seriously, chica?” Paige stopped and looked squarely at Katia. “She had the biggest crush on you in high school. If you ask me, it hasn’t changed much in the last seven years.”
“Zahra? Seriously? She didn’t even know me.”
“Yeah, Zahra.” Paige resumed dodging debris as they crossed the beach. “And no one knew you, Katia. If your name wasn’t Elizabeth Grace Dahl, you didn’t exist in your world.”
Her words hit home and stung Katia’s pride. “Bullshit.” Her toe hit the corner of a steel rod, and she lost her balance.
Paige grabbed Katia’s elbow to steady her. “Bullshit?”
In front of them, Bob led Nietzsche around a concrete block that housed other steel rods. Paige continued. “You sure are dense for being so smart. Name one person from high school you developed a friendship with that lasted beyond an occasional hook-up or party. Not someone you run into at The Pink Clover and maybe fuck.”
Katia opened her mouth to speak, but Paige cut her off.
“And not someone who you reconnected with at a crime scene and friended on social media because you’re in love with her fantabulous fluffers.” Paige winked, clearly trying to lighten the mood.
Katia let the words sink in. She did focus a lot of her energy on Elizabeth in high
school. An introvert by nature, she didn’t need many friends. She never understood those who craved attention. Even before the death of her mother left her angry at the world, she craved alone time. After her mother’s death, she buried deep into her own skin as a way to deflect the callousness of her classmates, some of whom took joy in her new pain. Elizabeth was different. She never teased her about being a boy or a no-boob wonder or a motherless freak.
Elliot was her friend. Brent, too. But not in high school.
Three years ahead of her, Elliot and Brent were more work friends than friend friends. She decided to use them, anyway.
“Elliot and Brent went to school with us. We’re friends.”
Paige shook her head. “They married sisters right out of high school. The sisters were friends of Elizabeth, not you.”
Paige was right. After she started studying to become an EMT, she and Elizabeth went to Elliot’s many times for cookouts and poker, but the four weren’t her friends in school. The guys were several years her senior.
“Elizabeth liked people more than I did.”
“And you liked Elizabeth.”
“Of course I did.”
Elizabeth was her first love. Truth be told, she was her only love. Feminine to her masculine. Soft to her rough. Her girl. Elizabeth had dragged her along to beach parties, football games, kiteboarding events. They had friends. Elizabeth’s friends. When Elizabeth moved away, her friends stopped reaching out to Katia, and Katia didn’t reach out to them.
“And just what’s wrong with making friends because of a fantabulous dog?” Katia asked. “I like dogs. They’re loyal. They don’t give a flying fuck if you don’t call them to meet for dinner or gossip or giggle at some stupid thing that happened at work. They like to work. They like to sit quietly. Dogs. A girl’s best friend.”
“You’re incorrigible. And you don’t even have a dog.”
“But you do. And here we are. Talking just like friends.” Katia made a two-thumbs-up motion with her hands and smiled. “Poof. Friendship secured.”
The two fell into silence as they maneuvered across the rest of the sand between the blacktop and the sea. As they walked, Katia saw snippets of herself, as a child, on the path they were walking now. She was holding a kite string, running, her long, black hair swishing back and forth, tickling her bare shoulder blades. Her mother loved being here. She called it her happy place. “Run, Katia. Run like the wind.” Her mother’s laughter-filled voice followed her, her feet kicking up puffs of sand as she ran. “Not too far, stay on the beach.”
The Point was her parents’ favorite part of the beach. Even with its location a mile from any paved parking spots, the Point continued to be a popular area both for tourists in the warmer months and for locals the rest of the year when it remained fairly deserted. Katia supposed this was part of the draw for her parents. She saw the two of them holding hands, talking, watching her. Their voices were lively in her memory. She could almost feel the strength in her father’s hands as he swung her onto his shoulders and headed in the direction of her home.
The safety she felt on her father’s shoulders, in her mother’s laughter, was dead, just as dead as the Katia of those years. When her mom died, half of her heritage died, leaving her with a hole as dark, as deep, and as wide as the one they maneuvered around now.
Katia tried to stop thinking about the past as she led the two-person, cadaver-dog-handler team past scattered wreckage and toward the carnage that still rested partially buried in sand and murky water. She was tired deep in her bones. All she wanted to do was remove her soggy clothes and rest, but rest was a long time away.
Bob was several steps ahead of the women. He turned and waited for them to reach his side. “At least the rain and wind have finally subsided.”
Paige and Katia nodded.
The water was slowly seeping back out to sea. Soon, all that would be left of the horror Anna produced was the heavy stillness that hung in the air, absorbing the sights, smells, and sounds of death.
Katia pointed to Dr. Webb, who squatted on the far side of the yellow-tape barrier at the opposite edge of the large dune where the first two victims were discovered. He held a bone close to his face, studying the slight curves and dips that would set it apart from other bones in the sand. Close by, two men in blue were preparing the second set of remains for careful transport to the staging area.
“What is it, Doc?” Katia asked. She wrapped her fingers around the yellow police tape that isolated the area, pulling it up just high enough to allow Bob and Paige to slip underneath.
“An ulna bone,” Dr. Webb replied. “Not our original victim’s and not victim number two’s.”
“Paige and Bob are here with Nietzsche and the equipment.” Katia motioned to the trio. She remained separated by the strip of yellow, but she didn’t leave the scene. She felt stronger than she did an hour ago and wanted to help if she could. There weren’t a lot of police officers on the scene, and most of the neighbors who stood by earlier were gone.
Dr. Webb faced the group. “Looks like we have multiple victims. One in active decay. Two others in the skeletonization stage.”
Katia watched Paige’s chest rise and fall as she took a deep breath. Active decay. Active decomp. Putrefaction. She hated those words. Putrefaction meant maggots, flies, and stench. And that meant nightmares.
Paige reached for Dr. Webb’s hand and helped him stand. “I have the preliminary report, sir. Tornado destroyed three homes. Seven confirmed bodies, with others possible. Anything else we need to know?”
“Six confirmed from the tornado. One here.” He motioned behind with a slight flick of his head. “Three here, now. Not tornado related. Just found remains of a third victim in the same dune. They’ve been here for a while, years likely for two of them, based on preliminary observations. Just started processing.”
“It never gets any easier, does it?”
“No. It doesn’t,” Dr. Webb said slowly as he reached down to scratch the head of the German shepherd standing at attention at Paige’s side. “With you and Nietzsche, here, I know it will at least be thorough.”
Katia shifted her weight slightly so as to position herself where she could watch Zahra as she worked over victims two and three. From her vantage point, the two sets of remains looked intertwined. The leg bones, if that was what they were, crisscrossed. She counted three long bones. Three legs? Her mind cataloged the snaps of Zahra’s camera. No sign of clothing. Bones more condensed than with victim number one, as if they were piled together as they decomposed, or maybe they were put here after decomp. Why would one victim be buried right after death and others buried sometime later? Could the shifting sand have pushed the bones together? Fascinating. She looked away from the bones, stopped counting the clicks of the camera, and gazed directly at Zahra, whose black khakis and black T-shirt blended into her dark hair and even darker skin. Katia was drawn to her dark intensity even here in the middle of so much pain.
“Katia.” Dr. Webb motioned toward the white tents a few feet away from the dune. “Do you mind taking them to Levine.”
“No, sir.” Katia was thankful for something to do. She looked in the direction of Paige and Bob.
Dr. Webb spoke to the handlers. “Levine will show you where to set up. Introduce you around. Fill you in on plans for the arrival of the SAR team from Charlotte.”
****
Paige Johnston felt the heaviness of everyone in the tent. She’d been in this position before. The people with her in the tent wanted her to take Nietzsche and get things done immediately. The truth was, that wasn’t going to happen. It was dusk. She needed to fully understand the topography. That was critical in terms of the directionality of scent. Depending on the conditions when the bodies were buried and the amount of vegetation present, it could be a challenge for Nietzsche to track an exact location. They had to take their time.
“I’ll take Nietzsche farther down. Work our way back,” Pai
ge said. “I think it’s best if we start a little outside of our mile mark. Give him a fresh scent.”
Bob nodded. His position on this job would be to stand by at command post. He’d listen to the radio as Paige talked through exactly what was happening in the field. He would take notes not only on what was being said but also on the changes in weather, in wind direction, even in Paige’s voice intonation. Nothing was too small to note. If he located remains, Nietzsche would go down on his belly and wait for his handler. He would not dig, circle, or in any other way compromise the scene. Paige would tell Bob. Bob would tell Zahra. She and Dr. Webb, along with appropriate officials, would take it from there.
“I’ve got a bad feeling about this one, Paige. A very bad feeling,” Bob said. He looked both ways down the long strip of mostly isolated beach. “There are a lot of places where a sick fuck can hide a body out here.”
“Well, let’s hope this sick fuck hasn’t been at it too long.”
“Hmph.” Bob’s guttural sound said exactly what Paige knew they were both thinking. The differences in decomp among the bodies discovered in dune number one didn’t point to a killer who was new to the killing game.
Paige took hold of Nietzsche’s collar. She moved him away from the perfume of death that hung in the air, to a position where he could begin trekking back and forth until he picked up the edge of a new scent. They started a mile from the original crime scene and away from the destruction caused by the tornado. Doing so removed many distractions.
“Come on, boy. We have work to do.” The third-generation cadaver dog’s ears perked up at the mention of work. He was beautiful with his black-and-gold markings against a silky tan coat. He stood, a glint in his eyes, bubblegum-pink tongue lying over his white teeth, anticipation apparent. “My little nose artist,” Paige said scratching Nietzsche’s ears.