But, it was too late. She saw the fear in her father's eyes. Such looks are contagious.
But, it was too soon for her to know about this side of the world, a darker side.
There was a good chance that there was something human in that bag. But he wasn’t going to say anything to anyone about this, not even the police. Eventually, someone one else would eventually find the black garbage bag here and report it to the police.
In a way, John didn’t want to believe that something like this could happen in their neighborhood of Sunnyside.
But one day, he would have to tell her what they found this morning, but not today my young one, not now.
4
The Girl in the Violet Dress
A week later, I was on the E train, heading to Queens Borough Hall in Kew Gardens. The car smelled foul from the weekend. I was reading several case files from the missing person unit, going over photos. Every once and a while, a passenger glanced at my file and their eyes widened. Once they saw my red gun and badge under his trench coat, their roving eyes moved on.
I pulled out the photos of seven women, who have gone missing in the last month. Other reports barely had any information, no photo, no artist rendition, nothing. In some of these reports, there was just a name and nothing else. Unless there was evidence of foul play, nothing happened, except paperwork.
Once in Kew Gardens, I emerged from the subway station, and I heard birds chirping within the trees surrounding Queens Borough Hall.
The morning was normal, as I took a breath of fresh morning air. I felt as if I were safely floating on a raft after a storm had passed. In the back of my head, there was still one more up ahead. At least for a little while, I felt like I made it to land, safe and free.
I thanked god for every second the dead were no longer a part of my life. But, something happened that night when I almost got ran over by that skinhead.
I was on my way to the front door of Queens Borough Hall in Kew Gardens to file some paperwork. The large stone mason building took up a whole city block and was home to a courthouse and a prison that serviced the entire Borough of Queens.
I walked up the steps of the front of the building and got in line. I waited patiently, waiting for the security guards to open the doors at 8 pm.
It was at that moment when I stood in line, glancing up at a row of windows on the third floor of the building. In the reflection of the glass, I saw the sunlight break through the clouds. It was quite a sight.
Then, the sky became cloudy and the morning sun was gone.
It was at this moment when I first noticed her.
On the third floor of the building, I saw a woman in the window. It was a young lady in a violet dress, wearing a pair of oversized black sunglasses and wild curly black hair.
The girl in the violet dress stood there like a statue, staring out into the world.
For a second, I wondered if she was a prostitute that the cops busted the night before. I glanced at her for a second. Then, she slightly turned and looked down at me.
Shit. I immediately looked away. But, it was too late. I shouldn't have looked at the girl in the violet dress. But, I couldn't help it.
From underneath her sunglasses, I knew that she was staring back at me. However, there was a chance that she wasn’t dead.
The morning was normal. The morning was normal. The morning was normal.
“Excuse me can you move up?” asked a guy behind me.
I looked at my watch, and it was eight o’clock. The security guards opened up the front door of the courthouse, and the line started to move. Just inside, visitors began to place their belongings on the conveyor belt that passed through a metal detector.
For some reason, I kept thinking about her, the girl in the violet dress. There was a question that crossed my mind that I wanted to scratch.
I wonder if I just messed up.
What if she was a manifestation, a phantom or a ghost. Then, she would know that I saw her.
Then, she wouldn’t be alone. Overall, ghost were the most loneliest things that I have ever encountered.
From afar, there was no way for me to tell if she was a real person or a ghost.
The only way to find out was to see her eyes. If they were pale and lifeless, then she was good as dead.
At the security station, I was about to place my things in a gray tray when I saw her again. The girl in the violet dress was coming down a flight of stairs. She ran down, pushing aside several government workers.
“Hey you!” She waved wildly at me.
I saw her coming for me, and my heart was jumping out of my chest. I turned around to leave the building as fast as I could. I quickly ran down the front steps of the courthouse, two steps at a time, heading for Queens Boulevard as soon as I could. I had to lose her.
“Wait,” she called to me, again.
I made it to the other side of the street. I bumped into a government worker and kept going. Then I slowed down and acted like he didn’t see her. Quickly, I got lost in a crowd of people getting off the bus.
I had done this before, probably in another life. I had always been good at hiding from the dead.
When I looked back, I saw her standing on the courthouse steps in a tight violet dress, wearing big black sunglasses and searching up and down the street for me.
But, I was gone.
“The morning was normal.” I repeated to myself, as I rode the E train back to Long Island City. “The morning was normal.”
5
Chronicles from the Dead
Queens Gazette reporter, Luella Matos walked toward the 108th Precinct, in Long Island City. There was going to be a press conference later that morning about a cop who found another black bag.
Everyone in the surrounding homes saw it, but no one said a thing.
Right now, Luella was chasing the story about the body part found by the police in Sunnyside. Luella got to the station early to do some digging of her own.
She was a fighter and didn't care where the story took her. She was unfortunately, bond to the truth.
The 108th precinct was responsible for protecting and serving three neighborhoods in Eastern Queens. Long Island City. Astoria. Woodside.
The police found another bag with the severed body part in Sunnyside, by 46th and Queens Boulevard. However, the public, nor the press had any idea about the last one that the police found under the Queens Borough Bridge.
Luella crossed the intersection of 50th Street and Vernon Street. From there, Manhattan was just over the East River.
The morning sun shined in Luella’s eyes as she wondered if James Night was there at the precinct. She planned to pop into his office at some point during the day because he was the point man for the Borough of Queens missing person cases.
Maybe, James could help her find a lead.
But Luella was the kind of girl who did not place all her eggs in one basket. She understood that she could not rely on James Night alone. She knew that James would try to keep her in the dark, for the most part.
To get the story Luella was after; she needed to be smart. In the last week, she spent some time developing resources within the precinct.
As she approached the police station, there were already other reporters starting to gather around the steps of the front door. She recognized two among the crowd. One reporter was from New York Times, and the other was from NY1.
Everyone was saying there was a serial killer on the loose. But, Luella felt something else when she saw the photograph of the severed arm.
It was at that moment when Luella saw Detective James Night walking down the street.
Quickly, she saw James avoid the front door, as soon as he spotted the gaggle of reporters. He made a quick 180 and went around the back. Luella couldn’t let him go without trying to make contact. So, she followed him around the corner, without raising the attention of the other reporters. He looked as if someone were following him. When she turned the corner, James had disappear
ed through the back of the police station.
Shit. She just missed him.
After the press conference, Luella made her way inside the police station, where she heard the phones ringing non-stop. She was there to find a new lead for her next story, called “the Boulevard of Death.” Luella knew that there was a connection between the missing prostitute and the black bag on the street. But, the police stuck to the same statement, that the case was still under investigation. It was the same public statement that they used for the past week. At the same time, the internet was frothing with new speculation about what was happening.
But Luella had to stick to facts.
Over the last week, Luella became friendly with officer Diane Morgan, the black clerk behind the front desk.
“Hi Officer Morgan,” said Luella.
“Lulu, all the phones been ringing non-stop, all morning.”
“What’s going on?”
“God damn computer hackers.”
“What?”
“Yeah. God damn Russians messing with the phone system and trying to tie up our lines. Can you believe that?”
“Why would hackers do that?”
“Only God knows what those super trolls are up to.”
“Jesus. It’s getting worse out there every month, with hackers breaking into anything, remotely related to a government database. We ran a couple of stories about that last month when City Hall’s e-mail system under a cyber attack.”
“Well, it seems that there is no end in sight to it.
"True."
"Anyways, what can I do for you.”
“Diane, I wanted to make sure that the contact shows up today, as you promised.”
“That depends on,” said Diane.
Luella got the hint and took out $50 from her wallet and placed it on the counter. She paid her $300 for a look at the photo of the severed arm.
Diane smiled, covered the bill with her palm and slid the money inside her bra.
“Yup, she’ll be here. Just like I said, before.”
“Just one more thing.”
“Yeah?”
“I also wanted to ask you about this missing person story that I am working on.”
Diane raised her left eyebrow higher than the other one and still held the phone to her ear. Then, she glanced down at the place on the counter where Luella put the twenty dollar bill. Then, Luella set another bill on the table, and it just as quickly disappeared underneath Diane’s bra.
“Go ahead. Shoot,” said Diane.
“What happened to the black bag, the precinct cops found this week in Long Island City?”
“with the body part in them?”
“Yeah.”
“The FBI took possession of the evidence, a couple days later.”
“Really? The FBI?”
“You know. The suits have all the forensic hardware.”
“Did they take the body parts to FBI headquarters.”
“No, They aren’t telling us where they are storing the severed body parts.”
If the FBI was involved, then something serious was happening, thought Luella. She knew that she was on the right track.
Twenty minutes later, Luella made herself a cup of coffee and grabbed a newspaper. She stayed in the central receiving area and sat on an old wooden bench. She wanted to take the morning to think about what was causing all these disappearances.
Luella pulled out her brown file about the body parts found in Sunnyside.
Then, she took a file out of her bag that contained a file on missing persons for the last month. As far as she could tell, there were several possibilities.
No one at the police station was taking the cases seriously.
She wondered if James Night would. Then, she opened another file containing information on James Night and read over the last murder case that he investigated, while he was working homicide.
Last year, James had worked on only one. case It was a gang-related killing, involving the police chief’s son. After that case, Chief Harris transferred James to the missing person unit. Maybe if she got to know James better, he could shed some light on this part of his file.
Now, the FBI was involved, which meant something serious was going on. It’s a big thing, even though the police tried to downplay this in the press. But, she still did have her next story. Not until she had a credible source that was willing to go on the record.
In the area, the murder rate seemed steady. However, the number of missing persons has doubled in the last month alone.
A serial killer, Luella thought. What else could it be? However, she wondered who could be so string that the bodies parts were torn by hand. She wondered, if there fingerprints on the arm.
These two black bags were the only thing found on the streets of Long Island City, and the FBI had kept it hush on their end. Why?
That one question kept twirling around in her head, as Luella took a sip from her coffee. It was at that moment when she heard a commotion from the front desk.
Diane was in the middle of calming down an irate Spanish lady, a tall woman in a white dress with short black hair combed to one side. The woman spoke forcefully to the officer, making big gestures with her arms.
"When are you people going to do something?” The woman screamed at Diane, front desk clerk.
"Ma’am, can you please hold down your voice down?" said Diane. “As I said before, you need to go to another precinct. This precinct doesn’t cover Jackson Heights.”
“Why aren’t you listening to me?”
“Ma’am,”
"God damn it! I went to that one. Why won't you people do anything? I need your help to find Violet. Here, take this flyer and help me find her!”
"Ma'am please keep your voice down."
Luella overheard the conversation and came out to see what all the commotion. When she stepped toward the front desk, she noticed that the woman’s eyes were red from crying. She saw a woman stricken with grief. Diane handed the pink flyer to Luella.
“I’m Luella Matos from the Queens Gazette. I’ll listen to you.”
There was a glint of hope in the lady’s eyes. She followed Luella to a wooden bench, and they both sat down.
“Thank you.” said the Spanish lady. “I’m Maria. I’m sorry for causing a scene. But all I want to do is find my friend. She’s like a daughter to me.”
"Who's missing?” Luella looked at the violet colored flyer in her hand.
“She was a young girl who rented a room in my house.”
"And what is her name?"
“Her name is Violet. She’s from Peru.”
"Where do you live, Maria?”
“In Woodside”
Luella lived in that neighborhood too.
"Hold on Maria. I want to record this."
“I’m sorry.” Maria got up from the bench. “I have to keep looking for her. There are other precincts and other places that I have to visit before the day is out.”
“But…when can we speak again?”
Maria pointed to the violet flyer in Luella’s hand and left. It was a flyer for Violet’s memorial with friends. It was happening tonight. Luella looked up, and Ms. Vargas was gone.
“Luella!” Diane from the front desk called.
Luella looked up and saw a working girl with Diane.
“This is Daisy, the contact that I told you about.”
Luella looked at Daisy, wearing yellow spandex and a tight low cut shirt. She was a cute girl.
“Thanks, Diane.”
Luella stared at Daisy. But, she couldn’t forget about Violet. She looked down at the flyer and knew that she had to find out more about this missing girl. Maybe, this was the lead she was suppose to follow.
Her name was Violet. Who knows, maybe she too found herself in a black bag.
6
The Night Shift
At the time, I was in my office thinking about the girl in violet dress. I promised myself not to think of her. But, I could not forget her fac
e. I looked over the missing person reports collected from six months before, piled up on my desk.
I looked for Violet and nothing came up in these stacks.
Overall , I only investigate missing people who are elderly, children under the age of 13, individuals who have a mental illness or physical condition, or possible the victims of a crime.
These are the reports that I place in a “special category.” If the missing doesn't fall under one of these categories, then I don’t give them much attention because people over the age of 18 legally don’t have to return home. Unless I can prove that there was an involuntary disappearance, I just file the paperwork. All of the reports on my desk fell into this latter category.
Of course, there was a pattern of women going missing in Long Island City in the last month. The woman in the violet dress was the latest one.
Until now, this job was the best fit for someone like me, who was trying to avoid ghost and still stay on the force, without going crazy. The only reason I remained in this line of work was that of a memory of my father, more than anything else.
“Good morning, Detective James Night.”
I looked up and saw the Chief Harris walk into my small office in the Missing Person’s Unit.
“Yes, Chief.”
The Chief looked around the office at the case files on my desk. His eyes widened when he spotted something that caught his interest. Written in black marker, he read the name, Yasmin Sewed, 18, on one of the brown files. She was a Muslim teen reported missing.
Last week, she told Luella Matos from the Queens Gazette that she was on the Flushing seven train heading home from a school event when a man verbally attacked her. She said the white man made reference to President-elect Donald Trump and called her an “f-ing terrorist” and told her, "take that rag off your head." Now, she was missing. However, there was no proof of foul play. Since she was eighteen, there was no category for her, either.
Never Wake the Dead Page 4