Mary's Bones

THREE

Mary Drake was her name—that's what people speculated after word leaked out to the public, at least. The same clothes Mary Drake went missing in clung to the skeletal remains I found. All that was left was for a proper facial reconstruction to be completed. I was willing to bet she perfectly matched the description of the first girl I saw clipped to the front of Cory's folder.

Though a whole week had passed since I discovered her bones buried in the woods, I couldn't forget it. I recalled my shaken voice when I made the call, the police tape blocking off the entryway into that part of the woods, and the police crowding the area as I sat in John's car, watching them walk back and forth.

According to John, Mary Drake was one of thirteen children who disappeared at random in 2016. How could I not have recognized her? How could I not have recognized them? The missing thirteen's case was among one of many that went down in New Jersey's history. She was the one who started it all when her parents reported her missing on March 3rd, 2016. The same exact date written in Cory's journal.

This was all a fucking mess. I could only imagine how her parents felt. To have a child reappear dead after three years was one of the worst nightmares I could think of. They must've been in shambles when they found out their little girl was snatched from the playground. Losing sight of a child for less than a minute was enough for them to vanish.

I remembered when the incident hit the news.

It was before John and I even thought about starting a family. Incidents like this were one of the many reasons I often strayed from the idea. It took eighteen years to raise a child until they grew up, and even then, they were still ours. I couldn't bear to know my child could be ripped away from me at any given moment.

My hand touched a part of a child's skeletal remains; I struggled to swallow that thought. I could only paint a picture of Mary smiling—enjoying her life—before it was taken away. Once a six-year-old girl, now a pile of bones. An uncomfortable pang centered my chest.

That night, when we finally arrived home, John bombarded me with questions. I couldn't figure out if they derived from anger or worry. His first set of questions was about my obvious lie. I wasn't just walking in the neighborhood. I was in a completely different town.

What was I doing out in the middle of the woods? How did I come across her remains? The questions went on and on. I simply told him I wanted to see my parents to clear my head, and I stumbled upon the skull as I was walking. Neither of those was a lie. Neither were they the entire truth. If anything, I was sure he knew damn well that wasn't true. He didn't argue, though.

"Angie, I'm talking to you. Are you listening?" Fingers snapped in front of my face.

"Huh?" I jerked out of my daze, my eyes zoning in on John. He stared at me in concern with a frown masking his face. His eyes then dropped to the pan on the stove, littered with eggs that were probably burning.

"Shit. Oh, yeah, yeah! I'm listening, yeah. Sorry. . ." I muttered.

He sighed, nudging me to the side. "I said for you to go sit. I'll finish making breakfast. You've been exhausting yourself all week. Stress isn't good for you or Rosemary, remember?"

"Ah yes, I know. Okay." I followed John's instructions and sat at the table in the dining room. He took my place at the stove, tossing the eggs around the pan. An aroma of coffee filled the air, bitter with a tinge of sweet, just how we liked it. I gripped the coffee cup on the dining table in my hand, sliding it towards me. My caffeine consumption had been put on a limit ever since the start of my pregnancy. I needed it more than ever at this moment, though.

John's head was filled with so many heads I couldn't help but wonder what they were. We hadn't spoken much about what happened since that evening. I had pushed through the nightmares that kept me awake. Several hours through the night, my eyes would pry open, getting lost in the darkness around the room. Shadows and make-believe shapes plagued me.