Mary's Bones

EIGHT

John's arrival took longer than I anticipated.

I paced the dirt more times than I could count until I finally convinced myself to walk back up the hill and sit on the edge of the trail. My refusal to leave this area of the hiking trail was growing by the second. Not just because the butterfly led me here, but because the feeling in my gut urged me to stay.

For twenty minutes, I stared at the soil. The pink material was still knotted into the confinement of the space between the roots down the hill. As tempting as it was to grab it, I couldn't. There was a risk of contamination if I laid a hand on it before John got here. Though, the earth itself might've done that already.

"Angie! I got here as soon as I could. What's the emergency?" John speed-walked in my direction. I tried to jump up. When he realized this, he reached me fast enough to grab my hand and help me.

"Look, I know this is going to sound crazy, but I think there's something buried down there. I don't know what exactly. But I saw traces of something. Maybe a lead that could help you guys," I rushed out.

"What?" He blinked several times, eyes widened at my outburst. His eyes searched my face for answers. But he found nothing more than panic, fear, and doubt.

"Look"—I grabbed his shoulders, turning him to the side where we could both see down the hill—"down there."

"Angie, how would you know that?"

"I found. . . Just follow me." I rushed down the hill, ignoring John's pleas for me to come back. When I saw the torn piece of clothing come into view, I paused. Twigs and leaves snapped behind me as John's weight sped down the hill.

"Jesus, Angie. You're going to give me a heart attack one of these days—"

"Look there," I interrupted.

"What? What is it?" He threw his hands in the air. A scowl covered his face. But as soon as his eyes landed on what I found, he halted. His features began twisting from anger to something indescribable. He didn't say anything at first, only squinted.

"Is that what you were talking about? That looks like. . ." He swallowed, balling his fist at his side. "That looks like material from a little girl's shirt."

"I know," I said quietly. "It looks like familiar material. . ."

"Shit," he spat under his breath, "okay, let's get back up there."

"What? But—" I began.

"I mean it, Angie. Come on. Please." His tone said enough.

I didn't bother opening my mouth to try and retort. He looked anxious and scared. My heart skipped a beat the longer we took to walk back up the hill. He was quiet the entire way. Meanwhile, I couldn't stop myself from glancing back every few seconds.

When we reached the trail again, he pulled his walkie-talkie from his belt and began saying codes into the speaker, followed by, "I'm going to need backup."

"Are you going to search the area?" I asked.

He didn't answer my question, instead avoided it. "Angie, you shouldn't be out here. You should go home."

"But I want to stay!" I huffed.

"Angie, please. Just please, for the love of God, do not argue with me on this one. It'd make me feel much better if you were home, safe and sound. The longer you're out here, the worse the feeling in my gut gets. When the cops get here, it'll be really busy. I can't keep an eye on you. And you're not even supposed to be beyond the crime scene tape." He sighed heavily, clearly frustrated with my lack of cooperation.