by L T Ryan
Her olive drab duffle bag stamped with bold black lettering “U.S.” was waiting for her among the others. It stood out against the brightly colored hard plastic name-brand travel gear of the other passengers. She felt the eyes of a few of them looking at her as she hoisted the bag up onto her right shoulder.
Hatch moved quickly toward the airport’s main terminal building, striding by some of the slower moving travelers. She reached the door and stopped, knowing that crossing through would bring her back to the world she’d left behind. She inhaled deeply and released a long slow exhale. She pulled the door open and entered.
Hatch moved through the arterial expanse of the terminal toward the main exit as the conversations from other travelers blurred into one indecipherable droning hum. A passerby bumped her, causing the heavy duffle’s weight to shift. It slid down her right arm to the elbow. The canvas strap scraped across the old scar tissue, sending an uncomfortable tingle up her arm into her shoulder. Hoisting the sack back to its original position, the sensation faded along with the memory of the moment that had caused the damage.
Hatch saw them in the crowd before they noticed her. Her heartrate accelerated, and her cheeks warmed. She knew the pale skin of her face had taken on a blotchy tinge. Her face did little in the way of hiding any emotion, whether it be happy, angry or sad. Or in the case of this moment – absolute dread.
Taking two quick combat breaths did little to calm the nerves prickling at the surface like a thousand mosquito bites simultaneously screaming out to be scratched. Hatch knew she’d only have a second or two left before they’d see her. A woman comfortable with bullets snapping around her head was now in a state of total dread. She tried to push away this anxiety or, at the very least, mask its outward signs.
“Auntie Rachel!” Daphne squealed.
The six-year-old’s long curly brown hair bounced wildly as she zigzagged through the maze of people, her head disappearing and reappearing amid the bodies and bags of other travelers. Each time her face came into view, so did her toothy smile.
Rachel let the duffle bag slip from her shoulder and drop to the ground. She took a knee and steadied herself for the impact of the approaching child, now accelerating at full speed through a clearing of people. Daphne was airborne, launching her petite frame as if shot from a cannon. Rachel caught her in mid-air and was immediately sucked in by her small arms. With her sister’s youngest child’s arms constricting tightly around her neck, Hatch tried to return the embrace. It felt awkward. The girl’s outpouring of unbridled love for an aunt she’d never met was dizzying. Hatch wanted to reciprocate, but her effort fell short. She hated herself for being emotionally numb to the moment. Hatch closed her eyes tightly, willing her mind to hold on to this one.
Her eyes opened and she saw Jacob peering out from behind the floral pattern of grandmother’s hand-stitched long dress. On making eye contact, her sister’s eight-year-old son disappeared from view. Whatever feeling Daphne’s embrace gave was washed away and replaced by the emptiness created at the obvious distrust from her nephew.
She eyed her mother. Jasmine Hatch threw her hands up and cocked her head as if to say she was helpless in fixing this rift. Hatch’s face flushed again, betraying the anger bubbling inside her. She knew without a doubt her mother had filled the boy with stories of how she’d abandoned the family to join the Army.
Daphne peppered Hatch with a barrage of rapid-fire kisses and giggled with delight before releasing her hug. Hatch shouldered the military-issued duffle as she stood. Daphne gripped her hand. The two walked hand-in-hand over to Jacob.
“Hi, Jacob. I’m your Aunt Rachel,” Hatch said.
“It’s Jake. I don’t like Jacob. I go by Jake.”
“Okay, Jake. Nice to meet you.” Hatch bent slightly, lowering herself to the boy’s eye level. She extended her hand. Jake took it and gave a hesitant shake.
The boy then shielded himself, disappearing behind the hemp dress once again.
“Mom.” Rachel stood facing the woman.
“Rachel.” Her mother sized her up and down slowly with the contemptuous eyes of judgment. “You look different.”
“It’s been nearly fifteen years.”
“I guess it has. A lot can happen in fifteen years.”
“You have no idea.”
Jasmine Hatch was a woman of rare beauty and seemed to only get more beautiful as she aged. Her long silver hair, teal eyes, and sun-kissed skin were a stark contrast to Rachel’s short-cropped black hair, hazel eyes, and pale complexion. The two stood locked in a visual standoff, holding their contempt for one another just beneath the surface. No words were exchanged, but the silence spoke louder than any poorly aimed attempt at small talk.
Jasmine spun, flaring the skirt of her dress, and headed out of the airport’s exit into the daylight with Jacob in tow. Hatch followed and Daphne resumed her grip, intertwining her little fingers around Rachel’s pinky. The sensation in her hand had long been deadened after a roadside IED’s detonation over two years ago. Daphne skipped alongside, and the slap of her sneakers on the sidewalk caused Hatch to break into the slightest of smiles.
The older model Chevy Astro van pulled away from the airport, and it wasn’t long before the scenic highlands buried the industrial airport complex from view. Hatch half-listened as Daphne began reciting a song learned in her music class. Jake pressed his face against the window and blankly stared out at the passing landscape. She felt his intentional avoidance of her presence. She understood it on many levels. Hatch and Olivia were twins. Seeing her must be difficult for the boy’s mind to process. It took Hatch time to warm up to people too. Maybe her nephew suffered from the same social affliction. Maybe they were more alike than they realized.
Rachel turned her attention to her mother, who was pretending to be more focused on the road ahead than was particularly necessary. Hands at ten and two. The whites of her knuckles bore evidence of her excessive grip.
“Your message didn’t have much in the way of details,” Rachel said. “When’s the service?”
“We’ll bury Olivia tomorrow.” Her mother choked slightly on the words.
“Jesus Christ! What if I’d been delayed?”
“It’s not like you’ve been a part of this family in a very long time. To be honest, I didn’t think you’d even show.”
“She’s my sister. Time and distance don’t change that.”
“Family is more than blood. Family means being around. Taking care of each other during the good and the bad.”
“I was in the Army. And I was deployed—a lot.”
“Sounds like you’re still making excuses. Justifying your actions yet again.”
Rachel recognized the patronizing tone she’d heard a thousand times before during her adolescence. Anything coming out of the woman’s mouth was a verbal slap in the face. She also knew, without a doubt, her mother never would have rescheduled the funeral on her behalf. It would’ve been the ultimate win in the constant battle waged between the two stubborn women. Rachel decided not to engage her any further and turned away.
She now took a similar position to Jake’s, pressing her temple against the cool glass of the window. Her eyes traced the rise and fall of the landscape and lulled her into a trance-like state as she tried to put the thought of her dead sister out of her mind.
The rocks crackled and popped under the van’s weight as it left the paved road, beginning the long wind up toward the secluded house of Hatch’s childhood. Trees blocked the home from view. There was no mailbox denoting the dirt path even led to a house. The large boulder at the base of the driveway still held two handprints. One was Rachel’s. The other belonged to Olivia. They’d left their mark on the stone when the girls were five. Faded and barely visible, Rachel could still see the remnants of orange and blue. The polar opposite colors of the color wheel were indicative of the disparity in the two girls’ personalities.
A divot in the road jostled the van, jarring Hatch and slamming her righ
t elbow into the armrest. A pulsing heat rippled down her forearm, tingling her scarred fingers.
“I’m going to see Olivia.”
Her mother cast a glance at the children in the rearview mirror and whispered, “Do you really think that’s necessary? The funeral’s tomorrow. We’ll have a small service beforehand where you can pay your respects.”
“I’m going.”
“You just got here. Don’t you want to settle in?”
“I haven’t been here in fifteen years. Do you really think any amount of time is going to help me settle?”
Jasmine Hatch bit the bottom of her lip but offered no retort.
“Where is she being kept?”
“You’ll have to talk to the police. They were conducting an investigation. They told me that when they were done, they’d release her to the funeral home. I haven’t heard anything yet. So, I’d assume she’s still in their care.”
“I guess that’ll be my first stop then. Is the truck still running?”
“That old thing? Not sure. It’s been forever since anyone’s driven it.” Jasmine paused and hesitantly offered, “You can always drive the van if necessary.”
Just then, the bend in the road gave way to the sight of the angled rise of the wood-shingled roof. The years of shade from the tall surrounding pines and heavy snow of past winters had left patches of molded green moss in the corners. The dry mountain air countered some of the caustic effects. Had her father still been alive, all of the damage would have been immediately addressed. The house, built by her father’s hand, was his pride and joy.
Seeing it again after so many years away caught Hatch off guard as a tidal wave of memories came crashing back. Some good. Some not so good. But all were the foundation of the woman she was today.
The van stopped and a whirl of red dirt floated by the windows. The kids unlatched their seatbelts and made quick work of their escape from the van, disappearing into the house.
Hatch stepped out onto the familiar grounds. Her mother offered to help with her bags, but they were already shouldered.
Neither spoke. Hatch had envisioned crossing the threshold of this doorway again many times in the years since her departure. From outward appearances, nothing looked too different. But Hatch knew better. With Olivia dead, nothing would ever be the same.
5
“May I help you, Miss?” the woman behind the Plexiglas window asked.
“I’m here to speak with whoever’s handling the investigation into my sister’s death.”
The woman unsnapped her purple framed glasses at the bridge and refastened them around her neck. She leaned in, squinting her eyes up at Hatch. Recognition flashed across her face. Her eyes widened at the sight of Hatch. “Oh my, I’m sorry I didn’t see the resemblance before. My eyes aren’t what they used to be. You’re her spitting image. An absolute tragedy.”
Hatch wanted to comment about the woman removing her glasses to conduct a more thorough examination but thought better of it.
“Twins.”
“You don’t say?” Her face warmed. “I’m so sorry for your loss. You must be devastated.”
“Could I speak with the detective?”
“Of course. Well, he’s not a detective. We don’t have those out here. The Sheriff is handling things. Detective. You must be from the city?”
“Actually grew up here. But I’ve been away for a while.”
“Sheriff Savage is out of the office right now. I can have him call you when he gets back in. He’s in charge of things, and it’d probably be best if you speak to him.”
“I really just need to see my sister’s body.”
The woman’s eyes widened. She cleared her throat. “Um—the identification was made last week by your mother.”
“I know. I just want to see my sister. Can you point me in the right direction?”
“Not sure you want to do that right now.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because she’s undergoing an autopsy as we speak. That’s actually where the Sheriff is at this very moment.”
“Then that’s where I need to be.”
“Not sure an autopsy is something you want to see.”
“Fifteen years in the Army. Military Police. I’ve seen my share of things people don’t want to see. Most of which I wished I could unsee. But what we want and what we get aren’t always the same thing.”
“Well, I’ll give you the address for the Coroner’s Office. Not sure you’ll be allowed to enter while the procedure is taking place, but I’ll leave that for the Sheriff to decide.”
The woman returned the glasses to her face and scribbled down the address on a slip of paper. “Not too far from here.”
“Thank you.”
“Not sure if I’ve been much help, but I sure hope you find whatever it is you’re looking for.”
Me too, Hatch thought as she turned and exited.
Although the sun was out, the temperature had already begun its rapid descent as Hatch stood outside the tinted glass door of the building. The place containing the dead body of her sister. She stepped inside the main lobby of the Coroner’s Office. Had the stenciled letters on the front door not identified it as such, the interior could have been mistaken for the waiting area of any hometown doctor’s office. There was sterility to the air. A distinct medicinal odor lingered.
Hatch approached the receptionist. The man smiled expectantly. She assumed the older woman manning the front desk at the police station must have called ahead to alert them of Hatch’s impending arrival.
“Miss Hatch, I presume?”
“Yes. Is Sheriff Savage available?”
“He’s indisposed at the moment. If you wait over there, I’ll let him know you’re here.” He motioned to a row of cushioned chairs along the wall. “When he’s freed up, I’m sure he’d be willing to speak with you.”
“I’m sure he’s already been made aware that I was coming. You were.”
The man took an audible gulp. “Not sure wha—”
“Look, either go back and get him or I will.”
Hatch looked hard at the man. She could tell he was unaccustomed to confrontation. His face blotched and she could see his breathing rate had increased exponentially since the conversation began. She then looked to the only door beyond the man’s desk. It was off to the right and was marked with a sign, Official Use Only.
She smiled and purposefully walked toward the door.
“Miss, you can’t—”
Hatch dismissed the man’s feeble attempt at stopping her, turning the unlocked knob and opening the door to a short hallway. Moving briskly, she passed an office and a bathroom. Further down on the left she saw the closed door marked Laboratory. Pressing down on the latch as she heard the footsteps of the receptionist close behind, she opened the door.
Her entrance caused the two people standing by the aluminum table to turn and face her. Their positions blocked Hatch’s view. And she was grateful for the additional moment’s pause before she would lay eyes upon her sister’s dead body.
The pathologist was in full garb, and his eyes widened at her interruption. The other man was dressed in a button-down cream-colored shirt and jeans, a badge and gun clipped to his right hip. Savage. He had a similarly perplexed look. Hatch was accustomed to the double take she and her sister were given throughout their childhood. The current circumstances caused the additional shock value. And it was apparent to Hatch, when informed the victim’s sister was on the way, that neither man knew she was a twin.
Just as Rachel was about to break the awkward silence, the thin receptionist skidded into the room. “Doctor Tyrell, I’m so sorry. I tried to stop her.”
“It’s okay, Gerry.” He gave the exasperated assistant a reassuring look. “We’ll take it from here.”
The receptionist departed as the Sheriff approached Hatch. “I’m Dalton Savage. I’m the Sheriff of Hawk’s Landing.”
Hatch nodded.
“Miss Hatch, I underst
and you’ve just arrived in town, and you must be extremely upset. But I don’t think this is something you want to see.”
The man’s breath had the overwhelming odor of black licorice. “It’s Rachel, but people just call me Hatch. And yes, I do want to see.”
“An autopsy isn’t something even most cops want to witness. Actually, most never do.”
The man, who was a few inches taller, intentionally blocked her view while talking. “Listen, I’m not your typical person. Cop or otherwise. So, yes, I want to see. More importantly—I need to see.”
Savage shot a glance back at the medical examiner, who shrugged his indifference. “Okay. But you’re observing and that’s it. I don’t want you touching anything.”
“I know the rules. This isn’t my first rodeo.”
Savage gave no further protest and turned. Hatch followed him back to the table. The chemical smell combined with the pungent emanation from her sister’s body to create a unique blend of awfulness.
Seeing her sister on the table, with her chest cavity opened and internal organs exposed, gave her pause. Hatch had seen some horrific scenes during her time in the military, and she’d overseen numerous autopsies, but this time was different. Her knees buckled slightly and she felt warm. Hatch fought back against her body’s involuntary response, willing the return of her control in two deep breaths. Exhaling, composure regained, she took up a position alongside Savage.
The doctor continued his summation, logging the procedure into a digital recorder. “The organs have been removed and weighed. No abnormalities noted in the heart or lungs.”
