by KJ Kalis
As soon as they got back in the door, Kat let Tyrant out into the backyard. Dillon, their puppy, whined in his crate. He was still too little to let run around the house on his own. “I’m going to take the pup out,” Kat called to Van.
Outside, the day had warmed up considerably, the bright California sunshine streaming down between the branches on the trees. Late summer or early fall, no matter which way she thought of it, was vastly different in Sauk Valley than it had been in Aldham. In Aldham, the fall came quickly, the leaves turning bright colors of orange and yellow before falling to the ground and ushering in the colder weather months. Where they lived in California, all of the seasons seemed to linger. Summer bled into fall that bled into a mild winter that rolled right into a gentle spring. The hardest part of the year was coming up when the Santa Ana winds started to blow. That’s when they had to worry about wildfires. But other than that, the weather was easy to deal with. Though she hadn’t expected to enjoy it, living in California did have its perks, particularly the weather, which allowed them to get outside more often than not.
Kat felt a tug on her hand. Dillon was pulling on his leash trying to follow Tyrant, who was sniffing something in one of the shrubs at the edge of their yard. As she followed, watching Dillon, his little yellow body wiggling, her mind went back to what they had seen earlier in the day.
There was still something about Chelsea’s body that didn’t seem right. Kat couldn’t put her finger on it. It was as though her mind had absorbed the detail but hadn’t processed it. Overall, the scene had looked carefully placed. There was no way to know whether the coroner’s office had closed Chelsea’s eyes and arranged her hair or not, but she doubted it. Most of the time medical examiners and their teams left everything exactly as it was until after pictures were taken. Had that been done when they got there? Kat had no way to know. It was as if a voice inside of her was telling her to notice something she saw, but she still wasn’t clear.
Dillon gave another tug on the leash, wanting to follow Tyrant. A long shadow had fallen across the lawn, sharp from the midday sun. Kat's stomach rumbled. They’d missed lunch with their trip to see Chelsea’s body. That, combined with the run, had made her starved. As she looked down, she saw that half of Dillon’s body was covered in the dark shadow cast from the tree branch above. Part of him glowed gold and the other half was dull.
All of a sudden, her mind clicked. That was it. That was what she saw on Chelsea’s body. When they pulled the sheet back half of Chelsea’s body looked like it was the same color, but her arm, that was another question entirely.
Kat bent down and scooped up the puppy, cradling his warm body in her arms. He whined for a moment and then lifted his face to her cheek, giving her a lick with a tiny pink tongue. “Okay, you little rascal,” she said planting a kiss on the top of his head, “Let’s go inside and get you guys some water and some lunch. I gotta go talk to your dad, anyway.” She called for Tyrant and the big dog trotted up behind her, panting.
Once they got inside, Kat unhooked the leash from Dillon’s collar, refilled their water, and added more dog food to the bowl. “Van?” she called. “Where are you?”
She heard him respond from the family room, “I’m in here.”
As she walked towards the other side of the house, she saw Van parked in a chair, his laptop perched on the arm, a plate of food in his lap. “You made yourself lunch?”
“Yep. I was hungry. Want me to get you something?”
“No. I’ll make a sandwich in a minute. I think I saw something when we were at the park this morning. I can’t be sure, but I think there was something strange about Chelsea’s arm. I saw the medical examiner staring at it.”
Van chewed his sandwich for a moment, then looked at her. “Like what? What do you think you saw?”
“I’m not sure. It seems like one of her arms was darker than the other one. It was strange.”
“From the looks of it, I’d guess that wasn’t where she was killed. Maybe when she died, she was lying on one side of her body. Sometimes when blood pools it discolors parts of the body.”
Kat shook her head. “You might be right. I don’t know what I saw. Maybe it was just a shadow.”
Van took the now empty plate and set it on the table next to the chair where he was sitting, reaching for his laptop. “Once the family gets the coroner’s report we’ll know more. Unfortunately, there is nothing more to do right now than wait.”
4
Joseph sat in the brick home he had lived in for decades, leaning back into a worn leather chair. He had grading to do, but he would do that later. It was time to get his notes down from his experiment before they evaporated out of his mind. He shifted in his seat a little, the leather creaking beneath him. From a drawer in the side table next to him, he pulled out a worn leather journal. It was where he kept all of his ideas and all of his notes. He flipped it open, realizing he was almost out of pages. He’d need to order a new one soon.
On a fresh, clean page, he started with the heading “results.” In longhand, he wrote out the details of his latest experiment. He had chosen his two subjects carefully. Chelsea Atkinson and Daniel Arthur both were young and strong with no underlying medical conditions that he could find.
The limb transfer should have gone better. He frowned for a moment. What had he not accounted for? He’d researched clotting factors, tissue transplant, tissue harvesting, and a range of other issues, including infection before attempting the surgery. In his notebook, he noted that Daniel seemed to succumb to infection much sooner than Chelsea. At some point, he would like to replicate the experiment, but there were so many medical mysteries for him to resolve that he didn’t feel like the timing was right to do it again now.
The little table next to his chair had always been in his parents’ house. Most of the furniture that he had were pieces he had grown up with, including the leather chair. He only replaced their furniture if he needed to. The front of the table had both a drawer where he kept his current notebook, and a small door where he kept his past notebooks stacked. Joseph leaned over, pushing his glasses up on his nose, and pulled out the top three notebooks. They were identical in brand, almost the same color as the chair he sat in. He preferred dark brown leather and off-white pages, the color soothing to the eyes. Opening the first notebook, he slapped the cover shut, angry that he wasn’t more organized. That was unacceptable. It wasn’t what he was looking for. The second notebook didn’t either. Down a little further in the stack, he found the notebook that had the notes he was looking for. They were ideas for his next experiment. As he reviewed them, he put tiny check marks in black ink next to each line as he read it, ensuring that he didn’t miss a word. To some, it might seem overly zealous. In his mind, he was just trying to make sure he didn’t forget anything.
After reviewing the notes for his next experiment, he made a list in his latest notebook of the equipment he would require: syringes, needles, bandages. Luckily, he had most of the things he needed already, except for one thing — test subjects.
With a sigh, he closed his notebook, clipping the pen to the front cover. He opened the drawer next to him and slid it inside, leaning back in the chair for a moment, realizing it had only been about twelve hours since he’d left Chelsea’s body in the park. Jospeh wondered what the medical examiner thought of his work. Did he realize that Joseph had attempted a live donor limb transfer? The medical examiner would have to be nearly blind to miss the fact that Chelsea and Daniel had exchanged arms. If nothing else, the scale of Daniel’s arm attached to Chelsea’s body was clearly out of proportion, his large hand almost double the size of Chelsea’s own.
As he lifted his shoulders, trying to get the tension out of his back, he realized he was hungry. It was nearly dinnertime, and he hadn’t eaten all day, consumed with making sure that he dropped Chelsea off and then cleaning his shop. He needed to be ready.
Thinking about the next experiment gave him butterflies, but he needed to stay focused.
He knew that. Serious errors could happen if he lost his concentration on the next task. It was time to eat. Luckily, there was some of his mother’s famous pork stew left in the refrigerator. He had found the recipe in one of her old cookbooks and made it twice a month without fail. He hoped she would be proud. Eat, then grade. That’s what he decided.
Joseph stood up and walked to the kitchen, opening the refrigerator. Each category of food had its section on the shelves, and he wiped down each area every week with a combination of bleach and disinfectant. The leftovers from his mother’s stew were on the top shelf, in a small container. He pulled it out and set it on a small plate to go in the microwave. Joseph wandered to the family room while he waited, gathering the supplies he needed for that evening’s grading.
Joseph left the microwave humming in the background as he walked into a small bedroom he had converted into an office. He rarely worked there. It was mostly a place for him to keep his university life organized. On the corner of the desk was a stack of essays. While many professors allowed their students to submit them electronically, Joseph still required them to print them out and hand them in. He felt there was value in handwritten notes. He picked up the stack, glancing at the title of the first essay on the top, “The Role of American Culture in the Victory of World War II,” he read. Not a particularly creative title, he thought, walking back to the kitchen.
The moment he set the stack of papers down, the microwave chimed. He left the papers where they were and took the container to his little kitchen table. Joseph had been sitting at the same kitchen table his whole life. He’d lived in the same house his whole life. Never married, Joseph had lived with his parents until they both died. There was no one else in the family, so he took over the house, never seeing a reason to move.
The legs of the chair scraped against the floor as he pulled it out. He still sat in the same spot he did before his parents died, putting a napkin on his lap as any well-mannered person would. As he lifted the lid, the smell of pork and sauerkraut and potatoes and green beans filled his nose, the steam curling up from the center of the container. He sat there, in silence, thinking, his mind darting back and forth between the limb exchange he had just performed and the grading he needed to do that night.
As he chewed, he realized there was tension between those two things. There was the planning and the excitement of his medical experiments and the dry, rote nature of teaching history at the local university. People had told him he should have been proud of what he accomplished, but he never felt satisfied by teaching history. He wanted to be a part of it. His medical experiments allowed him to do that. He felt a tingle in his spine. It was time to get the next experiment started…
5
Kat woke up the next morning, feeling more exhausted than she had before she went to bed. The sun was barely up over the horizon, but she heard Jack rattling around, getting ready for school. The switch over to the early morning schedule for high schoolers had been an adjustment for all of them.
When she and Van had gotten home from the crime scene the day before, there wasn’t a lot they could do. Van had called Stephanie and had offered to come over and visit Mary and the family to offer his condolences, but Stephanie said it would be better if they didn’t. The family was still too upset. Kat and Van spent the evening working on their laptops and hanging out with Jack, who had a pile of homework to do when he got home. Kat felt the tug to be close to him. He was struggling a little bit with the amount of homework that needed to be done and navigating a whole new friend group. Being in high school was a challenge.
Kat rolled out of bed, trying to be quiet. Van was still sleeping. She hadn’t heard him when he came into their bedroom the night before after they dozed on the living room couch. She quickly brushed her teeth and went downstairs. Tyrant followed after jumping off the bed where she’d slept at Kat’s feet.
As soon as she flipped on the light in the kitchen, Dillon stirred. He had been curled up in the corner of his crate, sleeping. By the time she took the three steps to get across the kitchen to get to him, he was up and whining. This was the first time she’d ever had a puppy. Though she didn’t like the idea of crate training, everyone assured her, including her vet, that it was the best way to keep him safe and house train him at the same time.
Kat squatted down and opened the metal door to the crate, quickly catching Dillon’s collar before he got away from her. She clipped a leash on and went to the back door, slipping on a pair of shoes before walking outside. Tyrant trotted ahead of them, Kat following with the puppy. As she waited on the dogs, her mind wandered to the day before. The image of Chelsea’s body laying against the black walnut tree at Overlook Park was running circles in her mind. Did she see something? She still wasn’t sure. Detective Dawson hadn’t let them get close enough to see what was going on. From behind her, she heard the jingle of Tyrant’s collar. She was back. Kat bent over and scooped up the puppy, giving him a little back scratch as they walked back into the house.
As the back door closed behind her, she heard Jack rattling in the kitchen. It seemed like every morning when she got up, he was taller. He looked like her, although he had the same dark hair that his father Steve, had. “How are you today, buddy?”
“Good mama. How are you?”
“Good. Busy day?”
Jack had been digging for something in his backpack and pulled his hands out, walking over to Kat. He scratched Dillon’s back. “A little. I’ve got a quiz in math today. How’s the little guy?”
“He’s doing fine, as far as I can tell.”
The first dog they had, they inherited from one of Kat’s first big stories. He was a rescue named Woof. They had brought him home the same night that Kat had to shoot the man that kidnapped Jack. Woof hadn’t left Jack’s side from that day on, even riding in the ambulance with them. Kat didn’t have the heart to leave him in a shelter. About six months before, Woof had started to act strange, sleeping a lot and not running in the yard like he used to with Tyrant. A trip to the vet revealed that he had cancer. He lasted for four months after that and then died. Jack had been crushed.
It had been Van’s idea to get a new puppy. He only briefly mentioned it to Kat one day. On Jack’s birthday two months before, Van came home with a box in the truck. “Is Jack home yet?”
Kat was in the kitchen at the time. “Yep. Need him for something?”
Van nodded. “Can you send him outside?”
Kat texted Jack, even though he was just upstairs. When Jack wore his earbuds, there was no way to communicate with him. Within a minute, she heard Jack’s footfalls on the steps, getting heavier by the day as he grew. “Van needs something?”
Kat was in the middle of proofing an article, so she didn’t look up. “I think so. He’s outside.”
A few minutes later, Kat heard Van and Jack come back in the door. “Everything go okay?” She asked, still not looking up from her computer. All of a sudden, she felt something warm behind her, near her neck. She turned to find herself face-to-face with two tiny eyes, a black nose, and a little pink tongue. She bounced up out of her chair, “What is this? Van, what have you done?”
Van smiled, a big cheeky grin stretching from ear-to-ear. “Well, I thought Jack needed a birthday present. Jack, what’s his name?”
As Kat looked at Jack, she could tell he was unsure, based on her reaction. She started to smile. It was hard not to fall instantly in love with the little roly-poly puppy that Jack was carrying. It instantly brought back memories of Woof and how much he had meant to Jack. How could she say no? “Jack, what’s his name?” she repeated.
Jack lifted the puppy close to his face and looked at him square in the eye. “Dillon. His name is Dillon.”
“Dillon it is,” Van said. “Happy birthday.”
“Can I take him outside? Maybe he and Tyrant would like to play?”
Tyrant had been sniffing around behind them. Kat looked at her. She could tell that the big dog was a little confused. “Yes,
I think that’s a great idea. Just be careful around Tyrant. She sometimes forgets how strong she is. Let’s make sure they become friends right off the bat.”
Jack nodded. “They will be great friends. I can already tell.”
Kat thought about that day as Jack got ready for school. The happy memories of seeing Jack with a puppy momentarily covered over the images of Chelsea’s body in the park from the day before. Jack picked up his phone and checked the time. “I gotta go. The bus should be here any minute.” He leaned over and kissed Kat on her cheek. “Love you, Ma. Take care of the little guy,” he said, darting out the door.
Kat didn’t have time to respond. Jack was already gone. She set Dillon down on the floor and let him wander around. It was early, but she knew that Stephanie would be up. She thumbed through her contacts on her phone and called her.
“You awake?” Kat asked.
“Yeah. I didn’t sleep much.”
“I was worried about that. How are you holding up?”
“Not great, if I’m honest. This whole thing has been a nightmare.”
Kat’s heart clenched in her chest. She couldn’t imagine what it would be like to lose a child. The idea that your baby would never walk back to the door again, or call you, or send you a funny text was something that she just couldn’t wrap her brain around. “How’s your sister holding up? And the girls?”
“About what you could expect. Horrible.”
“Did the police or the medical examiner give you any more information?” Kat knew she was fishing, but she was hoping that something would help her figure out what she saw yesterday.
“I was just about to call you and Van. Mary is too fragile to go to the medical examiner’s office. They need someone to identify Chelsea’s body. Can you guys go with me?”
