“It must be his name. It’s so…ordinary.”
And then I laugh.
It was always Juniper who got me through breakups in high school and college. We would turn on something breathtakingly weepy and sit on the couch, tissues and chocolate and vodka and ice cream and an assortment of junk food between us, and we’d cry and laugh and eat until we were punch drunk on both food and alcohol.
“Mourn him tonight,” she would say. “Celebrate tomorrow.”
And we would. We always did. And it always worked.
Thanks for the reminder, I think to myself.
When I finally convince myself to get out from under the covers, I’m surprised by how frigid the air feels. It has a sharpness to it, like when you put your hand in the freezer for ice and cut your finger on the edges. I walk to the window, grabbing my phone face down on one of the pillows below, and check for damages. The screen is still intact. Good.
I look outside and watch the seagulls dive bomb the water, looking for food. The waves are almost still. Even the ocean is still hibernating while the last tendrils of winter hang on for as long as possible and the April sun tries to push out any last remnants of frost. I stretch for a moment, allowing my body to produce its own version of sun salutation. Only then, as I’m bending down to grab my toes, do I see the folded piece of paper stuck underneath the window.
I pause, my back parallel to the floor. Snapping back up to attention, I push the curtains aside and pull the window open, grabbing the paper before it flies away with the wind. At first, I think it’s Juniper’s doing. Maybe her screen was uneven, maybe she put it under there on purpose to keep the window shut. Our mom would do similar things growing up in our small apartment. But this paper is too new. I can tell by the lack of crease in the fold.
By the time my fingers work to unfold the note, my hands are shaking. I stretch the paper and notice a picture of Jasper and me, taken through the window at the Mediterranean restaurant. What? How in the world…this was yesterday.
But then I know. Without a doubt, I know where this note comes from. I feel my knees weaken and I reach behind me for the bed, easing myself down on the mattress.
My eyes fall to the words written underneath and my blood turns frozen.
STOP LOOKING. YOU WON’T FIND HER.
6
My hands fly to my mouth in shock, the note falling to the floor. I trip backward, landing on the bed. My breath comes in short gasps as I reach for my phone. I keep looking around me, expecting someone to be watching me — waiting. It’s a surreal feeling to have the brightness of day surrounding you and yet feel as though a darkness is permeating your vision. I growl in frustration as I try and navigate through my phone. It shouldn’t be this difficult to send a text and yet I keep opening up the wrong application.
My movements are robotic. My vision begins to blur at the edges, making it hard for me to focus. I keep trying to blink it away, but it only makes it worse. I finally give up, the tears threatening again. My hands are shaking too much. I hold the phone close to my chest, breathing deep. I can’t help Juniper if I hyperventilate. I close my eyes for half a second, trying to collect myself. I remember what’s true: I need help. I can’t be here alone. Someone is clearly watching me.
My pulse jumps at that last realization. Someone is watching me. I think about yesterday, in the school hallway, thinking someone was watching us as we left.
He was there too.
I inch off the bed, wincing at the sun blinding me from her window as I stumble into the kitchen. I feel drunk — the initial adrenaline is beginning to dissolve and all that’s left is lack of basic motor function and shaky limbs. I open the fridge and find what I’m looking for — Jasper’s number is scrawled on the to-go box from the Mediterranean place. I’ll text him first.
Got another note. This time for me.
I snap a picture of the note and send that along with my text. That should do it. I pull up Dan’s number next, my fear and surprise slowly turning into a boiling anger. Jasper responds immediately that he’s on his way and I send him the address, assuming he’s never been here.
Before I can send the message to Dan, I feel my phone buzz. It startles me. I grimace automatically, thinking it’s Jack calling me back. He’s known for waiting five or ten minutes and calling me again, thinking that is ample time to “calm me down” and “get me into a rational state of mind.”
“What.”
My voice comes out short and angry. I’m still trembling. I don’t have time for this.
“Lavender?”
It’s Dan.
“Oh thank God. I was just about to text you. I —“
“Hey, listen,” he interrupts me.
Something in his voice makes me pause. I forget about the note and place my hand on my chest.
“What. What did you find.”
“There’s a body, Lavender. They found a body. Can you—can you come identify whether it’s Juniper or not?”
The world splits in two.
Air rushes out of me and I can’t speak. The phone drops out of my hand and I’m frozen in place, the breathing becoming more and more labored as I wait for the fracture to hit. When it doesn’t, I look around to try and figure out this new landscape I’ve found myself in without my sister.
She’s gone.
She’s not gone.
She’s gone.
She’s. Not. Gone.
I swallow the scream threatening and shake my head. I refuse to believe this. Even though it feels as if I’m walking through a tunnel, I manage to reach down and grab my phone, my hands shaking so bad I can hear the way it scratches my cheek as I try to find words.
“It can’t-it can’t be her.”
“Juniper’s ID was found on the body.”
I couldn’t swallow. The lump in my throat pressed in on all sides and I let out a choked sob.
“That’s impossible,” I whisper.
He sighs.
“Lavender, I know this is hard. I’m sorry this is happening over the phone, too. I get it. Frankly, it’s not what I want to be doing either. I wish all of my cases ended in a clear cut happen ending. But in order to move forward, can you please come in and take a look at these pictures? If necessary, we’ll head to the morgue for final identification.” He grows silent and then clears his throat. “I know you’re not from here, but is there anyone you can bring with you? Make it easier?”
I can’t believe this is happening.
“Jasper is on his way,” I manage.
“Good. Have him bring you.”
I barely get out an agreement before he hangs up the phone, clearly done talking with me. I groan in frustration and toss the phone on the couch.
“Fuck you very much, detective,” I mutter under my breath as I nervously throw my hair up into a bun. I pace back and forth from the kitchen to the living room. At any other moment, I would be admiring the interior design of the architecture and the way Juniper’s style has permeated every single space. A massive leather couch is the centerpiece of the room, resting on top of two stacked rugs thrown criss-cross on top of each other. The walls are filled with large-print photographs and wall hangings, and if you look close enough, you can see the rhythm Juniper used to create the flow of the gallery.
I wouldn’t be surprised if she had a mental x/y slope to complete the look, making sure the spacing was perfectly even. I pause for a moment in front of a picture of us two back in San Jose. I remember this. We’d just graduated Brown and were on our way to Stanford. She went for Education — Learning Design and Technology specifically, and I got in for International Policy Studies.
She finished the program. I…did not. Mostly because of Jack. I feel a sting of something akin to regret and wonder and swallow it down before I make myself start questioning every single moment of my recent history. The years after this photo were not the greatest for me.
But this photo — this photo brings back good memories.
We’re on the b
each, arms draped over each other. We’re at a bonfire, our legs resting on the sand, our skin glistening from a day in the sun. Our mouths are hanging open and we’re looking at each other laughing. After this photo was caught, Juniper leaned in and rested her head on my shoulder. I feel the space next to me quiver from her absence and I close my eyes.
Juniper. Help me out here. Where are you?
I snap my eyes open and look toward the window in the living room. I think I hear a car driving, but I see them pass the house and know it isn’t Jasper or Dan. I grip my phone and begin tapping the bottom against my open palm. I start pacing again and think about what I know.
The person sending the notes knows where Juniper lives.
The person could possibly be a student, given what Jasper saw.
The person wrote a note after she disappeared, leaving it for her (us?) on her whiteboard.
They also know we’re looking for her.
They’re following me.
There’s a body with her ID.
I stand there for a moment, frozen. If I’m not careful, I can forget every molecular connection I have with Juniper. If I’m not careful, I can immediately assume that she’s gone forever — that based on historical evidence of my life, it would only make sense that this body they found would be her. I suck in a quick breath.
I know this isn’t true. I know it like my own breath.
Growing up, Mom used to always tell us, “be still and know, girls. Cause you will always know. Your gut is golden and you get your intuition from your mama. Trust it above all else. She’ll always tell you the truth.”
For a few moments, I let myself grow still. I listen for that knowing I’ve come to rely on — the same knowing that sent Juniper to Providence without her even realizing it was what was propelling her to go. The hairs on my neck stand at attention and I allow a small smile. She’s alive.
I still feel her, somewhere, inside of me.
I hear something behind me and it breaks me from my trance. Turning, I see Jasper pull into the driveway and run to the front door. I move to open it for him and motion him inside. He takes one look at me and furrows his brow.
“What is it?”
“We need to meet Dan at the station.”
.::.
I fill Jasper in on the way, and like me, he refuses to believe we’re actually about to identify Juniper.
“There’s no way.”
“I know.”
“So they just found a body and assume it’s her?”
I clear my throat, still trying to figure out this next piece of information.
“Apparently she uh…she had Juniper’s ID on her.”
Jasper makes a face and shrugs. “Police plant shit on people all the time. That tells me nothing outside of wondering how the hell they got her ID in the first place.”
I nod in agreement, staring out the window at coastal scenery I would normally enjoy.
“Another thing — he called you? What if this was actually Juniper? How is this even remotely caring for the people you’re supposed to be guiding through traumatic events? Does he just expect family members to hop in a car and be okay with driving themselves to identify a body? Jesus. This is so messed up. All of it.”
“From what I’ve read, usually family members are not surprised when they get this call.”
Jasper rolls his neck and blinks through a twitch in his left eye. I’ve gotten to know this look in the last 24 hours. He’s worried.
I pinch the skin on my throat, fighting the way it’s pushing against me — threatening tears at any moment. I do not want to cry. I catch Jasper’s fingers tapping on his knee, a forced rhythm, and wonder just how much this is impacting him. I drop my hands, inspecting my nails, and wish for the thousandth time I could wake up from this nightmare.
“Let’s just get this over with,” I whisper to no one in particular.
Jasper doesn’t even respond.
We drive the rest of the way in complete silence, each of us in our own world of worst-case scenarios, regardless of what truth we know. It’s the nature of the beast we’re currently fighting, and right now, it’s kicking our ass.
When we get to the station, Jasper pauses for a moment before turning off the car. He looks at me and we communicate without a sound.
I set my jaw with determination.
It’s not her. It’s not her.
Walking in, he grabs the hand that’s shaking at my side and I squeeze his fingers briefly before letting go. Dan meets us in the lobby and glances around us instead of at us. This irritates me. I twist my lips and fight whatever sarcastic comment is threatening to escape. The least he can do is provide some eye contact. I can’t even think straight right now and he’s refusing to connect with us in any way.
He takes us to a room in the back and invites us to sit down. I look around, surprised I don’t see one of those two-way mirrors somewhere. It’s just as stale as you expect though, and when another officer quietly asks if we would like some coffee, I consider the sludge most likely percolating somewhere. I shake my head.
“Water’s fine.”
They leave us in the room for a few moments, and Jasper places his head in his hands.
“Fuck,” he whispers.
I rest my hand on his back for a second before lifting it, realizing it might be too much or too awkward.
“I hate small rooms like this. No air.” He leans back in his chair and fans himself with his shirt. “Never thought I would feel as if I were the one being questioned here,” he says quietly. I laugh under my breath, hearing the sarcasm in his tone. Before we can say anything else, the door opens and Dan walks in with my water bottle. When he hands it to me, I see the envelope under his arm. My skin turns to ice.
Regardless of what I think about Juniper, there is a body. Somebody’s body. Somebody’s daughter. Possibly mom. Someone loves them and would feel the hole from their absence for the rest of their life. The water soothes the nails suddenly in my throat and I swallow to keep the bile down.
I do not want to look at this body.
Dan sits across from us and for the first time, looks us in the eye.
“First of all, I know this isn’t easy.”
The heat rushes to my chest and I can feel my breath quicken.
“It’s more than just not easy, detective. It’s excruciating. It’s terrifying. It’s exhausting. It’s devastating. You can’t just sum this up with a simple adjective like everything will suddenly make sense. Nothing makes sense right now. My sister is missing and you’re about to show me the body of someone I fully believe belongs to someone else.”
Dan rubs at his chin and nods. “I know. You’re right. I did minimize the impact there and I’m sorry. It was an awkward way of opening up this process. It’s not like you see on television. I’m not going to take you to some back room where our forensics team works and you’re able to pull back a sheet and say yes or no. That’s not taking care of you as an individual. This body has had some significant violence done to it, and so these pictures are taken specifically of markers that you would recognize if she were your sister.”
Jasper grabs my hand.
“I can’t just look at the face?”
Dan pauses, “….not for this case, no.”
His words land heavily and I hold back a sob, realizing it’s because the face is unrecognizable. I place my free hand over my mouth and nod. I can do this. I have to do this. I have no choice. It’s the only way we’re going to be able to move forward and actually find Juniper. I watch as he pulls the pictures out and lays them on the table in front of us, face down. There are five of them. My innate curiosity immediately begins to wonder what could possibly be identifying on these photos? How can you break down an entire life into five snapshots?
“I want you to take your time here. You do not need to turn these over immediately. I’m going to give y’all some space to look through them — at your discretion — and will wait for you outside in the hallway.”
He waits for us to acknowledge him and then offers a small smile before getting up and walking toward the door. Right before he opens it, he stops and looks back at us.
“Oh and, we have grief counselors ready to talk if you need anything.”
With that, he opens the door and disappears into the dimly lit hallway.
Jasper and I are in silence again, the pictures mocking us from the table.
“I feel like we’re about to play Memory with someone else’s life,” Jasper whispers.
“We just have no idea who the matching tile belongs to, huh?” I counter as he fingers the edge of one of the photos.
I know, intrinsically, this is going to need to be like a bandaid. Rip it all off quickly, turn the photos over and figure out what I’m actually looking at here. I take a deep breath and before I can second guess myself or talk myself out of it, I reach for the squares and flip them right side up. My breath catches without warning. Jasper gasps in shock and I feel him tense next to me.
The photos are indirect.
A finger.
A thigh.
Some hair.
A foot.
Immediately, I know it’s not Juniper. The finger has a huge diamond on it — an engagement ring it looks like. The thigh has a massive tattoo of a diamond full of wildflowers. The hair is curly — curlier than Juniper or I have ever been able to manage to keep ours. And aside from the scratches from what look like a run on asphalt due to the debris and dirt left behind, there’s a birthmark shaped like a checkmark on the foot.
None of it belongs to Juniper. We both exhale in relief simultaneously, collapsing in on ourselves with the weight of this.
“It’s not her,” I whisper.
Jasper shakes his head and tries to talk but can’t at first. He takes a moment and clears his throat.
“It’s not.”
Both of us grow silent though as we notice the last photo. I turned it over so quickly it slid away from the others so we didn’t notice it at first.
Curious Obsession Page 6
