Reid
I dip my head and lower my body until I’m sliding across the back seat of the car. The belt meets the buckle, and I jolt from the sound.
My heart shatters all over again. I’m never going to be the same man I was before.
The car door opens on the opposite side to me, and Maloney sits and then shuffles in his seat. My stomach rolls in a vicious circle causing acid to burn the back of my throat.
They’ve found Morgan. There’s no life in front of us. No more memories left to create. No more “I’m sorrys” to be exchanged. Morgan’s dead.
“We’re leaving now. Are you ready, Reid?” Maloney’s tone is tender. His eyes filled with pity.
Make it stop. Make it stop, my mind pleads as I turn my head in a shake and drop my vision to the seat below.
I’m not ready to see my wife. I’m not ready to say goodbye. I’m not ready for eyes that speak of sorrow and pity to be my future.
Maloney clears his throat at the precise moment I hear car doors opening.
“It’s almost time. We’re just waiting on Detective West to finish these phone calls,” Maloney says softly.
I don’t look at him.
The streets I’ve not travelled on for days await. It wasn’t supposed to end like this. Our love wasn’t supposed to end at all. I didn’t even get a chance to tell Morgan I loved her with all my heart, and that I was sorry for letting her down. “I’m sorry for pushing you out of my life, Morgan,” I say under my breath.
“Reid,” Maloney says.
“What?” Our eyes briefly connect until I rotate my head towards the laminated glass window in front of me. It fogs with the heavy breaths I take.
I didn’t hold true to the promises I made Morgan. I wasn’t the man I vowed to be for her, the man who’d catch her if she fell. I wasn’t the man I promised myself I’d be either.
How do I go on from here? How do I live with my guilt? How do I raise our children right? How do I live without Morgan?
“We’re about to leave, Reid,” Maloney mumbles.
Maloney. My rock. I want to laugh at the realisation that this man, a stranger I met two days ago, is the person I requested to be with me as I take this final journey.
When I see Morgan, Maloney will see me fall. I will fall at the sight of Morgan. I will never get up again.
“Reid, Detective West is climbing into the car now,” Maloney commentates.
“Do not let the press get wind of this yet. We have to see if Reid can give us an identification.” West stops abruptly. “No! It’s not protocol, but sometimes rules are meant to be broken.” He stops speaking. “Because if it’s not, then we still have time,” he continues. “If we don’t do this, we’re waiting for dental records. Do you want to risk that?” West’s tone is harsh. “Good. Hold tight. I’m taking her parents as well, in case he can’t do it. I’ll call you as soon as we do or don’t, okay?” He pauses. “Bye.”
I rotate my head mechanically and catch West lowering his phone to the console.
The click of the key twisting in the ignition makes me jump. The engine firing has me swallowing hard. I close my eyes.
Dear God,
Can you please work a miracle? Because I need a second chance to be with my wife. Grant me one more chance, and I promise I won’t mess it up.
Amen.
Slow—that’s how the car moves. It’s like we’re in a funeral procession as we follow a red undercover vehicle that rolled up to the house earlier this morning. Gleaton is at its wheel. His mission: to escort Morgan’s parents on the drive.
My heart sinks low into my belly when I picture the devastation that would have been painted on Ronald and Kylee’s face’s after that fucking call came in. I blink to clear my vision—to help silence the ear-piercing screams that accompany it. It doesn’t work, and panic leeches my heart, strangling my blood flow, causing an unbearable ache to reside. The need to run has me bouncing my knees. My stomach rolls again, this time in a tsunami fashion, and my heart thumps so hard in my chest I will for it to stop beating altogether. I can’t do this.
Maloney’s hand presses to my thigh. “Reid. Breathe.”
I inhale slowly. I have to do this.
Roundabout.
Red light.
Roundabout.
Bridge.
Roundabout.
Red light.
Then a white and red sign reading Rockhampton Base Hospital comes into view. We drive down a hidden path, one I never knew existed.
The car comes to an abrupt halt. I shudder as if someone is walking over my grave, and I instantly twist my head in search of Maloney's eyes to seek comfort, only to view the back of his head.
The car door beside me opens. I expect an aged face and a black/grey moustache; instead, it's a youthful pale complexion and red hair filling my vision. Prospect. Why is he here? When did he arrive? And who with?
I climb out of the vehicle. Prospect moves a few steps back to give me room.
“Mr Banks.” Prospect offers me the same look of pity Maloney did. I look away to see West striding in my direction.
The crunch of hiking boots on gravel has me turning my eyes downward, towards West’s feet. He’s not wearing hiking boots, yet the sound is loud as if he was. Is he stomping?
“This way,” West says in passing.
I turn, but I walk through fog … I’m in a daydream. My body is weightless, and I feel as though my soul is no longer housed inside me. I’m Lost.
Ronald, Kylee, and Gleaton await us, stationed outside clear automatic doors. I take two steps past them. I don’t say a word as the doors part.
Kylee reaches for my hand, linking her fingers with mine. I shake her away. I need to take this walk uncomforted. I don’t want social niceties. I don’t deserve them.
“Eric, keep any reporters at bay. Text me if they show up. You need to man this door,” West says, matter-of-factly.
My bones freeze as I step inside. It’s so cold. Chilled air laps my skin as a strong smell of bleach fills my nose.
The noise of leather shoes tapping across polished flooring comes from West and Maloney who now walk half a metre in front of me. I can’t stand the sound. I want to turn back. I want to run away.
A blue door on the right reads Morgue One. Briefly, I pause to stare at the silver lettering. Is this where Morgan’s lifeless body lies?
“Reid, Honey,” Kylee speaks softly. I feel her hand squeeze my shoulder from behind. Again, I shake her away. You don’t deserve comfort, I remind myself.
The last few steps are the hardest I take. They’re hesitant and my legs quiver, even when I come to a dead stop, positioned between West and Gleaton.
I stare through a clear petition which takes up the upper quadrant of a hand-smudged white wall. The room behind this window appears empty. Blue and grey marble flooring shines under stark white lights. There’s a door located at the opposite wall, to the left, and I focus on the silver doorknob.
“They’re going to bring her in now. Are you ready?”
I flick my head to my left, following the direction of West’s words to find him bobbing his head.
There’s a firm grip applied to my right shoulder. I whip my head to my right. Maloney doesn’t look at me, even though the pressure of his grip increases. Instead, he stands tall, with his eyes forward. I don’t shake him away. I need his grasp because fear is ripping through my body and I just need to feel something, anything.
I fixate on the silver doorknob once more, and as I do, I shudder. This is it. My heart kicks up another gear, and the pain in my chest leaves me breathless. My palms become sweaty. My breathing labours. The doorknob twists. My heart skips a beat before pumping even harder. I close my eyes.
The smell of the paper Morgan buys in a roll for the children to draw on fills my senses. Butcher paper. Why does it smell like butcher paper here, when on entry it smelt like cleaning chemicals? This makes no sense.
I flick open my eyelids to find a white sheet hanging over the top of a mound. A man wearing thick black glasses, with protruding lenses, stands with his hands limply dangling in front of him. He nods. I’m not sure why, but after he nods he lifts his arm and peels back the white sheet. He folds the material over itself, stopping above her breasts, not exposing anything more than her head, neck, and upper chest.
Brown hair—that’s all I recognise. The face is swollen and bruised beyond recognition. She’s unidentifiable.
I hear a gasp, then another, followed by sobbing coming from the opposite side of West. Who’s crying? I search for the source, taking my eyes away from the body laid out in front of me.
Kylee has her hands splayed out on the panel with her forehead pressed against them. “No, no. What did they do to her?”
A deep, winded cry comes after she speaks. Ronald lays his head on the top of Kylee’s and cries; a sound I’ve never heard in all the time I’ve known him.
“Reid.” West’s grey eyes infringe my vision. “Is this Morgan?”
“How the fuck can I tell? Her face. Her face is …” I dry heave, folding at my mid-section. I pant. I pant fear, anger, and sorrow into my palms cupped around my mouth.
Small circles rub against my back. “Does Morgan have any markings we may be able to identify her by?” Maloney says calmly.
I slowly pull myself upright. Maloney’s hand falls away. I seek his comfort, the calm that comes from the way he speaks, and then I nod.
“Where? What?” he says.
“A pink heart-shaped birthmark where her bra sits across her back.” I don’t have to think about any other. Morgan’s birthmark is unique.
“Okay.” His tone soft.
“Irwin, please check her back for a heart-shaped birthmark. Pink in colour. Located where her bra strap would sit.” I’m not sure how the man in the room can even hear West say this, and I don’t look to find out if he does. I keep my eyes fixed on Maloney’s while trapping my breath behind my lips.
“The window has gone black,” Maloney says. “He’ll be repositioning her with privacy.” He pauses. “When the glass becomes clear again, I’ll tell you, and you’ll need to look, okay?” His eyes are sympathising, yet broad.
I nod.
“Reid, you can do this,” Maloney encourages.
I swallow hard.
“Keep breathing, mate.”
I gulp a needy breath.
“We can see the room now. Irwin’s pushing the table closer to the window. I’ll tell you when we’re ready.”
I nod.
There’s silence around me, even though inside my head it’s loud.
“We’re ready.” Maloney breaks eye contact when he rotates his head.
I follow suit. Purple, green, yellow, and black are the colours of the bruises that splotch her back. Patches of white skin shine in comparison, standing out between the discolouration. I search for her birthmark, the place it should be.
It’s not there. Only white skin.
There’s just pale milky skin.
It can’t be Morgan. It isn’t Morgan.
“It’s not there.” Pure shock. “It’s not Morgan. It’s not Morgan,” I cry out as I slide my hands down the transparent panel and slump to the floor.
I weep. I weep for the woman who lies on the table unidentified. For her family and whatever it is she’s endured at this sick psychopathic man’s hands. Her death is related to Morgan’s disappearance. As West said, she was wearing Morgan’s clothing.
Has her kidnapper killed before?
Is he a serial killer?
Are there more women to be found?
What has he done to Morgan?