under the direct supervision of a forensic odontologist. The teeth would be aligned by the observed wear in the enamel and then radiographed and evaluated for existing caries and previous fillings. According to Vanessa, Emma had three separate silver fillings toward the back of her mouth, two on the top and one on the bottom. The comparison with existing records would be able to conclusively determine whether or not they had been Emma's teeth. If not, they would have to begin attacking the database of missing children in hopes of generating a match. If so, he was going to have to deliver the worst news imaginable to his sister. He prayed the news that they had found a child's corpse didn't leak before then.
A
Trey's desk phone rang. He snatched it from the cradle before the second ring.
'Walden,' he answered.
'This is Packard at the CSRS.'
Trey's heartbeat accelerated. He realized he was holding his breath and made a conscious effort to regulate his respirations.
'What do you have for me?'
'I just emailed the test results to you. Feel free to call back if you have any questions, but I think the files speak for themselves.'
'Conclusive?'
'See for yourself.' Packard released a long sigh. 'You have our sympathies. Let us know if there's anything else we can do for you.'
Packard terminated the call with a click.
Trey held the phone against his ear and stared blankly at his computer screen until the dial tone startled him. He hung up and opened his inbox folder. The file from the CSRS was already waiting for him. He opened it with a tap of the mouse and perused the attachments. They had scanned in the dental x-rays. Even a layman like him could see they were nearly identical. Maybe the alignment was slightly skewed as a result of the reassembly, but the filled cavities were in the right places and there were small, dark unfilled caries on the same surfaces of the same teeth. The PCR results looked like side-by-side, out-of-focus bar codes. They matched perfectly. Lines had been drawn between them to denote specific points of comparison along the genomes. Notes in technical jargon filled the margins.
He buried his face in his hands. His palms became wet and his shoulders shuddered.
First thing in the morning, he was going to have to break the news to Vanessa.
He might as well shove the barrel of his pistol in her mouth and pull the trigger for her.
Vanessa woke with a start. Or had she even been asleep at all? Time lost all meaning in the dark and she had grown accustomed to drifting in and out of consciousness all night. Her waking thoughts and sleeping dreams were the same anyway. A curious little girl wandering just a little too far ahead of her through a crowd. A man collapsed on his chest in a field of his own blood. Throwing a handful of dirt over a velvet rope onto a maple box six feet below her. A man made of shadows doing inexplicable things to a much smaller figure. A child crying for her mommy in the darkness.
An arc of moonlight bisected her bedroom from the gap in the curtains, alive with swirling motes of dust, blurred by her tears. The digital clock produced a weak red glare. Buddy's collar jangled from the foot of the bed when he perked up his head.
There was a soft crunching sound above her head.
She listened to it in the still room. The droning noise was almost comforting.
The sound grew louder.
Buddy poked his gray muzzle up over the end of the bed and whined.
Vanessa reluctantly sat up and turned around. There was no doubt that the sound was coming from inside the glass case. The decayed bear stared back at her through lifeless stone eyes that glinted with moonlight.
The crackling,
She reached up and pressed her fingertips against the glass. It vibrated almost imperceptibly.
The slightest hint of movement caught her eye.
She leaned closer, until the tip of her nose touched the small pane. Surely the shadows had conspired against her. They shifted in such a way as to mimic motion. The dirt bear's chest swelled as though it were taking a deep, slow breath. Fine grains of sand shivered loose and dusted the surface of the wooden base. One of the dried grass bindings snapped and unraveled. More dirt crumbled away, revealing thin, dark tunnels. She turned the case around. The back of the bear was covered with trembling brown insect exoskeletons. Wingless nymph carcasses. As she watched, they split like baked potatoes and small white bodies emerged.
Vanessa recoiled. They appeared to grow as they molted. The crisp exoskeletons stayed attached to the dirt while thick albino insects clung to them, testing long, clear wings fringed with gold. They had blazing scarlet eyes with black splotches where the head met the thorax. Spindly, articulated legs barely long enough to support the weight of their bodies.
Several more bands of the grass that held the bear together broke. Clods of packed earth calved away. One of the bear's ears fell off with half of its head. There was a clatter as the pebble-eye bounced on the base. A dozen pale bugs crawled over what was left of her daughter's creation before dropping onto the mounds of dirt and coiled blue fescue blades on the bottom.
The crunching sound faded to a dull clicking.
Had those insects been in the bear this entire time? Growing? Molting?
The remainder of the bear broke apart and fell to ruin, leaving only the metal post and the bracket that had been rigged to hold the construct upright.
She reached out and pressed her palm against the glass.
Her heart rate accelerated. Her breathing slowed. Was it possible she was still asleep and dreaming?
The white bugs scurried toward the front of the enclosure and scaled the glass. They aligned their bodies with her hand so that she could no longer see them.
A loud noise filled the room. A combination of the crackling sound of high voltage run through overhead power lines and the chirping of so many crickets.
She recognized it immediately and withdrew her hand.
The insects stayed where they were in a perfect imitation of her palm print, a spectral hand reaching for her, unable to pass through the clear barrier.
Vanessa scooted away from the display case.
Buddy whimpered.
And the cicadas continued to sing.
Vanessa sat at the kitchen table with the rising sun streaming through the window behind her. The glass enclosure was centered right in front of her. She'd been staring at it for hours now, watching as the white
She remembered them from her childhood. As a girl of about four years old, swinging in a park as a cloud of them descended into the surrounding trees. Their bodies had been nearly the size of her palm, their song deafening. Her father had called them
