I can hear T-Bone close behind me.
“What is it, Mila?” he asks me.
"Look." I point to the base of the line of trees.
Some of the soil has been disturbed recently. Whoever dug tried to cover it back up, but it's a rushed job. With the help of my eyes, made to see in the dark, I see the odd indentations. I can't be sure until the ground is dug up, but the cold sitting in the pit of my stomach tells me that there is at least one other victim buried here.
"You might want to call over a team and a coroner." I'm unable to suppress my shiver. "I bet you there’s a body”—my voice breaks—“or bodies buried on this property. I'd start by this strip of land right here."
T-Bone furrows his brow.
“New ones? Because this property was seriously excavated during the initial investigation.”
All I can do is nod. I take deep breaths, letting the night air fill my lungs as the realization that, in her short time out of prison, my mother has already found a new victim.
“New ones,” I croak. “I’m positive. This has been freshly dug. No rain has tamped down the shovel marks.”
T-Bone looks down, taking note of the indentations in the ground. He swears under his breath, taking his phone out of his infernal cargo pants. He quickly makes a call to his team, demanding a coroner at our location immediately. His next calls are to both of our superiors, letting them know of this new development.
"Are you okay, Mila?" he asks me.
If anyone else were to ask me that question as many times as T-Bone has, I think I would pick a fight. Maybe scream and say some very hurtful things. But there is something about the way he asks. Like he legitimately wants to know. It's not a sick sort of worry, like oh, how you doing with yourself, daughter of a murderer?
It's real, and it doesn't feel forced or disingenuous like it usually does.
With a deep breath, I give him a small headshake. "I knew this was a possibility the second she escaped. Somehow, getting the confirmation that I was right isn't making me feel any better about all of this."
"That's normal, you know. Entirely valid. The fact that you expected this doesn't make you in any way responsible."
I nod but turn my back to him nonetheless.
Somehow, being in my lab, working with the bones, looking over maps, and going over theories in my head is entirely different than being here, possibly discovering more victims.
It's hitting me hard.
The sting isn't as painful as it was when I learned that my mother was a killer. But it hurts nonetheless.
How can the woman who gave me life be the harbinger of death for so many families?
I make my way back to the car and sit on the edge of the seat, my eyes focused on a small pebble on the ground as I force my lungs to expand and deflate with deep puffs of air.
T-Bone is on the phone, sometimes pausing his conversation to tap out a message. He is clearly a master at multitasking. It's no wonder he was chosen to be the incident coordinator for this particular escape. The way he sees the world and compartmentalizes everything in its appropriate box makes him the best person for it.
Somehow, the small rock at my feet loses my attention, and I fixate on the wide set of T-Bone's shoulders and the way he rolls his shoulder in between tasks as if to ground himself and reset.
"Mila," he calls out. If I could reassure myself right now that there is anything good left in the world, then the goddess herself is delivering me proof in the form of T-Bone’s ass. "We need to go to the prison. They just figured out how she escaped. There's also some stuff in her cell that we absolutely need to see."
"How far is it? We need to get to Lake Murray. If I'm right, we're only just a few hours behind her."
"Mila, you don't get it. We have to go. I’ll dispatch teams to all of her known dumpsites and make sure a few others are out looking for her. You need to see this."
T-Bone takes a few long strides toward me and hands me his phone, a picture filling the screen.
"Holy shit..." Dread crashes into my gut, making the acid rise to the back of my throat.
The walls of her cell are covered in drawings, some papers looking worse for wear. They look maniacal, dipped in evil. I use my thumb and forefinger to zoom on the picture. Some are the renderings of DNA strands while others are scrawled out writing I can't quite read.
"We need to get over there," I whisper. “This…” My voice breaks, and I shiver. “This isn’t her usual clean, methodical note-keeping. Something has changed. These drawings are disorganized. And look…” I point to a few dates scribbled on the walls in the picture. “Those are recent. This is how she kept track of her victims. This doesn’t make sense. Why would she be tracking dates from prison?”
T-Bone furrows his brow and shakes his head.
“I don’t know, but I’m going to log this.” With his phone, he takes a picture of the dates. “I’ll have someone check these to see if they line up with any missing people.”
If the things in my mother’s cell are any indication, things are about to get much worse before they get better.
8
T-Bone
The sun is just about rising on the horizon when Mila and I pull onto the prison grounds. After we were done making some calls to dispatch teams to every location Mila had named, the drive was quiet and uncomfortable. I wanted to reach inside of Mila's head and shake her out and away from the dark thoughts.
Her sharp teeth kept working on the soft flesh of her lower lip or biting down on the inside of her cheek. For the first half of
