But why? Of course, that was always the question when someone took a life. A more important question, at least to Harrison, was who was next? Sheriff Harrison intended to find the killer before more people turned up dead. He would have to. A second victim would whip the town into a panic. There'd be no controlling the storm. Even in big cities, fear gripped the communities affected by murder. He could only imagine the fear a small town like Carlisle would handle it. Especially one which had never dealt with it before.
For only a moment, Sheriff Harrison thought about sweeping the whole thing under the rug. Perhaps he would tell the town she had been attacked by a bear or a wolf. He dismissed the thought. They needed someone to trust in right now. If they were to learn the sheriff, the one person sworn to keep them all safe had lied...well, there'd be no town left to protect.
With a gloved hand, he picked up the nearby knife. The white blade and handle were stained with crimson splotches. Harrison thought it looked more like a piece of bone than a knife. It must have been carved from the rib of some sort of animal. At least, he hoped it had been an animal. He shuddered and slipped it into an evidence bag. After, he took a few pictures with the camera on his phone, forwarded them to his work email, and called the mortuary. He would want them to be ready for an autopsy.
While he waited for the body to be picked up, Harrison had a look around. There were obvious drag marks in the dirt leading to the clearing. A huge area of dirt had been disturbed, suggesting she struggled to get free. He truly wished she had been able to wiggle free. He wanted it all to stop. Things like this never happened here. It was the whole reason he chose to be a small town sheriff. There was no excitement, no car chases, no dead bodies, no drug dealers. Nothing. Carlisle had been the perfect town, until now.
The body had not been the most disturbing part of this particular murder. No, that came in the form of an unusual letter in Harrison's mailbox this morning. When he had gone outside to retrieve the local paper, as he did every morning, he noticed the little red flag on the mailbox was up. He knew there was nothing he had been trying to mail so he chalked it up to young kids playing pranks in the night. Harmless fun. Harrison himself had partaken in similar acts as a teenager. Curious, he pulled open the mailbox anyway. He found a folded-up slip of paper inside.
He grabbed it and unfolded the edges carefully, not sure what to expect. The note was handwritten and somewhat sloppy. Either a man with a heavy hand a quick writing style or someone writing in the dark. The note explained the exact location of a body in the woods. The directions were clear and concise. There was no doubt the killer had left the note, not some anonymous tipper. Thinking about the killer standing in front of his yard, touching his mailbox, gave him chills. He couldn't believe it. This couldn't be real. It was something ripped straight from one of the detective novels he read quietly on his back porch.
Harrison now stared at the wrinkled and bloodstained body before him. It was all too real. No childish pranks. This killer was the real deal. It was an awful truth plaguing this town. His next move would not be an easy one. "Jesus," he said to himself. "How do I break the news this time?"
Chapter Eight
The morning was crisp and beautiful. Birds chirped in the trees, morning dew dripped from vibrant blades of green grass, and a cool breeze blew in from the north. All of this, however, was lost on Sasha. Her depression and anxiety had flared up to levels of intensity once again. It wasn't always easy to figure out where these mood swings came from. Often, there was no answer and she was forced to ride them out like some sort of horrible amusement park ride. Of course, it didn't mean she could ignore her motherly duties. Sasha couldn't afford to take a break. Being an only parent with crippling depression was difficult, to say the least.
"Good morning, sweetheart." Sasha greeted her messy haired daughter who sat slouched at the kitchen table. "How did you sleep?"
"Good I guess."
Sasha smiled.
"Glad to hear it, sweetie. I'm making pancakes if you want some."
"Yes."
"Yes, what?"
"Yes, please."
Sasha smiled again. Even when her mind was at its worst, Tara always found a way to make her smile with no effort at all. Sasha was certain her daughter was a peace offering from God. A benefaction for the life she had been forced to live.
Sasha brought the plate of freshly made pancakes over to the table and set them down gently. Tara began to dig in without a second thought. Sasha smiled and returned to the kitchen to refill her empty coffee cup.
"Mommy," she heard Tara call from the dining room. "Are you not going to eat any?"
Sasha shook her head. Looking at her daughter from the small pass-through between the two rooms she said, "Mommy's not hungry" She gulped down the lie with a swig of lukewarm coffee. If she had been honest with her daughter, she would have told her she was, in fact, hungry but her stomach was tangled in painful knots. She wouldn't be able to keep food down if she tried. Maybe later when everything had finally settled
