“She came from that direction,” he says.
“How do you know that?” I ask.
He stands in the contorted position again and points at the blackened area on the ground. It's not quite the outline of her body, but by the way he points at it, it makes the recognizable shapes stand out.
“The way the plants died. Where her body fluids were pooled. Saturation. They would be heaviest where her internal organs were, and then her mouth and nose. That means most likely this is where her torso was, and this is where her legs were.”
“That's right,” I nod. “That's exactly how she was lying when I found her.”
“Most likely, she was dragged across the cornfield,” he says. “She wasn't going to give in easily. It was her way. Her nature. She would fight.”
“Yes,” I say. “There wasn't really enough of her left to perform an autopsy, but the medical examiner was able to do some examination on the body. She had numerous defensive wounds and injuries consistent with being dragged forcibly.”
“Exactly,” he nods. “So, she was being dragged across the field, after they were—,” he chokes back emotion, “—they were done with her.”
I reach a hand to touch his shoulder. He takes a deep breath and continues.
“They just tossed her down. She would tumble to the side that was most natural for her body makeup. If she was lying this way, she fell from that spot,” he points and drags his finger to another direction. “Which means she came from that direction.”
“That's incredible,” I tell him, my mouth hanging open. “I never would have put that together.”
“You would have,” he says. “I just saved you some time.”
“Do you want a minute?” I ask.
He looks at me and nods. Dean and I walk away, heading further down the row. The evidence flags in this area of the cornfield are nowhere near as dense as they were closer to the middle and on the farther side. I resist the urge to watch him.
Standing quietly, I become aware of the sounds around us. They are distant, but I can hear screams and shouts from the corn maze. It's active now, awake in the Halloween season. I have to ask myself how many of the people exploring through the meticulously groomed and shaped maze came just for the proximity to the killing field.
We've already talked to the owner of the maze. He knows the critical importance of keeping anybody who might come to his maze away from the cornfield. We have the officers stationed near the active part of the grid but also have an officer over at the maze. The owner put up additional barriers around the edge to prevent people from going through and trying to sneak over.
Even so, I have no doubt there are plenty of thrill-seekers eager to catch a glimpse at the horror that has been on every news channel in the area for weeks.
Several minutes pass before Xavier comes toward us.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
“Yes,” he says. “Thank you for that. For bringing me here.”
“Of course,” I say.
He looks around, seeming to admire the layout of the grid and the evidence flags.
“What are those?” he asks, gesturing toward one of the bright pink flags.
“We put those in every place where we found anything at all. A bone fragment, a tooth, a piece of cloth, a shoe, a piece of jewelry. Anything that could possibly have to do with one of the people who ended up here, we mark it.”
He looks around again, and his eyes catch something in the distance.
“How about that?” he says, gesturing toward the lone flag around twenty feet away.
“That was a grave,” I say.
He walks toward it, stopping several inches away from the edge and leaning so he could look down into the roughly hewn hole.
“Who was in here?” he asks.
“The body hasn't been identified yet,” I say.
“But it was just one body?” he asks.
“Yes,” I nod. “Fairly well intact.”
“And no parts of others?” he asks.
“No,” I tell him. “Why?”
“It doesn't fit the puzzle,” he says.
“The—puzzle?” Dean frowns.
“Look around you. You’ve marked every puzzle piece you found. Scattered all across this field. Even Lakyn would have been scattered too if it wasn't for that cage. So, why a grave? Doesn’t fit the puzzle.”
Chapter Fifteen
I take note of Xavier's comment, folding it up and tucking it away in a little pocket in my mind where I've learned to keep things he says. They don't always make sense when he first says them. In fact, they almost never make sense when he first says them. But if I leave them there long enough, I start to understand.
But I don't have the time right now. I have to go talk to Lilith. It's getting late, and I need to make sure I can get to her tonight.
“Come on,” I say. “It's time to go to Lilith's house. It's just over here.”
Xavier isn't moving. But he's not looking at the grave anymore. Instead, his head is tilted toward the sounds of the screams and laughter coming from the corn maze, his expression one of concentration. He looks at me.
“What is that?” he asks.
“People going through the maze,” I tell him.
“It's open?” he asks.
“Yeah,” I say. “I figured they would close this year because of everything that's going on, but they didn't. There's a maze and a pumpkin patch. The patch is probably closed now because it's dark, but that's when people like to go through the corn mazes.”
“I want to go,” he says.
Shocked by the assertion, I stare at him for a few seconds. I'm waiting for him to tell me he's joking, and we do not quite understand what's funny about it. But he looks completely serious.
“You want to go through the corn maze?” I ask.
He nods. “I haven’t been through one since I was just a
