Dream Journal

Dream V: Instilled

A boy sits on a carnival ride he notices that the ride isn’t working as it is supposed to. His friends complain that it’s broken. After it stops, he looks under the carriage he was in and finds a hand sticking out, blood dripping from the fingertips.

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I stare at a dead body. The fair ground is clear. All that I can hear is the sound of people talking. None of the conversations are intelligible.

I look at the body in front of me. It hurts to look at.

It is the body of a young, African American male, no more than fifteen. He’s wearing a faded blue t-shirt and ratty jeans. He looks like a good kid. His body is resting on its stomach arms folded under his chin. I look at his close eyes and think that there is even the possibility that he might wake up. He might rouse and everything will be alright. But, I tough his arm and it is icy cold. I can hear a woman crying in the background. I took the wallet out of his pocket the moment I got on the scene.  His mother’s cries just confirm what I was dreading. I dreaded getting attached, thinking that this was a human. I felt pity before, but that was just a wonder what type of person got killed. Now, I think of his family, school, and people that will miss him and it tightens in my chest.

I know he’s a good kid, form what I hear the mother telling the officer on the scene. I can tell too, by the corpse. His hands have few callouses excepting that of his left hand that has on his middle finger. It’s the type that you get when you write a lot. I have one on my own. There are no tracks on his arms or any other area I can see. No sign of drug use makes this case a little harder to find motive for, but makes it all the more interesting. I can see the laugh lines on his face and the wear on his shoes and muscle development that comes from running a lot. There is a touch of lip gloss on his cheek that hasn’t worn off in the dreary, wet weather. It’s a little pink.

The body has been there for about twelve hours. My head supplies that he died of a blow to the spine. It was instant and clean. I can barely see the marks were the killer gripped his head and twisted. I can hear the crack of the vertebrae. It’s not normal. But, I don’t expect it to be.

I run through procedure and let the rest of my men wrap him up. I need air. I breathe deeply and I can smell the faint scent of his AX cologne in the air.

I walk the perimeter of the park glancing back every once in a while. I can see my sister talking to the mother. She’s a great detective. I know it already. It’s her first real case, but I know we can work well together. Her partner is the same age, but extremely patient. He’s great for her.

I keep walking until I hear more footsteps behind me.

“Hey.” I can hear my sister’s voice. I turn and see her face. She looks like she’s ready to cry. To anyone else she looks fine, but I can see the strain in her jaw the tell-tale tensing in her neck. I want to protect her. I’m older; I’m supposed to. But there is no chance I can stop her from looking at the victim and seeing a boy when I see a body. One “d” makes all the difference.

“I’m…” She sighs and looks at her partner. His reddish hair sticks out against the grey.

We keep walking. My eyes travel over the bushes. She’s a great cop, but not the most observant. Her logic is strong, but sometimes, things don’t quite click. But, her understanding of other people as more than a body makes her a cop and makes me the forensic. She breaks them apart; I piece people together. We have other reasons for working together.

“How is he?” She means the cop I usually work with. She knows the answer already, since they both work homicide and get creamed by me on scrabble night.

“Getting on with life. The shot was a superficial, but he’s going to counseling.” I keep looking to the ground. She trails behind me. A soft tint of color catches my eye. It’s orange in tint, but has a light touch of yellow red.