Frozen Yogurt

8. The Body ( Part 2 )

The rest of my weekend wasn't very eventful or significant. I spent most of my time curled up on the couch catching up on some series. He came over on Saturday night to keep me company and the best part was that he brought ice-cream. However over the two days of doing nothing the thoughts of my sister loomed over me like a dark, stormy raincloud above my head.

On Monday morning I woke up and mentally prepared myself for the day ahead. I told my parents I would meet them there and on my way I kept telling myself that it's not her, its not Everleigh and everything's gonna be okay. I just hope that she's safe that's all that matters.

Upon entering the police station I looked around in wonder. There were people everywhere; walking around, sitting at desks, guarding doors. The station was buzzing with activity. I didn't notice my parents sitting on a bench until my father came up to me.

"Come sit with us Becca," he said.
So I went to sit with them and we waited around in silence for about another 10 minutes, only looking up when someone called out, "Mr and Mrs Michaelson?"
It came from young man standing not to far away from us. We all rose from the uncomfortable bench in unison and walked over to him.
"That's us," my father replied.
"Follow me please," said the officer.

He lead us to a door which read
"MORGUE". Just the sound of the word inside my head made me think of death. The officer opened the door with an eerie creak. The room on the other side of the door was dimly lit with a single lightbulb and if you breathed in too deep you could smell them.

He called us inside to where he was standing alongside a long metal examination table. A white sheet was laid over it and outlined he form of a body. Upon closer inspection I saw a hand sticking out from under the sheet and I instinctively opened my mouth to scream but there was no sound that came out so I backed away from the table.

" Are you okay Ms. Michaelson? ", the officer asks me.
" Yeah maybe I just need some air, I don't know if I can do this."
"Maybe just stand outside the door for a minute Becca," suggests my father.
I turn towards the door and open it slowly making it creak and step outside. I stand in the hallway and lean against one of the walls, unnoticeably sliding down to the floor. Staring at the opposite wall, thoughts drifting around my mind like clouds drifting across the sky.

"Could it really be her?"
"What if it is, then what?"
"Could she still be out there, alive?"
What could have been five minutes felt like eternity when my mother called me back inside the claustrophobic room. It was time. When I looked back at the table I couldn't see the hand anymore which was a relief but now I could see everything from the abdomen up which was even worse.

The sight of it all made me nauseous.
One side of the face was completely chared like their face was placed above the flames of a fire. The abdomen was also serverly damaged and decorated with bruises. The skin was so pale and ghostly that you could see the blues, greens and purples upon first glance. I look back up to the hair and face, seeing the small dark cracks running across their cheek like charcoal once the fire has burnt out. Their hair was matted with reddish brown splotches which I assumed was blood and was splayed out around their head.

"Do you recognise this body as your sister?" enquired the officer.
"No, it can't be her."
"Please mam don't let your feelings cloud your judgement. Really look at the body."
I took another look at the broken, beaten up body which lay before me. Out of the corner of my eye I see the officer walk over to a heavy looking metal shelf and he pulls down a plastic bag filled with miscellaneous items. He walks back towards the table coming to a stop next to me, he hands me the bag saying, "This is what the victim was wearing when the body was recovered."

Inside the bag are a pair of converse with a torn up camo coloured t-shirt and a pair of black skinny jeans ripped at the knees and stained with who knows what. There was also a cellphone but I didn't recognise that as the one my sister owned. I looked at the body for the last time and came to a final decision.
"This is not my sister."
And with that I walked out of the morgue and through the double doors from which I entered the police station. As soon as I arrived back home I called Him.
"I need you."