Between Limestone Ruins

Chapter Two

The two-and-a-half-hour drive back to Ottawa from Milhaven Penitentiary never bothered Hannah in the slightest. She loved being in her car alone singing to the radio. She loved rolling the windows down to let the wind whip her hair around her face. 

It was frivolous alone time, a self-care ritual that she indulged in as often as possible, and she treasured it. As her car started up though, it was not music that came through the speakers. The local news played on the radio station that her small SUV was tuned to:

The RCMP insist the case of the 12 college-age, blonde women found dead and dismembered in Algonquin Provincial Park almost 6 years ago is still an active investigation despite no further findings since initial investigation.

Hannah instinctively hit the brakes as all the hairs on her body stood upright. She was only startled for a moment, the car behind her was whipping around the side of her car and blaring the horn. Hannah waved her apology meekly and returned to the road as her mind raced. 

She instantly recognized the victim demographic. The remains in Quebec had been college-aged, female, blonde. Hannah knew this was a completely basic similarity, surely not something to get worked up about, but she knew better than to ignore such an obvious display of her instincts. Her brain whirled, crafting her next steps.

She settled on: get home, look more into the Algonquin case for similarities, go from there. It was a solid plan. She decided she should probably slip some food in there too.

It was 10pm by the time Hannah pushed through her apartment door. She had a car, so she was able to live outside the city centre in Ottawa. She had found a great two-bedroom apartment overlooking the river on the top floor of a four-story rental building. The extra bedroom made the perfect office. She was proud of the start she had created for herself.

Hannah had grown up in the countryside, only about an hour outside Toronto. After she had been adopted at the age of five, that is. She didn't really have any memories of a time before her parents, and she can't remember a time not knowing she was adopted. Lydia and James Morris had previously conceived twin boys, and when the boys were seven, despite numerous attempts, the couple had learned they could not have another child. Lydia had always wanted a daughter, and they both decided to adopt an older child, seeing as they are less sought after than babies.

Hannah's parents had chosen her and after that being adopted never really mattered. Her brothers still treated her like their baby sister in need of protection. Her parents still loved her as much as the twins (and sometimes, Hannah knew, more than the twins; a result of them fighting viciously and constantly while growing up).

Her parents had moved to northern Ontario after Hannah moved out for university, a move away from the ever-growing rumble and bumble of the city.

As for the twins, Aiden ended up in Toronto in a corporate law office fighting to keep large corporations accountable for their environmental impact. The righteous analytic. Meanwhile, Zac was working his way across Europe with a backpack and elbow grease. The free spirit. And Hannah? Was still figuring out who she was meant to be. At the very least, the three siblings were closer than they had been growing up. Her family had swooped in to save her during all the darkest times in her life, and she rarely went a week without having heard from all of them at least once.

They had lived in a subdivision, but Hannah had friends and family that raised cows and horses on acreages. She loved country music and watching the stars in the beds of pickup trucks. She had also grown up drawn to stories of crime. Serial murders. The psyche of people who killed for fun and for sport. Bundy. Bernardo. Dahmer. Pickton. Jack the Ripper. Monsters. Hannah's brain had to know: Why? Why abandon social norms and why worship physical violence instead? Why ignore the very instinct that makes humanity human; why take another life; why play God?

She kicked off her heels off in the hall while pulling her waist-long strawberry blonde hair out of its messy-yet-still-professional messy bun. Her feet danced along the hardwood subconsciously, headed to the kitchen to fix a snack.

Her cat, Zeus slinked out of the bedroom, pausing to stretch at the threshold, before chirping at her and jumping up on the bar stool to watch her slather peanut butter and jam on bread.

"Hey dude, I know, it was a long day." Zeus tilted his head and tittered as to say, "Yeah and my dinner is now very late, lady".

"Shit, you're right, food time," Hannah dropped the jam covered knife and went to fill the cat's food bowl. He followed chirping encouragement.

Zeus fed, Hannah grabbed her sandwich and headed to the office to research the Algonquin murders. A newsworthy case, she had heard of it before, but like most cold cases, the details were highly muddled with rumours and speculation. Sure enough, the similarities in victim demographic and ritual randomness she saw in Quebec matched all the official reports from Algonquin. And now Hannah had to do something about it.

Because of her work on the Tremblant murders, Hannah had a way to contact the head of the Ottawa RCMP field office. Scott Masters was stern but fair man. He had seen his fair share of tragedy and worked hard to make the country safer for the next generations. A quick call got her a meeting with him the next morning. Cops must never sleep.