Thinking Backwards

Prologue

The body that was found resembled little of the person that once inhabited it. His skin was scrapped and bruised by the rocky shore line, turning an ugly shade of purple yellow. The life had been not sucked, but dragged out of him.

He had been missing for eleven days, just another runaway delinquent. Fleeing from the responsibility of their nearing adulthood. That perspective changed quiet quickly once the maimed corpse appeared near the jagged harbor of St. John's.

If my memory serves me correctly it was a young couple out in speed boat that noticed the decrepit mass floating gracefully through the water. Head and limbs hung below his back which bobbed at the surface.

I was told that the ignorant bystanders conducting their daily business on Water Street could hear the horrific cries of the woman and her husband. Apparently they thought it best to leave the young boy astray in the water and wait for the coastguard to arrive.
People pushed through the crowd to get a glimpse of the action of which was taking place in the harbor. Cameras flashing. News stations recording. Paper boys swallowing the gossip as if it was a hot jigs dinner.

One month was all it took for the boys story to drain away, cast aside like all the other unsolved cases. Headlines quickly skipped from "boy found dead floating in St John's harbor" to "local man arrested, caught driving under the influence". Whenever the police were questioned about the case they refused to give straight answers. They gave the notion that the boy had committed suicide, no evidence of foul play.

Two months later it was as if the boy never existed. No one spoke his name, he was never brought up in light conversation, for goodness sakes his own parents gave up on trying to figure out who killed their son.

In my mind one thought holds strong. Clayton Mills was murdered, his body dumped into St John's Harbor. The eleven days in which he was missing was not a coincidence. Somebody that works within the police department knows what happened.
I, Mya Bartlett, want to find justice for Clayton Mills, a basic nobody. Just. Like. Me...