The Blood On Our Hands Read Free Page A

being discovered by his mother shivering in his own mess she would be obliged to beat him silly. If Jordy was one to consider the lasting impact inflicted upon his psychological well being by his relationship with his mother, he was not one to speak of it. Mostly, Jordy kept himself to himself, with few exceptions sharing secrets with no one.
    As if to contradict Jordy’s own impression of himself, a ping signaled the arrival of an incoming text message.
     
    hey fuckhead what u up 2
    9 inches
    u wish
    no u wish
    eat me
    u wish
    haha
    what u want
    crazy shit 2nite
     
    Automatically, Jordy’s thumbs moved to type in a reply; something witty yet cruel. But instinct— self-preservation? —caused his thumbs to freeze an inch from the keypad: ten seconds, twenty seconds, thirty…
     
    u there
     
    A full minute had passed since Jordy’s last response.
     
    hey u there
     
    Carefully, Jordy reviewed each line of the thread. “ Shit ,” he said aloud. At the same time Jordy tracked his thumb to the Options menu on his screen. From the available options he selected Delete Thread . Without returning to the Home screen, Jordy thumbed the Power switch on his phone; he pressed. Power Off? ; Select . Five seconds later his phone shut down.
     

CHAPTER THREE
     
     
    SARA PRIDMORE WAITED for the shadow to pass, making herself as inconspicuous against the ancient backdrop of the Episcopal Church building as the damp brick would allow, melting into the gloom as if she were moss. Sara did not want to be seen. Had she recognized the shadow as Jordy and moved to confront the boy that evening, rather than to let him pass unobstructed, the week, the month, possibly even the entire year following the death of Missy Bitson may have evolved differently. It might not have, but as the shape was unrecognizable to her then as Jordy Bitson, Sara would never be obliged to speculate. She may not have been obliged to speculate regardless, the pragmatic Sara never having subscribed to the ripple theory of cause and effect.
    Resisting a temptation to go left onto Main Street toward the crime scene, Sara instead made her way north over the bridge toward home. She realized an unsolicited appearance in the alley would be difficult to explain to her superior officer, Ed Dojcsak, provoking a deeper interest in her, which after only a year working together, Sara was unwilling to oblige.
    Earlier, she had been involved in the search for the missing girl. On her feet all day, by ten, she’d decided on a break, planning a return to duty after a quick shower and a hot meal. Having been shamefully sidetracked, Sara hadn’t returned at all, unable to think of a legitimate excuse for Dojcsak as to why not.
    “Why are you here?” Dojcsak would undoubtedly ask if she were to show up at the crime scene now, curious, though perhaps not suspicious. “How did you know?” he would ask, referring to the murder.
    Sara could lie. “I was walking, Ed. Insomnia? Restlessness? ESP? You decide. Either way, I couldn’t sleep. I decided to walk, saw the flashing lights, made my way over, and sure as Bob’s your Uncle here I am. Make of it what you will.” She could then ask, as if she didn’t already know, “So, what have you got, boss?”
    The scenario played out in her mind even as her common sense dismissed it.
    That evening, shortly after midnight, the telephone had rung, pulling Sara from the edge of her own dream filled and restless sleep. It had taken a moment to steady her nerves before Sara realized she was not at home, in her own room or asleep in her own bed. A snatch of muffled conversation overheard in the dark and Sara understood she was not alone and the child who had disappeared earlier in the day was no longer missing but dead.
    Pulling herself from the bed, Sara wandered the broadloom, haphazardly searching the dark for her underclothes, her blouse, her blue jeans, and her shoes, her body smelling sharply of sex and sweat. Sara dressed in silence,