A
I pulled on my corset cover and my underskirt, just something to protect against a stray breeze. I took my time redressing in yesterday’s clothes, the smell of clay dust tickling my nose as I smoothed my skirts before I reached the ground floor.
The daylight washed away all apparitions from the night before. Without mingling shadows, the statues were as such: statues. The candles were cratered, dried to the floor with limp wicks.
On the small working table was an abandoned cup of water with some small sculpting tools soaking next to the morning papers. The circular window cast an oval eye over the bare floor. Scuffs in the dust across the floor replayed my dance from the night before.
I dragged my fingers over the table, flicking a few metal tools that chimed together before swiping the paper. It was a little wet from this morning, some of the ink bleeding at the edges.
Severed Arm Hung Outside Lago Factory: Whistleblower Acts Out Against Possible Human Rights Violations.
It took several moments of an empty stare for the headline to register. I read on:
Early this morning, our chief editor received a tip leading to the discovery of remains belonging to the now former New York City coroner Vincent Carlisle, outside the Kings County LAGO factory. The severed arm was nailed to the doors, bent at ninety degrees, and pointing to a large stack of papers also pinned to the wood. Sources haven’t confirmed the identity aside from an initialed signet ring on the deceased’s finger.
These papers allege human experimentation carried out by LAGO Pharmaceuticals, complete with photographs, names, and laboratory reports. The whistleblower remains unnamed. We confirmed with sources at all NYPD offices that an investigation is underway.
Chief Commissioner James Hunt leads the ongoing investigation of both the factory and the murder, assures the matter is being handled with upmost care.
There was no illustration of the scene, only a portrait of a decade-younger version of Mr. Carlisle smiling peacefully, knowing his body was found and that I would soon be caught.
My stomach dropped.
Below the table were bags, one open. Neatly folded clothing, a comb, a straight blade.
I fell to my knees.
Is he planning a trip?
Under the clothes, something else. My hand dove in, elbow deep before I felt it. A papery material. As if obscured purposefully by the clothes ... piles of money hidden beneath his belongings.
No ... he is going to leave.
I tossed the clothes to the floor, revealing more. It was like the bag never ended. I opened another bag, then the third. The same.
He was either stealing or taking bribes; I begged this wasn’t goodbye, either way.
Scrambling to stand, it was like I’d lost my land legs, shaking and wobbling as if my first time with feet. I bumped into one of the statues, nearly tipping it before I caught it by the arms—or rather, arm. Broken off.
I stared at it, the clay becoming heavy from the weight of where my mind went. Then it slipped from my hands, and it shattered, clay pieces skating across the floor before all was still.
Frozen. Everything. My train of thought, my body, the pieces on the floor. Enough to think, to conclude my initial gut feeling.
My dear Vincent, why must you haunt me so?
The smell of horsehair and fire starter, a dusting of ash.
Black grime beneath the fractured ceramic, like I’d simply dropped a flowerpot. A dark, brittle material. It broke apart like charred meat within, molded around a support. If I told my mind often enough, itcouldbe. This was all just dirt to hold flowers, the clay an elaborate containment of earth and life.
The bones were just stones, a drainage layer.
There were no bones, there was no Vincent, if only I closed my eyes and walked away.
Turning to the porcelain crowd, I feared my heart would not handle looking them in the eye, afraid to make the insinuation. To accuse them of harboring secrets much like my own.
Suddenly they felt more lifelike than ever before, always watching, always judging. They would look down on me for as long as I knew that they were not unlike me. The small difference of animate and inanimate.
The door slid open, then closed. A soft whistling as footsteps echoed across the warehouse.
