The family. All Rylee could think of was the family.
Should she call Ed? He was still in her contacts. They’d parted on friendly footing.
Rylee could call the D.C.P.D.'s non-emergency number.
Her instincts told her not to. She had no idea why.
Perhaps they would want her to stay with the body, and it might take them hours for a call-out to spool up—grabbing gear and getting on site. There was no way Rylee could handle this cold for that long. And she wasn’t willing to paddle away lest the body be lost forever, and the family have no closure.
If she reached for the wrist, would it detach from the rest of the body like chicken bones in a soup pot? Rylee wished she hadn’t made that simile. That one would stick with her. She was probably off chicken soup for the rest of her life.
If she reached and pulled, and she ended up holding the dead person’s hand, would the rest of the body sink away?
What if it were only the hand that came up? Wasn’t that better than nothing? There would be DNA at least.
And what if it was a whole body? What if she pulled the hand and Uncle Jim, in his blue jeans and National’s jacket, came gliding into sight?
That would be hard, but better.
At least she could take pictures. A visible tattoo or piercing, the color and length of hair, and possibly clothing might help identify the person. That was really what a family wanted: to know what happened to their loved one. Though those kinds of pictures wouldn’t be something to share beyond the forensic team.
She was done thinking.
Oh, she didn’t want to do this.
But she was going to do this.
“What’s going on?” Neesa called, letting the wind sweep her voice down the twenty yards of river that separated them.
Rylee didn’t look up.
I have to do this quickly before the remains get swept away by the current. Do it. Just do it.
Rylee tugged the sleeve of her dry suit down, covering as much of her hand as she could.
Her gut clenched. Her ribs tightened down to cage her breath.
With chattering teeth, she bladed her hand and tried to shoot it down into the water.
Her whole body flinched with heebie-jeebies.
She’d deal with a patient on the battlefield any day of the week. This was a level of gruesome that Rylee wasn’t prepared for. She imagined a lifetime of nightmares in front of her, then replaced that thought with a grieving family finding solace.
Too bad Rylee didn’t know opera like Ed did. The only song she could think of was Baby Shark and that seemed wholly inappropriate.
Do it!
Do. It.
Rylee looked up at the swirl of gray clouds.
“I’m coming over to you,” Neesa called, slicing into the water.
Yeah. Rylee probably looked like she was having an existential crisis, and Neesa would be worried that Rylee would freak the hell out on the water in her kayak. And that was no bueno.
Do it before Neesa gets here or even close enough to see.
You can do it to protect your friend. No need for her to have these images.
