From somewhere far away, I hear myself say, “Donny had black hair.”
And then I’m clawing at the ground, scratching my nails at the surface, tearing up chunks of earth.
“What the hell are you doing?” Chris reaches for my shoulder, but I throw his hand off. “Melanie!”
I reach down deeper and deeper, clawing at the dirt like an animal. The ground seems to fight me, but I’m pulled by a force greater than my own will, driven by dread and desperation. I carefully scrape away the remaining soil, pausing when my fingers brush the collarbone. The bones are bleached white and delicate, and the tattered remains of a shirt clings to the rib cage. It’s stiff to the touch, brittle, the edges ragged where the seams have pulled loose. But it’s the collarbones I can’t stop staring at.
Because nestled between them, something sparkles.
I reach forward, fingers trembling over the collarbone where a necklace is coiled. I undo the silver clasp, now oxidized to pea green, and scoop it into my palm.
Hanging from the chain is a Christian fish pendant. Trance-like, I turn it over, reading the inscription. I read it once, twice, time slowing down to nothing. Chris kneels beside me, both hands gripping my shoulders. I can’t hear what he’s saying. All I can hear is the blood pumping in my ears. My fist closes around the necklace and the five words inscribed on it.
Merry Christmas, Mum!
Love, Minnow
Human remains found in Kangaroo Bay identified as woman who went missing 25 years ago
The Daily
by Chris Cooper
Skeletal remains found in bushland on the East Coast of Victoria have been identified as a Kangaroo Bay local. A bushwalker found the remains and a forensic examination identified them as Danielle Greenwood. The cause of death has been determined as blunt-force trauma to the head.
Greenwood, 37, a mother of two, disappeared in early August 1998. She was last seen around 6p.m.leaving the general store where she worked. She was spotted walking down Echo Street toward her house on April Avenue but never arrived home.
Danielle’s husband, Peter Greenwood, went missing two years later and has not been seen since February 2000. Greenwood had been threatened a week before his disappearance. His case remains unsolved.
Peter Greenwood is considered a suspect in his wife’s murder. If you have information on his whereabouts, please call Crime Stoppers on 1800 333 000.
Chapter 12
In my family, when everything goes to shit, we fish. We can’t seem to heal unless we’re knee-deep in salt water. And I feel it tonight, the need to be cleansed. But as I peer down to beach 1, I can’t see Heath anywhere.
I get back in the car, drive the three minutes to beach 2. But he’s not there, either. Instinctively, I drive past beach 3. Heath doesn’t go there. It’s like a family rule. We don’t speak of the beach my father nearly drowned in. But now I turn around and slowly climb the hill to beach 3, somehow knowing he’s in the forbidden place.
I let Jessie out of the back seat, slam my car door shut, duck my head from the wind. I pull my beanie lower until it completely covers my ears, but nothing could drown that roar of the waves. Jess bounds just ahead of me, stopping every ten feet to turn around and make sure I’m still there. I smile a little. If there’s one positive thing to come from the last few days it’s watching her confidence grow. She’s like a different dog, head and tail up, a little uneasy with strangers, but she’s getting better. More sure of herself.
I can’t say the same for me.
I stroll down the sand dunes, hands stuffed in my pockets, but I can still feel the sting of cold at my fingertips. The sky is gray and spitting. Storm’s coming.
Jess launches herself into the water, chasing a seagull that lifts off into the last of the setting sun, squawking in annoyance. I stop and watch for a moment.God,I think.It’s beautiful.
And then…
Mum.
The memory of her lying in that shallow grave hits so hard, it makes me double over. My body is still raw and weak like I’mrecovering from an illness. I wait there, bent over and unsure if I’m ready to venture this far from my bed. I haven’t left the house since I found her.
A handful of tourists are packing up, wringing their beach towels, stuffing their belongings into oversized bags. They’re hurrying now, eyes on the darkening sky. Silly. This is the best time to be on the beach, watching a storm come rolling in. Seeing the water whip up. Sometimes you’ll even see the fish come soaring out of the deep, frenzied and afraid. It’s actually a great time to fish because they gorge themselves when the pressure drops like this. They’ll instinctively seek to consume more food before the storm arrives.
And there he is. Heath. Waist-deep in the water, back to me. I can’t see the rod in his hands. He looks like he’s standing frozen in the middle of the ocean, waves angry and rising, ready to swallow him whole. He looks like a man lost.
I stumble forward, uneasy. There are sharks out there in the deep and in the shallows.
I watch as a wave rises, swelling higher and higher, pulling him in. He’s shoulder-deep now, just the top of his black head showing. The wave towers above him, poised to crash. We’ve all been hit by one of these waves before. It’s like getting slammed by a car.
