Page 60 of On Your Life

My eyes catch on a drawer to the right. It’s cracked open a fraction, with the key still in the lock like he left in a hurry. I roll the chair over and glance down the hallway. It’s still empty.

I reach for the handle and pull the drawer open. A small organizer sits snugly inside, filled with ink pens, paperclips, sticky notes, and a few hard candies. The materials click softly together as I dig through them, curiosity getting the best of me.

I feel like you can tell a lot about someone by what they keep close by. The captain seemed nice in person. His drawer says that he is fairly organized and has entirely too many pens.

My hand moves farther back and something sharp catches my finger. I instinctively pull my hand back and stick the injured finger into my mouth to soothe the sting.

Nothing catches my eye when I bend to look further into the drawer, so I reach back in again, sweeping my hand blindly through the clutter until I find whatever jabbed me.

I’m stuck again but it’s dull this time, bent from my previous intrusion. I grab the culprit and something slides free.

A Polaroid.

I haven’t seen one of these in years. The back is still glossy like it has barely been handled. One corner is bent. I try to smooth it out and flip it over.

I immediately drop it. The picture hits the floor and slides away.

My hands begin shaking so violently I have to grip the edge of the desk. I remind myself to breathe but my lungs don’t seem interested in listening. Before I can process what I’m seeing, a knock comes from the doorway.

I jerk my head up. Fox is standing there with a look of genuine concern.

“What is it?” he asks.

The softness in his tone is almost as alarming as the picture lying between us. My gaze drops to it and pauses.

Fox follows my line of sight. He walks over and bends to pick it up. His eyes move across the image, then back to me. The color seems to drain from his face. For a second, neither of us speaks. We’re both staring at the same thing.

A woman. She looks to be in her late twenties. She’s naked and bound with her hands behind her back. Her body is covered in bright red blood, trailing down from a silver collar at her neck.

A single figure stands behind her. A massive man wearing dark clothing takes up half of the background. His face is covered with a mask so it’s impossible to tell who it is.

The image is so horrifying that I feel nauseous. But the worst part isn’t the blood covering the entire lower half of her body. It’s her eyes. They stare straight through the camera, vacant and empty. Like whatever made her, her, had already been ripped away.

I look at Fox. His eyes are wide but the rest of him is still as stone. Something tells me this was never meant to be found. What are we going to do?

Chapter 31

Fox

“Where did you find this?” I ask.

I look over at Kira’s shaking body. She hasn’t said a word since I walked in. Her finger trembles as she points toward the open drawer of the captain's desk.

I grab the handle and yank it from its track. The drawer hits the floor with a crash and something inside me drops along with it.

Beneath the drawer are dozens of Polaroids. I pull them out one at a time. Each one depicts a woman in a similar position—bound, collared, and covered in blood.

The lighting is dim and grainy but there’s enough detail to make my stomach drop. Some of the women are looking at the camera. Others have their faces turned away but there is an emptiness in all of them.

“Wha-what is that?” Kira stammers, her voice is barely there. “Who would have something like that?”

I don’t answer. I lay the photos across the desk one by one until the entire surface is covered. Each one is worse than the last. The collars around their throats are impossible to ignore, the metal biting into skin hard enough that I swear I can feel the pressure around my own neck.

I place the last Polaroid down and take a step back. Ten pictures. Ten different women.

“I don’t know,” I say.

It’s the truth. Finding these hidden inside the captain’s office is more jarring than I know how to process. This is a man who became like a father to me. He helped me through the tragedy of losing my own. He showed up when I needed someone. I was thankful everyday for him, until now.