Three hours later, Jason returned, soaked and
shaking. ““She’s not there. She’s gone. She’s
missing.”
Mom fussed over him, handing him a towel. “Go change, honey. Your room’s just the way you left it. Don’t catch a cold.” Did she ever
think about me, kneeling in the rain at his
grave?
Jason ignored the towel, his usual confident
swagger replaced by a hunched, defeated
posture. “She’s missing, Mom! Dad!”
Dad patted his shoulder reassuringly. “She’s
probably just at a friend’s house, Jason. She
does this sometimes. Don’t worry.” But Dad…
you chased my only friend away.
く
Habit was a powerful thing. They knew they’d
been wrong. They knew how much I’d
suffered. But they hadn’t even called me.
Jason sank onto the couch, burying his face
in his hands. ““It’s my fault. I should have never left her. She’ll never forgive me.”
Mom, Dad, and Sarah fussed over him. I’d gone from being the monster who killed their son to the cause of their current discomfort.
Dad declared, ““When she comes back, we’ll…we’ll make it up to her. We’ll all be
better to her.
But Dad…I wasn’t coming back.
The next day, Dad painstakingly reconstructed my face from the skull
fragments. My eyebrows, my eyes, my nose,
my mouth… He leaned back, staring at his handiwork. His face went slack with shock.
He stumbled back. “No…it can’t be…Ashley? No! This isn’t right! I’ve made a mistake!” He reached out, about to destroy it, but
Detective Miller rushed in.
“David! What are you…?” He stopped, staring
at the reconstructed face. ““Ashley?“”
Dad thrashed, trying to get to the model.
““No! It’s not her! I’m wrong! I’m wrong! She’s
at a friend’s house! She’s not…she’s not
dead!“”
“Snap out of it, David! When have you ever
been wrong about a reconstruction?” Miller’s
eyes were red–rimmed. He pulled a sheet of
paper from his pocket. “We found the
missing tibia last night. Surgical pinholes. We
checked hospital records. Ashley’s name is
on the list.
