Pieces & Parts, page 5
As soon as the doctor leaves the room, Jonas sits on the bed next to me and envelops me in his arms. “I know you’re scared and that there’s a lot of confusing stuff going on. I promise you’re safe, and we’ll get through this together. I’ll do whatever I need to do. I can take a leave of absence or something.”
I shake my head. “Please don’t. You’ve worked so hard to get where you are. I don’t want to ruin everything.”
Jonas sighs. “How about we take things a day at a time and figure it all out as we go? Sound good?”
I nod and bury my head against his chest. I love this man so much. I hope that whatever’s going on in my head doesn’t destroy our marriage or hurt our baby.
Within two hours, we’re loaded in the car and headed home. Perhaps I’ll feel more at ease in the safety of our house, my sanctuary. I try to focus on the important things and, each time a memory or a voice calls out to me from the flashes, I make a mental list of things I’m grateful for in an attempt to stop them from manifesting. Jonas must notice my quietness, but he lets me be and doesn’t force conversation.
My mental exercises work for the most part until we are almost home, and the crime scene tape wrapped around the place I found the bones comes into view. A dozen investigators scour the area around the creek. I gasp as a chill zooms through me.
“I’m sorry they’re still here, hon. I know this can’t be good for you.”
With shuddering breaths, I finally ask the question that’s been plaguing me. “Have they… identified him yet?”
Jonas takes a deep breath. “The only thing I know is what I’ve seen in the paper. They know it’s a boy, most likely in his early teens. They haven’t released his name or any other details yet. I don’t even know if they have that info at this point.”
As we pull into the driveway, my eyes are glued down the hill to Tatum’s final resting place. A green flash envelops me, and his voice echoes inside my head. Help them find me. Help me go home!
“Jonas, we have to help the police. We have to get this boy back to his family.”
“For now, let’s get you inside, okay?” Jonas says as he opens his car door.
I fling mine open and storm out of the car. “Jonas, his family needs to know. We have to help them. Not later. Now!” I yell.
“How exactly are we going to do that, Tessa? Am I supposed to march up to them and say you know this kid’s name? They will not believe you. There’s no way to explain it so that they’ll understand,” Jonas says as tears of frustration and anguish build in his eyes.
“We have to try. Tatum is screaming inside of my head to go home,” I say in a whisper and grab his arm. “Please.”
Jonas shivers and closes his eyes, his face upturned toward the falling snow. “Okay, okay. Let’s get you inside and I’ll walk down to ask one of the investigators to come talk with us.”
I throw my arms around him. “Thank you.”
Once inside, Jonas builds a fire while I put on a fresh pot of coffee. After getting a cup, I sit on the couch per Jonas’ instructions while he walks down to talk with the investigators. As I wait, I watch the dancing flames and let the voices in my head out to play for a while. To talk and to reveal whatever pieces of information they can.
Tatum’s voice is the loudest in my mind—begging, pleading, and crying to go home. For his mommy. My heart fractures listening to his pleas. His pain and fear rumble throughout my body. The man’s voice chimes in too every once in a while. Sometimes it’s filled with anger, other times with remorse and sadness. It’s such a strange sensation because when Matthew was inside of my head, there was no doubt he was pure evil. That his actions were despicable and only to fulfill his sick needs and desires. This man is different. Yet I know he killed this innocent boy.
“Who are you? Why did you do this?” I say out loud, wishing the man in my head could hear me and answer my questions.
Instead of receiving an answer, the front door opens, and Jonas enters with a man who looks to be about my age, along with a blast of cold air.
“Have a seat,” Jonas says, pointing toward the family room. “Would you like some coffee?”
“That would be wonderful. It’s pretty cold out there.”
Jonas heads to the kitchen, and the man leans down, extending his hand to me. “I’m Detective Oliver, one of the crime scene investigators.”
“Hi! I’m Tessa McCafferty. Thank you for coming to talk with us.”
He chuckles. “Your husband didn’t really leave me much choice. And it’s nice to get out of the cold for a while.”
Jonas hands Detective Oliver a warm mug before taking a seat next to me on the couch.
The detective takes a sip and then says, “So, your husband said you have some information that might be helpful to our investigation.”
I wrap my hands around my mug and nod. “I do. I don’t know if I can explain it so that it makes sense.” I pause and he nods as if to tell me to continue. “I have this gift. It’s kind of like being a psychic, but a little different.”
Detective Oliver raises his eyebrows and sighs. I’m sure he’s encountered his share of whack jobs in this line of work. I can’t blame him for doubting.
“You don’t have to believe me, but I have information that could be helpful, so please listen without judging. Please,” I pause, and he holds out a hand to tell me to continue. “Do you know whose bones you’ve found?”
“All I can tell you is what we’ve released to the public. They belong to a male, probably pre-teen to teen. I can’t really divulge any more information than that.”
I nod. “I know it is a teenage boy named Tatum. I don’t know his last name. He was hit in the head with a large rock which killed him. His lower left leg was then removed by a man with blue eyes.”
Jonas squeezes my hand so tightly that I’m afraid he’s going to break my fingers.
Detective Oliver’s eyes narrow, and he takes a long drink of his coffee before speaking. “How do you know this?”
“Like she said, she has a gift that allows her to see these things. She just wants to be helpful.” Jonas’ voice shakes as he speaks.
“I want to help him get back to his family. He wants to go home,” I whisper as another green flash whooshes through me.
Detective Oliver raises his cup to take a drink but his hand trembles, and a bit of the coffee sloshes out onto his pants and the floor. “Shit! I’m sorry about that.”
Jonas leaps up to get a towel and hands it to the detective. Once he’s cleaned up the spill, he steeples his hands and rests his chin on them while staring into the fire. Several moments of silence pass.
Finally, he clears his throat and turns back to us. “I don’t really understand how you know what you do, but I know for a fact some of what you said is true. I will take the rest of the information back to my team. It may prove helpful in identifying the body and the family members. Will you please make yourself available for further questions?”
“Of course,” Jonas and I both say at the same time.
“Trust me, I know that a lot of this doesn’t make sense. I wish I could make you understand, but I don’t even fully grasp it,” I say. “I only want to help get this poor child back to his parents.”
“Understood,” Detective Oliver says as he stands and reaches forward to shake our hands. “I’ve learned one thing in my life, and that’s the fact that I don’t have to understand everything. The world is full of strange things, some of which make no logical sense. So, thank you for sharing. But I guarantee we’ll need to talk with you again.”
I breathe a sigh of relief that at least it seems like he believes me. “Thank you. And we won’t be going anywhere. You know where to find us. Please, please, please, help him get home.”
The detective nods with a slight smile and heads back out into the winter day.
Chapter 13
We have been home for a couple of hours when I’m finally able to convince Jonas I feel well enough to paint. I’m desperate to get some of this madness swirling around in my mind onto a canvas. I may explode if I don’t get it out of me. He agrees to get in touch with Chaundra while I paint to see if she can come over to stay with me. Jonas has a heavy class schedule for the next couple of days, and he doesn’t want to leave me alone until I feel better. At least that’s how he phrases it, but I know he means until we figure out what is going on with the flashes and whether I’m mentally stable enough to be alone. I understand his concern, but I’m also a bit resentful that he thinks I need a babysitter. How quickly I’ve been thrown right back into the lunacy to which I once was so accustomed.
I smock up and, rather than paint to music as usual, I decide to paint in silence today. Well, not silence exactly, rather to the voices and images in my mind. To let them flow through me and out my paintbrush onto the blank canvas. I have no idea what is going to emerge, so I begin painting with no plan in mind.
I’m quickly lost in a world of color. Voices and images in my mind guide my hands as the paint flies onto the canvas. My mind is not in this room. I work frantically, trying to dump everything out before it vanishes. All that matters right now is getting this piece done. Deep inside, I am cognizant that this painting will help me better understand what’s going on. It will be instrumental in coping with both the return of the flashes and the discovery of Tatum’s bones.
A gasp from somewhere behind me snaps me back to the studio. “Tess!” Jonas says, his voice shaking.
I whip around. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?” I put my palette and brush down and head toward him. His face is ashen, and his mouth hangs open in shock.
“What are you painting?” He points to my easel.
Based on his reaction, I’m terrified to look. Even though I’ve been working on this piece for hours, I haven’t really absorbed what I’ve painted. I’ve let my mind guide each stroke without taking any of it in. I keep my gaze fixed on Jonas, terrified to turn around.
“Hon, look at what you’ve painted. Please.” He takes my arm and gently turns me.
I raise my hand to my mouth to stifle a scream. “Oh my God!”
Jonas steers me to the sofa and we both sit. “Is that… Tatum?”
“No, it’s not.”
“Who then?”
I massage my temples and close my eyes. I have no idea. The painting is more like an abstract portrait of a young boy who looks to be twelve or thirteen. The setting is serene. He stands in a garden, surrounded by flowers. Half of his face is normal, a young boy’s face painted clearly. He has sandy blond hair, big brown eyes, cheeks that haven’t yet lost that boyishness, still a bit chubby. The other half of his face is a skull. Some of his body is normal in the picture, and other parts of the painting have bones replacing his body parts. His left upper arm a bone, while his lower arm is intact. His entire right arm is made of bone. His midsection is that of a normal child, dressed in a short-sleeved blue shirt and a pair of tan shorts. Beneath the shorts, his whole right leg is made of bone, including his foot. The left leg is normal to the knee and, then below it, only bone. Surrounding him on the ground are bones of various shapes and sizes. In the upper right corner, a blue-eyed man peers out from behind a tree. A tear trails down his left cheek. Those are the eyes of the killer.
What in the hell is this? I push away from Jonas and run to the trash can to vomit. He follows and holds my hair back. I heave until I have nothing left. I’m drenched with sweat even though I’m chilled to the bone. Finally, I collapse against Jonas. He gently leads me to the couch, where he holds me to his chest and strokes my hair.
When my racing heart has calmed, and my breathing has returned to normal, he finally speaks. “Can we talk about this?”
I whisper, “I can try.”
“What do you think it is? You said it’s not Tatum, so who?”
I shake my head. “I have no idea. It’s gruesome though. And did you see the man peeking around the tree? That’s the killer. Those are his eyes.”
Jonas stands, walks to the painting, and leans forward, squinting. “I hadn’t noticed that before. He’s crying. What do you think that means?”
“I wish I knew, but I don’t,” I say and cover my face with my hands.
Jonas comes back to the couch and holds his hand out to me. “How about we let this sit for a while and step away? Maybe things will become clearer once you have some distance.”
“That’s a great idea.”
I need to get away from this gruesome half-boy, half-skeleton, and those blue eyes that belong to a killer. I grab Jonas’ hand and head downstairs, away from the ugliness of my mind.
After eating two peanut butter and pickle sandwiches, which fulfill so many of my pregnancy cravings, Jonas and I snuggle on the couch where he watches movies, and I listen since I’m not supposed to have too much screen time. It’s a helpful distraction from the images in my mind and the painting upstairs, waiting for my interpretation or understanding. I don’t realize Jonas has dozed off until I hear his quiet snores. I slip out of his embrace and tuck the blanket around him. After turning down the volume on the television, I head upstairs. I need to get back to figuring out what in the world I’ve painted. I grab a notebook and pen from my desk to write down some of the thoughts and feelings the painting evokes in me.
I flip on the light and feel nauseated as soon as I catch a glimpse of the picture. Get control of yourself. Stop it! I pull a chair close to the canvas and force myself to study it, even though I desperately want to look away. I take a deep breath and write.
Bring you back
I’m sorry
Forgive me
Atonement
Heartbreak
Seven to go
Come Home
Sacrifice
Put in it the pieces, every good piece, the thigh and the shoulder; fill it with choice bones.
Choice Bones
Choice Bones
Choice Bones
Ezekiel
My breathing becomes shallow, and I feel light-headed. I toss the pen on my desk and read through the list. None of it makes sense. Ezekiel—is that the boy’s name? Or the killer’s? And that sentence—what does it mean? It sounds familiar but I have no idea why.
I throw the notebook to the floor and bury my face in my hands. I don’t know what any of this means. Why is this happening again? Why now when I’m pregnant and want to just enjoy this phase of my life?
Why?
Chapter 14
Surprisingly, I manage to get a good night’s sleep despite my inner turmoil. There’s a knock on the door as Jonas and I finish our breakfast. My nerves are so frazzled that I jump at the intrusive sound. Jonas rushes to answer.
“Hello, friends!” Chaundra says, way too cheerfully. She scurries over and squeezes my shoulder. “I come bearing gifts.”
She puts a huge pan of lasagna, a salad, and garlic bread on the table.
“I thought you all could use some dinner. We need to keep that baby fed, don’t we?”
I can’t help but smile. “Thank you. You know I love your lasagna! This will be perfect for dinner tonight.”
“Yes, I do. Plus, I wanted to check on you. I thought you could use some girl time,” she says as she pours herself a cup of coffee.
“Uh, that’s my cue to leave. I’ll go do some work,” Jonas says. He plants a kiss on top of my head. “I’ll be upstairs in my office. Yell if you need me.”
Chaundra and I sit in silence until we hear the office door close. “How are you? You look rough.”
I rub the back of my neck, trying to loosen up the muscles. “Are the investigators still outside?” I point to the window. I haven’t been able to bear checking for myself.
“Yes. Have you heard anything?” she asks.
“I talked to a detective and told him about Tatum and the man with the blue eyes. He seemed to believe me, which caught me off guard.”
Chaundra sighs. “Let’s hope they take it seriously. I know a lot of cops deal in black and white and don’t believe in unknown things, like our gifts. So, back to you.”
How am I? That’s a loaded question—one I’m not sure how to answer.
I blow out a breath. “I’m a mess. I need them to find Tatum’s family. Get him home. You gotta see this screwed up painting I did.”
I rise, and Chaundra follows behind, up the stairs to the studio. She heads straight to my easel and studies it in silence. I sit on the couch and watch her, trying to figure out what’s going through her head. Finally, after what feels like hours, she joins me on the couch.
“Well, that’s pretty disturbing. Who’s the boy?”
I shrug. “I wish I knew. Did you see the eyes?”
She nods. “I’m assuming that’s the killer. But he’s crying, which is weird. Any ideas?”
I hand her the notebook where I jotted down my thoughts. She reads the list and gasps.
“What’s wrong?”
She pulls out her phone and begins typing something in. She holds up a finger, telling me to wait a minute.
“I knew it. I thought that part of what you wrote looks familiar, and here’s why. It’s in the Bible. Listen, in Ezekiel 24:4 Put in it the pieces, Every good piece, the thigh and the shoulder; fill it with choice bones.”
I grab her phone. “Let me see that!” It’s right there in front of me. A scripture that fits what was going through my head. “Wow! So, what does it mean?”
“I don’t know. But it’s kind of applicable to the painting. Some parts of the boy are whole and other parts are bone. The question is why? And, looking at what you painted, it seems the bones are of different shapes and sizes—like pieces of a puzzle that don’t necessarily go together.” She heads to the painting and points. “Like look at this left upper arm, it’s a daintier bone than what makes up the right arm. Even these bones in the right arm don’t seem to match per se. It’s as though pieces of different people are put together to make up missing parts of this boy.”
I shake my head. “Please don’t. You’ve worked so hard to get where you are. I don’t want to ruin everything.”
Jonas sighs. “How about we take things a day at a time and figure it all out as we go? Sound good?”
I nod and bury my head against his chest. I love this man so much. I hope that whatever’s going on in my head doesn’t destroy our marriage or hurt our baby.
Within two hours, we’re loaded in the car and headed home. Perhaps I’ll feel more at ease in the safety of our house, my sanctuary. I try to focus on the important things and, each time a memory or a voice calls out to me from the flashes, I make a mental list of things I’m grateful for in an attempt to stop them from manifesting. Jonas must notice my quietness, but he lets me be and doesn’t force conversation.
My mental exercises work for the most part until we are almost home, and the crime scene tape wrapped around the place I found the bones comes into view. A dozen investigators scour the area around the creek. I gasp as a chill zooms through me.
“I’m sorry they’re still here, hon. I know this can’t be good for you.”
With shuddering breaths, I finally ask the question that’s been plaguing me. “Have they… identified him yet?”
Jonas takes a deep breath. “The only thing I know is what I’ve seen in the paper. They know it’s a boy, most likely in his early teens. They haven’t released his name or any other details yet. I don’t even know if they have that info at this point.”
As we pull into the driveway, my eyes are glued down the hill to Tatum’s final resting place. A green flash envelops me, and his voice echoes inside my head. Help them find me. Help me go home!
“Jonas, we have to help the police. We have to get this boy back to his family.”
“For now, let’s get you inside, okay?” Jonas says as he opens his car door.
I fling mine open and storm out of the car. “Jonas, his family needs to know. We have to help them. Not later. Now!” I yell.
“How exactly are we going to do that, Tessa? Am I supposed to march up to them and say you know this kid’s name? They will not believe you. There’s no way to explain it so that they’ll understand,” Jonas says as tears of frustration and anguish build in his eyes.
“We have to try. Tatum is screaming inside of my head to go home,” I say in a whisper and grab his arm. “Please.”
Jonas shivers and closes his eyes, his face upturned toward the falling snow. “Okay, okay. Let’s get you inside and I’ll walk down to ask one of the investigators to come talk with us.”
I throw my arms around him. “Thank you.”
Once inside, Jonas builds a fire while I put on a fresh pot of coffee. After getting a cup, I sit on the couch per Jonas’ instructions while he walks down to talk with the investigators. As I wait, I watch the dancing flames and let the voices in my head out to play for a while. To talk and to reveal whatever pieces of information they can.
Tatum’s voice is the loudest in my mind—begging, pleading, and crying to go home. For his mommy. My heart fractures listening to his pleas. His pain and fear rumble throughout my body. The man’s voice chimes in too every once in a while. Sometimes it’s filled with anger, other times with remorse and sadness. It’s such a strange sensation because when Matthew was inside of my head, there was no doubt he was pure evil. That his actions were despicable and only to fulfill his sick needs and desires. This man is different. Yet I know he killed this innocent boy.
“Who are you? Why did you do this?” I say out loud, wishing the man in my head could hear me and answer my questions.
Instead of receiving an answer, the front door opens, and Jonas enters with a man who looks to be about my age, along with a blast of cold air.
“Have a seat,” Jonas says, pointing toward the family room. “Would you like some coffee?”
“That would be wonderful. It’s pretty cold out there.”
Jonas heads to the kitchen, and the man leans down, extending his hand to me. “I’m Detective Oliver, one of the crime scene investigators.”
“Hi! I’m Tessa McCafferty. Thank you for coming to talk with us.”
He chuckles. “Your husband didn’t really leave me much choice. And it’s nice to get out of the cold for a while.”
Jonas hands Detective Oliver a warm mug before taking a seat next to me on the couch.
The detective takes a sip and then says, “So, your husband said you have some information that might be helpful to our investigation.”
I wrap my hands around my mug and nod. “I do. I don’t know if I can explain it so that it makes sense.” I pause and he nods as if to tell me to continue. “I have this gift. It’s kind of like being a psychic, but a little different.”
Detective Oliver raises his eyebrows and sighs. I’m sure he’s encountered his share of whack jobs in this line of work. I can’t blame him for doubting.
“You don’t have to believe me, but I have information that could be helpful, so please listen without judging. Please,” I pause, and he holds out a hand to tell me to continue. “Do you know whose bones you’ve found?”
“All I can tell you is what we’ve released to the public. They belong to a male, probably pre-teen to teen. I can’t really divulge any more information than that.”
I nod. “I know it is a teenage boy named Tatum. I don’t know his last name. He was hit in the head with a large rock which killed him. His lower left leg was then removed by a man with blue eyes.”
Jonas squeezes my hand so tightly that I’m afraid he’s going to break my fingers.
Detective Oliver’s eyes narrow, and he takes a long drink of his coffee before speaking. “How do you know this?”
“Like she said, she has a gift that allows her to see these things. She just wants to be helpful.” Jonas’ voice shakes as he speaks.
“I want to help him get back to his family. He wants to go home,” I whisper as another green flash whooshes through me.
Detective Oliver raises his cup to take a drink but his hand trembles, and a bit of the coffee sloshes out onto his pants and the floor. “Shit! I’m sorry about that.”
Jonas leaps up to get a towel and hands it to the detective. Once he’s cleaned up the spill, he steeples his hands and rests his chin on them while staring into the fire. Several moments of silence pass.
Finally, he clears his throat and turns back to us. “I don’t really understand how you know what you do, but I know for a fact some of what you said is true. I will take the rest of the information back to my team. It may prove helpful in identifying the body and the family members. Will you please make yourself available for further questions?”
“Of course,” Jonas and I both say at the same time.
“Trust me, I know that a lot of this doesn’t make sense. I wish I could make you understand, but I don’t even fully grasp it,” I say. “I only want to help get this poor child back to his parents.”
“Understood,” Detective Oliver says as he stands and reaches forward to shake our hands. “I’ve learned one thing in my life, and that’s the fact that I don’t have to understand everything. The world is full of strange things, some of which make no logical sense. So, thank you for sharing. But I guarantee we’ll need to talk with you again.”
I breathe a sigh of relief that at least it seems like he believes me. “Thank you. And we won’t be going anywhere. You know where to find us. Please, please, please, help him get home.”
The detective nods with a slight smile and heads back out into the winter day.
Chapter 13
We have been home for a couple of hours when I’m finally able to convince Jonas I feel well enough to paint. I’m desperate to get some of this madness swirling around in my mind onto a canvas. I may explode if I don’t get it out of me. He agrees to get in touch with Chaundra while I paint to see if she can come over to stay with me. Jonas has a heavy class schedule for the next couple of days, and he doesn’t want to leave me alone until I feel better. At least that’s how he phrases it, but I know he means until we figure out what is going on with the flashes and whether I’m mentally stable enough to be alone. I understand his concern, but I’m also a bit resentful that he thinks I need a babysitter. How quickly I’ve been thrown right back into the lunacy to which I once was so accustomed.
I smock up and, rather than paint to music as usual, I decide to paint in silence today. Well, not silence exactly, rather to the voices and images in my mind. To let them flow through me and out my paintbrush onto the blank canvas. I have no idea what is going to emerge, so I begin painting with no plan in mind.
I’m quickly lost in a world of color. Voices and images in my mind guide my hands as the paint flies onto the canvas. My mind is not in this room. I work frantically, trying to dump everything out before it vanishes. All that matters right now is getting this piece done. Deep inside, I am cognizant that this painting will help me better understand what’s going on. It will be instrumental in coping with both the return of the flashes and the discovery of Tatum’s bones.
A gasp from somewhere behind me snaps me back to the studio. “Tess!” Jonas says, his voice shaking.
I whip around. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?” I put my palette and brush down and head toward him. His face is ashen, and his mouth hangs open in shock.
“What are you painting?” He points to my easel.
Based on his reaction, I’m terrified to look. Even though I’ve been working on this piece for hours, I haven’t really absorbed what I’ve painted. I’ve let my mind guide each stroke without taking any of it in. I keep my gaze fixed on Jonas, terrified to turn around.
“Hon, look at what you’ve painted. Please.” He takes my arm and gently turns me.
I raise my hand to my mouth to stifle a scream. “Oh my God!”
Jonas steers me to the sofa and we both sit. “Is that… Tatum?”
“No, it’s not.”
“Who then?”
I massage my temples and close my eyes. I have no idea. The painting is more like an abstract portrait of a young boy who looks to be twelve or thirteen. The setting is serene. He stands in a garden, surrounded by flowers. Half of his face is normal, a young boy’s face painted clearly. He has sandy blond hair, big brown eyes, cheeks that haven’t yet lost that boyishness, still a bit chubby. The other half of his face is a skull. Some of his body is normal in the picture, and other parts of the painting have bones replacing his body parts. His left upper arm a bone, while his lower arm is intact. His entire right arm is made of bone. His midsection is that of a normal child, dressed in a short-sleeved blue shirt and a pair of tan shorts. Beneath the shorts, his whole right leg is made of bone, including his foot. The left leg is normal to the knee and, then below it, only bone. Surrounding him on the ground are bones of various shapes and sizes. In the upper right corner, a blue-eyed man peers out from behind a tree. A tear trails down his left cheek. Those are the eyes of the killer.
What in the hell is this? I push away from Jonas and run to the trash can to vomit. He follows and holds my hair back. I heave until I have nothing left. I’m drenched with sweat even though I’m chilled to the bone. Finally, I collapse against Jonas. He gently leads me to the couch, where he holds me to his chest and strokes my hair.
When my racing heart has calmed, and my breathing has returned to normal, he finally speaks. “Can we talk about this?”
I whisper, “I can try.”
“What do you think it is? You said it’s not Tatum, so who?”
I shake my head. “I have no idea. It’s gruesome though. And did you see the man peeking around the tree? That’s the killer. Those are his eyes.”
Jonas stands, walks to the painting, and leans forward, squinting. “I hadn’t noticed that before. He’s crying. What do you think that means?”
“I wish I knew, but I don’t,” I say and cover my face with my hands.
Jonas comes back to the couch and holds his hand out to me. “How about we let this sit for a while and step away? Maybe things will become clearer once you have some distance.”
“That’s a great idea.”
I need to get away from this gruesome half-boy, half-skeleton, and those blue eyes that belong to a killer. I grab Jonas’ hand and head downstairs, away from the ugliness of my mind.
After eating two peanut butter and pickle sandwiches, which fulfill so many of my pregnancy cravings, Jonas and I snuggle on the couch where he watches movies, and I listen since I’m not supposed to have too much screen time. It’s a helpful distraction from the images in my mind and the painting upstairs, waiting for my interpretation or understanding. I don’t realize Jonas has dozed off until I hear his quiet snores. I slip out of his embrace and tuck the blanket around him. After turning down the volume on the television, I head upstairs. I need to get back to figuring out what in the world I’ve painted. I grab a notebook and pen from my desk to write down some of the thoughts and feelings the painting evokes in me.
I flip on the light and feel nauseated as soon as I catch a glimpse of the picture. Get control of yourself. Stop it! I pull a chair close to the canvas and force myself to study it, even though I desperately want to look away. I take a deep breath and write.
Bring you back
I’m sorry
Forgive me
Atonement
Heartbreak
Seven to go
Come Home
Sacrifice
Put in it the pieces, every good piece, the thigh and the shoulder; fill it with choice bones.
Choice Bones
Choice Bones
Choice Bones
Ezekiel
My breathing becomes shallow, and I feel light-headed. I toss the pen on my desk and read through the list. None of it makes sense. Ezekiel—is that the boy’s name? Or the killer’s? And that sentence—what does it mean? It sounds familiar but I have no idea why.
I throw the notebook to the floor and bury my face in my hands. I don’t know what any of this means. Why is this happening again? Why now when I’m pregnant and want to just enjoy this phase of my life?
Why?
Chapter 14
Surprisingly, I manage to get a good night’s sleep despite my inner turmoil. There’s a knock on the door as Jonas and I finish our breakfast. My nerves are so frazzled that I jump at the intrusive sound. Jonas rushes to answer.
“Hello, friends!” Chaundra says, way too cheerfully. She scurries over and squeezes my shoulder. “I come bearing gifts.”
She puts a huge pan of lasagna, a salad, and garlic bread on the table.
“I thought you all could use some dinner. We need to keep that baby fed, don’t we?”
I can’t help but smile. “Thank you. You know I love your lasagna! This will be perfect for dinner tonight.”
“Yes, I do. Plus, I wanted to check on you. I thought you could use some girl time,” she says as she pours herself a cup of coffee.
“Uh, that’s my cue to leave. I’ll go do some work,” Jonas says. He plants a kiss on top of my head. “I’ll be upstairs in my office. Yell if you need me.”
Chaundra and I sit in silence until we hear the office door close. “How are you? You look rough.”
I rub the back of my neck, trying to loosen up the muscles. “Are the investigators still outside?” I point to the window. I haven’t been able to bear checking for myself.
“Yes. Have you heard anything?” she asks.
“I talked to a detective and told him about Tatum and the man with the blue eyes. He seemed to believe me, which caught me off guard.”
Chaundra sighs. “Let’s hope they take it seriously. I know a lot of cops deal in black and white and don’t believe in unknown things, like our gifts. So, back to you.”
How am I? That’s a loaded question—one I’m not sure how to answer.
I blow out a breath. “I’m a mess. I need them to find Tatum’s family. Get him home. You gotta see this screwed up painting I did.”
I rise, and Chaundra follows behind, up the stairs to the studio. She heads straight to my easel and studies it in silence. I sit on the couch and watch her, trying to figure out what’s going through her head. Finally, after what feels like hours, she joins me on the couch.
“Well, that’s pretty disturbing. Who’s the boy?”
I shrug. “I wish I knew. Did you see the eyes?”
She nods. “I’m assuming that’s the killer. But he’s crying, which is weird. Any ideas?”
I hand her the notebook where I jotted down my thoughts. She reads the list and gasps.
“What’s wrong?”
She pulls out her phone and begins typing something in. She holds up a finger, telling me to wait a minute.
“I knew it. I thought that part of what you wrote looks familiar, and here’s why. It’s in the Bible. Listen, in Ezekiel 24:4 Put in it the pieces, Every good piece, the thigh and the shoulder; fill it with choice bones.”
I grab her phone. “Let me see that!” It’s right there in front of me. A scripture that fits what was going through my head. “Wow! So, what does it mean?”
“I don’t know. But it’s kind of applicable to the painting. Some parts of the boy are whole and other parts are bone. The question is why? And, looking at what you painted, it seems the bones are of different shapes and sizes—like pieces of a puzzle that don’t necessarily go together.” She heads to the painting and points. “Like look at this left upper arm, it’s a daintier bone than what makes up the right arm. Even these bones in the right arm don’t seem to match per se. It’s as though pieces of different people are put together to make up missing parts of this boy.”
