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Today had been the worst day Jo Melancon had had since joining the force. She called it a night and headed home. All she wanted was to grab a bite to eat, curl up in bed and fall fast asleep.
Not in the mood to stop at a restaurant and risk running into anyone that wanted to talk about the case, she decided to bake a frozen pizza in the oven.
Once at home, she went into the kitchen, opened her fridge and grabbed a beer. She reached into the freezer and grabbed the first one readily available and put it in the oven. While waiting for the pizza to cook, she turned on the TV. Not much was on but at least its mindless babble would prevent her mind from over thinking the case.
As soon as the timer went off she pulled the pizza out of the oven and sliced it. It’s sad that lately takeout and frozen food had become a staple in her house. She really should learn how to cook, but she didn’t like to cook for one person. It was easier to grab something to eat on the way to wherever she was going or pop something in the microwave.
Now and then her mom cooked her several dishes for the freezer. Although, lately, her mother had nagged her to learn how to cook, and find herself a man. Jo suspected that learning to cook may be easier than finding a man.
Her mother even bought her several cookbooks hoping to inspire her to cook a dish. One of these days she would attempt to cook again.
Just the other night Jo felt adventurous and tried to cook a shrimp stew. She went to the local grocery store and purchased the ingredients she thought she needed. In hindsight, she should have read a recipe. Jo doubted even a dog would have eaten that concoction. She had no idea what she did wrong, but it didn’t even resemble shrimp stew. That unfortunate disaster had curtailed any future attempts to cook.
After finishing supper and finding nothing on TV, Jo decided to curl up in her bed. She tossed and turned for the three hours as sleep eluded her. With a pounding headache, she gave up on slumber and reached for her ibuprofen. This particular brand had an added benefit of a sleeping aid. When her headaches were this bad it seemed to be the only thing that helped her.
Her mind was racing through the events that had taken place here in the last few days. None of this made any sense. There were so many missing persons’ reports to review, and so little hope in identifying the victims.
A facial reconstruction specialist was working with them to identify some of these poor souls. It would still be a long and laborious process.
She wasn’t sure why this case was affecting her this way. She had always prided herself on being able to separate her emotions from her job. Several cuts and breaks were discovered on the bones confirming that these victims were tortured before dying. The one victim that Dr. Harrison could autopsy had water in her lungs, which meant that she was alive when the killer threw her into the bayou.
When she closed her eyes she could feel their fear and hear their screams, their pleas begging for mercy. This man had no pity or human compassion.
As her medicine kicked in, she hoped that when she closed her eyes she would dream without seeing the bones of the victims, without hearing their pleas for help.