HARD REALITY
The cab slowed to a stop in front of an unassuming building that looked more like a small–town office than the epicenter of so much grief. I clenched my hands in my lap, my fingers. digging into my palms as I stared at the faded sign.
Police Station.
Beneath it, in smaller letters, was the word I had been dreading since we landed: Mortuary.
Laura shifted beside me, her breath hitching as her hand tightened around her bag strap. I didn’t look at her. If I did, I wasn’t sure I’d be able to keep the tears at bay.
“Ready?” she asked, her voice thin and strained.
I swallowed hard and nodded. “Yeah.”
The moment we stepped out of the cab, chaos descended. Reporters swarmed us like flies, their shouts overlapping until their words blurred together.
“Jessica! Laura! Can you confirm if-”
“Are the bodies identifiable-”
“Are you going to keep the baby even if your husband is dead?”
Cameras flashed, and the bright light stung my eyes. Laura flinched, her arm brushing against mine, but before either of us could say anything, the station door burst open.
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HARD REALITY
A tall man in a wrinkled suit strode toward us, waving off the reporters. “Step back!” he barked, his tone sharp enough to cut through the din. He reached us in a few long strides, his
expression tight and impatient.
“Detective Raynor,” he said curtly ushering us toward the building. As the door swung shut behind us, muffling the noise outside, he muttered under his breath, “Vultures.”
I didn’t respond. I wasn’t sure I could.
“This way,” he said, his voice softening as he gestured us down a narrow hallway. His steps were brisk and purposeful, as though he wanted this over as much as we did.
We followed in silence, the fluorescent lights overhead casting harsh shadows on the scuffed linoleum floor. The air smelled faintly of coffee, paper, and something metallic that I couldn’t quite place.
As we walked, Raynor began to speak, his tone measured but heavy. “A cargo ship found part of the wreckage last week. Pieces of the fuselage, some personal belongings, and…” He hesitated, glancing back at us. “…some remains.”
Laura sucked in a sharp breath beside me, but I didn’t look at her. My gaze stayed fixed on the floor.
“We don’t know the exact crash site,” Raynor continued. “There was a storm, and the currents could’ve carried debris miles- hundreds of miles–from the impact. We’re working with what we have.”
Laura nodded numbly, and I followed suit. Neither of us said a word.
HARD REALITY
388 (voucheri
“It’s sad, you know,” Raynor added quietly. “So many players. All gone. It’s a big loss for the country.”
His words felt hollow, like an echo in an empty room. I didn’t respond. I couldn’t let myself feel anything–not yet.
We reached a heavy steel door at the end of the hall, and Raynor paused, his hand resting on the handle.
“I need you to prepare yourselves,” he said softly, his gaze
us.”
shifting between us. “What you’re about to see… it’s not easy. The bodies were in the water for weeks. The damage is… significant.”
I nodded stiffly, swallowing the lump in my throat. Laura gripped my arm again, her fingers trembling.
Raynor pushed the door open, and a wave of cold air washed over me. The room was stark and sterile, the hum of fluorescent lights mingling with the faint whir of a ventilation system.
Metal drawers lined the walls, their sterile surfaces gleaming under the harsh light. A man in scrubs stood near a workstation, his expression grim but professional.
He nodded to Raynor, who returned the gesture before turning back to us. “We’ll start with the first one,” he said, his tone gentle but firm.
The attendant opened a drawer, the metallic screech of the sliding tray making my stomach turn. He pulled back the sheet, and my breath caught.
The body beneath was swollen and discolored, barely recognizable as human. My chest tightened, and I had to look
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away, biting the inside of my cheek to keep from gagging.
Raynor glanced at me. “Do you recognize him?”
I shook my head, unable to speak, but I knew it wasn’t Luke or Josh. I can’t tell you how I knew, but I did. Laura agreed and shook her head.
The attendant covered the body again, sliding the drawer back into place. “Next,” Raynor said, his voice quieter now.
Drawer after drawer, sheet after sheet, the process repeated. Each time, I felt a little more of myself crumble. The faces–or what was left of them–blurred together in my mind, each one a grim reminder of the storm, the crash, and everything we’d lost.
When we reached the final drawer, I braced myself. My legs felt like jelly, my hands clammy and trembling, but I forced myself to look.
The body was smaller than the others, the face obscured by damage. For a moment, my heart stopped.
Could it be-
But no. The build was wrong. The jawline didn’t match. It wasn’t Josh, and it definitely wasn’t Luke.
I exhaled shakily, my vision swimming. “It’s not him,“I whispered, my voice cracking.
Beside me, Laura let out a small, broken sob, her hand covering her mouth.
Raynor nodded, his shouiders slumping slightly. “I’m sorry,” he said softly.
HARD REALITY
Laura wiped her eyes, her voice shaky. “What now?”
11 288 Wouters
Raynor sighed, running a hand through his hair. “We keep looking. The currents could’ve carried survivors–or remains- farther than we anticipated. But we won’t stop.”
I felt a strange mix of relief and guilt as we left the room. Josh wasn’t there, and neither was Luke, but that didn’t mean they were alive.
