Brooksdale

My hands were bloody. Bloody from this dead, stiff body I’m lugging ‘round; sloshin’ through the marshlands. The weight of him made my shoulders ache, the straps of my gloves diggin’ into my hands as the mud sucked at my boots, threatenin’ to pull me down with each step. The air was thick and sour, reekin’ of decay and damp earth, clingin’ to my nostrils like a bad memory. Every so often, I had to stop, catch my breath, and adjust my grip on his lifeless form. Ahead, I saw viable land, a small patch of firm ground risin’ outta the swamp like an island of salvation. Maybe then I’ll be able to take a closer look at the damage that was done.

When I first spotted the ragged body, my stomach churned. It was crumpled in the reeds, half-hidden under a soggy tarp. Looked like he’d been left there for days, maybe weeks, ‘fore I got to ‘em. The dispatch call had been vague—just somethin’ ‘bout somethin’ stickin’ out of the water. "Might be a mannequin," they’d said. What a mannequin that was. The skin was a sickly gray-green, bloated from the swamp, but unmistakably human. My heart raced. Finally, I’ve got myself a real case. Not some bullshit traffic violation or petty vandalism. No, this was somethin’ big. Somethin’ ugly.

We haven’t had anythin’ like this in years, maybe not ever if I can remember. Not in this small town, but it looks like someone’s tryin’ to make a name for themselves, but I’m not gonna let ‘em.

When I got to steady land, I assessed the body; and damn if this wasn’t a homicide, then I don’t know what is. From what I could make out, it could be the Mayor’s son, but how did he get all the way out here?

His face was slashed, looked like he was beaten, all black and blue. His pale skin was ghostly white now, a bit green from the bog water. His hair was scalped. Now that was just mean. Anyways, I got my body bag and put him in.

The bag was too clean, too sterile, for the gruesome mess inside. I zipped it up quick, sealin’ away the horror, and prepared to call the ambulance to take him away.

There’d been rumors goin’ ‘round that the Mayor had some debts to pay off, maybe this was their way of gettin’ back. It could just be a conspiracy but who knows, there’s always truth to everythin’. Even lies.

Unfortunately, the news also caught wind of this. I don’t even know how they coulda; we kept this as private as possible. Or at least I tried to.

It coulda been ‘cause the Mayor’s son did go missin’ and the news of a supposed mannequin poppin’ up triggered it. I thought he just ran off with some girl. He was a prick anyway, arrogant and spoiled, the kinda guy who thought the rules didn’t apply to him. But now? Now he was a headline waitin’ to happen. Though I’m excited ‘bout this new case, I’m too tired to talk to anyone this late at night. I guess I’ll give a short debrief of this to calm folks down before I go.

I really don’t have the energy for this shit, catch me in the mornin’. Before I could turn my head the bright lights of cameras caught me off guard.

“Detective Clementine. What do you have to say about the recent event? Is it the Mayor’s son?” the reporter questioned, pushin’ the mic straight into my space, makin’ me pull back a little.

“I cannot currently give you any more details that I don’t know myself,” I said, forcin’ my voice to stay even. “What I can say is that we will look into this case further, and I am gonna be the one to uncover the truth. Now could you, for the love of God, move outta the way so I can finish my damn job.” And go home. Gosh, I wish I could actually say that to their faces. Like I know they’re worried and all, but some space is needed every once and a while.

I pushed past ‘em, headed back to the police station. The weight of the day settled on my shoulders like a lead blanket. Since I was 19, I’ve been pushed ‘round the office, even though I’ve been the one to solve major cases before my transfer to this godforsaken town.

Bein’ hot-headed is what got me here. I took on a case I wasn’t supposed to, even though I solved it, and got booted out to old Brooksdale. Though, it could also be ‘cause I didn’t exactly do things the legal way, but I got the job done. The 2019 scandal had folks runnin’ like headless chickens before I stepped up. They were too dumb to realize they needed my help, or any help for that matter.

When I got to the station, all the guys were slouched in their chairs, watchin’ football and drinkin’ coffee that smelled like burnt rubber. A few of ‘em were asleep, snorin’ loud enough to rattle the windows. What a load of jagoffs. Not puttin’ in any effort to keep this town safe. I shook my head, grabbed my coat, and headed for the door. I guess I’ll just go home.

Drivin’ through the quiet streets, I never thought I’d be back here again. Brooksdale isn’t as picturesque as it once was when I was little. Back then, my childhood crush and I would sneak down to the abandoned warehouse. We’d meet up with our friends and play games, some appropriate, some… not so much, and dream about the future.

I wonder how everyone’s doin’ now. If they still keep in contact, even if I’m not in the picture. I wonder if I’ll see him again—my childhood crush, the one who left without sayin’ goodbye. We used to throw parties together, wild and reckless, right before everyone started leavin’ town one by one. The last party felt hollow, like a farewell to everythin’ we once were.

I remember when we were little, we all made a secret society. The Vires, we called it. To us, it was more than just a game. It was a pact, a promise to stay together forever, no matter what life threw our way. We carved the name into the old oak tree behind the warehouse, usin’ a rusty pocket knife we found in one of the abandoned rooms. That tree became our headquarters, the heart of our kingdom. We’d sit in a circle beneath its branches, the light filterin’ through the leaves like shards of emerald, and whisper our plans for the future.

We had rules—strict ones, too. No outsiders. No snitchin’. And above all, loyalty to the Vires came first. To seal the deal, we each came up with our own secret names, drawn from books and movies we loved. I was “Cleo,” after Cleopatra, ‘cause I always liked the idea of bein’ a queen. My crush chose “Phoenix,” sayin’ it was ‘cause he wanted to rise from the ashes if things ever went wrong. At the time, I thought it was the coolest name ever.

We even had ceremonies. One summer, we decided to hold a "stage marriage" between me and Phoenix to make our bond “official.” It was ridiculous, lookin’ back on it, but at the time, it felt like the most important thing in the world. We used a ring made from a soda can tab, and our friend, Tara, officiated with a stick she pretended was a magic wand. Everyone laughed and clapped as Phoenix slid the ring onto my finger. For weeks after, they teased us about bein’ “married.” I hated it then, but now? Now it’s a bittersweet memory that makes me smile.

We’d spend hours in our secret society, makin’ up stories about how we’d rule the world one day. Tara wanted to be an astronaut, and Sam swore he’d become a famous artist. Phoenix always said he’d travel the world, leavin’ Brooksdale behind for good. I never said it out loud, but part of me hoped he’d take me with him.

Lookin’ back at it now, it’s so embarrassin’, the things we thought were so serious and meaningful. But there’s a tenderness to those memories, too. They were a time when everythin’ felt possible, when we believed we were invincible.

But that was years ago. Lifetimes ago, it feels like. I shook the memories from my head and turned my attention back to the present. No time to dwell on the past now. I’ve got all I need right here in front of me—a quiet night and this cute little cottage, standin’ like a beacon in the dark.