Lost Bones

The graphite had been erased so many times the paper finally gave in and ripped apart. With a deep growl, Allison Carrillo tore the sheet off her notebook and turned it into a tight ball before throwing it out the opened window. She had fought back the tears swelling her eyes for so long - the entire evening, actually - that her nose was starting to run. With the back of her sleeve, she wiped it off, slumping against the back of her hard-wood chair, a heavy sigh escaping her lips. She had only six months left to complete this thesis and it felt like she would never get it done in due time: inspiration was out of reach and her menstrual cramps were particularly bad, this month. Luckily she was almost over and she could yank this hell-sent tampon out of her for another month. Chucking the notebook aside and tossing the broken-tip pen on top of it, Allison pushed back her chair with such strength the legs screeched against the wood-plank floor, and hastily stood up to rush out the building, her butt feeling extremely numb after sitting down for hours.

She was living in a decaying six-apartment building, surely built somewhere around the year 1300 and, at 2 in the morning, not a soul made a sound but her. Most of her neighbours were half deaf anyway. She had chosen to live here, in this remote area far from downtown and its day-and-night noises and voices and lights, to have some peace of mind to work on her Forensic Psychology thesis as well as enjoying a nice spot of woodlands, surrounding this quiet neighbourhood. Her street faced a few acres of forest running alongside the road. It was generally busier on Sundays when all of the ageing population of this part of town went to church to burn down their meagre pension to the tithe.

They reminded her of her abuela, actually. Abuela Fátima was quite religious - like the entirety of Mexico, her native country - huddled at church every Sunday morning, but she was also a fierce little woman who valued her independence. “Go to work, praise the Lord,” she constantly told her growing up. Allie never had the heart to tell her that she was actually agnostic; being the daughter of a family of immigrants and born into a more progressive country gave the young woman a set of vastly different beliefs. Despite this, she had always loved her abuela; she had taught her so much an encouraged her every impossible dream and had also been her fiercest supporter when it came to higher education. Fatima had even assisted her granddaughter writing letters of application to a number of universities throughout the country.

“¿Cómo se escribe—?…” started abuela Fátima, her black ink pen waiting above the pearly white paper.

“With an E, abuela; G-E-O-R-G-E,” replied her granddaughter, an amused grin pinching her cheeks. Allie’s grandma, despite her being an immigrant for over thirty years, still struggled with written English; why would you add letters to a word if you are not going to pronounce them anyway? She had to agree, though. Spanish was much simpler in that regard. Luckily for her darling abuela, though, the language itself had been easy enough to learn. But being as stubborn as she was, she preferred speaking her native language when around her own.

Allison kept on hitting the letters on her typewriter, her cover letter slowly taking form in front of her eyes. She was on her third letter and her fingers were starting to ache a little, but it would be worth it in the long run. All she wanted was to attend university, get an education just like her family had dreamed for their children. She was nearly there. She could feel it tickle inside of her; it would be such an adventure, meeting new people and learning so many things.

“W-A-S-H-I-N-G-T-O-N…Washington!” Fátima spelled out loud, writing the university’s address down on the enveloppe as she went and pushing back her little half-round glasses up her nose now and then.

“Right! See? You’re killing it!” Allison leaned to her right to give her grandma a quick tight hug. “Gracias, abuela.” Fátima patted Allie’s arm around her shoulders, smiling fondly; she was so proud of her.

And yet, she was here, miles away from her family, from her abuela, from her home town she knew just like the back of her hand, and everyone she greeted on a daily basis. Now, she was surrounded by city folks, strangers, no friends and in a city she barely knew anything about. But it was only temporary; she had only her PhD left to do after her Masters Degree and then she’d run like the wind back home to start a successful career as a forensic psychologist.

And yet, every day she grew a little bit more homesick.

As she took a few steps outside, the 24-year old kicked at the crumpled piece of paper that she had tossed out the window only moments earlier. The night was cool, as it was during early October on the East coast, and she gave both her biceps a quick rub to warm herself up. Standing on the sidewalk, she inhaled deeply and released a long, foggy breath before fumbling into the pocket of her jacket to retrieve a cigarette. Flipping her lighter open, she lit the butt, sharply sucked in and filled her lungs with the poison. She blew out a thick cloud of grey smoke which swirled in the air in nonchalant motions, while a soft breeze brushed through her black hair, sending a chill down her back.

Her smoking episodes were rare, but she usually gave in to the cancer sticks whenever she was in a bad place. And this was it, the worst she could ever be in: a blank thesis paper. And she even started regretting her choice of subject - the modus operandi of serial killers - but it had been approved by her tutors months ago and, with a nearly perfect GPA of 3.4, she had to go with it and not look back. And thing was, serial killers were not vastly documented, and somehow writing yet another paper on the very famous and very rehashed Jack the Ripper was not an option. Especially since no one ever found the man, thus no shrink could ever dive into his twisted psyche and understand his motives. She needed something much, much more tangible, something worth the 100 pages. Furthermore, creeping in the back of her mind was the undying fact that a GPA under 3.0 would see her funding vanish and her part-time waitressing job was nowhere enough to pay for her studies, not to mention that her family made a very modest income and could not financially support her.

Endless hours at the university’s library had been spent without any satisfying outcome and although a handful of information and records were fairly decent, they were much too scarce. A meatless bone even a dog wouldn’t chew on. On top of that, being allowed access to the nearest prison was a months-long process the woman had no time to waste on. Anxiety and depression had taken their toll on her mental health, recently, from which her studies greatly suffered. She could have had a whole ten months to work on her thesis properly, but she took care of herself instead and had travelled back to her family for a few weeks to rebuild her strength. And it did her a lot of good, but now she had to rush back to work, and fast.

Allie drew another puff of her cigarette and sighed out the smoke, choking on it in the process. She covered her mouth with her hand as she coughed and desperately tried catching her breath. The sounds caught in her throat almost covered the sudden screeching of tyres on dirt. There was a small path leading deep into the wooden area in front of her street that was often visited by local small game hunters during hunting season, although hunting after sundown was highly illegal. Frowning, Allison watched as the beige and yellow Volkswagen Westfalia swayed along the road, making the young woman take a quick step back to avoid having her face peppered with debris.

“Maniac!” She yelled at the driver, possibly drunk as well as dangerous. She thought she could hear something loose being tossed on either side in the back of the van. Her suspicion proved right as the unidentified object banged open the back door and plummeted into a pothole. The thing had no specific shape and was wrapped in an orange garbage bag. It seemed to be filled with the fresh game meat he had just illegally hunted. This must have been a poacher and her citizen’s duty was to give this person’s plate in to the police. That was, of course, if she could even have the slightest glace at the plate.

The vehicle came to a halt so suddenly its driver must have broken a tooth against the wheel. Also, she assumed he must have been a man, as no woman would so recklessly drive this way, so brutally risking her neck.

“FUCK!” She heard the driver spit as soon as his van stopped moving. The engine was still roaring loudly when this roadhog stomped his feet against the asphalt, heading straight to his fallen belonging. Without wasting a single second of the night away, he bent over to swiftly pick up the mysterious bag: it seemed heavy and he had to use both hands to properly handle it. But, as he stretched his knees to lift up his bag who the hell knows what, the man’s eyes suddenly met Allison’s dark ones. She froze. He froze. They both stared at each other. Obviously, he did not expect anyone to be out and about around here, and especially not observing him, at this late hour. The young woman could barely take in any detail of his face, only a dark silhouette against even darker trees. The street was only faintly lit and gave her no chance to see the look in his eyes. Even his headlights were off, which was even stranger…

Almost imperceptibly, she took one step forward.