Twin Grace

They pulled him from Lake Grace at four in the morning, when artificial lights burned bright. Crime scene tape created a perimeter, and every deputy working in the small department milled around the scene unsure what their actual role was. They’d never had something like this happen here before. A white van pulled up at the edge of the water. The town’s physician who also acted as the coroner opened the door and stepped out. 68-year-old Brenda Flynn, short black hair, serious expression. She delivered most of the townspeople she came across every day. To stand there and watch five-year-old Grayson Ortega’s small body being carried from the once frozen pond as real as when she carried him screaming from between his mother’s legs, plopping him right on his mother’s bare chest, his twin sister to follow. She was still missing.

“Who would do this?” She stood next to the Sheriff; his haunted grey eyes no longer able to watch as they loaded the little body into the van.

“Someone evil, Bren.” Sheriff Langston sighed with the weight of the world on his shoulders. “Someone evil.”

“What’s next?”

“A homicide investigation.” He shrugged. “Diver's aren't giving up on Haven.”

Tears filled Brenda’s brown eyes. “You haven’t had a murder investigation in ten years.” She swiped her wrinkled cheek quickly.

“You haven’t had to do an autopsy on someone this young your entire career,” he countered. “I’m more worried about you.”

“Any suspects in the missing persons?”

Sheriff Langston gave her a side glance. “You know I can’t share details in an active investigation.”

She turned to him, her left brow climbing, her stare boring into the side of his face until he caved.

“No suspects. How can we suspect our neighbours, our friends we’ve known our entire lives?” He ran a hand through his dark, clipped hair.

She sniffed. “Haven’s still missing, and Grayson’s little body is being zipped up in a body bag. Someone in this town is guilty.”

“I have to go tell Jenny and Dale.”

Under the breaking dawn. “Now?”

His expression pained. “I’m afraid so.”

Langston thought overseeing the recovery of Grayson would be the hardest thing he would have to do that day… it wasn’t. Jenny opened her front door. The moment she saw him standing there, hope flared in her otherwise dead hazel eyes for a heartbeat before her brain registered Langston’s flat expression, then his fidgeting, passing his Stetson from one hand to the other.

“No. Please,” she keened as her body collapsed to the tiled floor.

Langston dropped his hat and reached for her, sliding to the ground, his arms wrapped around her frail body. She’d lost weight in the two weeks since her twins went missing. He could feel the sharp points of her bones as he tried to comfort her. The woman was unrecognizable to him. Pale, unkempt hair, tracksuit pants with the same shirt he’d seen her in last week. Not that he blamed her. He couldn’t imagine what she must be going through.

She sobbed for an hour, and he just held her. The whole time, he wondered where the hell her husband was, he should be here holding her not him.

After an hour, her sobs slowed. “You… found… them?”

“Grayson,” he told her. “Haven is still missing.”

Her fingers closed around his arm, her words getting stronger. “She’s still alive.”

“Jenny, I-”

“She is! You need to find her, Sheriff. I know it. She’s still alive.” Her voice broke.

As her voice broke, full of despair, her hope brought tears to Langston’s eyes.

“Where’s Dale?

More tears. “Atlantic City. Drunk,” she sighed, waved it away as if the topic of her husband wasn't relevant.

Her answer surprised the hell out of Langston. Gambling? Drinking? He knew Dale used to be a bit of a wild teen, but his twins were missing. One dead. A devastated wife. He wasn’t here. Atlantic City? He couldn’t wrap his head around that.

A thought occurred to him. A dark thought. “Where’s he getting the money to go to Atlantic City?”

Shaking, from grief, from lack of eating, she untangled from his arms and got up. He grabbed up his hat. “He probably mortgaged the house.” She shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“How long has he had a gambling problem?”

“A couple of years.” Suspicion crossed her when she noticed a difference in his voice. “You don’t think-?” She couldn’t even finish the sentence, the very idea made bile burn the inside of her throat.

“It’s something else I'll look into.”

“But it’s information you should have known in the beginning.” Shame filled her. “He was home. I was at the store.” Her eyes stared, remembering. “He said the twins were playing in the front yard. They never play in the front yard. We have a backyard with toys, a cubby house, swings, a dog. Why does it only now sound like lies?” Her eyes pleaded with Langston for an answer. “He said he went into the laundry for five minutes and put the clothes in the dryer. The clothes were still in the washing machine.” She started to cry. “Could he have done this?” She asked. “They never play in the front yard,” she whispered.