Unburden

I roll out of bed and peel my t-shirt from my sweat-drenched chest. Tossing it in the hamper, I dig through my dresser for a clean shirt and a clean pair of cotton underwear. The website promised they were moisture-wicking, just like my doctor promised the hormone replacement patches would help with the perimenopause symptoms.

I climb back into bed, on the dry side. I will change the sheets in the morning. My phone shows it is 3:00 AM. I delete the 7:00 AM alarm, and commit to extra concealer before work.

Feeling fully awake, I scroll through TikTok. The first video that plays on my feed is about a female eagle in Big Bear, California. I am devastated to learn that she is in critical condition at a rehab facility. I shiver, now freezing, and pull an extra blanket from the bottom of my bed over me and ponder what will happen to the eagle’s chicks and her mate.

Reeling from the news of an eagle family across the country, I open. my favorite app and prepare myself for some lighter scrolling.

Unburden fills my phone screen.

ProbablyNotKevin: My wife named our baby Neverleigh. I will resent her for eternity.

Comments: 17 | Likes 281

PorchLightStatic: I ran over a cat tonight, I think it was my neighbors. RIP Kitty. I’m sorry.

Comments: 3 | Likes 84

NotOnYourLife: I stole money from my Grandma’s purse, I know she needed it for groceries. I needed it to get well

Comments: 12 | Likes 179

Finally drowsy, I plug my phone back in. Before the screen dims, another confession appears.

Inkognito: The water didn’t ruin her tattoo. I did.

Comments: 29 | Likes: 192

I refresh the app. My chest tightens.

The same confession stares back at me. I breathe deeply, but my heart threatens to beat out of my chest. My therapist's voice rings in my ears. When you are having a panic attack find something you can see, smell, taste, hear, and feel.

My dresser. My shampoo. Mint toothpaste. A dog barking. Sweat dripping down my sides.

The thumping in my chest starts to slow. I click on Inkognito’s profile. The photo is a black circle with a red smiley face. It reminds me of something my niece would draw when she was younger.

I click on the comments.

You okay bro?

What the fuck does this even mean?

Tattoos are permanent. No regerts.

Why did I read this in Keith Morrison’s voice?

Keith Morrison's voice echoes in my head. In my world, it wasn't a joke. The Dateline episode was called: The Mother in The Water.

The mother in the water was Morgan. She was twenty-eight. She had a six-month old baby girl. She wore a pink dress at her wedding and snorted when she laughed. She owned a bakery and cried when dogs died in movies.

She was my sister.

Back on the post, the cursor blinks in the comment field. I type, “What tattoo?” The cursor flashes back at me for a long moment, and then I backspace quickly to delete my thoughts.

Opening Google, I type Morgan Harris. I have clicked on these results hundreds of times before.

Dateline: The Mother in The Water

Morgan Harris’ husband was convicted of her murder. Sentenced to thirty years to life.

Missing Morgan Harris: local woman has been missing for ten days. Family pleads for her safe return.

Attached to the article is a photo. I am holding my niece. My mom stands next to me, holding my hand, and my dad stands behind a press conference podium. My dad's voice cracks on almost every word as he pleads for the life of his daughter, my sister, and Theo's wife. Theo stands behind me with his hand resting on my mom's shoulder.

Missing mom Morgan Harris found deceased in Lake Grange. Authorities suspect foul play. An investigation is ongoing. If you have any information you are urged to contact 911.

I land on the Morgan subreddit, where I still get sucked into theories about her murder. Twelve years later, the most popular posts are about Theo's innocence, not my sister.

Theo Harris is innocent: Change My Mind!

827 Comments

In the search bar on the subreddit I type: tattoo.

No results.

Switching back to Google, I try different variations.

Morgan Harris, Columbus, OH tattoo

Morgan Harris, autopsy tattoo

Each prompt I attempt yields zero results.

On unsteady legs, I walk to the desk in my bedroom. Opening the drawer, I take out an overstuffed folder and flip to page thirteen of the report and re-read the paragraph I practically have memorized.

The decedent presents with multiple sharp-force injuries to the anterior chest and abdomen, including wounds penetrating the thoracic cavity. Additional incised wounds to the hands and forearms are consistent with defensive injuries.

A silver-dollar-sized sea turtle tattoo is present on the left ankle. Three deep, roughly parallel lacerations transect the tattoo. The wounds are consistent with postmortem injury, likely resulting from contact with debris along the lake bed and subsequent decomposition and skin slippage.

Cause of Death: Exsanguination due to multiple sharp-force injuries.

Manner of Death: Homicide.

I open Gmail and write to the detective that handled Morgan’s case. He is on the brink of retirement. He barely tolerated me on his good days.

Dear Detective Garner,

This is Morgan Harris’ sister, Kelsey. I wanted to ask if you had any way to find out if people have requested any information on the case recently or if any Freedom of Information Act requests have been made? Please let me know at your earliest convenience.

Kind regards,

Kelsey Quinn

Send.

By the time I finish my morning routine, there is a notification on my phone.

Dear Miss Quinn,

I will look into this when the records clerk arrives, but may I ask why you're asking? With the case being twelve years old and closed, it is unlikely there is anyone requesting the case files, but I will check. I will respond ASAP.

Sincerely,

Det. Garner

At work, I scrape the bottom of my concealer tube in the bathroom, rush through my emails, then check Unburden. Inkognito's post now has sixty-four comments.

Inkognito is responding to other Unburdeners:

StubbornLove: Hey Inkognito. I just got new ink. Recommendations between second skin or Aquaphor?

Inkognito: There is actually this stuff called Sea Turtle Salve. It’s a green bottle with a blue and green watercolor sea turtle on it. Super pretty. Tell me about your new ink? What is it? Where is it?

Bile rises in my throat. I click on Inkognito’s comment history.

Inkognito: Sick ink girl. Mind sharing your artist?

Inkognito: I love that! Looks like the Rockies, is that where you are from?

Shivers radiate down my spine. Frantically, I email my boss. Hey Bill, I'm sick and need to head home for the day. Sorry. He sends me back the thumbs up emoji.

Inside my car, I call my mom. She picks up on the second ring.

“Mom! You know that Unburden app I scroll on? I think someone knows something about Morgan,” I shriek.

“Honey, what are you talking about? What happened?” she asks. I can tell she puts the call on speakerphone.

“Kels, are you okay? Why aren’t you at work?” my dad asks.

“Guys, I’m fine but listen,” I say. I recount everything that I have found in the last seven hours to my parents.

“Have you seen Dr. Golden recently, Kels?” Dad asks.

“I need you to take me seriously, I am going to send you screenshots. This person online is referencing the exact same tattoo Morgan had and even discusses it being ruined in the water,” I hiss.

“The police said that was a flash tattoo, Kels. Hundreds of people have it,” Dad says calmly.

“Why don't you come here, honey? I'll make pancakes. We can talk this over,” Mom says.

“No. I’m going home. I’m just going to take a nap or something,” I say, and hang up the call.

At home, exhaustion overtakes my body and I fall asleep on the couch. Three hours later, when I wake, there is an email from Detective Garner.

Miss Quinn,

No FOIA requests have been made. The last one was seven years ago. Again, why are you asking?

Det. Garner

Opening Unburden, I take screenshots of everything Inkognito has written and attach them to my reply.

Detective Garner,

Please see these attachments. There is a person on an app called Unburden who seems to know something about Morgan’s murder. I was thinking maybe someone pulled her case file and the true crime community was mucking things up but now with no FOIA requests I don’t know.

Thanks,

Kelsey

I set my phone down and open my freezer, contemplating dinner. My phone vibrates. Detective Garner is calling. I hover over the green button, unprepared for another dismissal, but answer.

“Hello?” I answer.

“Kelsey, did you engage with that person on that app?” he asks, his tone rushed.

“No. I followed the thread. I didn't comment,” I say. “Why?”

“Can you come to the station?” he asks. “Now?”

“Why? What's going on?” I ask.

“I want to show you something. Please come. Bring your phone,” he says.

“Okay, I guess. I will leave here shortly," I say.

At the station, Detective Garner ushers me into his office; it looks exactly as it did twelve years ago, right down to the scent of stale coffee and towering stacks of files. Garner is the only thing that has aged.

On his desk a file with the name, Rachel Gibson, sits closed.

“Kelsey, I want to show you something.” He taps his fingers on the file. “Miss Gibson was found in a reservoir three hundred miles from here.”

He opens the file to page thirteen and slides it across the desk.

The decedent presents with multiple sharp-force injuries to the anterior neck.

I scroll to the next paragraph.

A sunflower tattoo is present over the left scapula. Three deep, parallel lacerations transect the tattoo. The injuries are consistent with postmortem contact with submerged debris.

I meet Detective Garner’s eyes.

“This is almost exactly the same as Morgan’s,” I stammer. “When did she die?”

Garner sighs. He points at the date, January 17, 2017.

***

Memories of Morgan’s trial flash through my mind. October 2014. My hand raised as I swore to tell the truth. The prosecutor asking if Theo had ever been violent.

I never saw it, but Morgan said she was afraid he might hurt her or the baby.

Across the courtroom, Theo dropped his head into his hands. My testimony helped put him away.

Rachel Gibson died three years later.

***

“Kelsey, there are two more,” Garner says.

“Two more women?” I ask.

“Yes. I can't share much, but Rachel and two others were murdered in different states,” he says with a low sigh.

“What? Were they found in water?” I ask.

“They were, and they had tattoo disfigurement similar to Morgan’s,” he admits. “A detective from Arkansas contacted me three weeks ago about Morgan's case. He told me about the other three. Morgan’s case was closed. Theo was prosecuted."

He stands. “I’m sorry I can’t share more, but I wanted you to be aware and to be cautious with this app and the user. I have asked our cyber forensics team to start looking into it. I will keep you updated.”

I sit in my car until my hands stop shaking, then drive home.

Standing over my sink, gulping ice water, I refresh Unburden. The post is gone. I refresh twice, then search Inkognito's profile. New Unburden. I click it. There are no words. Only emojis. A sea turtle, a sunflower, a rose, a paw print, and a train.

I count the emojis. Five.

I call Garner. “There are five!” I shout when he answers.

“Five what?” he asks, not matching my panic.

“Turtle, sunflower, rose, paw print, and train. Five tattoos. What tattoos did the other two women have?” I say.

“I can’t answer that, but where are you getting this information?” he asks.

I send him a screenshot of the newest post. I can hear keys clicking on the other end of the line but Garner doesn’t say anything.

“This is really helpful, Kelsey. I have to run. Talk soon,” he says. Garner ends the call.

The next two days pass in refreshes. Unburden before I shower. Unburden at red lights. Unburden beneath my desk while pretending to work. Inkognito doesn't post again. Detective Garner doesn't call. By Wednesday night, the five emojis visit me in my dreams.

By Thursday, I cave and call Garner. “Is there anything new?”

“I can now share with you that the train tattoo is not a tattoo on any of the victims that have the post-mortem lacerations. I can’t offer anything else regarding open cases. This, however, might change things for Theo’s case.”

Goosebumps prickle over my shoulders and back. “Does he know?”

“Not yet. We aren't there yet,” Garner responds. “We are working. The cyber team is the best there is. They told me to remind you not to engage with Inkognito.”

“Got it,” I respond, feeling deflated. No new information.

I visit Inkognito's profile again. He has been inactive for days. I have memorized most of his content by now, but I reread his comments.

Looks like the Rockies, is that where you are from?

Mind sharing your artist?

I wonder how many women answered him.

I open Google and type: tattoo shops near me. I call several and take the next available appointment.

The tattoo shop smells of disinfectant. I show the artist the image on my phone: a yellow cupcake with Morgan's bakery logo on the liner. She cleans my shoulder blade and I breathe through the pain. When she's finished, she hands me aftercare instructions and a sample of Sea Turtle Salve.

That night, my shoulder aching, I open Unburden and type my first confession.

Afterimage: I got my first tattoo today!

Later that evening, my phone lights up with a notification.

Inkognito has liked your post.