The Missing Piece

It's a cold dewy morning at Copper Creek Farm. I put on my slippers and head outside. I take in a deep breath, filling my lungs with the cold winter air. Maybe it will make me feel something. I sigh and look out over our yard. It's big enough for a big family of 10. Our family. The Hatchet family. There is a playground area, with swings and see-saws and a rocking-horse my dad carved out himself. There is a sign with an arrow pointing towards the pond. A rough cobblestone road leads from the playground to the pond, then the fountain, then the barn. The barn. I stare at it, it's big and ugly shape looming above every other building on the farm. The windows are broken, and an odd smell seems to be coming from it. I shudder. It's cold, I should go get a jacket. But I don't. I stand there a while and wait for the sun to rise. It comes slowly, as if unsure whether it wants to come out today or not. It peeks out, making the day a little brighter. I smile. The front lawn looks lush and green and as the sun beams touch it, I can see the grass blades shiver as though in pleasure as the light reflects off their dewdrops. I stretch my thin arms into the air and step out on the lawn. It feels cold and biting under my toes and I wriggle them, hoping they will adjust to the temperature. Then I sit, my pajama clad bottom tingling in pain at the coldness of the ground. Moisture seeps through the thin fabric as it soaks up the dew from the grass. I sit there until the sun has risen fully, bathing the whole farm with a brilliance that almost seems unearthly. Soon the warmth envelops my entire being, until a bead of sweat drops down my forehead and drips onto my lap. I start, as if snatched from a reverie and stare at the drop of sweat as it slowly sinks into the fabric of my oversized night top. I sigh and out of the corner of my eye, something flashes. I blink twice, it's still there. I lean in to take a closer look, and there, in the grass is a tiny bottle. I stretch out my hand and grasp it, turning it over to look at the faded label on it. "Poison," I mouth as I stare in shock at the empty container. My heart shatters as I tremblingly place my hand over my mouth. This was the clue all along. The night my whole family, including my mother died. I had been away and had not arrived for dinner on time. But when I finally did, the sight that I beheld was revolting. Bodies lay slumped over the dinner table, unresponsive. The stale smell of vomit hung in the air. I had only been 18. But what has stuck with me ever since then is the lack of clarity. Who poisoned the food? Was it my mother? Had she done it on purpose? The answers to these questions are a mystery, and all that remains with me are the horrific headlines of my family in newspapers and crime magazines. Poisoned. But this, this will be a clue. Maybe my mother wasn't a monster be after all.

From that day forth, I frantically search the yard for more signs. I frequently find myself at the pond, peering through the murky water, for something, anything. My search gradually takes me to the barn. I stand a few meters away from it, intimidated by its silence. It feels old and hollow. I take a deep breath and step into it. Tears suddenly prick my eyes as memories of my family resurface. I remember pushing my sister Martha down the pile of hay in the corner. Her squeals of laughter echo in my mind as I crouch down and for the hundredth time cry raw, painful tears. "They are all gone," I whisper to myself. I look up and again, I see the memories of the people I loved. The memories of little Johnny as he climbed the shelves to collect eggs for breakfast and Judith playing hide and seek behind the stacks of hay and.. I stand up, unable to take it anymore and walk back by the cobblestone pathway. I stand over the little bridge over the pond and look down at my reflection. I look unkempt with my uncombed hair and tear-stained face. My body resembles the little stick figures Rosalie used to draw. I hardly recognize myself. I stare harder as something catches my attention, deep down in the pond, right under my left ear, something shiny lies settled between two rocks. Is it a brooch? I think. but then I look closer and I gasp. It's a ring. A gold ring with a ruby heart on it. I've never seen it before, I think. No one in my family owned rings besides my parents, who sported plain gold wedding bands. I scramble down the little bridge and wade into the shallow water. I bend down to pick the ring up and examine in between my fingers. It looks expensive. I quickly put it into my pocket and head back to the house. When I arrive, I place the ring on the countertop next to the bottle of poison. I stare at them as if they might start talking and revealing all their secrets. This is a mystery, I think, and I'm going to solve it. I grab my phone and tap on the number in speed dial. It rings for a few seconds before a female voice answers, "Cedar Vale Police Department, Detective Sheryl speaking". "Hello," I reply, "Umm, I have some clues regarding my family's case. "Great," she replies, "because I have some updates for you as well, meetup for lunch?" she asks. "Yes," I reply before ending the call. I sigh. This is the beginning of something big, and I am more than ready to finally receive some answers. I throw on a hoodie and a pair of jeans, start my dad's old Volvo, and drive off.