Chapter 5: Ghosts of Christmas

“…So, what did you see on that corpse back then?”

“How did you know—before the DNA results—that she wasn’t your fiancée?”

December 25, 2022. Christmas.

Twinkle lights flickered on the precinct’s break room tree, casting colored shadows across the chipped linoleum. The smell of burnt coffee and someone’s leftover Chinese takeout lingered in the air. Someone had hung an old Red Sox ornament by the coffee maker.

It had been 1,861 days since Rachel disappeared.

And two years since I quit my old job and became a police officer.

Maybe it was fate.

The bearded police officer who’d once pinned me down was now my mentor in the criminal investigation team.

Of course, my mentor knew exactly why I’d joined the force.

From my first days as a trainee, he taught me not to let personal feelings cloud my work.

Fulfill your duty in your post.

Wearing this uniform means being a responsible, upright officer.

His speeches became gospel, echoing in my head during midnight patrols and tense interrogations. The badge on my chest felt both heavy and protective.

So, over the years, my mentor rarely mentioned the unsolved case from five years ago.

If we hadn’t both had the day off and shared a few drinks at dinner, he probably still wouldn’t have asked about the thing that had puzzled him for years.

I downed my glass of whiskey, then pulled up my left pant leg.

In the light, a small scar on my ankle glowed faintly white.

“Before the wedding, she took me to get matching tattoos—half a butterfly wing each.”

“The reason I rushed into the cordon back then was to see if it was there.”

“Later, for the department’s physical exam, I had to have my half of the wing removed.”

My mentor grinned, teeth flashing through his thick beard.

“Man, you kids and your wild ideas. What’s next—matching mugshots? Just kidding.”

Maybe thinking of the tragic end of those lovers, he slapped himself on the face:

“Look at me, can’t keep my mouth shut after a few drinks. Jay, don’t take it to heart.”

He handed me a pack of Tic Tacs, like that could fix a broken heart.

I silently refilled both our glasses and shook my head:

“If things really ended like Romeo and Juliet, it wouldn’t be so bad. At least Juliet could find her beloved’s grave and mourn. But I…”

Before I could finish, my mentor’s eyes suddenly lit up. He jumped to his feet:

“Wait!”

“A girl with a butterfly tattoo on her ankle… I swear I’ve seen that somewhere!”

The Christmas lights flickered brighter, as if the universe itself had snapped awake.