Page 81 of Broken Instrument

“It’d be better if we could have this discussion in person.”

“I’m out of town for the weekend. I’m sorry. I can swing by tomorrow or Monday if I need to––”

“I’m afraid this can’t wait.” The somberness in his voice makes the hair on my arms stand up, leaving goosebumps along my flesh.

Something’s wrong.

Something is very wrong.

“What is it?” I whisper though I’m afraid part of me already knows. A small part I’ve been avoiding––burying––for weeks. But I can’t avoid it any longer. I can’t run or hide or distract myself from this conversation or what it means, even if it’s more than I can bear.

Please tell me everything’s going to be okay, I plead to whatever higher power might be listening. Please. I’m begging you––

“I’m sorry, Ms. Rutherford,” Detective Burke starts. My heart cracks as I brace myself against the wall. “But we found a body.”

I cover my mouth and take a slow, unsteady breath. “A body?”

“Miss Hill”––Isabella––”is on her way to identify the body, but we believe it’s Bud’s.”

My legs finally give out, and I crumple into a ball on the cool concrete floor as the tears gather in my eyes, cascading down my face without any signs of stopping. How can they when my brother’s gone?

This can’t be happening.

It can’t be.

“A-are you sure?” My voice cracks, and I wipe my cheeks with the back of my hand. Maybe he’s wrong. Maybe it isn’t Bud. Maybe it’s someone else. Someone who doesn’t have a sister, or a daughter, or a dog, or––

“We can’t be sure until Miss Hill confirms it, but there’s a tattoo on his forearm which Miss Hill had initially described when she first reported Mr. Rutherford as missing.”

No.

My vision is blurry from the onslaught of tears, so I close my eyes, but it only makes things worse. Because I can see his tattoo. It’s etched into my mind. The swirling ink scrawled across Bud’s forearm. He’d stopped by our parents’ house the day after he’d gotten it. When it was still wrapped in Saran Wrap and looked bold but tender. He was so proud. So excited. It was for Mia’s fifth birthday. He’d cleaned himself up for the first time in years and wanted to prove he could be the dad she needed. So, he got a job, saved up his money, then had his daughter’s name tattooed along his forearm.

I remember it like it was yesterday. And no matter how low he was, he’d still save up his money every year to touch up her name on her birthday as a reminder to be who she needed. And even though he didn’t always live up to his own expectations, he still tried. He was always trying.

And now, he’s gone.

My body wracks with a sob, but I swallow it back.

Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe Isabella told Detective Burke to look for the wrong tattoo. Maybe he’s mistaken. Maybe…maybe it’s not Bud. I shake my head, trying to focus on being realistic while battling the desire to live in a stupid alternate reality where everything’s fine instead of the dark, heart-wrenching reality threatening to swallow me whole.

“What tattoo?” I choke out. I need to hear it from him. That it’s a dog or a cross or a skull or something that isn’t his daughter’s name. Something proving the body isn’t my brother’s. I’ll take anything. Any hope. Any miracle––

“I’m sorry, Miss Rutherford, but it’s his daughter’s name. Mia.”

Another sob wracks my body, and black dots line my vision as the truth hits me harder and faster than a baseball bat to the chest until I’m positive my ribs are broken, and I’ll never breathe freely again.

No. No, no, no, no!

“If you could please come to the station at your earliest convenience.”

“I’ll be there as soon as I can,” I choke out and end the call with my thumb.

The phone slips from my fingers, clattering to the ground as I cover my face and cry.

This can’t be happening.

This can’t be happening.

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