Page 21 of Secrets Along the Shore
“They’re belly up.” I traced one of the images with my index finger. “See?”
“Yes.” Dickson approached. The reflection of her movement was distorted in the stainless-steel tabletop. “We noticed that also. They’re not coiled or in any sort of striking imitation.”
My eyes met Dickson’s and her expression was searching but also understanding. I struggled to find the words, to grab a hold of what I even wanted to say. Trauma had a way of stealing more than your memories. It stole your ability to process logical thought too.
I tried again. “The snake is different.” It was all I could come up with, but Dickson seemed to comprehend.
She looked at Reuben. “It’s what I’ve been telling you. The original victims of the Serpent Killer had a snake carved into their necks. These snakes—” she waved her hand over the pictures on the table, “—are actual snakes.”
“And yet theyaretechnically representative of a serpent,” I mumbled.
Both detectives twisted from facing each other to look at me.
I met their stares. “Thereisthe commonality of a serpent, whether a carving or the actual remains. Ten years ago, the carving resembled a snake in a basket, with its head ready to strike to the left and its tail posed to brace itself—but here it’s a snake laid out unnaturally straight and belly-up. It is completely defeated.” I was stating the obvious to them, but I felt like there was a message here. Somehow. Somewhere. “They could be completely unassociated, or—connected.”
No duh.
It was like getting stuck in my car on a roundabout.
I drew in a slow deep breath through my nose to steady my nerves.
Three.
Four.
Then I released it methodically through my mouth.
Six.
Seven.
Eight.
Dickson and Reuben watched me, wordless. They exchanged glances. They were waiting. Maybe they understood that pressuring me for answers would only make my mind shut down faster.
I traced the image of a snake, moved my finger to the next photo, and did the same thing.
What had the abductor meant by leaving a dead snake?
I sensed movement and shifted my attention to the corner of the room. Sophia was back, unblinking and immobile, fingers positioned in avin front of her. Two.
Two.
Two killers.
Two different snakes. A carved symbol in my story, a stretched out dead corpse of a real snake in Sophia’s.
Two conflicting meanings.
“Submission,” I blurted out. In fact, it came out louder than I’d intended and I even made myself jump.
A tiny smile stretched Sophia’s mouth. She lowered her fingers. I’d gotten her message.
“What do you mean?” Reuben perched on the edge of the table, arms crossed.
I tapped all four photographs. “Belly to the sky, dead, defeated, conquered. It’s the ultimate submission. They’re not in a pile like they were discarded, and they’re also not positioned in a way like the symbol where the snake appears ready to strike.” I looked between Dickson and Reuben. “These dead snakes have been conquered. They’re—dead. The carvings of the snake from my case are—well, they seem alive. They’re threatening. They’re defiant.”
“They’re not finished striking,” Dickson concluded.
