On the outside, he was the same Alexander he had always been…demanding, assertive, authoritative. But inside, all the bad decisions he had ever made nagged at him, haunting him, making him wonder if lives could have been saved had he acted differently.
He didn’t know what caused it. Perhaps it was hitting forty just a few months ago. Perhaps it was because he finally had something more to live for…a loving wife and a beautiful eight-year-old daughter. Perhaps it was the approaching holiday season that made him conduct a yearly introspective, analyzing everything he had done in his life. All Alexander knew was, for some reason, he had been living with an inexplicable feeling of guilt for what seemed like months now. He kept thinking it would get better, but it never did. Now he wondered if that guilt had any correlation to the reason he was currently walking toward a rundown fish warehouse in an area of Boston he usually avoided like the plague.
Approaching the door of the building, a set of high beams shined on him. Instinctively, he turned toward them, shielding his eyes, and raised his pistol to the brilliant light before they shut off. It took a few seconds for his eyes to readjust to the darkness. Squinting, Alexander saw a familiar face through the front windshield of a tan sedan. He lowered his gun and returned it to its holster.
“Sorry about that, Alex,” a tall man with a full head of gray hair shouted, jumping out of the sedan. “Department got me a new car and I’m still figuring out where everything is. Waste of taxpayer dollars, if you ask me. My last cruiser was running just fine.” Dave rolled his eyes, approaching Alexander and holding out his hand. When he took it, Dave patted his brother-in-law on the back. “Thanks for coming.”
“What’s all this about? Why couldn’t you tell me on the phone?” Alexander widened his stance, crossing his arms in front of his broad chest. Dave was easily at least six feet tall, but Alexander towered over him with his six-foot, five-inch frame. Dave was in good shape, but it was no match for the amount of conditioning Alexander received as a SEAL, which he still maintained to this day, nearly two decades later.
“I thought it would be better if you saw this one for yourself.” Dave stared at him, his gaze almost apologetic, as if he were silently telling Alexander he was sorry for what he was about to show him.
With timid steps, Dave walked toward the open warehouse door. Alexander followed, the stench and unsettled feeling growing stronger with each step he took. The wind howled, the dampness in the air chilling him to the bone. The long trench coat he wore over his dark jeans and crisp button-down shirt did little to fight off the cold. He hugged the coat closer to his body, to no avail.
“I’ll admit it, Dave,” Alexander said in a deep, strong voice that always commanded respect. It masked the unease steadily building inside him. “I’m intrigued, albeit a little apprehensive.”
Dave paused just as they crossed the threshold into what appeared to be a fish processing plant. Rows and rows of steel tables, a conveyer belt in the middle, lined the open space. Despite the workers’ valiant effort in adhering to sanitary food preparation requirements, the amount of blood spilled from filleting what had to be thousands upon thousands of fish a day left its mark on the cement floor.
“I wanted to wait to call forensics until you were able to get out here.” Dave met Alexander’s eyes, a hint of remorse coupled with sympathy etched within his own gaze. “Out of respect, I… I just thought you should find out from me, see it with your own eyes, not hear about it on the morning news.”
“Find out what?” Alexander asked, his heart rate picking up.
Taking a deep breath, Dave paused, then continued down the length of the warehouse toward stacks of metal barrels Alexander assumed were used to store fish. He hurried to catch up.
“When the call came in about an hour ago, dispatch sent me since I was in the area on another case. A guy who works third shift phoned it in. Who knows how long the body’s been here.”
“Whose?” Alexander had a feeling his world was about to be turned upside down.
Dave met his eyes again, letting out a slow, protracted breath. The seconds stretched mercilessly as he grabbed the lid of a barrel and lifted it, Alexander’s vision becoming a cloudy, slow motion scene typically used for dramatic effect in the movies. Except this wasn’t a movie that would end, although he wished it would as he stared at the pale, lifeless body stuffed into the barrel.
Dave stepped back, giving Alexander space. “Mischa Tate.”
Words escaped him as he struggled to keep his composure. This swollen face with ferocious bruises and lacerations bore no resemblance to the vivacious, energetic, gracious woman he knew years ago.
“How did you…?” He looked at Dave, swallowing hard as he covered his mouth with his handkerchief, the stench of death and decay so pungent, it was burned into his nostrils.
They say when one experiences a devastating event, their senses become heightened. They remember sounds, smells, feelings. Alexander had been through his fair share of traumatic events. He could remember exactly what he was wearing when told his childhood best friend had died. The smell of lemon cleaner and stale coffee would always be associated with the mixture of anger and despair running through him at that moment in time. The aroma of gunpowder and jet fuel would always remind him of the moment he received word his father had been killed on a job for the security firm.
Now, as he stared back at Mischa’s face, her blue eyes swollen shut, he would always equate this feeling of guilt with the stench of rotten fish, salt, and rain.
“Know it was Mischa?” Dave finished his question. Alexander nodded, unable to tear his eyes away from the remnants of Mischa’s face.
During his time as a SEAL, Alexander had been deployed on some of the most intense missions imaginable. He saw the aftereffects of an IED. He witnessed things that would give most people nightmares for years. None of that compared to the bodily damage he now stared at, trying to keep his dinner from coming back up. Some would think things like this shouldn’t affect him after all his years in the military, then running a private security firm. He wasn’t a machine, though. He was a human with real emotions. He reacted as one would expect when staring at the tortured body of the sister of a former employee, friend, and fellow SEAL.
“I did a preliminary search and noticed this.” Dave pulled on a rubber glove and extended her limp arm, using the flashlight of his cell phone to highlight a tattoo of Lady Justice on her wrist. “When you first introduced us, I remembered thinking how unique and haunting that tattoo was.” He released her arm, then removed the glove.
Pulling his bottom lip between his teeth, Alexander struggled to look away from Mischa’s face. He couldn’t remember the last time he saw her. He kept meaning to call to see how she was doing, but life got in the way. Life had a strange habit of slipping out from beneath you when you were too busy to stop and take a breath.