A Scripta

“My baby, my baby...!”

Jack Mathias watched his mother rock back and forth in anguish, clutching her chest, her head down, almost burrowing into her arms, as she cried and wailed, “My baby, my baby…”

He kept his hand on her shoulder as he looked up from her. The PPD suit watched her impassively, then caught Jack’s eye. “I’m very sorry, ma’am,” he said, but looked at Jack. “We are trying to recover his remains, but…”

Jack sighed, glanced at his sister Laura, who nodded and knelt down beside their mother. “Mom, mom…”

He stepped away, his hand lingering on his mother’s shoulder, as his sister’s arm replaced it. He nodded to the other side of the room, and the cop followed him.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” the man said automatically.

Jack nodded once. He had gone through the death of his father, just four years before. Although it had been a long time since, the wound would never heal.

“We’re having a hard time recovering his remains. They feel once you’re a resident of the Isles, you’re automatically a citizen…”

“Who do we petition, what can we do?”

“We’re doing the best that we can right now through diplomatic channels, Mr. Mathias. But sometimes they hold the body for ransom.”

“Ransom? We don’t have any money or anything.”

“Or sometimes they hold it just because they can. They have a whole different way of thinking, sir, pure anarchy.”

“How do we know he’s…he’s…”

“We have photographs, sir, and his ID. Whoever found the body already scavenged anything worth value that might have been on him.”

“I’d…I want to see those photographs.”

The man looked up at him. “If you’d like to step outside…”

Jack glanced back at his sister, who was busy consoling their mother. “I’m going to call Riley,” Jack said. “I’ll be right back.”

They went outside to an unmarked car. Two uniformed policemen were leaning up against a cruiser. The man motioned to them, they nodded, got into their car. Jack didn’t pay attention to them after that, his eyes entirely on a manila envelope on the front seat of the car.

“This isn’t pretty, Mr. Mathias.”

“You said he was shot.”

“He was shot through the head, sir. From behind.”

Jack instinctively gulped. “I still think…I should.”

The man reached down and pulled out the manila envelope. Jack looked up to see the police cruiser now gone. The man slipped out some photographs, and all Jack could see at first were black splotches. Handing the photographs to Jack, the man leaned back against the car.

“They sometimes like to send us the gory ones,” said the suit, “the ones direct from the crime scene. And they really amplify the colors.”

“I can’t tell if it’s him or not,” Jack said. “His face…” He glanced up at the cop. “He has no face.”

“It’s him. We had something of his that proved it.”

“What?”

“Jack!” Laura called from the doorway of the house, “Mom’s asking after you.”

Jack handed the photographs back to the suit. “Do they have any idea..?”

“We only know it was a Destined One. That’s what Recluse calls those super-powered rogues who want to work for Arachnos.” The man dropped the photographs onto the front seat. “We’ll contact you when we get anything.”

Jack said nothing as he headed up the walkway to where Laura stood, holding open the screen door. “How is she doing?”

She asked at the same time, “What did he tell you?”

“He told me we might not have a body to bury.”