Sickening Shadow of the Past

Cody Rittenhouse

The bright glare of the laptop bore into Lance's eyes. Beside him laid papers and folders strewn about his desk His eyes burned, he’d been up for so long, but he didn’t care

All his life, he'd been curious, but he'd never dug as he did now She was gone now, but Lance’s grief was overtaken by insatiable curiosity, a hunger for more knowledge, more connections, more family. He had to know his history. Where his mother came from. She’d been all he had.

Leaning back in his chair and grasping his hair, he sighed. Almost there. He cast a glance at the list of surnames he’d compiled for investigation. The next one was “Byrne” Begrudgingly, he entered it into the database and ran a search, then began scrolling through the results

Too old, too young, died too soon, wrong hair colour He was looking for his grandmother, seen only once as she dropped her baby off. She was recounted as having honey blonde hair, fair skin, and freckles peppered across her face.

As fortune would have it, his scrolling led him to the profile of a woman who fit the description. Caitlín Byrne.

His breath hitched It had to be a coincidence

Inhaling slowly, he regained his composure before clicking on her profile His eyes immediately darted to the details of her death Sure enough, she’d died shortly after his mother was dropped off, and nearby

No… It couldn’t be her, he refused to believe that he’d found her. His mind grew light and foggy as he skimmed over her information. She had a brother. He could read about him to distract himself.

“Arthur Byrne ” Lance muttered, trying to bring himself back to the moment. Born and raised in Ireland, worked as a robotics engineer, and never had a spouse or children. How bland. Perhaps his death would

What?

Arthur’s car had exploded. Lance felt his stomach twist. That didn’t just… happen. He read further. There were no murder suspects. A rush of nausea overcame him as he read that the man ’ s body hadn’t been recovered He wanted to look away but found himself glued to the image of his great uncle He had medium brown hair, like his mother's, glasses, and deep blue eyes He held a sort of melancholy about him, something in those eyes felt empty and his smile seemed wrong.

Lance felt… a connection with him. They were both lost, left alone in the world he could feel it. A desire to know this man bubbled within. To know what secrets he kept behind his mask, what lonely existence he led. He glanced down at himself, and only then did he notice that he was trembling.

He knew they were family But that wasn’t the worst of it, it was the way he was Lance covered his face in disbelief the way he died was so violent They couldn’t even find a recognizable scrap of his body That that was horrifying And, if they were so similar, who was to say the same couldn’t happen to him?

Combined, the need to know Arthur personally and the image of his death made Lance’s heart race and stomach churn. He couldn’t take it.

Hastily spinning his chair, he leaned over the rubbish bin beside him and vomited.