4 March 2012: Scene III

III

“What the…”

Ben was well familiar with what a human hand skeleton looked like but he also knew that a bear’s claw could appear deceptively human.

“Come here, boy.”

There was no need for Ben to call the dog over as he was very willing to come over on his own and show off his prize, one that was certainly much more unique than the fishing lure.  He knelt down to get a better look and reached to take hold of the wrist portion, very wary of how the dog would react. 

“Hey, fella.  Can I see it?”

As if on command, the dog opened his mouth.  

“Thank you.  What a good boy.  Yes, you are.”  Ben took better hold of the remains and with his other hand, lightly petted the top of the dog’s head.  Yet, every time the dog arched his head upward to lick his hand, he automatically pulled it upward, still afraid that the dog’s intent was more malicious.

“You don’t want to bite me, do you?”

With all his might, he kept his hand in place as the dog gave him a few licks.

“Yeah.  You’re all right.”

He drew his hand away to give his full attention to the skeletal one he was holding, but the dog begged for more attention, nudging at Ben.

“Not now,” he said, standing.

In combat and as a paramedic, he had seen plenty of bones within and sticking through the skin.  Any hand bones he encountered were mangled with blood and flesh and not picked clean like this one.  It had been quite a while since an anatomy class when he viewed a complete skeleton.   The phalanges looked much thinner and slender than he remembered.  He opened his palm and placed the bones over his own stretched out fingers; it seemed dwarfed by comparison.   A child’s?  Ben looked over at the branches where the dog had dragged it out.  He hoped that that was all of it, that the remains had separated from the rest of the skeleton way up stream and this is where the hand happened to come to rest.   

He walked over and re-entered the stack of boughs; moving slowly, the sound of each crunching step sending a new chill through his body.  But the dog bolted carelessly across the tangle of branches, going straight for the original spot and sniffed deeply.

Ben came alongside the dog and he wagged his tale.

“Go on.  Move back.”

The dog kept his position.

“Go on.”  Ben waved a bit more vigorously and the dog took one step back, his head drooping slightly.

Ben peered in through the brush and could just make out a bit of white.  He carefully removed a few branches, revealing what he assumed were the ends of the radius and the ulna still somewhat draped by the remains of clothing.  Max moved in closer and Ben shooed him away again.

Anticipating where the body might be lying, he moved several more limbs.  He caught the sight of a piece of clothing but it took another moment for him to recognize the distinct bony pattern of a rib cage that lay underneath the decaying shroud.  Ben stopped and gazed quietly at the remains entombed in the underwood; he was not prepared, and the life that once was, penetrated his skin before he had time to draw up his shell. 

He had seen enough and knew he may have already gone too far in uncovering the skeleton for the forensic experts who would soon be down there.  To make sure no animal got to the exposed bones, he re-covered the remains; in his pocket, he still carried the hand. 

“Come on.”

The dog remained and continued to sniff at the pile.  Ben called to the dog again more forcefully and this time he came.

Once out of the brush, he looked up and waved at Ron; he wasn’t sure if he saw him or not.  Clouds had moved in and he worried that Ron would be getting cold now that the warmth of the sun had disappeared behind the gray blanket. 

Ben eyed the terrain in front of him and moved to his right where the slope wasn’t quite as steep and where the sumacs growing offered some hand and foot holds.   Thirty feet later, he came to another sudden halt; lying on the ground, resting against a sumac sapling was a small revolver.  He bent over and identified the model, a 38 Special Charter Arms.  He rolled the gauge and model over in his mind and something clicked.  Taking a stick and pushing the gun over, he looked at the other side of the handle.

“Holy shit.”

Ben didn’t think any experts or authorities would be down there anytime soon.

Copyright © 2012 Philip Zweig