Page 33 of A Taste like Sin
prized knickknacks. Was every bit of metal and glass worth more to him than I was?
They don’t seem to matter so damn much now.
Panting, I yank the drawers out of his desk. The one near the bottom is already open and the edge of a
folder is sticking out of it, as if shoved there, the last thing he may have read. His precious, coveted
donor list? I grab it and callously scan the familiar, small handwriting scribbled on the front:For
Juliana.
My body goes cold. As if from miles away, I hear a thud, and when I regain focus, I’m on my knees,
hunched over the slim stack of documents. They’re faded and dog-eared, delicate with age. Oh God…
I recognize the crisp, cold layout of the topmost one as that of a police case file. Across the header
readsJuliana Mirangas, age 8.
Numb, I scan each line, discovering nothing new. It’s merely a summary of my statement and the
events described. But the last page…
I’ve never seen it before: a different briefing referring to another case. Yet, in some ways, the events
described are chillingly similar. The girl’s name may be different, but the scattered bits of her
statement resonate within me down to the bone.
“Wanted to play a game.” “Didn’t see a face.” “Simon says…”
The date is a full year before my case, but unlike mine, a single suspect was questioned in this
horrific crime. His name, however? It’s been blacked out entirely. Even when I flip the page over and
hold it up to the light, I can’t read the letters marked over with black ink.
“Damn it!” I throw the file and watch the pages slowly drift down.
Even now, Heyworth refuses to divulge the answers I need. Answers only he can give.
Though no. He’s not the only one. I flick through the pages for the older case file. The name of the
girl… I read it over and over until it’s cemented into my brain.
Lynn McKelvy.
Scrambling upright, I snatch up the remaining pages and carefully return them to their file, but when I
reach an unfamiliar series of paragraphs, I freeze.Psychiatric evaluationscreams across the top of
the document, and the person described within the lines of text I know all too well.
Juliana Mirangas, age 8, female. School records convey poor attendance, average grades.
Described as withdrawn and isolative by teachers. A fellow student referred to JM as “weird.
Leslie was her only friend I think.” No outward signs of prior trauma or psychiatric history.
