Page 8 of The Bone Code
“It’s OK, Bird. We’ve got plenty of food.”
Stretching out on my makeshift bed, I tried to relax. Eventually, the cat joined me and curled at my knee. I reached down to pet him. His entire body was trembling.
For the next several hours, Birdie and I listened to the cacophony of pounding rain and howling wind, muted but unmistakably wild. I wondered how extensive the damage would be. The cat’s thoughts were undoubtedly traveling a different path.
At some point, I drifted off. Awoke to the sound of an exploding transformer.
Feeling the cat tense and resume shaking, I started to stroke him, slowly and gently. As my hand worked its magic, my thoughts looped back to my afternoon visitor.
Polly Beecroft and her sister, Harriet, were monozygotic twins, meaning they’d developed from a single fertilized egg that split early in embryonic development. Since the women shared identical DNA, they looked alike. No biggie. The chance of having identical twins is around three or four in every one thousand births.
I felt the tiniest easing of tension in Birdie’s body. My touch was having the desired effect. Or he was running out of steam.
Polly’s grandmother and her great-aunt were also identical twins, born in London in 1870. Polly had showed me a portrait of them, one named Sybil, the other Susanne Bouvier. They, too, had looked like clones of each other, and both had looked exactly like Polly and Harriet, born eight decades later.
Something shattered in the yard. Birdie’s shaking kicked back into high. I decided to think out loud, adding my voice to the stroking, partly to benefit the cat, partly to block the bedlam outside.
“Susanne and Sybil traveled to Paris in 1888, and after a month in the city, Sybil vanished without a trace. To this day, no one knows what happened to her.
“Polly’s grandmother, Susanne, went on to emigrate to the U.S., marry, and have children. Polly’s mother was born in 1909. Polly and Harriet came along in 1948.
“Here’s the strange part, Bird. In addition to Sybil’s disappearance, of course. Polly also showed me a picture of a death mask.”
Birdie rolled to his back. I took this as an indication of interest.
“Death masks were popular in the nineteenth century, beforepeople had cameras. They were kind of like ceramic selfies, created to help friends and family remember the deceased.”
I made that part up, but it sounded reasonable. Birdie didn’t question my explanation.
“Polly didn’t know where Harriet had gotten the photo. And she had no idea of the mask’s current whereabouts. Are you ready for this? The death mask in Polly’s picture looked exactly like her. Like all four women.” Added as if the cat needed clarification, “The features were the same as in both sets of twins.”
Bird stretched his forelimbs upward and let his paws drop, limp.
“So why did Polly come to see me, you ask? Excellent question. She wonders if the woman depicted in the death mask could be her great-aunt, Sybil. And if so, she wants to know if I can discover what happened to her.”
Out on the lawn, a tree snapped with a dull pop. I heard a crack far overhead, then something big ratcheted across the roof.
The cat scrabbled for cover under the quilt.
We hunkered there the rest of the night, Birdie shivering, me wondering what devastation I would face in the morning.
Unaware that the storm damage would be nothing compared to that triggered by an upcoming call.
3
Wednesday, October 6
Iawoke to pitch-black.
Groggy, I rose to a crouch and groped for the chain on the overhead fixture. Pulled. Nothing.
Great. Still no electricity.
Dropping back onto the improvised bed, I located my phone. The screen showed the time to be 6:22.
Morning?
I opened my hurricane-tracking app.
