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Brooklyn Sloane

January 2011

Sunday — 10:46 am

T he casket descended into the cold ground as the winter wind whispered through the barren branches of some nearby trees. Stifled cries of mourning traveled with the freezing air, and not even the blanket of snow covering the cemetery could muffle the loss and anguish of the bereaved. Family members and close friends of Cara Jordan huddled together in unity, their bodies shivering from grief as much as from the frigid weather.

Cara was finally being laid to rest, but her family was far from finding any peace.

Brooklyn Sloane stood a far distance from the gravesite, her presence shielded by a massive tree that had probably stood for centuries. Cara’s parents had made it abundantly clear they didn’t want Brook anywhere near their daughter’s funeral.

Who could blame them?

Brook’s brother was the monster who took Cara’s life.

Jacob Walsh had guaranteed a closed casket by slicing the flesh off Cara’s face. It was a grotesque signature that he had perfected on others…even Brook’s best friend from high school. Sally Pearson’s family hadn’t wanted Brook at their daughter’s funeral, either.

The horrid memories making themselves known were like an infected wound that couldn’t heal, and now Jacob had added Cara to his long list of victims.It was impossible to erase the image of Cara lying on the floor in their dorm room, completely unrecognizable.

Blood.

Everywhere.

Cara’s blonde hair had been soaked with so much blood that the thick strands had practically been dyed a dark red. The gash in her neck, so much like Sally’s, had been deep.

The police initially believed Jacob had fled somewhere far away to evade capture. In the four years since his disappearance, Brook had lowered her guard ever so slightly. She had even allowed herself to construct some semblance of normalcy.

Cara had been part of that normalcy.

And she had paid dearly with her life.

The graphic images didn’t fade away. Instead, they receded just enough for Brook to observe Cara’s mother fall to her knees. Her husband didn’t even attempt to stop her collapse. He chose to join his wife, and their breaths mingled together as they continued to grieve the loss of their daughter.

Brook crossed her arms tightly over her thick winter coat, unable to join them and ask for their forgiveness. She didn’t deserve such absolution. She forced herself to witness Cara’s casket gradually disappear as the coffin continued its descent to the bottom of the grave. Not doing so would have been a betrayal of her own conscience.

The sudden crunch of footsteps pressing down on the snow distracted Brook from her own personal hell. She quickly spun to face whoever had come to confront her about her presence, the words of an apology stuck in the back of her throat.

“Is that the funeral for the college girl who was killed in her dorm room?” an older woman asked quietly as she came to a stop next to Brook. She couldn’t get her voice to work, so she remained silent as she observed Cara’s parents finally manage to stand. They stared down into the dark hole, their grief so palpable that the scene seared itself next to the last memory Brook had of their daughter. “Such a tragedy. It’s been all over the news.”

Brook would have given anything to be left in solitude, but she wouldn’t be rude to the woman when it was obvious she was visiting a loved one’s grave. Clutched in her right hand was a bouquet of bright flowers. Her face was lined with age and wisdom, and her eyes held a gentle warmth that exuded empathy.

Brook hesitated with a response, not wanting the woman to believe she was prying in on a family’s private moment of grief. It didn’t escape her that the stranger might also recognize her from the recent news coverage. Jacob’s face had been splashed all over the local and national channels, as well as the internet…and her photograph was usually right alongside his.

“Yes,” Brook replied, her voice barely audible above the rustling wind. Her eyes began to water in response to the bitter cold as she stared straight ahead, focusing on Cara’s parents walking away from their daughter’s grave. “I should be going, too. It’s pretty cold out here, and I?—”

“A sad day all around, isn’t it?” The woman lifted her left hand and adjusted the black scarf a little higher around her cheek. The leather glove was a bit worn, and Brook assumed the pair was a favorite. “I’m here visiting my husband. He passed away a year ago today.”

As the woman spoke, the winter wind seemed to pause for a moment. Brook followed her gaze to a standing tombstone, maybe twenty feet away. The large marble square was adorned with a flower holder that held a frozen bouquet from at least a week prior.

“You know, dear,” the older woman murmured in a gentle voice. “Time is our friend. It has a way of dulling the pain. It might not seem like it now, but you’ll be able to look back without feeling so broken.”

Brook stiffened, accepting that the woman had recognized her from the news. A surge of bitterness washed over her. Would it always be like this? Would she forever be known as a serial killer’s sister? Maybe that was how it should be, and she couldn’t prevent a throbbing ache from settling in her chest as the weight of guilt consumed her.

“Some things can’t be fixed.”

Brook wasn’t sure why she even answered the woman. It wasn’t like she had been asked a question, and her words hung heavy in the air.

“I’ve learned a lot in my lifetime,” the woman said with a kind smile. It was impossible to ignore her quiet fortitude. “The only thing time can’t fix is death. We may not like how our wounds heal, but they heal all the same. And as long as you’re breathing, there is hope.”

The words struck a chord deep within Brook. She had truly believed the past couple of weeks had been demonstrating the opposite. Breathing hurt so much, how could the instinctual and necessary action possibly bring hope?

The woman gave a slight nod of encouragement before stepping back and proceeding toward her husband’s gravesite. Her black purse swayed with her even strides. There had been no reservation in her advice. No judgment, either.

“Wait,” Brook called out, causing the older woman to pause. She slowly turned with a questioning expression across her elderly features. “I'm sorry for your loss.”

“I’m sorry for yours, dear.”

The bright flowers she carried stood out against the harsh winter landscape. The vivid colors of the petals suggested there had been some truth to her advice. Maybe time had healed the widow’s wounds enough to live life to the fullest. The woman’s counsel had stirred something deep inside Brook.

Time.

What she needed was time.

The day she had discovered Cara’s body, Brook had vowed to obtain justice for her brother’s victims. In the midst of the endless questions from both law enforcement and the media, she had gradually shut herself off emotionally, becoming numb to it all.

Jacob’s dark presence in her life had made it impossible for her to visualize anything else but death. He was cunning, manipulative, and utterly ruthless. He had traits that would enable him to elude capture. No one understood that better than Brook.

Staring out over the cemetery and focusing on Cara’s final resting place, Brook sensed something shift within her. No longer would she remain a passive bystander in her own life. She would not allow her brother’s actions to dictate her choices. From this moment forward, she controlled her future.

After all, she had nothing but time.