Jane Doe on the Table

Chapter 2 The Swallowed Gift

A bright piano ringtone sounded before the blade went any deeper.

My mother straightened at the interruption. It was Chloe's custom ringtone, a cheerful run of piano keys I had heard through closed doors a thousand times while the two of them spoke without me.

Evelyn peeled off one bloody glove and answered with her back to me. Her clipped morgue voice disappeared.

"Chloe, sweetheart. Is everything all right? I'm at work."

She listened, nodding as though Chloe could see her.

"I know, baby. Don't worry about her. Aria is throwing a tantrum to ruin your night. She's always been jealous. When I get home, we'll deal with that little brat. She won't spoil this for you again."

*Brat.* One word for the missing daughter. A whole soft voice for Chloe.

My father scrolled through the engagement photos while she spoke. He stopped at Chloe's manicured hand and its brilliant new diamond. Beside it sat the heavy Croft family signet, resized by the jeweler. He smiled at the screen.

"Did the jeweler fix the signet?" he asked when Evelyn hung up. "It looks perfect on her."

"Of course. It was made for a Croft daughter."

They had tried it on me a week after I was "rescued." The heavy gold looked strange against my calloused hand and caught on my knuckle. Mother pulled it off before I could straighten my finger and said, *"Your hands are too coarse, Aria. Not made for delicate things."*

Now Chloe wore it beside her engagement diamond.

"Back to it." Evelyn took the forceps and worked below my ribs. A small dark object came up, slick with stomach acid.

Sarah rinsed it under running water. "It's a tie clip, Doctor."

She laid the corroded metal on the tray. Two letters remained visible on the back: *A.C.*

It was my last Father's Day gift. I had saved for months from odd jobs to buy a silver-plating kit, then spent the whole night polishing the clip and carving his initials by hand. The letters came out uneven, but they were mine.

He had glanced into the box for less than a second and dropped it into his desk drawer with the spare paper clips. "I don't wear cheap things, Aria." I never saw him take it out again.

He stared at the tray long enough to recognize it, then lifted it with a tissue.

"Must have been stolen." He tossed it back. "This kind of trash always is."

Months of work landed on the steel with a click.

I had already heard worse on the dirty floor where I died.

"Turn her over," my mother said. "I want to check the back for defensive wounds."

Sarah swallowed and rolled my body onto its side.

The sheet slipped below my shoulder.

The morgue lights exposed the burn scar across nearly my entire left shoulder blade.