There was no mistaking the unruly mop of blazing red hair. Images and feelings bombarded Byrony Long. Jessica as a freckle-faced child giggling non-stop. Jessica as a teen, breathlessly sharing secrets over the phone. So many once familiar annoyances Byrony would never experience again. So many pieces of her once familiar world gone – destroyed beyond fixing. Byrony’s stomach clenched and her eyelids slammed down, refusing to look another moment at the sunken eyes and chalky skin. The stench of formaldehyde, alcohol, and other chemicals she didn’t recognize burned up her nostrils to the back of her throat. She staggered as the meager contents of her stomach lurched upward. The middle-aged officer who had escorted her to the morgue gripped Byrony’s upper arm to steady her. Averting her gaze, she swallowed and managed to whisper hoarsely, "That’s her… my sister." "Thank you, Miss Long," the man said, turning her around. "Sorry, but with no identification, we needed a positive confirmation." In spite of her wobbly legs, Byrony let him guide her out the door.
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