Swamp Girl

The killing was happening again. I knew it was going to happen, but I didn’t think it would start again so soon. Laila was the first to come back. The swamp had finally regurgitated whatever was left of her, and they asked me to identify her. I don’t know how they expected me to give them an answer based off of a pile of mush, but the singular star tattoo with the ugly lotus flower in the middle, was enough for me to know that the pile of bones, and detached yellow skin on the table was indeed Laila Hill. Nobody knew the black, kinky, haired girl with dimples. She didn’t have family, and the only friends she had were her coworkers. She wasn’t at the forefront of anyone’s mind. When her remains resurfaced, the world didn’t stop. Nobody batted an eye. There wasn’t a flicker in the morale of the town. It was news, and all news went away eventually. They had found a new swamp girl.

This has been happening, and will keep happening. They of course don’t believe me, thinking that I had something to do with it, but the swamp is the sole one to blame. It's unforgiving, dark, and damp. People go missing, and wind up in the gunk, and thorns of the swamp all the time, but I seemed to be the only person who could connect those dots. The people would go into the swamp and it would hold them for however long it wanted to. It broke them down, made them into nothing but memories of what they used to be. Then, when everyone least expected it, the swamp would give them back in a way that no one could recognize. This is what happened to Laila. The swamp had made her another victim, but she was just lucky enough to be given back.

The police got around to questioning me, but didn’t ask anything of substance. They didn’t ask the questions they needed to find who did this to Laila. Instead, they were more concerned with cosmetic questions.

How well did you know her?

When did you see her last?

Any idea who would do anything to her?

How well do you know the swamp?

I knew Laila. It would be a complete lie to say that I didn’t. We worked together on a few marketing projects at work, but other than that, I had no actual ties to the pile of mush that was now laying on a dissecting table in county. She would always say Hello in the mornings, and insist that I let her buy me a cup of coffee, but I had never indulged her. She was passive, and quiet. She stuck to herself, and chose not to bother others. I don’t even think I ever saw her eat lunch with anybody. If you asked me, Lalia was the perfect background character, and the perfect target for someone who was looking for someone who wouldn’t be missed. Most people in the office didn’t even know Laila was missing until two weeks had gone by at work. Her no call, no shows didn’t raise the slightest alarm. She had simply faded out of our minds, because she was indeed forgettable.

They asked me why I was the last person to see Laila. I told them that she had come to me looking for a book. My office door was slightly ajar when I saw a wild mane of curls poke its head in. I of course knew she would be looking for this book, because I had assigned it to her. The nature of my relationship with Lila was different, because I was technically her boss. She worked underneath me, but she rarely ever stayed in that position. If given the chance she would find a way to need my help. I was flattered by her advances, but again I had never indulged her. I only watched, and waited for the correct time to return her advances, if I ever felt like it.

“Mr. Wade?”

It came out as soft as a whisper, but it was loud enough for me to catch the sweetness or her voice.

“What can I do for you Ms. Hill?”

“I’m looking for a book on all the accounts from September to October-”

“I’ve already got it here for you,” I said, cutting her off mid statement,

It’s true, I already had the book picked out for her, because I knew that she would come for it. She smiled at me, her smile reaching every part of her face, and shining like a light just for me to see. She looked absolutely stunning in her suit. Her white blazer was tucked neatly into her black pencil skirt around all the edges, and she complimented the ensemble with a pair of low, black heels. She was trying a little bit harder today, but still staying practical. This was one of the few qualities I liked about her. She didn’t try too hard.

“Thank you, I’ll bring it right back,”

“Take your time, I trust you” I replied, letting my words hang in the air.

Trust.

For some reason, I got the feeling that she trusted me too. I was a simple man that she didn’t even know from another on the street, but in my presence she felt safe enough. She was eating it up, and not at all paying attention to her surroundings. She didn’t notice that I wasn’t working. I had been standing in my office waiting for her, and nothing more.

“I might be slightly late getting out of here tonight, I’ve got a lot of numbers to crunch,”

“I’ll be here as well, take your time Laila,”

I had called her first name. It surprised her that I knew it, and the small gasp that she let out had alerted me of that. Her eyes scanned mine for any weaknesses, but there weren’t any. It was a moment before she smiled again, but this time I could see the red beginning to creep up onto her cheeks. She was blushing, and just as she moved to leave, a whiff of her perfume wound its way around the room. She smelled like roses, and cotton candy, at least those were the two scents that I could deduce. She smelled just as sweet as she sounded. I watched as she left, being careful not to slam the door behind her. I waited until I couldn't hear her heels clicking against the tile anymore, before I took a deep breath in. She smelled heavenly.

This is what I told the police about my last encounter with Laila. They only asked once, and even then I didn’t fully believe that they were taking it seriously. A young woman had been found dead after two weeks in the swamp, and the police were doing a horrible job at catching her killer. It would happen again. The swamp would release another body, and they would try their best to solve what happened. They would only have pieces, and those pieces would have to be enough. They would have to tell the story of what happened, but they never do. The police would dig up enough to tell absolutely nothing, and it would keep happening just like this. The swamp refused to give up its secrets, and I mine. Next time, I will be more careful.

They didn’t ask anymore questions after a week or so, and the news of Laila and the swamp had become old, just as well all knew that it would. Days had passed, and still nobody had come to claim the girl, or rather what was left of her. She sat in the cold refrigerator until someone higher up finally decided it was time to lay her to rest. They buried her in the town cemetery in the back row, and She was given a cross for a headstone that the other’s and I at work had engraved for her. It said something about angels, and flying high. None of it mattered anyway. She was laid to rest, and the mystery of who put her in the swamp was never resolved. Just like that, the swamp had won again.

Months went by, and then there was another swamp girl that needed to be assembled.

Her name was Celia.

She came out next.