Washington D.C. three years ago-

Anders leaned forward and asked with a hint of excitement, “So, you ready for our first case?”

Ian stood up from his desk with a forced laugh. He’d finished downloading the app on his new department-issued phone and began scrolling through the assignment feed. He stopped when he saw their initials, M.A. / I.M. Naturally, Ian thought, ‘as if the others needed more or a reason to give me grief.

The application provided basic information on their case; code number, address, and a note that the initial 911 call had been forwarded to Anders’ phone. 187 - Homicide at 1020 Oak Hill Avenue.

Anders plucked his jacket off the back of his chair and led the way towards the carpool. They moved out into the late spring day to the back of the lot, where Anders paused in front of his nondescript beige sedan.

“Alright kid, let’s see what you got. Heads or tails? Winner gets to drive,” Anders said while picking out a quarter from his pocket.

Ian wasn’t sure why the game was necessary when neither one minded driving, but he decided to play along.

“Heads,” Ian said.

Anders flicked the coin into the air and caught it in his right hand. Ian didn’t see it but Anders cast a lightning-quick glance at the coin before he flipped it onto the back of his left hand. Upon removing his palm, the coin sat with the tails side facing up.

“Ha! I never win,” Anders said. It was an old trick, but a reliable one. Had it landed on tails after the catch, he would have foregone the extra flip and merely revealed the coin in his right hand. Anders held out the coin to Ian, “Here, loser gets the coin.”

Ian took the quarter, but he noticed the pensive expression on Anders’ face. “What?” Ian asked as they got into the car.

Kid has potential, but either his perception needs some polishing, or he’s got blinders on around the people he trusts. Anders thought.

Anders bounced back to his usual carefree tone, “Nothing, don’t worry about it. We’re heading to a fresh crime scene so let’s go over the details. The lab guys are already on site.”

Anders pulled out into traffic and started spouting off reminders about procedures to follow on the scene. Meanwhile, Ian reviewed the case in the assignment feed. He responded with a series of “mhm’s” now and again.

A half-hour later they pulled into the rear gravel driveway of the two-story brick home. Ian would be able to recall the picturesque neighborhood with perfect clarity for the rest of his days. The manicured lawns, the white fences, the odd lawn gnome. All of it was so very middle-class American. There were already three other vehicles parked in front of them.

“Officers, CSI van, probably the victim’s vehicle - pretty standard. If we ever beat the CSI guys we pretty much wait in the car if there’s no immediate threat, so we don’t muck up the evidence. But they can’t start processing until we get here either. No ambulance means dead body. Let’s get this show on the road,” Anders said as he pulled himself out of the car. They headed up the driveway to meet the officer who was standing by the door. He was busy talking to the lab techs who were waiting to start their work judging by the packed-up gear that they had at their feet.

“Hey Harvey, how’s it look in there?” Anders asked once in earshot of the patrolman.

The young black man, Harvey Freeman, shook his head with a grim expression, “Home invasion gone bad from the looks of it. Checked the pulse, did the standard sweep, tried not to touch anything and called dispatch. Bodys in the living room, through the kitchen. These guys just need your go-ahead to start collecting. M.E. is about an hour out.” Harvey’s eyes went from Anders over towards Ian, arching a quizzical brow.

Anders noticed the look, “I think I told you Ramos retired, this is my new partner. McClintoc, this is Harvey Freeman.”

Ian shook the man’s hand and they exchanged pleasantries.

“Okay, we should get to work. Harvey, I’ll see you at poker tomorrow. McClintoc, let's go in,” Anders said while grabbing the attention of the men dressed in white jumpsuits, “Boys, if you haven’t already, go ahead and start processing.”

The shorter of the two techs gave a sarcastic two-fingered salute. Then they picked up their bags and headed inside.

Anders stopped by the broken back door and passed Ian a pair of booties, before putting on a pair himself. After slipping on the shoe covers, Ian followed Anders into the house.

In every one of Ian’s detective courses, they had harped on the smell of a body. How it would hit you no matter how prepared you thought you were, how it would forever change you. As Ian drew his first breath and the sickly sweetness entered his nose, he knew he’d never forget it. The scent of rotting meat, decay, and excrement was unique for each victim. Did they die with perfume on? Or right out of the shower? Were they a junk food eater, a smoker, a drinker? All of these things factored into the lingering aroma.

Anders pulled out a blue plastic container of mentholated salve from his jacket and unscrewed the lid. He dipped his finger very slightly into it and wiped a dab under his nose before offering it to Ian. “You know how to use this stuff?”

Ian scooped out a massive dollop with his fingertip, “Yeah. I know exactly what I’m doing.” He smeared it all under his nose making the assumption that more was better. He wondered why there was even a question about such a simple task. The offending odor was soon beaten back by the overwhelming scent of medicinal minty freshness. It irritated his lungs after only a few breaths, which sparked an involuntary cough and watering of his eyes.

Anders shook his head, “Used too much, rookie mistake. Serves you right too, you know you aren’t supposed to say that shit. ‘I know exactly what I’m doing.’ Never ends well.” He lifted up the jar as he replaced the lid, “But you’ll want to get one of these for yourself soon as you get a chance, take my word for it.”

Ian tried to wipe off some of the excess on the back of his hand and nonchalantly waved Anders on, keeping his coughs at bay by not speaking. Anders guided them into the living room to see the body. The kitchen had been neat and orderly, a place for everything and everything in its place. The living room, however, was in shambles.

A flat-screen TV lay smashed on the floor, bits of black plastic and glass scattered around it. Couch cushions had been ripped open, the stuffing unceremoniously yanked out and cast aside. An overturned table littered family photos over the off-white carpeting. Then he saw it. Along the back wall where there had once been a line of fully stocked bookshelves. Now, there was nothing but a waste of knowledge spilled on the floor, coated in stagnant blood.

A ghastly pallid woman, mid to late thirties, lay at the far edge of the puddle. Her corpse was decorated in trinkets of wealth; designer evening wear, perfectly manicured nails, and a diamond tennis bracelet worth more money than anyone working the case had ever seen. Thick, almost black, blood had pooled up around the corpse. As the curtains shifted the light played funny tricks, giving the blood the appearance of sick shifting pudding.

Ian remembered the stark absurdity of it, knowing that it was meaningless now, that none of it protected her. Already there were flies buzzing around her. As a breeze blew in through the open kitchen door it pushed her long auburn hair to the side. Beneath maggots writhed in a gash along her shoulder. Ian’s stomach clenched, and he felt bile rising to the back of his throat. Pictures do not do a body justice, no matter how detailed or gruesome. Anders saw the telltale signs and quickly stepped over to Ian, both blocking his view of the body and shoving him back towards the kitchen.

“Outside, man. You don’t want to contaminate the scene,” Anders said with a tone that was both commanding and compassionate. He felt bad for Ian having a homicide as his first case and a gruesome one at that. But if he could make it through this, he’d be able to handle anything.

Ian stumbled through the kitchen and out into the backyard. He made it about three steps before promptly turning and vomiting into a picturesque flower garden. One of the techs came over and patted his shoulder while bending down next to him. He checked Ian’s face before deciding it was safe to lean in and place a small orange cone on the ground where Ian had vomited. It would be cataloged with the evidence to avoid any future confusion, even though the lab wouldn’t need to process it.

“First time, eh?” Asked the tech.

“It was the maggots,” Ian mumbled.

Ian wiped his mouth and then felt his stomach clenching again as the image of the flies and their larvae crawling over the body popped back into his head. He drew in a deep breath and gave a quick nod at the tech while waving him off. When he had collected himself enough, he walked back towards their beige car and leaned against the hood. Anders came out to join him a few minutes later, closing his handheld notebook before clapping the junior detective on his shoulder.

“Don’t worry about it, happens to everyone. It’ll get easier,” Anders said somberly, “Not better, but easier.”

Ian studied Anders, expecting a quip or remark to follow that up. Instead, Anders was uncharacteristically solemn. A sad smile hovered around his face, not quite reaching his eyes as he stared at the broken door into the house.

“It’s the job. This is the first real test for a detective. Can you deal with the smell, the sight of a real dead body? Can you overcome the horror of the scene and look at it objectively? Or do you, like most people, break down in the face of such loss?” Anders turned towards Ian and clapped him on the shoulder again, this time leaving his hand there adding a gentle squeeze. “There is no shame in it if you can’t. This isn’t the job for everyone. I may have said that you’d make a fine detective, but you never know until this moment if you can handle the job.”

Ian put his hands on his knees and took a few more deep breaths. A grim line of determination marked his lips as he gathered himself and his thoughts.

That woman deserves justice, Ian thought. He still needed to see the body and the scene and start piecing together what had happened to this poor woman. He stood up straight and tall before turning to face Anders.

“I’m gonna go take another look. We can compare notes after I see the rest of the house.”

…...

Presently-

“Right then, water,” Ian muttered as he drew back from the memory. He knew he was delaying by thinking about the past. The distraction had given him time to recover, but he could linger no longer. He had to get help, had to figure out what had happened, had to find justice for his friend. And being a literal bump on a log was going to accomplish none of that.

Ian found that the sling and walking stick made his trek much easier. He reasoned that he must be somewhere in the Appalachians. It was a mountain range that stretched from southern Canada to the middle of Alabama. And was the closest geological formation that made any sense. How he’d gotten here though, that was a complete mystery.

Ian kept the visible peak at his back and the sun in front of him. Since it was clearly moving closer to the horizon he decided that was west. He headed down the slope and into the trees.