Their Perfect Lie, My Unseen Truth

Fawn POV

Deborah clicked off her phone, the soft thud echoing in the sterile silence of the morgue. Her expression, still softened by her call with Hope, hardened into one of annoyance as she turned to Erasmo. He was still meticulously prying open the waterproof capsule.

"Any luck with that note,dear?" she asked, her voice tight with impatience.

Erasmo grunted, his brow furrowed in concentration. "Almost. It's waterlogged, but I think I've got it."

My older brother, Kyle, the only one who seemed to actually care, stepped into the room then, his surgical scrubs rumpled, a clear indication he' d rushed straight from the hospital. His face was pale, his eyes wide with concern. He always seemed to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders, especially when it involved our dysfunctional family.

"Dad, Mom," he began, his voice strained. "What's going on? I just heard about a Jane Doe, a young woman... in the marsh. Is it related to anything?"

Erasmo looked up, a rare flash of affection in his eyes. "Kyle, son. What are you doing here? You should be resting."

"I heard the police scanner. And I couldn't reach Fawn. Is she... is she alright? She hasn't been answering her phone all day." Kyle's gaze swept around the room, finally landing on my sheet-draped form. A flicker of uneasiness crossed his face.

Deborah scoffed, a harsh, dismissive sound that made my non-existent skin crawl. "Oh, Fawn. Who knows where that one is. Probably off somewhere, sulking because she couldn't stand the thought of Hope having her moment tonight. She's always been so selfish."

"Mom!" Kyle's voice was sharp, a rare defiance in the face of Deborah's authority. "That's not fair! Fawn's not selfish. She just... she feels misunderstood. And she's been trying to call you all day, I know she has."

"Trying to call?" Erasmo scoffed, finally getting the note open, but not looking up yet. "She calls when she wants something. Or when she's causing trouble. She knew we were busy. Hope's recital is tonight, the biggest night of her life. Fawn knows that. She just wants attention."

"No, Dad, you don't understand," Kyle insisted, his voice rising. "She sounded really upset earlier. She texted me asking if I'd heard from you or Mom, said she was in some kind of trouble. I tried to call her back, but it went straight to voicemail."

Deborah waved her hand dismissively. "Oh, please. 'Trouble.' Fawn's definition of trouble is probably running out of tattoo ink or some boy breaking her heart. She always exaggerates."

Erasmo finally unfolded the note, his eyes scanning the water-stained words. His face, already grim, tightened further.

"Kyle, seriously," Deborah continued, her voice laced with weary exasperation, "don't enable her. She's a grown woman. If she wants to play games and disappear before important family events, that's her choice. She'll come crawling back when she needs money or a place to crash, like always."

I watched Kyle's face crumble, his shoulders slumping. He looked at my parents, then at my body, a desperate comprehension dawning in his eyes. He started to pull out his phone.

"I need to try her again," he mumbled, his fingers flying across the screen. "Something feels wrong. Really wrong."

"Don't bother," Deborah said coldly. "She's probably got her phone off to avoid responsibility. Let her live with the consequences of her choices. She needs to learn sometime."

Just then, Sergeant Miller entered the morgue, his expression solemn. He caught sight of Kyle. "Dr. Hood, sorry to bother you here."

"It's alright, Sergeant," Kyle replied, his voice flat, his eyes still on his phone, which now showed a "call failed" message.

"Is there any update on the Jane Doe, Sergeant?" Deborah asked, regaining her professional composure. "Have you identified her yet?"

"Not yet, Dr. Bishop," Miller replied, his gaze flickering nervously between Erasmo, Deborah, and my covered form. "But we've got some new information from the preliminary scene. There's a missing persons report that just came in, a young woman, matching some of the general descriptions."

Erasmo finally looked up from the note, his eyes narrowed. "A missing persons report? Who?"

"Fawn Hood," Miller said, his voice barely a whisper. He looked directly at Erasmo. "Your daughter, sir."

A stunned silence fell over the morgue, broken only by the frantic, silent clicking of Kyle's phone as he tried to call me again.

"What are you talking about, Miller?" Erasmo growled, his voice low and dangerous. "Fawn isn't missing. She's... she's just being Fawn. Probably out with her artist friends."

"We checked her apartment, Detective," Miller continued, his voice steady despite the tension. "It was ransacked. And her landlord said she hadn't been seen in over twenty-four hours. Her friends say she never misses a gig. They're worried sick."

Deborah swayed slightly, her hand flying to her mouth. "No. That's impossible. Fawn wouldn't... she would never let herself be in real danger. She's too smart for that."

"But she does make bad choices, doesn't she, Deb?" Erasmo's voice was hollow, filled with a sudden, chilling realization. He stared at the waterlogged note, then at my body.

Kyle's phone finally gave up, displaying a "no network found" message. He looked up, his face a mask of horror. "Dad... Mom... Fawn's not answering. She's not answering." His eyes, wide and terrified, landed on my covered form. "Oh God. It can't be."

Sergeant Miller cleared his throat, his gaze heavy. "Detective Hood... Dr. Bishop... the missing persons report came in late last night. We assumed Fawn was just... being irresponsible. We didn't connect it to this until now."

"Irresponsible?" Deborah choked out, her face paling. "We thought she was just avoiding Hope's recital. We thought she was just being... Fawn."

The words hung in the air, thick with the unbearable weight of their sudden, terrifying insight. They had dismissed me, judged me, blamed me. All while I was fighting for my life, and then losing it.