By Dinah Henry
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Blood. All I saw was blood at my first crime scene of being an FBI agent. It’s not the first crime scene I’ve been to as an officer, but it was the bloodiest. The art splatter on the walls looked like a Jackson Pollock painting, but the paint was blood. I didn’t see the body anywhere, but in the middle of the bed, in the room, there was a Barbie doll.
Her hair was covered in blood, turning it bright red. As I get closer to the bed, I see a note saying, “Where is the real Veronica?” My boss (well he’s actually my dad) Thomas Scott, standing on the other side of the bed sees the note and says, “Damn it! That’s the fifth Veronica note we found so far.” He said. There have been three Veronicas and one unknown body that have been missing from where they have been killed. Dad was very emotional because when we were in the office, he had told everyone that this was my very first case as an FBI agent and I came from the Police Department being a Detective and graduated the academy for becoming a FBI agent, and was sent to work over here in Washington, DC with Dad, Warren, and the rest of the gang.
Three Veronicas, and one unknown person. I thought to myself, and we haven’t caught the serial killer yet. The Barbie doll looked so familiar that it had the same structure as the other ones before, but this one was missing its legs. Legs, Veronica, and most important of all blonde hair. Is that what the serial killer was looking for? I thought to myself again.
My dad looked over at me, saw that I was staring at the Barbie doll, but not just staring at it, but was also pointing at it, to show him that the legs were gone and said, “Shit! That’s why there’s so much more blood than the others. He has cut off the legs of the girl this time. Oh, he’s done more of his work now that’s for sure.” Dad always thinks that when the victims are women, it must have been a man who has killed them, and most of the time he’s always correct.
There have been a few times that he hasn’t been correct. Those times sometimes haunt him. Right now, this one is haunting him the most because I used to play with Barbie doll as a kid, and the first one of this case that he saw that was drenched in blood he thought about the first time I was at a crime scene and not only I was playing with the Barbie doll, but my hands were covered with blood. I was six years old that day. I don’t remember all the details of that day.
Just before my mom left us, we were on the playground swinging on the swings. My dad got a call from the office to come in. At that time my dad was still an FBI agent, but not the boss of everyone, yet. That is for another story to tell. The day was as happy as all the others were before she went. As mom slowed my swing down, I saw the Barbie doll right on the street by a strange person, just lying there on the ground. I don’t remember the person being dead, but I do remember that the person was holding the Barbie doll in their hands before I took it.
I vaguely remember that the Barbie Doll was covered in blood and had the number two on the dress, but dad told me that I saw the number when I took it and told myself “That’s weird. Never seen a dress ruined like that before.” As soon as my mom caught up with me, she saw me behind the yellow crime scene tape and then saw dad immediately running over to me and asking her, “How did this happen?" “She must have seen the Barbie doll. She started to run as soon as she could touch the ground with her feet after I slowed the swing down. I should have seen it too.” Mom answered him.
He kept asking me so many questions about the Barbie doll. Most of them I hardly remember. All I remember after that was mom collapsing and had a seizure, right before we were supposed to go to the station with him. That was the third seizure this week. The doctors said to dad after the last one that if she had one or two more, she could die. Well, she wakes up in the hospital right after two to three hours.
Dad and I visited her after we knew she was awake. She was fine then, but three days later she died because her brain couldn’t take it anymore. “You didn’t have to come here Bea.” Dad said to me, to make me realize, Where am I? Then I remembered that I’m at a crime scene, but not just at any crime scene, my first one as an FBI agent.
“Actually, Dad, I mean, boss.” I hesitated because after I said dad, everyone that was collecting evidence looked at me and had a questioning look on their faces. “I do because this is my first case on the job, and I’d rather not miss out.”
“I know, but this one isn’t like the ones when you were a detective. It’s different because there isn’t just death, but a dangerous man out there.” Dad said. “The person is looking for a Veronica, not a Beatrice.” I said back to him.
We were walking out of the crime scene now and Dad had a concerned look on his face, but it looked more like he had something to tell me. “There’s something I have to tell you.”
“If it’s something that’s going to shock me more than that Barbie doll, save it until we are out of here or at home.” I said to him, we went our separate ways after that. Only this time, instead of going to the coffee shop to clear my head, I decided to go back to the office to figure some things out.
At a stop light that was six blocks down where the crime scene was at, there was a strange man not far from the sidewalk but looked like he needed help because he was limping with one leg. I pulled over and parked the car after I turned left (I was going to turn left anyway because that’s where I had to turn next to keep going to the office), got out of the car, and checked to see what was wrong with the man. Then bam, I got knocked out by his partner, after I got to him. When I woke up, I was in a room with an odor that I never smelled before.
I saw five dead women, and one of them was missing their legs. All of them had their throats slit and were smiling from ear to ear. Then I remembered the Barbie dolls at their crime scenes representing the dead women. I was wondering why am I here with them?
On the right side of me, there was an envelope, but my left hand was chained to the wall. So, I picked it up with my right hand. On the other side of it was an opening, and it had the words “The Truth About You.” Then, I heard a door open, and saw the same man that I got out of my car for, but he was walking just fine now. “Go ahead. Open it.” He said to me, so, I did.
“Where is your partner that knocked me out? Why am I here? My name isn’t Veronica.” I said as I was opening the envelope. “Open it anyway. It might surprise you.” He said back to me.
When I did, I noticed that it had my birth certificate in it, only something was really off because it said my name was changed to Beatrice after a year I was born. My real birth name was Veronica. There was also another piece of paper inside of it but it had something that I think dad was trying to tell me.
The piece of paper said that Veronica also had a half brother that was from her mom, but he was put in foster care because her mom had him as a teen. At that time she didn’t want to keep the baby, but she still wanted it to have a life. A picture of the brother was on the back and it looked just like the man that kidnapped me.
I looked back at the man, and he said to me, “Now, you see. You are the real Veronica!”
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