Entropy by Robert Raker Read Free Book Online

overwhelming salinity, life could not exist in its waters. I had visited Jordan once during my failed attempt at an Olympic career. We were in Europe for time trials near the end of my attempts to represent the United States. However, despite being so close to the Dead Sea, I never got a chance to experience the myths and legends of that body of water. I wasn’t entirely sure why I thought about it now.
    The girl’s body was now almost free of the silo. I searched around again quickly before reaching for the safety line. Voices and sounds echoed around me. I wondered if there was any chance that she had been alive when she had been dumped in here. It would be up to the coroner to determine that. I began to imagine the horror of being alone in the darkness; the smell, the isolation and the sick density of the water. Even if I never saw Jordan again during my lifetime, I realized solemnly that I had already touched the waters of the dead.
    ***
    Back out of the silo and at the car, I stepped out of the dry suit and held a moist towel over my mouth and nose. My stomach was churning. A truck headed up the farm’s gravel driveway, towing the portable lighting. Mull instructed them to set up around the perimeter of the barn. He was going to search the rear fields again. After packing away my equipment, I started towards the battered farmhouse again.
    When I reached the front steps I hesitated for a moment. Suddenly, the rotted floorboards underneath my feet split and gave way and I dropped through the porch. However, it wasn’t that far down and it felt like I was standing in mud. One of the portable lights switched on with the intensity of an artificial sun. I shaded my eyes from the glare and crouched down. I searched around for my flashlight and after retrieving it, repositioned myself to see more clearly. Beams of light shot underneath of the wood and I could see several cardboard boxes. I alerted one of the officers on the scene. He dropped through the opening and pulled on the box closest to where he knelt. The outside flaps were sodden and pieces tore away. I watched as he lifted the box into his arms and he carried it through the front door into the house and followed him in.
    I could hear footsteps from some of the forensics detail upstairs, searching the rooms. I heard the coroner tell them to see if there was any physical evidence that the girl might have been violated within the house before being dumped in the silo. Sitting on the floor with little visibility, the officer removed the contents from the cardboard box, hoping to find an address, or something that would lead them more quickly to the names of the previous tenants. There were several photographs, long faded into a sepia tint, a blank, leather journal and a couple of greeting cards.
    Why were they hidden underneath the house? I felt like a thief, watching him rummage through someone’s clandestine mementos. There was a roughed-up pocket watch resting on the bottom of the box. There seemed to be nothing special about it. He replaced it and tossed through some letters. Several of them were unopened. The postmarks were no longer visible. Underneath those letters were several photographs of an extremely beautiful woman. No dates were stamped anywhere on the photo paper. Secured by a rubber band was a large bundle of invoices and receipts. I was familiar with what many of them would have listed. Although some were for goods purchased, almost all of them would have been for items sold. When I was growing up, our garage had been stacked floor to ceiling with identical receipts. It had been difficult trying to get around them.
    Slightly dissatisfied and defeated, the officer pushed the box aside and stood up. I went through the living room and into the kitchen, stopping when I reached the back door. Outside men and women were still searching the grounds. I stepped out onto the small porch and looked around. A rusted grill sought refuge in the