Synopsis: Deserted

My aunt Lia was never found. She was buried in the desert, or left there. Perhaps parts of her turned up later. Perhaps nomad children now wear precious pieces of jewelry fashioned from her sand-polished bones, although they have no idea of this grisly provenance and only found the shards by accident during a stop somewhere. Perhaps all anyone there now remembers about her, assuming anyone remembers that she existed at all, is that she left. That she vanished. That she walked away. Perhaps no one recalls that she was left. That she was made to vanish. That she was walked away from, and that the walkers never even looked back to see how she settled.

That is what I thought I knew. That somewhere, probably in several different places, were the requisite clues to what happened: why she died, how, where, and by whose hand, because in some way not quite expressible I knew, had always known, that it was a murder we were discussing.

That is what I thought I knew.

But this is what I found.