It was a hot summer day, the sun glaring down at a local park in Glendora, as a family of five jumped out of their minivan in excitement. Three children, all under ten years of age, ran over to the jungle gym, squealing with delight as they slid down the monstrous slide and flew on the gargantuan set of swings. It was a perfect day for them. All that mattered was the thrill of the play set; it was a world they could call their own, and a sanctuary nobody could infiltrate.
The mother and father, both with content smiles on their faces, sat on a blanket they just set down, watching their children enjoy themselves. It wasn't everyday the family could go somewhere together on a beautiful day like this, so the two immediately packed food and toys for a picnic.
"This is perfect," the mother whispered, nuzzling her head into her husband's shoulder and he wrapped his arm around her waist.
Meanwhile, the youngest child, a blonde-haired boy with beautiful green eyes, stepped into the sandbox that stood in between the playground and the massive baseball that was often used by the high school for games. He giggled softly as he made a small mound of sand, his "castle", with a miniature shovel and pail. From the corner of this eye, he noticed a black trash bag poking out from behind a rosebush. The curious boy dropped his toys and wandered over to the bag, noticing a faint stench that grew stronger as he drew closer to the bag. Something wasn't right about the smell; it had the scent of rot, but it wasn't the same smell as the trash cans at home.
He let his curiosity take over, and ignoring his fear, he opened the bag. Peering out of the black abyss was a skull, decomposed and gaping at the child. Its eye sockets stared at the blonde, the eyes replaced by maggots.
The boy screamed as he ran away from the skeleton, dropping the bag so the contents rolled out into the sun.
"The remains appear to be male," Doctor Temperance Brennan stated apathetically as she examined the bones, carefully lifting up the skull as to not destroy any evidence. "Caucasian… mid-teens…"
"Hey, Bones, would you mind hurrying up a bit?" Agent Booth asked quickly, his voice strained by his attempt to avoid breathing in the putrid air. The once peaceful park was now taken over by the FBI. The family of five was sitting on one of the park benches, cowering by the uncommon sight of a dead body in their own quiet city.
"I'm sorry, Booth, but you are going to have to be patient," Brennan said, not sounding apologetic at all.
"Then, I'm going to go somewhere else," the agent muttered. "The smell is killing me."
He walked up to the father of the family, noticing the fear in the man's eye. "So, would you mind telling me what happened here?"
"W-we were just going to have a picnic," the man stuttered, holding onto his youngest child protectively. "The kids were enjoying themselves, when Bryan started screaming. We ran up and found… that thing!"
Booth nodded and bent down to the green-eyed boy, who was trembling from shock. "You must be Bryan, right?"
The boy nodded slightly, too frightened to speak.
"Booth!" Dr. Brennan shouted out. "We're heading back to the lab."
"Look," the mother said quietly, grabbing Booth's attention before heading back to the truck, "this is a quiet city. Nothing ever happens here."
"Don't worry, ma'am," Booth mumbled comfortingly, "my team are specialists, and I promise you everything will be back to normal before you know it.
"So a little kid found the remains in a trash bag in his local park?" Angela Montenegro asked, sympathy oozing out of her words.
"Over by a rosebush while he was playing in the sandbox," Brennan added, her tone lacking any sympathy at all, as she swiped her ID to be admitted into the lab.
"Poor little guy. He must have been terrified."
"I need you to go through dental records to find identification for the remains," Brennan continued, handing the artist a folder that held information of the victim's teeth. "Maybe with those we can put a name to the victim."
After a look of skepticism towards her best friend's lack of compassion, the artist took the folder and walked into her office.
"Have we found cause of death?" Brennan asked the team as she took a look at the remains herself.
"No, not yet," Dr. Saroyan said softly, looking at the remaining flesh that hung loosely from the bone.
"By the looks of the decomposition," Hodgins muttered quietly, his eyes narrow as he focused on the skull, "and with the humid weather it sat in, the body was left in the trash bag for a few weeks before it was discovered."
"So we have an approximate time of death?" Wendell Bray, the young graduate student, asked.
"From late June to early July," Hodgins added, grabbing a single maggot from the left eye socket and placing it in a Petri dish.
"There seems to be several stab wounds in the chest by a blunt object," Dr. Brennan said as she pointed out eight small circular markings in the rotten flesh, "all having the same circumference."
"Could that be the cause of death?" asked the paranoid scientist.
"Nope," Saroyan said bluntly. "The worst those wounds could cause would be a couple broken ribs."
"Hey guys," Angela called as she walked up to the computer and started typing on the keyboard, "I found out who the victim was."
On the screen a face formed. A pair of grey eyes glared out at the team, sending chills down Angela's spine. The face had pale, clammy skin, and his hair was white-blonde, cut close to his scalp.
"His name was Charles Mason," the artist mumbled. "He was seventeen years old when he died, and according to his files, he would have been eighteen a week ago."
