Hell Happened
Part Two: The Message
Morris had, of course, seen a corpse or a thousand as a member of the forensics department. Blood and guts didn't bother him. Boredom did. Dr. Forsam was right about his wish to be something more. Morris performed tedious tests after tests day in and out. He would always speculate about how his results pertained to the case. He found out that he was hearing the phrase, "That's not your job." way too often. He could only pass the test results to his superiors or the detectives themselves. They were the ones who got to go out and apply the data to their individual cases. Morris wanted to be on that side of the investigation. He set out a few years ago to become a detective.
So when he followed Dr. Forsam into the morgue partition of the building, he didn't cringe upon seeing the dead body of Jennifer Check lying half covered with a sheet on a metal table. As he approached her, the first thing he noticed was her young beauty.
"Wow, she was a knockout."
The doctor bemused, "Now she's just out."
Morris noticed the Y incision where the doctor opened her up to gain access to her organs. She had been obviously put back together now since the incision was closed. She was now ready to be buried honorably.
Dr. Forsam went on. "Yep, the boys certainly took a shine to her. She expected it. She always seemed to be flaunting her body to get what she wanted. Now look at her. Vanity has a steep price."
"All I had were the post-mortem pictures of her and those were black and white. Those don't do her justice."
The doctor shook his head and smiled. "I can't believe it. Even in death Jennifer is still giving the boys a rise to the occasion."
Morris stuttered, "Well...I...I'm not attracted to...well, I'd never be attracted to....you know what I mean."
"Oh, I certainly do. Let's not finish the thought, shall we? Now, for the first mystery, touch her hand."
"And you're not getting a rise out of that?"
The doctor sighed impatiently. "Just touch her hand."
Morris did comply and lifted her dead hand. Instantly, he gasped at the feel. "It's not cold. It's still warm. She's been dead a week?" He let her hand flop to the metal table and her fingers fell loosely. "And rigor mortis hasn't set in yet? What the hell is going on?"
"That's the mystery. I can't explain it. She's definitely dead, but her body is room temperature. As you said it should be much colder. And the lack of rigor mortis...the longest I've seen it set in was a few days. It's been a week. I've been doing this for the past twenty years and I can safely say that I have seen nothing like this."
"And this mystery is what's off the record?"
"Yes. And, frankly, I'd like to keep it that way."
He jerked his head to look at the doctor. "Why?"
The doctor explained. "You can see how small this town is. Before the Melody Lane fire nothing seriously tragic had even happened here. Ever since the fire this place has been a media magnet. With all the tragedy that's happened in the past few months, this kind of information will never go away. Jennifer's parents want to bury their daughter peacefully. If we report these strange findings on her body, we take that peace away from them."
"So we're just going to ignore it?"
"Ignore what? That we have proof of the supernatural?"
"Wait, wait, wait....that's not what we have here. We don't know what it is."
"And being the former scientist that you are, we have no evidence to disprove it. Detective Samuels–"
"Morris, please."
"Morris, I don't have to tell you that humans can deny the truth about anything despite having the facts in front of them that prove the truth." He gestured to Jennifer's body. "To bring this to the public's attention would make things even more uncomfortable for this town and especially for her family." He paused before he stated, "However, I do have something you can use in your case." He handed Morris another sheet of paper. "I conducted a series of tests on those cuts I found on her organs and on the lining of her sternum. The cuts suggest a steel blade anywhere from six to eight inches in length. It made clean, smooth cuts on only one side. And they looked to be more like quick stabs rather than meticulous cuts."
"Six to eight inches. Cuts only on one side of the blade. I'd say a Bowie knife."
"Good assumption."
"The same weapon that was used in the Low Shoulder murders."
Without giving any acknowledgment, Dr. Forsam said, "I included these series of cuts in my official autopsy report. I concluded that the cuts were done so quickly that no scars could be visible on the outside."
"Or that Jennifer herself did well to hide them."
The doctor chuckled. "You know her better than me somehow. I never even thought of that. I wouldn't put it past her to smear makeup all over the scars."
The door to the room cracked open and Sheriff Nesbit poked his head in. "John, the missus is on Line 2."
"I'll take it in my office, Carl." The sheriff disappeared and the doctor looked at Morris to ask, "Will you be all right here for a bit?"
"Go ahead. I know about answering the wife quickly. It'll just be Jennifer and I."
As he walked away, the doctor said, "Don't let her talk your ear off."
And just like that, Morris was alone with the corpse of Jennifer Check.
Morris took another glance at the blood work done on her. His eyes were beginning to become out of focus. He could still see the image of the moving yellow lines on the highway after eight hours of driving. He placed the paper back in the folder and decided he would look at them in the morning. That pizza and the Bud Light were calling to him. His wife never let him to indulge in his old college diet.
He stared at the serene body of Jennifer. She was a hottie, to use current teen-speak. He eased closer to her.
To it, Morris. She's not alive.
Yet...something compelled him closer. An energy drew him to her. She was so sensual. So alluring. He had seen countless dead bodies in his lifetime. Why was this one so special? He looked down at her full lips. Were they still red from lipstick?
Or from blood?
Something took over his sense of morality. Before he eased closer to her face, he quickly checked for signs of the doctor's return. No one in sight. Morris looked back at the lips. Red as rubies.
Just one touch. No harm in that.
His mind was not his own when he bent down closer. And closer. His lips now hovered over hers. He eased further just enough. There was no breath coming from her. But there was a mystical energy. He had to now. No choice. His conscience screamed at him to refuse. The energy wouldn't allow him to. Finally, their lips touched.
Instantly, images flashed before him in his mind. Images of death.
Jennifer, alive, was tied to a tree stump in the woods surrounded by men. He recognized them as Low Shoulder. The lead singer held a knife–a Bowie knife–high above her. They were singing something. I got it....I got it...for a good time....for a good time call...867-5309. He stabbed. And stabbed again. And again. Jennifer's screams were loud. And then they became...inhuman.
Another image was Jennifer walking at night against the pale moon. Her clothes were torn and a bloody mess. A series of images went by of each victim. Their bodies were mutilated. There was an image of Jennifer kneeling before one of them. A boy now reduced to a carcass. She was scooping out the insides with her hand. She drank from her hand.
Blood.
Another image was of Jennifer coming at him as if he were a victim. Her eyes were yellow. She opened her mouth to reveal large sharp teeth. Inhuman teeth.
The next image was Jennifer lying on a bed with a box cutter knife sticking out of her chest. She lay there quietly. Peaceful. Until she opened up her eyes. They were no longer yellow. They were human again. She whispered, "Tell Monistat, thanks."
Morris pulled away from her quickly and the images ended. He mentally shook himself. There would be no way to purge those images out of his head. They were embedded deep inside him now. He breathed deep to catch his breath.
"Morris?" A sudden cry interrupted his thoughts.
He looked up to see Dr. Forsam at the doorway. "Yes, uh...I was looking closer...to inspect her...uh..."
"You look like you've seen a ghost."
"Maybe I did," he muttered.
"What?"
"Nothing."
"Perhaps you should give it a rest for the night. I know how tiring driving can be."
He didn't see me. Me, trying to kiss a...Was that me? What is going on? "You may be right. This is all too much."
"Well, I wasn't going to keep you much longer. That report you have there is a copy, so it's yours to keep. I'll leave it up to you how to link this to the Low Shoulder murders."
"I have no doubt they're directly related now."
"How can you be so sure?"
"Uh..." He could have told him he received images from the dead body of Jennifer when he tried to–no, that would open up a slew of other questions. Instead, he chose a typical detective's cop-out. "Just instinct."
"Ah, well, I'll let you alone for the night. I'm about to go home myself. If you have any questions or suggestions, feel free to call me in the morning. My number is in the file there."
"Thanks. This will be very helpful. Right now, though, I need a drink."
The doctor laughed. "If I haven't been sober for four years, three months, and five days, I would join you." Morris walked passed him, taking a last look at the dead Jennifer. The doctor locked the door to the morgue. "But, alas, it's not to be. I wish you a good night then."
Morris thought of those strange images that flashed through his mind. He stopped to order a pizza and went into the liquor store nearby and got a Bud Light sixer. He decided he needed something stronger that night and grabbed his old buddy, Jack. Maybe a deep buzz would eliminate those grisly images.