Coffin Scent: A Testimony

Chapter Three - The Body

THE BODY
and three more wishes, if I only said yes.
⚜

"When I came to, I was tied to the tree, and Lisa was hanging from a branch, her feet bare, her face purple. I stared at her for a moment: the girl whom I'd slept with every day for a month. She looked so ugly now. Her clothes were bloody and clung to her body, which, even from a distance, looked slightly disfigured. I pulled aside the rope around me and pushed myself towards her. It wasn't hard to free myself; the knot was very weak, but the dirt beneath my legs was damp - looking up at Lisa, I wasn't sure with what - and my hand sank into the mud, the latter finding its way under my nails. I stumbled up and patted my hands on my jeans, leaning back on the tree trunk. I didn't know how long I'd been out, but I felt disoriented. 'The Tree of Life,' I whispered. The thought made me chuckle. It took me a while to regain my balance, but when I did, I grabbed hold of Lisa's legs. Her whole body was stiff and cold, a stark contrast to her smoothness once upon a time. I wondered how long I'd been out, given the state of the body. I vaguely remembered opening my eyes to see Adrianne standing in front of Lisa's body, watching it kick in an attempt to free itself from the ropes. My sweet daughter looked like a predator studying its prey. A dagger hung from her hand, handkerchief wrapped around its handle. A small, bloody sack lay in front of her, which I now found hanging next to Lisa. Shaking my head to clear the fog, I tugged at Lisa's legs, pulling her down. Then, I focused on the one thing I knew came next: giving bath to the body.

"The woods were silent as I dragged Lisa's body through them. There was only the sound of the leaves and a soft whistle of the wind. I did not want to go home. I did not even want to look in that direction, did not want to think about what Adrianne had done, but I had to. I let Lisa's legs fall on the kitchen rug and went to get a towel and a bucket of cold water. Then, I took those and laid them beside Lisa's body.

"Lisa's hair was spread around her, resembling a dark pool of blood. Her mocha skin was replaced with a sickening discoloration now. The shirt I had ripped off the last time I saw her alive was now in tatters, peppered with burrs and weeds. My hands shook, my legs trembled. 'You left me no choice,' she had said. I needed to continue, to take the body to the cemetery, but it was taking too much effort to even breathe. I pulled my hands to my chest and knelt over the body, my face wrinkling into a silent cry. The body's scent was disgusting. I let myself breathe it in, clueless to the saliva falling from my open mouth onto the body. For the first time, I found myself revolted. I puked on her neck. I couldn't look at her, couldn't do anything at all. I got up and rummaged through the house for air fresheners, but I found none. I opened the windows, stepped out for a breath of fresh air, then braced myself and stepped back in.

"I alternated between trying to check on the body, trying to clean it, and trying to stay away from it for a good four hours before I heard the wind pick up and the wolves start to howl. Then, I finally let myself strip the victim. Unbuttoning the shirt, I saw the rope marks on her neck. But, if there was a puncture there, it wasn't visible to me through the puke, and I sure wasn't going to look for it. I raised her body, undressing her upper half more lightly than I ever had before. At the third button, I saw it. Lisa was not wearing a bra anymore; she didn't have to. Her breasts were cut off and only two chunks of dried blood were left in their place. I covered my mouth and belched. The image of Lisa became blurry. I wanted to look away, but instead, I forced myself to focus. I slid off Lisa's pants, from its pocket of which an object was poking out. It was a picture of a smiling Lisa holding a newborn baby, and a letter, very clean compared to everything else. I picked up the letter and read:

Dear father,
I hope you forgive me for the mishap we experienced earlier. I didn't want to hurt you or Lisa, but I had to. Otherwise, you wouldn't have stopped drinking or having sex with a married woman. See, father, I want the best for you, and I know that the best for you can only be with me. Except, I can't come home now; I know what you'd do to me. You wouldn't pat me on the head and ask me if I wanted to play hide and seek like we used to, and I don't mind. I'm not a child anymore. I'm not playing this time either. I won't leave you bread crumbs to find me; you'll have to do that on your own if you care to.
Hope to see you soon.
Your little barbie.

"I looked at the picture again. I couldn't believe that Adrianne had done that. I knew that she'd seen many suicides around the woods and killed too many preys to fear blood staining her hands, and I had always worried she'd be affected by it, but, at some point, I had started to dismiss it. However, I had never imagined it would come to this. I tucked the picture into my pocket, blood-stained and crumpled. Then, although I would've preferred a drink to whatever came next, I proceeded to take care of Lisa's body.

"Completely undressed, Lisa was the manifestation of all my regrets. I dipped the towel in the water to clean it off. It did not matter that the water had warmed. Slowly, I wiped every part of Lisa's body, parts I hadn't even touched in bed. I considered calling the police a number of times but kept myself busy working on the body instead. I could almost hear Adrianne roaming around the house, making a mess, cleaning up mine, making noise. I wished I could, wished she was innocent, but the ghosts of the past were all that remained. As I knelt over the body, the photo fell out of my pocket. I picked it up to replace it but noticed that there was something else attached to it: a photo of Adrianne as a child, me holding her. An iron taste filled my mouth. My ears felt clogged, and my chest hurt, burnt, ached. There was nothing to drink, no one to beat, but the urge to do either one overtook me suddenly. I grit my teeth and let out a stifled groan, filling in the space around me with something. I wanted to leave. I felt claustrophobic. I looked outside, but the wilderness seemed more dangerous than the walls closing in on me. I had to do something to get my mind off the pain, so I climbed up the stairs to my room, the scent of the dead following me. With the dirt that covered my body, the ruined clothes I was wearing, and all the bruises around my arms, neck, and joints, I picked up a syringe, hands shaking, and pulled out some blood. Then, I let the blood out on the floor and repeated the action until I felt lightheaded. After I was done, I tucked myself in bed and shook myself to a drowse.

"A light blazed into my eyes. I raised my hand to block it. 'Are you Alan Marshall?' said a gruff voice. Trying to see between my fingers and through the light, I recognized the blue uniform, but not the man. 'Who are you?' I asked.

"'Sebastian, police. I need you to come with me,' he said, as he let the cuffs dangle from his hand. I kicked off the covers and tried to run, but another police officer, Laura, who was standing outside my room, hit me on the neck and held me down while she cuffed me. 'You're under arrest for the murder of Elizabeth Kamilla, drug usage, and resisting arrest.'"