My Life with Death

Department of Forensic Medicine, J. Edgar Hoover Building, Washington, D.C.

Hic locus est veritas et homagium mortuorum.

"In this place, truth is sought, and paid respect to those who can no longer speak it."

 I stepped out of the elevator with my right foot. I found myself there, where human life ends. This is where we all end up. We will lie on metal tables with a name tag on our big toe, ready for medical students or scientists to experiment with our dead bodies. And just such a tall table stood right in front of me, and under the sheet, the outline of a human body could be seen on it.

I dropped the case box on the ground as I walked through the main entrance, a sliding glass door.

"Just in time," remarked the doctor sarcastically as she stood by the electrical panel, examining the victim's X-rays. "Good morning," she added.

"Good morning, Catherine. I apologize for the delay. I had some work to do," I excused myself. "can we start?" I asked.

"Sure," she replied.

"Dr. Cathrine Burnes is speaking. It's November 29, 2018 at 8:22 am. I will perform an autopsy on a man, a murder victim. Also present here is FBI Special Agent Alexis Stepman...," she began speaking into the microphone above the autopsy table. "The victim is male. 29 years old. Born on July 8, 1989. Caucasian. He was about 71 inches tall and weighed about 132 pounds. He was partially malnourished, which may be related to another finding—injection wounds on the forearms - a frequent drug user, which toxicology will undoubtedly confirm. Residues of alcohol and vomit were found on the victim's clothing and identified by fingerprints. Otherwise, no foreign DNA was found on the victim. Apart from the missing head, I found no other injuries on the body that could have caused death. The weapon that separated his head from the rest of his body had a serrated blade, and the wound was made between the third and fourth cervical vertebrae. Scavengers bite the wound, and I see dirt and possibly gun residue. I will have the Traceology done. X-rays revealed no pieces of metal, shrapnel, or bullets, just some shadow behind the lungs. He has a wound on his chest from surgery, but there is no record of a previous procedure in his medical records. The wound is fresh, a few days old at the most. He has no signs of injury. He had no pre-mortem or post-mortem sexual intercourse. We start with the Y section. At first glance, the lungs look fine. He wasn't a smoker - that would make his lungs look worse. The cause of death was probably a heart attack. His symptoms are not very visible on the heart because he was young, but they were. It's just a question of what caused the 29-year-old man's heart attack—stomach contents. I see the remains of pork and pastries. The last time, he ate a hamburger and washed it with beer. The liver, kidneys, and intestines look fine and have an average weight and color. The left lung weighs 800 grams. The weight of the heart is 320 grams. A shadow was seen under the right lung on the x-ray. Now I know it is a bag or capsule made of plastic or silicone material. It looks a bit like the material used to make breast implants. It is the size of a hen's egg and has some symbols. We will know more after the analysis."

She picked up a magnifying glass from the smaller metal table to look closer at the symbol on the capsule.

Her expression suddenly changed.

"What is it?" she cried. "What's going on?" I freaked out. "What is there?"

I was standing further away from the body, so I couldn't see what she was seeing. But from her expression, it was no good. She stared at the victim's ribcage. One hand was inside, and the other held the scalpel close to her body.

"Cathrine, what is the symbol on that capsule?" nervously.

She stood as if nailed to the ground - as if she couldn't move - and her face was blank as if she was staring death.

"Alexis," she addressed me. I could hear her voice shaking.

"I need you to do what I tell you," she said.

"But I..." I didn't know what to say or what to do.

"I can't move my hands, so listen to me carefully. Go to the door and press the green button under the cover. You understand, green," she said uneasily. "and quickly," she added.

So I did what she told me. Suddenly, a siren sounded throughout the building, and all entrances to the autopsy room began to close. The tin lady called out on the radio: "CONTAMINATION of unknown origin in the autopsy room. The contaminated area is being sealed off, and the building is being evacuated," she repeated repeatedly.

I panicked. I thought I was going crazy. Everything around me was spinning. I thought I was going to pass out.

"Alexis," Cathrine shouted at me. "look at me. We have to stay here," she said. I felt like I didn't understand a single word she just said.

"You're listening to me!" she raised her voice. "You mustn't panic," she tried to reassure me. "Are you going to tell me what the hell is going on?"

"The thing about that capsule is that it contains a dangerous substance. We must wait for the CDC and then go to the decontamination shower and blood tests. This is standard protocol when exposed to an unknown, potentially hazardous substance. The entire autopsy must be quarantined," she exclaimed nervously.

"I can't stay here... I can't," I panicked.

"We must stay here until we know what's happening, Alexis. We must not break the quarantine!" she repeated.

"I have to go! I have to go see Kent...," I shouted.

I couldn't stay. I couldn't do it. I had to do something. Something very irresponsible and crazy.

The glass door of the dissection room was locked, so I did the only logical thing I could do. I pulled out my gun and blew the door open with three shots.

Cathrine cried out. She covered her ears when the shots were fired and reflexively fell to the ground. "What the hell are you doing?" she shouted.

I didn't listen to her. I didn't even notice her anymore.

I went to the door. Shards of glass cracked under my shoes. I walked through and headed for the stairs. I knew. I suspected that the elevators were not working for safety reasons.

"Stop!!!" Cathrine yelled at me as I disappeared into the darkness. I ran up the stairs. It was dark everywhere. Only the emergency exit lights were on.

I ran on and on.

"Ryan...Ryan," I called across the vast building. After that, it was just dark. I don't know what happened, but I was lying in pain on the cold staircase. I couldn't feel my legs, and I had a headache. I was bleeding. There was only darkness everywhere. In the distance, I saw the emergency lighting above the door, but I couldn't stand up.

"Help," I called. "here I am. Can anyone hear me?" I curled up into a ball. I hoped that someone would arrive soon, but at the same time, I was aware of the risk that would arise in trying to rescue me. If it were indeed true that a deadly substance could have escaped from the body, it would be foolish to go back inside and risk infection and death.

10:02 a.m.

The stomp of shoes on the stairs awakened me from my half-sleep. It was somewhere above me, and it was close.

"Alexis!" came a muffled voice. "Alexis," louder.

"No. No," he trailed off. "go away. Save yourself."

"It's me," said a male voice. "Honey, I'm with you. It's me, Ryan. Love, it's me." He grabbed my hand and squeezed it tightly.

"Leave me here and go," I pointed out.

"That...I can't." He sat beside me and took my limp body into his arms.

"I'll stay here with you," he said.

He looked into my eyes, and I into his. I wiped the tears from my face.

"I'm tired."

"It's okay," he reassured me.