Damned

Chapter 3: Dissection

In this dimly lit room, I, the protagonist of this tragicomedy, take center stage. I look out upon the audience of my own peers, a sea of scarlet countenances, ablaze with unholy fire! I spin around gleefully as I gather mine implements of misery, slowly but surely approaching the table upon which my solemn companion of the stage is sprawled about. He thrashes and screams, putting on a beautiful show of dreadfully anguished terror for our cavalcade of the damned.

"Oh, my dearest Dionysus, why hast thou forsaken me so!? Alas, my hand is forced, pressed into obedience by the unyielding burden of fate..."

I turn away from the audience, groveling at the feet of an unknowable being. I know my words of somber have our audience spellbound. Despite my stage mate's gag, I know he is speaking with more than words, his look of dreadful apprehension feeding their very wills. And so, I turn back to the audience with my arms outstretched, beckoning forth their merriment. The lights of the stage on my skin, the heat of the crowd burning with passion, the roaring applause ripe with anticipation! Everything was perfect! Finally, I could give these hellbeasts a performance to remember! That was, until my stagemate chose to forgo his silence, and speak beyond the cloth over his mouth...

"What the fuck is wrong with you!? Let me go! If you don't get these restraints off me I'll fucking kill you!"

And so, as he barked and snapped akin to a wild dog, the stage faded away. My audience dispersed into a cloud of misty vapor, leaving only concrete and darkness in its wake. The grandiose stage gives way to a vacant chamber of cold, unfeeling stone. The walls are unlit, leaving the shadows to play their endless games upon their ashen surface. I approach my stagemate, hoping to instill unto him a sense of regret for the heinous grievance he has thrust unto me.

"Oh my dearest Creon, why must you speak out so?"

"Who the fuck is Creon!? Let me go you crazy bastard!"

He once again snaps and writhes, a wretched soul, by terror set ablaze. Like a rocking, thrashing ship upon a tempestuous sea, all that is required is a small implement of metal to calm his woes. I brandish my scalpel, held against his nape, ready to cut it down as one would a mighty oak.

"Now now Creon, we don't need your constant vexation testing the patience of our guests. What say we quell your tumultuous voice?"

As my blade's cold kiss didst meet the flesh's tender embrace, it parted the veil of innocence with a shiver, like a lover's first hesitant touch upon their beloved's cheek. A rosey red spreads, and I feel a shiver run through my mind. The familiar warmth of stage lights returns, and I hear the audience cheer once again. My resolve is strengthened by the roar of the onlookers, pushing my blade ever deeper. With my resolve as sharp as my blade itself, I carve a path into his very being, exposing the tender threads that, when stirred by thought, give voice to the soul's deepest musings. I tenderly place my cold steel upon his dulcet chords, slowly slipping across his strings as if playing a violin, each stroke bringing forth shrill cries the likes of which Bach and Beethoven would be envious. With nimble fingers, as if coaxing secrets from the very heart of my stagemate, I draw forth sounds of sorrow and agony, until finally, the tether between heart and mind is severed. All is quiet. The very air, once filled with tumultuous voices, fell into a hushed and expectant stillness, as if Nature herself held her breath in rapt attention. After many moments of quaffing the vital air, I raise my hands to the sky, and my audience of fire and brimstone erupts into roaring applause once more. If only they knew, the show had just begun!

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It's 7:10 now. About time for me to take my meds. While I'm sitting outside the station, go ahead and force down my handful of pills. It used to be a struggle, getting down so much at once, but I got used to it. Once I wash everything down with some water, I head inside. The steps up to the door are covered in autumn leaves, and the wind makes me glad I brought along this coat... The leaves crunch under my boot as I open the door only to find the station practically empty. There's a few interns and newbies sitting around filing paperwork, but it's practically dead otherwise. As I make my way to the autopsy room, I have to push big plastic spiders and fake cobwebs out of the way. Never understood why we put up decorations for this. The boys aren't even here most of the time. Seems like a big waste of time to me... I open up the door into the cold room only to be greeted by Miller standing over the body of the girl from the hotel.

"Oh, hey Adrian! Perfect timing, I was just about to start the autopsy. Put on a pair of gloves, and you're welcome to join. I know you used to work the cold room long before I got here."

He waves his knife, trying to beckon me over. A bit of a weird display, but either way, it might be a good idea for me to take a look. Could reveal something I didn't see on the scene. I hang my coat by the door and wash up, grabbing a pair of rubber gloves.

"Agent Miller. You're into all that weird... cult-y crap, right?"

"Well now, I wouldn't call it 'crap,' it's a very interesting subject after all! Care to make the first incision?"

He holds the knife out to me, handle first. I take it and begin making the first incisions into the stomach and chest. Been a while since I've done an autopsy, but it's about how I remember it. Cold skin gives way pretty easily, like cutting through a silicone mold.

"Either way, there's something weird going on tonight. Three strange deaths, all connected by just how much none of them make sense. Each person died in a way that doesn't seem possible in any sense of the word, all within a couple minutes of each other, and all of them had razor wire tied around their trachea. Can't figure out how it got there either. The girl we're working on now? That wire was there before she had a single cut on her body..."

I $tart opening up the skin and handing the organs over to Miller for examination. The heart, liver, and lungs are always the first things to check.

"Yeah, it's weird right! If you're coming to me about it though, you must be thinkin' the same thing. There's something supernatural going on!"

He talks enthusiastically while opening up the lungs and stomach. I don't get how someone can be so happy to cut someone open. I may have gotten used to it, but I never enjoyed it like he does. No matter how many times you do it, it's never just a body. Best advice I ever got was to never look at the face. Gets ya thinkin too much...

"I ain't saying it's supernatural, but whatever sick bastard is doing this definitely ain't just going through all this trouble for the fun of it. There's gotta be motivation, and my money is on something of the devil-worshipping variety. If that's the case, I think you'll be able to help me track em down."

"Dart tootin! Trust me, I'm your man for everything macabre! In fact, I expected something like this to happen tonight. Not only is it Halloween, but it's also a full moon tonight. You know what that means right?"

"..."

"It meansss the barrier between our world and the spirit world is weak. Any devil worshipper worth his scrap is gonna know that tonight is the night."

I shook my head at Miller. He's a good guy, but I don't think I'll ever quite get used to em. However, as I shake my head, I look over and see her face just for a moment. A moment is long enough. Her eyes are open.

"Hey, Miller, aren't you supposed to close their eyes before the autopsy?"

"Oh yeah, I tried, but they won't stay closed. Must be the rigor mortis or something. But hey, don't dwell on it too much, let's finish up the autopsy so we can get to researchin!"

"... Fine."

Me and Miller work in silence for a while, focusing on getting everything documented. Despite the razor wire in her throat, everything came out normal otherwise. Though, I can see why I moved into the investigation field instead of staying here. The cold was starting to get to me, and the body was no different. Digging through cold guts is like digging through a bucket of jello. It's a feeling you can't get rid of. It just... sticks. Once everything is finally done, me and miller wash up, and start heading out to the computers.

"So Detective Foxx, how much do you know about demons?"