The Numbered Corpses (Elysium #4)

Chapter Thirty-Four

"Let's get her downstairs," Booker said.

He quickly rose to his feet. Trinket followed suit, her eyes on the dead woman. There was something off about her face. Granted, the skin was grey and flaking, but it was more than that. Part of it didn't sit right.

And then she noticed it. Stitches so small around the nose they were nearly invisible. And like with the experimental corpses, this stitching hadn't healed. It was as if someone had cut the nose off after she'd died and then sewn it back on. But why?

The map.

"Booker," Trinket said, grabbing his arm before he could go far. "I don't think we need to perform a full autopsy."

She pointed to the tiny stitching, and Booker knelt down to take a closer look. The concentration in his gaze was tempered by a measure of admiration for Benedict's handiwork. Even Trinket had to admit it was impressive, albeit incredibly gruesome.

"I'd say our next piece to the puzzle is in there," Booker said at last. He got to his feet and gave Trinket a grateful smile. "Well done, my dear."

"Do you think you can use something to pull it out without having to cut her face open?" she asked hopefully.

"I doubt it. For him to have removed the entire nose, the object is more than likely wedged too far back for forceps to reach it. No worries, though. I'll go fetch my bag and have her sniffer off in no time."

Trinket and Daphne grimaced as Booker disappeared into the hallway. Letting out a sigh, Trinket perched herself on the edge of the settee and examined the dead woman further. She was younger than the last, more girl than woman. Like all the other bodies, she was missing fingers. But in addition to those post-mortem inflictions, she boasted a fair number of other scars. Her wrists had permanent red rings around them, as did her ankles, as if she'd been chained up for most of her life. Cuts and bruises covered her arms, some old, some clearly more recent.

Running a hand up her own arm, Trinket recalled the many injuries she'd received while in Elysium. The orderlies didn't bother being gentle. Why should they? It wasn't as if anyone was coming back for the family members they'd abandoned there. They'd been left in the asylum to rot and die, unseen from the rest of the world. Had this poor girl been one more of Elysium's victims?

Where you belong.

No escape.

You know that's where you'll die.

Trinket could still feel imaginary shackles on her wrists and ankles when Booker returned, medical bag in hand. Setting aside her dark reminiscing, she joined him as he knelt beside the body and helped him arrange the needed tools.

"Shouldn't be too difficult, seeing as the flesh couldn't heal," he said, taking up a scalpel and turning the girl's head towards himself.

The threads broke easily as he ran the fine blade over them, and when they'd all been snapped, the nose tumbled to the floor, resting beside Booker's knee. Daphne, still sitting on the settee, gave a gargled groan and rubbed at her eyes. Trinket stared at the loose body part for a brief second before turning her attention back to the dead girl's face. Though it certainly looked odd, it wasn't nearly as gruesome as she'd thought it would be. In a morbid way, it was rather fascinating. It was almost like her nose had been squashed flat. The nasal cavities were much longer without the missing piece to cover them up, which she hadn't expected.

And tucked inside the left nasal cavity was a glint of something metallic.

"Ah-ha," Booker said. A smile played on his lips as he picked up the forceps and carefully wedged them in.