A Pleasant Village Called Selk

Chapter 3

An Autopsy

'Some call you a villain. Others a hero. I suppose, to you at least, that their opinion is inconsequential, so long as you get what you want.'

'Here we have a Jane Doe.' The mortician began, observing and recording his examination of the woman that was placed on a cold, metal table in a room that was eerily symmetrical, and most unnatural. The building was known as Selk Morgue, and it was the only such place in the rural village that dealt with the deceased.

 'Looks to be roughly mid to late thirties. There are lacerations and contusions near her abdomen, almost as though she was trying to claw at it. There is also a bruise on her neck in the shape of a hand- a large one at that, indicating it was most likely a male who did it. Puncture marks from what looks to be needles on her thigh. Blood tests still remain inconclusive.' He sighed, his gloved hands opening her closed eye-lids, shining a small torch into them. 

'Pupils dilated, and her eyes indicate she has been deceased for some time.' Heaving the body over with a loud slap of decaying flesh against icy metal, he moved in for a closer look to the back of her head. 'Her death looks to be caused by single a gunshot wound to the back of the head. Its precise nature indicates that it was an experienced professional who committed the crime.' Upon closer inspection, he noticed a crest of sorts at the base of her neck. In his shock, he knocked over the tape recorder, smashing it against the ground and breaking it beyond repair as a result. 

'Requiem.' He whispered gravely, looking upon the cursive R that had been burned into her flesh post-mortem.

'For someone who is unfeeling, you certainly like to put your name on your game.' A voice chuckled. The auburn haired mortician span around on his heel, the table pressing harshly into his lower back. Samuel stood before him, along with the culprit himself. Samuel giggled, 'Oh, that just rhymed!'

'It wasn't "game".' Requiem insisted, his icy blue eyes sending shivers down the mortician's spine. 'It was just business. "Game" implies that it was personal.' Chuckling, Samuel playfully ruffled his messy, mousy brown hair. 

'Spoken like a true soldier.' he sneered. Looking at whom he also shared company with, Samuel tilted his head in thought, much like a puppy. 'Are you sure he is the right man?'. Limping gracefully, Samuel towered over the mortician menacingly. His mismatched eyes glittered with amusement, as he shrank back from his tall frame. 'You aren't at all what I imagined, lil' Death Boy.' His smile turned to a disappointed, wrathful frown. 'No. Not at all.' he re-affirmed, disgust rife in his sharp tone. Steeling his resolve, the mortician tilted his unshaven chin defiantly. 

'As if I care what a freak like you thinks of me.'

'Hm. I suppose you don't, do you?' He lowered his head to be on level with his, his long spine looking as though it would snap due to its unnatural position. He leaned into his ear, whispering dangerously, 'Some call you a villain. Others a hero. I suppose, to you at least, that their opinion is inconsequential, so long as you get what you want.'.

 Gaining some of his lost bravado the mortician smirked, 'I can't disagree.'

'This is a waste of time. Enough with this pointless social interaction.' Requiem interrupted in his usual monotone. Scoffing, Samuel straightened his back, looking down his pointed nose at the mortician known as the alias The Practitioner, his actual name being Rodger Grehan. 'We require your assistance.' He continued, awaiting a response from him.

'You know the cost.' The Practitioner approached him, his back hunched in a relaxed stance. 'Let's just talk about this outside. I need a smoke.'. He guided Requiem towards the fire exit, the glowing red contrasting with the light which had a tinge of pale blue which brought light to the room. Samuel began to follow, but was swiftly stopped in his tracks.