Age 25 Female – Sacrificed
Garrit, the old coroner, wiped tissue across his behind and stared at it. The white paper had a big blob of bright fresh blood. Around the edges of the red shape, fine lines of red followed the paper pores outside. With his head low, he inspected the sheer redness and liveliness of the liquid. The hands holding the tissue were long, skinny. And, the skin had hardened from age with a dozen creases at the finger joints.
The second wipe came up almost completely clean. The vessel rich tissue had closed quickly. The first wipe had merely collected the first spurts of blood that were quickly sealed outside of the body.
His body was lifeless and depressed resting on the stainless steal autopsy tables. Many oily smudges from body prints and foggy spots from bodily humidity were evidence of the wildly sexual rape that had taken place. His wrists and ankles with the age spots were reddened by the tight rope that had constrained him to be a passive vessel receiving a dildo up his ass from an enraged twin.
Vivid memories flashed across his mind, while his breath weakly ventilated the top ten percent of his lungs only. Grenada was her name, the red punk head with the leather jacket, who had first seduced him, made love to him, and finally raped him in vengeance. Grenada's face with the dark red lip stick and dramatic eyes burned in Garrit's memory.
Grenada was such a contrast from the lovely twin sister, Jessica. Jessica had lied peaceful on the autopsy table like a happy bubbly young woman with a soft and cheery dress. Grenada and Jessica were like Yin and Yang, identical yet polar opposites. Garrit had raped Jessica. Grenada had raped Garrit. Garrit could not go to the police.
So, he sat there for another moment. His body was tall with long limbs. The skin had become a sack draped around him with age. Especially, the chest area that was once a little chubby had shriveled up. His back was curved from years of bad posture and lack of exercise. The few gray hairs that he had left were grown long to reach around his whole had and cover as many bald spots as possible.
He knocked his knuckles against the stainless steel autopsy table to tell himself to accept the situation and clean up. The room around him was in the half light of the energy saving nighttime lighting. Six autopsy tables on wheels stood around him. A large sink with a hose could handle washing up large pieces. A fake plastic flower stood next to his desk in the corner. And, of course one wall was a giant stainless steel front. Many square doors covered the entrance to the refrigerator, where the corpses were preserved by near freezing temperatures.
The worn out large grand pa underpants went on first. The slacks worn since the last decade came next. The shirt was carefully buttoned. And, the composure returned to his face. If just his belly weren't itching him that much. He had ejaculated on himself during the rape. The cum had dried. The belly hair was matted. It felt painful to pull the body hair out of the dried frosting, yet it felt rewarding in a relieving way as well.
With big balls of brown hand drying paper, he wiped down the autopsy table. Memories of the sweet, youthful taste of Grenada's lips and the intensely, playful darting of her tongue in his mouth titillated Garrit. He remembered his hands gliding over her body, particularly the tender belly. He had never liked tattoos, frowned upon them actually. However, being allowed to touch one, he had enjoyed the tattooed thorny roses twisting around her navel button.
Faint daylight crawled outside along the hallway. The sign of daybreak was unmistakable. Another fifteen minutes and the hallway would be filled with as much daylight as possibly could seep down the stairways into the morgue basement. A further half hour, the loud crack of an electromagnet switch would preamble the lights being switched to full brightness for the dayshift of the hospital to arrive. The light was always blinding after the eyes have adjusted to the sparse nighttime lighting.
As always, the door would open with a metallic click. Even, though the door was normally opened, the sound would echo through the whole hallway and startle him. Quickly, more foot steps shuffling, noises of bags being ruffled, and people yapping would fallow. Quickly, a thick blanket of white noise would even cover up doors being slammed.
At this point, Garrit could count the minutes. The dayshift coroner would be the first person to jog down the stairs. The day coroner always let himself half fall down the stairs with the feet flinging out of the way swiftly until the whole momentum was stopped with a loud thud. The day coroner entered the morgue with a flying white doctor coat.
"'Morning, Garrit. Did any dead wake up tonight?"
"Nope, never had anyone wake up ever. And, I have done this for decades."
"Well, Mortimer, enjoy the brand new day."
The day coroner was focused on a clipboard. Garrit shuffled out of the room. That's it. The once in a generation event of a young hot girl raping an old dude had happened. And, everything continued as if it had never happened. Garrit continued shuffling to the stairs. He was happy that he hadn't been asked about the rope burns on his wrists.
Standing outside the front door, Garrit basked in the golden early morning rays of the sun. A big oak tree had brightly green leaves. Birds were chirping their little heads off and catching the early worms. Author note to self: If you are re-born as a worm, be a late worm. The early birds are too hungry.
Garrit bounced on his feet once to make up his mind to turn around. He had to find out a little more. Back in the hospital building, he walked up the wide stone stairs that were supposed to absorb a rush of people. The lighted above ground part of the hospital was unfamiliar to him and made him a little uncomfortable.
On the second floor, there was a long row of gray cubicles. The cubicle walls were just a little lower than his chin. So, he could see a few curly hair tops, bald spots, and even a baseball cap. The atmosphere in this part of the hospital was stiff, because human resources was mostly here. People wore prim and proper business dresses and shirts that were utterly out of fashion.
He knocked against the soft clothed wall of the cubicle. His supervisor looked up. She was a woman with hazel brown hair that puffed up on top of her head in a curvy way. She wore a green felt jacket with way too many buttons, pockets, and accents. The jacket was also a bit too small. Garrit stifled an impulsive laugh, because she reminded him of a leprechaun.
"Garrit, what brings you up here? Don't tell me, you want to vacation?"
"No, no, miss. I was curious, if you had any more information about the late visitor yesterday."
"What visitor?"
"You, you brought, a young woman last night, who claimed to be the twin sister of our Jane Doe from a few years back."
"Garrit, you know that such a visit would be against hospital policy. I would never bring a visitor into the morgue."
"I, I must have been mistaken. Maybe, a dream that I had."
"Oh, old boy, Garrit. Did you take a nap again? Just make sure that you sit down. We all still remember, when you feel and caught yourself a black eye."
The supervisor laughed amicably. Garrit rubbed his forehead trying to make sense. Had he gone insane? Had he imagined everything? He could still see the rope burns on his wrist. For now, he smiled at his boss, turned and walked away.
He walked very slowly towards the stairs. He had to find the woman. He had to find her to proof to himself that he hadn't gone Alzheimer yet. How do you find a woman? Ah, the tattoo. The tattoo might help. He sombered down to the morgue again to meet the daytime coroner.
The daytime coroner had already slapped nitrile gloves on. His fingers were delicately leading a scalpel through a dead body freshly delivered by the police.
"Hey, I had a question for you."
