his neck with the palm of his hand. Looking up at him, I realise how young he is, probably only in his early twenties...
‘Thanks.’ I pick up the glass and take a sip of water. It feels good. Then I turn back to the officer. ‘Is this your first murder?’ I am genuinely curious. He fidgets on the spot and nods nervously. I didn’t mean to spook him and realise he thinks I am judging him. That was not my intention. In order to put him at ease, I say the first thing that comes to mind. ‘Mine, too.’
March 18th
‘It’s alright to be scared.’ Charlie reaches out a hand and rests it on my shoulder.
‘I just want this over and done with.’ I feel like shrugging him off but resist the urge to push him away. This is not his fault. I stand up and tell him I need the loo, an excuse to put some distance between our bodies.
‘I’ll be right here,’ he says as I dash out of the room.
Finding myself in the vast corridor, I feel lost. I don’t belong here. The morgue is a grim, sober place. I realise I don’t know where the loo is, so just stand in the corridor for a while, taking some deep breaths.
Can I smell blood?
Then someone appears from one of the rooms wearing forensic overalls and takes a step towards me.
‘I just want to go to the loo.’ I sound pathetic. Before the man can reply, I hear a familiar voice behind me and spin around to find the detective.
‘We are ready for you now, Madam.’ His hands are grasped together and I notice his knuckles are bony and white. ‘This way please.’
Charlie appears from the waiting room. I’ve never seen him look so solemn. I can guess how he feels. His heart has always ruled his head.
I know how I should feel. But I can’t get there. I’m not even scared. Not really, although I know I should be. I’m waiting for it. No doubt it will come. It’ll grab me by the throat and choke me until I wake up and realise this is actually happening.
As we make our way towards the room where my parents are, I realise a nightmare would be easier. I could wake up and comfort myself that it never really happened, that it was just my twisted imagination going for a wander. But that is not the case. I am really here, each step taking me closer to the two bodies that lie in wait.
Will I see blood? Will their eyes be open? Is it them?
I’ve never seen a dead body before. Mixed with fear is a lingering fascination.
As we reach the door, I feel Charlie’s hand on my shoulder.
‘I am going in by myself.’ I say and he releases his grip, stepping back. The detective, whose name I struggle to remember, pushes the white door open and beckons me in.
Inside, the room is luminous white and I feel exposed by the bright lighting that prevent any shadow.
Looking to my right, I see a figure in robes standing next to two tables that have bodies laid out on them. The pair lay covered in white sheets so I cannot see their faces but already I know it is them .
My father is unmistakable. Even concealed, the size and figure are unmistakable. My blood run colds as I remember him living. He is, was , a great hulk of a man with a large belly and double chin. Portly, some would call it, but in truth, he was plain fat.
My dry eyes turn to look at the veiled body of the woman. Tall, slender, neat. Just as she was.
The pathologist clears his throat and our eyes meet. I nod and he moves over to the male body first, carefully peeling back the sheet. But he doesn’t show me his head. Just the body. The head remains covered.
‘There was too much trauma to the skull.’ He speaks in a muted tone. I try not to imagine what is hidden beneath the sheet.
Dad.
Then, silently, the next figure is revealed. This time, I see the face.
Mum.
I stare at the corpses. She looks the same as she once did, but somehow different. I can’t put my finger on it. Without realising it, I move closer to my mother.
The coroner steps closer and tells me not to touch anything.
Then it hits me.
‘Thanks.’ I pick up the glass and take a sip of water. It feels good. Then I turn back to the officer. ‘Is this your first murder?’ I am genuinely curious. He fidgets on the spot and nods nervously. I didn’t mean to spook him and realise he thinks I am judging him. That was not my intention. In order to put him at ease, I say the first thing that comes to mind. ‘Mine, too.’
March 18th
‘It’s alright to be scared.’ Charlie reaches out a hand and rests it on my shoulder.
‘I just want this over and done with.’ I feel like shrugging him off but resist the urge to push him away. This is not his fault. I stand up and tell him I need the loo, an excuse to put some distance between our bodies.
‘I’ll be right here,’ he says as I dash out of the room.
Finding myself in the vast corridor, I feel lost. I don’t belong here. The morgue is a grim, sober place. I realise I don’t know where the loo is, so just stand in the corridor for a while, taking some deep breaths.
Can I smell blood?
Then someone appears from one of the rooms wearing forensic overalls and takes a step towards me.
‘I just want to go to the loo.’ I sound pathetic. Before the man can reply, I hear a familiar voice behind me and spin around to find the detective.
‘We are ready for you now, Madam.’ His hands are grasped together and I notice his knuckles are bony and white. ‘This way please.’
Charlie appears from the waiting room. I’ve never seen him look so solemn. I can guess how he feels. His heart has always ruled his head.
I know how I should feel. But I can’t get there. I’m not even scared. Not really, although I know I should be. I’m waiting for it. No doubt it will come. It’ll grab me by the throat and choke me until I wake up and realise this is actually happening.
As we make our way towards the room where my parents are, I realise a nightmare would be easier. I could wake up and comfort myself that it never really happened, that it was just my twisted imagination going for a wander. But that is not the case. I am really here, each step taking me closer to the two bodies that lie in wait.
Will I see blood? Will their eyes be open? Is it them?
I’ve never seen a dead body before. Mixed with fear is a lingering fascination.
As we reach the door, I feel Charlie’s hand on my shoulder.
‘I am going in by myself.’ I say and he releases his grip, stepping back. The detective, whose name I struggle to remember, pushes the white door open and beckons me in.
Inside, the room is luminous white and I feel exposed by the bright lighting that prevent any shadow.
Looking to my right, I see a figure in robes standing next to two tables that have bodies laid out on them. The pair lay covered in white sheets so I cannot see their faces but already I know it is them .
My father is unmistakable. Even concealed, the size and figure are unmistakable. My blood run colds as I remember him living. He is, was , a great hulk of a man with a large belly and double chin. Portly, some would call it, but in truth, he was plain fat.
My dry eyes turn to look at the veiled body of the woman. Tall, slender, neat. Just as she was.
The pathologist clears his throat and our eyes meet. I nod and he moves over to the male body first, carefully peeling back the sheet. But he doesn’t show me his head. Just the body. The head remains covered.
‘There was too much trauma to the skull.’ He speaks in a muted tone. I try not to imagine what is hidden beneath the sheet.
Dad.
Then, silently, the next figure is revealed. This time, I see the face.
Mum.
I stare at the corpses. She looks the same as she once did, but somehow different. I can’t put my finger on it. Without realising it, I move closer to my mother.
The coroner steps closer and tells me not to touch anything.
Then it hits me.
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