Standing beside the gleaming stainless steel dissecting table, Timothy offered me a respectful bow. With a calm demeanor, he picked up a silver scalpel and made a precise incision down the center of my neck.
"The first soft rib is not calcified," he noted, his voice steady and clinical.
In one fluid motion, he opened the chest cavity. "Not much fat, no stretch marks, and no surgical scars," he observed, gently twisting the edge of my lung lobe. "There is some bruising, indicating severe emphysema in the lungs."
He added, "There are bleeding spots in the pericardium," as he delved deeper into his examination.
“It’s mechanical asphyxiation that caused the death,” he concluded, his brow furrowing as he inspected the sensitive areas.
His expression reflected the gravity of the situation, and I couldn't help but wonder if he recalled the case that haunted him—a horrific tale of rape and dismemberment that had sent shockwaves through the city. It was a tragedy that had cast a dark shadow over my own life.
Timothy was all business, a serious and dedicated professional under the bright lights of the autopsy room. I marveled at his skill as he wielded the scalpel with precision. Little did I know that I would become the one lying on that table, a mere subject of his detailed examination.
Hours passed as he meticulously completed the autopsy, crafting both the autopsy report and the crime scene analysis with care. He handed the reports to Dominic before stepping into the meeting room.
The whiteboard was a collage of images, capturing my body from various angles, a stark reminder of the life that once was. Timothy, as the forensic doctor, presented a thorough analysis. “The deceased is a female, aged 20-25 years. Based on the stomach contents and the state of decomposition, she died approximately 10 days ago."
He paused, a frown crossing his face, "There are no stretch marks on her abdomen, but the presence of a pregnancy history suggests she may have suffered a miscarriage shortly before her death."
For a fleeting moment, I wanted to reach out to Timothy, to remind him of the child we once dreamed of together.
But he snapped back to the present, continuing his report, “The wounds on her limbs were disordered, indicating that the murderer lacked both experience and patience. Perhaps he was driven by excitement and anxiety, typical of a first-time killer. Or maybe he sought to inflict torment. Regardless, the brutality of the attack was evident.”
"Severe emphysema was confirmed in the lungs, ruling out poisoning. It was clear she died from suffocation," he stated, his voice unwavering.
"The murderer exhibits extreme cruelty, likely fueled by deep-seated hatred for the victim or her family... He dismembered her to unleash his anger and seek revenge!"
A heavy silence enveloped the room, the weight of his words settling like a thick fog.
Dominic's voice broke through, resonating with a somber tone, “It’s so similar.”
A knowing glance passed among the others, each one aware of the haunting case he referenced—an event few could ever forget.
As Timothy walked away, she felt the sting of tears threatening to spill over. His words had pierced her heart like daggers, a painful reminder of the darkness that had enveloped her world.
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