Chapter Text
*click*
"Autopsy dictation. Case number 26-3569. Date and time: December 12th, 2006, 04:58 hours. Period. Start of roman numeral one. Closing first paragraph."
"This is a forensic autopsy performed on an adult individual identified as Viktor Lederson. Identification is based on accompanying paperwork and hospital wristband. Photographs are taken. Radiographs are obtained.."
*click*
There is nothing special about the body: a young male, around nineteen, decently developed, malnourished but not enough to be noticed by peers, and roughly 176 centimeters and 50 kilograms.
"Start of Roman numeral two, closing paragraph two. The head hair is dark brown and short. The irises appear brown. There is no scleral icterus. The oral cavity is unremarkable. Dentition is natural with few restorations. Rigor mortis is not present."
There is no sign of decay, but there is no rigor mortis either. The body has been dead for at least two days, but no longer than a week. Blah blah blah--the usual checkup, Ailments, pupils, whatever needed to be named. There are no ailments on the body, or at least none Matthew could see yet. The longer he looked over the body, the more he realized there was nothing wrong.
Cutting the body open? Nothing. Everything looked healthy. All that he could take note of was the liver, and even that was a poor excuse of death cause.
“The liver weighs 1950 grams. The intact capsule is smooth and translucent. The underlying parenchyma is diffusely yellow-tan and moderately soft, with a focal greasy texture on cross-section. No nodularity, focal masses, or fibrous bands are identified. The biliary tree and portal vein branches are patent and unremarkable.”
So in common speech, all that he could see was that the man used to drink. That’s it. The point also was, he'd seen worse. Brain? Nothing. Not a single scratch on that body. Nothing. Sure, not uncommon. Maybe he had misplaced something ; it was late anyway ...
By 7 a.m. Matthew had "re-done" this autopsy three times. His shift ended an hour ago. The scene looked like a movie.
Ruffled hair, buttons undone, chalkboard covered in improperly erased chalk, lines drawn and pointing to another, jumbled notes; his original dictation had been thrown away and at this point long lost.
"Maybe the brain... Or the..." Matthew had started mumbling to himself after the second redo attempt of the autopsy. Books were spiraled out on other tables, and piles of used , disgusting gloves sat beside them all (he said he would clean it by the first redo; safe to say morning shift will take it all out).
By the time he had "re-done" the stitches and all, he had practically wasted yards upon yards of thread. The body—as of now—was stitched up again. Matthew decided there was no harm in trying once more. He pulled himself together, relaxing his shoulder, straightening his shirt, the whole ordeal. There was a method to this kind of procedure. First, the face, then a head-to-toe examination. It was a ritual to him. Matthew let out an aggravated sigh before speaking,
*click*
"Autopsy dictation. Case number... 26-3569. Date and time: December 12th, 2006, 07:09 hours. Period. Start of Roman numeral one. Closing first paragraph."
His voice is wavering; he's exhausted by this time. Matthew has been on his feet for the past ten hours with no plan to stop. He repeats the information he has for the past few hours. Brown hair, no rigor mortis, drinking liver, blah blah blah ...
Did he just fucking blink? No, he couldn't because Matthew had taken his brain out and examined it for the last three hours.
And dead bodies can't blink. Obviously.
Matthew could just be hallucinating at this point. Ten hours with no break does that to a man. Sure, let's try again. Matthew splashes water on his face and prays. He gives himself a minute to sit down and maybe it'll be okay. It didn't smell like death yet, so the body could sit out for a few more minutes and he could catch a break.
His arms are crossed on his desk, head laying down and eyes staring daggers into the face.
He doubts himself for a second, then breathes. He tells himself there will be an end to this and that he’ll find a reason, but no one believes that. Not even the dead body.
"Start of Roman numeral two, closing paragraph two. The head hair is dark brown and short. The irises appear brown..."
He's sitting at his desk away from the body and he feels himself almost nodding off. He knows this off of memory at this point. He can't tell but- There it is. He blinks again. THAT cannot be ignored. Is he smiling? Matthew is convinced he's officially gone insane. Instead of stopping, for some unknown reason, he keeps going. He needs to just push through and get it over with. Turns out, it can be ignored.
This is his fourth redo autopsy. The words, an adult individual identified as Viktor Lederson, have officially burned themselves into his head and branded his skull.
Thirty minutes later; "God damn it!" Matthew is screaming. He throws his clipboard down, running his fingers through his hair. He’s been pacing around the room for the last five minutes and trying not to do this for the past ten. He falls to his feet, next to the hand of the body and starts to tear up. Maybe he is going insane.
What was he doing? Had he taken something? The fingers twitch right next to his eye. Screams fill the room ; he throws another book or two. Maybe at the body? Maybe at the board? Matthew doesn’t know what he’s aiming for, just wanting to defend himself. He starts yelling to 'Stop fucking with me!' and 'You're not alive- you aren't!'
For a second, just a second, Matthew grabs onto the shoulders. He doesn't know why ; maybe to shake him awake? Shake him dead? With how delirious and tired he is, he's halfway convinced the body's face twitches at that. He only grips harder. He grips on tight, fingernails digging in so deep that on regular skin they would turn white.
Since the skin is already white, it's much harder to see that and to see his grip-until the skin tears. That's what gets him out. The skin tears. He backs away, breathes, and wipes it up. He turns on his microphone once more.
"Start of Roman numeral two, closing paragraph two. The head hair is dark brown and short. The irises appear brown. There is no scleral icterus. The oral cavity is unremarkable. Dentition is natural with few restorations. Rigor mortis is not present. On opposing sides, there are small 3mm cuts of the shoulders, almost curved."
Microphone off.
He stares at the body for a minute, only a minute. He thinks back to why he started this job, why he's here, what he could have done to deserve this.
The eyes blink, squeeze together, the body sits up, stretches its arms, and then blinks. Again. The body looks around ; "Ugh... fuck me... where am I ...?"
A thick Norwegian accent comes out. The DEAD body (just a reminder) is moving around, talking to Matthew. Yeah sure.
He's officially lost his sanity.