Chapter 3: Autopsy of the Heart

The ink soaked into the paper, mingling with the drops from his eyes—whether sweat or tears—slowly spreading. It was a kind of poetry, if you squinted.

The stain bloomed, dark and slow, a silent testimony to everything he couldn’t say out loud. I felt it in my bones.

He finally started to write, but the letters were crooked and messy. His handwriting should be beautiful. For some reason, that thought popped into my head. But those crooked, broken letters were far from beautiful.

It was as if his grief had seeped into every stroke of the pen, twisting the words into something barely recognizable. My heart ached for him.

Dense writing filled the entire autopsy report. All of it was crooked, except for the name in the column for the deceased, which was written neatly and beautifully: Blair. That should be my name.

The name stood out on the page, a final act of love and remembrance. Seeing it written so carefully made my chest ache. I pressed a hand to my heart, feeling the weight of it.

He stopped writing, and the pen in his hand dropped to the floor for some reason. He lowered his head, staring at the pen, lost in thought. The silence stretched on.

He didn’t move to pick it up. Instead, he just sat there, shoulders shaking, as if the world had finally broken him. I wanted to hold him, but I was just a ghost.

Until a knock came from outside the door, he finally snapped back. He picked up the autopsy report and got up to open the door. But his palms must have been sweaty; after several tries, he couldn’t turn the knob, so he wiped his hands on his clothes before finally opening it.

The door creaked open, and for a second, everyone on the other side seemed to hold their breath. The tension was thick enough to cut with a knife.

“What is it?”

His voice was rough, barely more than a whisper. The hallway seemed to shrink around him. I could feel the exhaustion in every syllable.

Dr. Harrison’s voice was hoarse. The young officer at the door glanced at him with concern, then cautiously said, “Doc, Chief Miller said to bring the autopsy report to the conference room.”

The kid looked like he wanted to say more, but didn’t dare. His eyes darted around, searching for help.

“I know. I’ll change clothes first.”

Without waiting for the young officer to respond, he closed the door again. The click echoed in the empty hallway.

He took off his scrubs, put on his white coat, and walked out of the morgue. His steps were slow, each one heavier than the last. The weight of the world clung to his back.

I wanted to follow, but thinking of what just happened, I floated out much slower. My mind spun, replaying the last hour in a loop. I felt like a kite with its string cut, drifting further away.

“What are you doing, dawdling? Hurry and catch up—maybe they’ll talk about your past at the meeting.” The reaper was anxious, seeing me linger at the morgue door. He waved his arms, practically herding me like a sheepdog with a stubborn flock.

“Are you sure I can leave?” I pursed my lips, remembering who had just said my soul was still connected to my body since I’d just died.

He rolled his eyes, as if he’d explained this a hundred times before. “Yeah, you’re good. No more invisible tethers.”

“Why not? You couldn’t leave before because your soul sensed your body nearby. Now that you’ve found your body and confirmed you’re really dead, there’s no reason you can’t leave.”

He said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world. I guess, in his world, it was.

Emmmm... I didn’t really understand, just thought the world of the dead was complicated. Like taxes, but with more existential dread.

But I couldn’t be bothered to ask. As long as I could leave, that was enough. I was ready to move—somewhere, anywhere.

I floated out of the morgue, and sure enough, didn’t feel that pulling sensation anymore. I quickly caught up to Dr. Harrison, following him into a conference room. The air was thick with exhaustion and grief. I could feel the tension humming in the walls.

There were many people in the room, all looking exhausted. When Dr. Harrison entered, the scruffy man at the front gestured for him to sit. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days—shirt rumpled, tie askew, stubble shadowing his jaw. He had the air of someone who’d seen too much and couldn’t forget any of it.

“Harrison, is Blair’s autopsy report ready?” The man’s eyes were bloodshot—obviously he hadn’t slept for several nights. His voice was rough, barely holding back a tremor.

Dr. Harrison didn’t speak, just nodded and handed over the report. The gesture was simple, but it felt like a final goodbye. I felt a lump in my throat.

The man took the report, opened it, looked at Dr. Harrison again, sighed, but said nothing, then carefully read the report. The paper rustled in his hands, every turn of the page sounding like thunder in the heavy silence.

“Three ribs smashed by a blunt object, right ear cut off, left eye and kidney missing, eight fingers chopped off, femur smashed...” The man read each injury, shuddering every time. When he finished, his cigarette dropped to the floor, and he trembled with rage.

The words hung in the air, each one a punch to the gut. The room felt smaller with every injury listed. I felt my own anger rising.

“They injected her with Adrenal-X... Those bastards!”

His fist slammed the table, rattling coffee cups and pens. The anger in his voice was volcanic. The whole room seemed to shake.

He looked at Dr. Harrison as if he couldn’t believe it, as if confirming again and again if it was true.

Everyone’s eyes were on Dr. Harrison, as if hoping he’d deny it, but he nodded. The nod was slow, heavy, final. It was all the answer they needed.

Sam’s eyes reddened again. When the man read each of my injuries, Sam had already started shaking and crying uncontrollably. Her sobs were muffled by her hands, but the pain was unmistakable. It was raw, and it hurt to watch.

“Adrenal-X! Blair, she—she— Those monsters! They’re not even human!”

Sam clenched her fist, pounding the table as if it were the monsters who tortured me. But the table couldn’t withstand her anger, and the office couldn’t contain everyone’s grief and rage.

The walls seemed to vibrate with the force of her fury. I wished I could reach out and comfort her, but all I could do was watch. Helplessness burned in my gut.

“What is Adrenal-X?”

“A stimulant that keeps people awake.”

The answer slipped out, automatic and sure. For a moment, I remembered late-night study sessions and briefing rooms, the sharp tang of adrenaline in the air. My tongue tingled with the memory.

I blurted out. The reaper nodded as if suddenly realizing, then looked at me sharply.

His eyes narrowed, as if trying to piece together a puzzle. I felt exposed under his gaze.

“You—you—so you were conscious the whole time they tortured you? They gouged your eye, broke your ribs, took your organs, cut your fingers—all while you were awake! Those people who tortured you aren’t human!”

He shook his head, muttering curses under his breath. His face was pale, his hands clenched into fists. The anger radiated off him.

“Don’t worry, when they die, I’ll make sure they pay in the next world, every last one!”

The reaper was furious, constantly cursing those who tortured me. His face twisted with rage.

I was amused by his behavior and covered his mouth to signal him to be quiet. He glared at me, but it was more worry than anger.

His protests muffled, he glared at me, but I could see the worry in his eyes. There was a softness there, despite everything.

“Didn’t you say cursing others loses virtue? It’s not worth it for those monsters.”

I smiled at him, then turned to look at everyone in the office. The gesture felt natural, like an old inside joke. For a moment, I almost felt alive again.

The man in charge put down the autopsy report, as if remembering something, and said to Dr. Harrison, “Harrison, besides this, did you find anything else on Blair? The Hanley Group runs a construction business on the surface, but underneath it’s all filth. To catch them all, we need the most crucial evidence. The last time Blair contacted us, she said she had something important. Knowing her, she must have hidden it somewhere, and crawling to the station was probably to alert us...”

His words trailed off, heavy with regret and hope all at once. The room held its breath, waiting.

Everyone looked at Dr. Harrison, but he shook his head. “I didn’t find anything on Blair.”

The disappointment was palpable, filling the room like fog. Shoulders slumped, hope faded.

Dr. Harrison’s tone was calm, but something felt off. The hopeful looks around him all dimmed. It was as if the last light had been snuffed out.

“Maybe Officer Blair just wanted to come back to the station in her last moments.” A young policewoman, eyes red from crying, lowered her head. Her voice was barely a whisper, the kind of sorrow that seeps into your bones.

“No, Blair isn’t someone who does things in vain. Crawling back to the station at the last moment, she must have wanted to tell us something.” Sam stood up and turned to Dr. Harrison: “Harrison, you know Blair. She promised you, if she died in the line of duty, you would be the one to do her autopsy. You’re the one who understands her most, the one she trusts most. You must understand what message she’s trying to send.”

Sam’s face was full of earnest expectation, almost pleading. The desperation in her eyes was raw. She looked at Dr. Harrison as if he were her last hope.

“So what’s your relationship with Dr. Harrison? From Sam’s words, you two seem close!” The reaper nudged me, looking nosy. He leaned in, eyebrows waggling. I almost laughed, despite everything.

I looked at the man in front of me, the way he lowered his eyes in thought, the habit of playing with his fingers when anxious—another scene flashed through my mind. The memory hit me like a flashbulb—bright, brief, gone in an instant.

“Harrison, quit giving me that face. If you do, I’ll slap you! Harrison, don’t be ungrateful. I’m giving you a chance to be with me. Harrison, promise me—if I don’t come back from a mission, you must do my autopsy. I know it’s cruel, but you’re the one I trust most, the best pathologist I know. Harrison, I have to go on this mission. Believe me, I’ll come back safe and sound. When I come back, we’ll get married.”

Her voice was teasing, stubborn, full of life. I could almost feel the warmth of his hand in mine. The memory made my heart twist.