Contort me against your body and mind - Chapter 13 (Early Access) (Patreon)

Bonnie

Chemical scent combinations swirled around Bonnie as she washed up in the long sink outside the morgue. It brought her back almost two decades, a fresh-faced girl walking innocently into a lab and being slapped in the face with the smell of preservatives. One never forgot their first attempt at cutting open a human brain. The smells here were a mixture of those she was familiar with from Earth, and what had to be the Ailu’t’s own preserving solutions.

The Sentinel’s morgue was not built to hold many bodies. It was an unfortunate necessity, especially for a ship intended for battle. But with such a short deployment, and mild missions thus far, no one had anticipated that it would already be half full.

Effie was waiting inside with her paperwork laid out across three trays on wheels. A fourth held a collection of tools. Legacy was laid out in the centre of the room, the middle third of his body covered with a sheet of tissue paper. A computer screen on a long bracket hovered at Effie’s side, awaiting her findings.

Bonnie nodded a greeting to Effie and the young woman returned it with a restrained smile. There was a deep, sobering silence in the room. Strangely, it reminded her of being inside a church or shrine outside of service, one that had been holding its territory for hundreds of years. An atmosphere you felt you couldn’t cut into with your words. It had to be someone else.

Effie broke the silence with a softly spoken, “Let’s begin.”

“Is there anywhere in particular I should stand?” Bonnie asked.

“As long as you stay a step or two back from the table, you should be fine. I can move the lamp as I need it.”

Bonnie nodded and maintained her distance from Legacy’s body.

Effie worked predominantly in silence. She followed a routine she was clearly familiar with and checked off symbols and notes on both paperwork and touch-screen.

After an hour, and a multitude of tests using samples of Legacy’s hair, skin and nails, Effie announced that his time of death had been the morning of the mission. At the very least a couple of hours before the transport ship departed.

Which meant that he could not have known that the mission had gone wrong when he died.

This did nothing to ease Bonnie’s concerns over his mental well-being, as it meant she had even less understanding of why he would commit suicide. He posited no signs of having any harmful thoughts towards himself. He had anxiety, yes, but Bonnie had never once picked up on any hopelessness, self-hatred, anything directed at himself or his own circumstances.

The autopsy continued in silence except for the tapping of the touch screen and occasional pen scratch on a form.

Effie paused. Her body was taut and still for a very long time. She stepped back. Then forward twice to get a closer look around Legacy’s collarbone. She froze still again for a few seconds. The lamp was adjusted. Brought closer. Pulled back again.

Finally, Bonnie couldn’t contain her curiosity.

“Is something wrong?” she asked.

“I think… I’m not sure…” Effie raised her head, and her expression sent a sickening jolt through Bonnie. “The marks are not… right.”

“The marks on his neck?”

Effie nodded. “They are not consistent with hanging, especially a self-inflicted one.” Her tone was uncertain, tip-toeing around the topic almost. She refused to lock eyes with Bonnie.

Bonnie’s heart was pounding almost painfully. She was fighting to keep herself composed as she said, “Effie, I need you to explain, in detail, or I am going to jump to the conclusion that Legacy didn’t take his own life.”

Effie’s eyes were filled with fear.

“Effie,” Bonnie repeated softly.

Effie began to babble. “The colouring is wrong. The shapes of the marks are wrong. The lines, they are multi-layered. To do this to himself he would have had to have made multiple attempts - each one very severe and likely to have forced him to lose consciousness. How could he have been doing this to himself over and over without anyone noticing? Why was he so intent on this metho-”

“Effie!” Bonnie snapped.

Effie gasped and stepped back from the body. “Bonnie,” she whispered. “I don’t want to say it.”

“Someone murdered him.”

“I can’t report that with complete certainty.” She was reassuring herself, rather than Bonnie.

“Why not?”

“I can’t prove it in the paperwork.” Effie shook her head, but it appeared less a refusal and more a clearing of the mind. “It will have to be categorised as suspicious.”

Bonnie asked, “Will anyone investigate?”

“It will be given to a specialist team to look into when we reach home.”

“After spending another three months aboard a spaceship with a murderer in our midst,” Bonnie added through tight lips.

“It might not be!” Effie squeaked desperately.

“Effie, we have to tell Commander Slate. Someone else could die. I’m sorry that this is distressing for you, but we can’t bury our heads in the sand.”

“I don’t know what is sand-”

“We cannot hide from the truth!” She regretted her raised voice instantly.

Effie cried, “What if it is not the truth?”

“You do not want it to be the truth,” Bonnie replied softly.

Effie sighed. “I will write down everything I see, and what the logical explanation is. But I will not go to the commander and make an accusation. It is not my place. If I cannot explicitly prove it, I cannot say it.”

“That’s fine,” Bonnie assured her with a fellow sigh. “Slate is used to me speaking on subjects that aren’t my place. I will speak with him. May I please have a copy of your report once it is finished?”

Effie appeared slightly nauseas, but she nodded. “Of course, Doctor.”

“I think I should leave,” Bonnie suggested quietly. The tension in the room was making it more than clear that she had overstayed her welcome as an observer. “I did not mean to interfere. I am very grateful for you allowing me to witness your work.”

Effie fidgeted with her gloves. “It’s fine. I’m sorry. I’m just… scared.” Her voice cracked on the last word and Bonnie wanted desperately to hug her. Instead, she nodded her understanding and left the morgue. She may not know Effie’s exact age, but it was clear she was young, and the stress of identifying a murder would send anyone spiralling.

In her office, she filed her own paperwork with excessiveness neatness. She needed a task for her hands while her mind was reeling. There were too many possibilities, too many things to worry about. The moment she received the autopsy report, she’d be kicking down Slate’s office door.

When she had nothing else to straighten or organise, she logged into her computer to check her messages and appointments.

Her Alliance representative had finally replied.