The stiff's identity was determined by means of a standardized dossier, and a toetag. It seemed so wrong, so informal. But the determinination of ethics is not the job of the diener. After all: dieners are not philosophers, or gods.
Mary Abel Grigoire
673 Valiant Dr.
Tulsa, OK
DOB: 03/09/77
TOD: App. 21:30 GMT,11/19/06
LOD: Minneapolis, MN
Response Time: 77 HR
Drawer: 391
Blood Type: O
Somatotype: Ectomorphic
Relationship Status: Single, Unmarried
Closest Living: Alma Thayer- Omaha, NB
Cain closed the dossier, leaving fingerprints of half-congealed blood, and placed it in Dr. Endrizzi's inbox. He plodded deliberately over to Drawer 391, and slid it open. The corpse was pale, and beginning to frost. It was well-preserved. She was a slender woman, just shy of her thirtieth birthday, with long, sweeping auburn hair. Her face was narrow, and slightly mousy, but not unattractive. It was apparent that she had long since set into rigor mortis, and most of her was just beginning to decay. She had remained in the freezer for several months, since they had received her in November of last year. They were nearly forced to inter her elsewhere, while they waited for a warrant of autopsy, as her body was beginning to emit a foul, acrid stench. Redemption came, however, when news was heard that the family had become concerned, and were flying to Minnesota to observe the autopsy.
The circumstances of her death were rumored quite perplexing. She was found, it said in the dossier, lying undisturbed in a cushioned armchair when her neighbor came to fetch some milk. She had been dead for several days, and was already beginning to wither away. And this- this minor bit of anecdote- was really all that was known. The family had every right to be concerned.
Cain picked up the cadaver and dragged it, rigidly, over to the marble autopsy table. The older funeral parlors had these autopsy chambers with marble or porcelain. They still had these new tools, but the chambers, they were ornate deals. The family had the option to hold the dissection in a larger hospital in Minneapolis, but had kindly declined, opting instead for a smaller affair and a minimized ruckus by holding it in the "family-run" Emmet's Funeral Parlor, Eau Claire, MN.
First, he photographed the body. He made notes of the clothing, and removed it, folding it carefully as experienced dieners do.
The prosector would enter soon. Cain knew the system well, and ran the rut. Taking an new obsidian blade from the tray, and screwing it securely into his favorite bone-handled scalpel body, Cain began the operation. The first wound was made on the left shoulder, and slowly, silently, he drew it down, following the contour of her left breast. Upon accidentally grazing the adipose tissue below the lower contours of her breast, he was forced to carefully, laboriously slice through the remainder. The doctor would be infuriated. Deviating slightly from the contour, he peaked the incision near the xiphoid process, and drew the blade downward, directly towards the navel. Gracefully avoiding her inward bellybutton, by drawing the blade around it counterclockwise, he continued the incision to her pubic bone.
He took a Stryker saw, and started to remove the calvarium of her skull. When the brain was exposed, he submerged it in formalin. He turned to Mary.
"What happened to you?" It was a rhetorical question. It needed to be asked, as all things do.
Cutting the lights on the way out, he exited, leaving her sitting there, alone and scared.
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