Page 11 of Melancholia

God, I hope I’m not wrong about this. Or, I sort of hope I am. That would be the easier option.

“Come down there?” Adele repeats. “Why? What’s wrong, Nell?”

There’s no easy way to say it.

“Because I don’t think Andrew was alone when he died,” I say slowly. Carefully. “And I think maybe it’s something you should look into. Please?”

She hesitates. For a few, awful seconds, I think she’s going to laugh or tell me to fuck right off.

But when Adele answers, her tone is all business. “I’ll be there in twenty. With Jenkins. Don’t go anywhere, Nell.” And with that she hangs up, leaving me to wonder where the hell I would even go right now.

4

Idon’t go anywhere because I don’t have anywhere to go. Instead, I stare down at Andrew, wondering if I’ve made a big deal over nothing. It’s just a bite, after all. Though it looks too deep to be from foreplay, unless Andrew was an absolute masochist who enjoyed long-term nerve damage, considering how deep the bite was.

But I could still be wrong. And calling the sheriff suddenly feels like the nuclear option over a mild curiosity.

Still, that doesn’t stop the fact that seventeen minutes later, Sheriff Adele Miller strides into the mortuary, her back straight and her expression as serious as if I’d announced a plot to kill the president.

“We’ll wait for Jenkins,” she tells me flatly when I start explaining. With her coffee thermos in hand, Adele leans against the desk on the far wall as if she’s done so a thousand times before. And honestly, she probably has, considering how often she visits Cecil.

I wonder if she’s missing Cecil as much as I’m sure he misses her. Even though he’s still somehow oblivious to the fact that Adele is in love with him and trying to see if he returns that interest. Poor, naïve Cecil, I can’t help but think to myself. Someone should really tell him soon that Adele wants to make a move on him, though it’s definitely not my place to do so.

I’m just the mortuary assistant, after all. I’m here to take care of dead bodies, clean the preparation room, restock supplies, and look scary if someone ever tries to break in.

Jenkins doesn’t even wait for me to open the loading bay door after he raps on it. Instead, he shoves it open and steps inside, already wearing sweatpants and a ratty old shirt instead of his official uniform. The look on his face is displeased at best. At worst, I’m pretty sure he’s disgusted by my existence as he peers at me with his tiny, dark eyes.

He looks like a beetle, I can’t help thinking to myself. A round, unhappy beetle that’s just asking to be grabbed and pulled apart by a house cat.

“Why am I here?” he demands, tossing his keys on the counter with a loud, metallic clang. “Adele, I’m sorry, but what the hell?” He gives an unhappy, snorting laugh, barely looking at me. “I’ve ruled this a suicide. Brought him to where his mommy wanted. Hell, your deputy told me no one liked this guy and he won’t be missed. So why the hell are we making a big deal over nothing?”

Adele looks at him, studying his face with her cold blue eyes. “Can you repeat what you said on the phone, Nell?” she asks, finally turning to me with a carefully controlled politeness in her tone.

Suddenly I feel like I could be in a lot of trouble. But I take a deep breath and refuse to let myself go all fuzzy at the edges. I’m medicated. I’m not seeing ghosts. I’m an adult and can hold a relatively normal conversation for at least five minutes or so.

Probably.

“I’m…sorry for bothering both of you.” Sort of. I’m sorry for bothering Adele, but Jenkins can go walk off a cliff for all I care. “I was working on this embalming and when I was done with—” I break off. They probably don’t care about the process very much.

Snapping on another pair of blue nitrile gloves, I walk toward Andrew’s body and turn his face up to the light a bit more. It’s difficult, given how stiff he is in this stage of rigor, but I’m able to point his mouth at the light above us. “And I saw this.” I open his mouth, prying open his jaw until it pops open like a clamshell.

“His tongue is⁠—”

“So he bit it,” Jenkins scoffs. “While hanging himself. You think I missed it? That I haven’t seen this before? Maybe you’re a little unfamiliar with what happens when someone is hanged by their own volition, but I can assure you, a bite to the tongue is nowhere near the strangest thing I’ve ever seen.” I let him rant, figuring it’ll be better for all of us if he just gets it all out.

Plus, it’ll make him look like even more of an idiot if I’m right, and I can’t help but admit a sick sort of satisfaction in that.

“Right…” I agree slowly, glancing back at Adele before straightening again. “So, I get that. And I know hanging is pretty fucking awful on the body. But I took a couple of measurements, just to make sure.” With my tongs, I pull out his tongue, keeping the ends of the tongs away from the bite mark as much as I can so they can both see.

“See the arc of the bite? It’s not from him. And it’s deep.” I lift his tongue to show the underside, where the teeth marks go almost all the way through.

“So what?” Jenkins snaps after another second. “So the fuck what?” God, he really is an asshole when challenged. Or maybe he just gets like this after midnight. Like a bigger, meaner gremlin. That, or he just needs his beauty sleep so he remembers how to not throw tantrums like a goddamn toddler.

I’m half expecting him to grab the tray of equipment he’s standing next to and flip it over just to prove a point and remind us all how upset and offended he is.

“You didn’t note this at the scene,” Adele is quick to slip in as she leans over the body. “Did you even look in his mouth, Jim?” She meets his gaze with reproach, and that’s enough to make him wilt a little.

“Well, yes. Like I said, Adele, this isn’t an uncommon⁠—”