The Dead Body Spoke

Later, the crew returned to the police station, the weight of the investigation pressing heavily on their shoulders. The sterile, fluorescent-lit halls of the station felt worlds away from the eerie calm of Somerton Beach, but the grim reality of their discovery followed them like a shadow. Jason led the way, his strides purposeful, while Oliver trailed behind, clutching a tablet filled with notes and digital search results. The hum of computers and the low murmur of officers at work filled the air, but the usual rhythm of the station felt off, as if the case had cast a pall over everything.

"Sir, I couldn’t find any social media accounts for the deceased," Oliver reported, his voice tinged with frustration. He quickened his pace to keep up with Jason, his fingers tapping nervously on the edge of the tablet. "I even tried using his photo to search—facial recognition, reverse image lookup, the works—but there was nothing. It’s like he didn’t exist online."

Jason didn’t break his stride. "Not everyone posts their life online," he replied, his tone measured but firm. "Some people prefer to stay off the grid. Once we get his name, we might dig up more information. For now, focus on what we do have."

Oliver nodded, though the crease in his brow betrayed his unease. The lack of digital footprints was unusual, especially in an age where even the most private individuals left some trace of themselves online. It made the victim feel even more like a ghost—a man with no past, no identity, and no clear reason for his brutal end.

Jason pushed open the door to the forensic lab, the sharp scent of antiseptic and the faint metallic tang of blood hitting them immediately. Cold, clinical, and eerily quiet, save for the occasional hum of machinery. The body recovered from Somerton Beach lay on a stainless-steel table, covered by a white sheet, waiting for their review. The overhead lights cast harsh shadows, making the room feel both too bright and unnervingly dark at the same time.

"Hey, Dr. Agastya," Jason called out, his voice cutting through the stillness.

"Oh, hey, officer," Dr. Agastya replied, looking up from the file he was reviewing. "I was just about to start."

"Have the autopsy and forensic reports come in?" Jason asked, scanning the lab filled with racks of equipment and jars of chemicals.

"Yes, the autopsy report is ready, and the forensic report is almost finalized. My assistant is just double-checking a few things," Dr. Agastya said.

"What’s the dead body telling us?" Jason asked, his sarcasm not lost on Oliver. He often referred to the autopsy results as the "language of dead bodies," given their knack for revealing crucial information.

"Follow me," Dr. Agastya said, standing and motioning for them to come closer.

Jason donned disposable gloves and approached the first stretcher, lifting the sheet.

"Not this one—this is a government official," Dr. Agastya clarified, pointing to the other stretcher. "The body from Somerton Beach is here."

Jason moved to the second stretcher, his expression growing serious. "What did you find?"

"First off, we haven’t identified him yet," Dr. Agastya replied, gesturing to the man’s pale face and the brownish tint of his lips. A long incision cut across his chest, a clear indication of the autopsy procedure.

"As I examined the body, it became clear this wasn't a run-of-the-mill murder," Dr. Agastya began, handing Jason and Oliver the autopsy and forensic reports.

"Why's that?" Jason asked, flipping through the pages.

"Look at the neck," Dr. Agastya pointed out. "The killer first tried to strangle him. When that didn’t work, they struck him in the back of the head."

Jason studied the head injury in the accompanying photo. "So, the blow to the head was the cause of death?"

"Exactly. He died from a severe blow to the back of his head," Dr. Agastya confirmed.

"What about fingerprints? Any matches in the system?" Jason pressed.

"No fingerprints," Dr. Agastya replied, raising an eyebrow at Jason’s astonishment. "Whoever killed him burned the insides of his hands to remove them."

"Why would they do that?" Oliver asked.

"To throw us off the trail and make identification harder," Jason surmised.

"We didn’t find a wallet, ID, or anything useful on him," Dr. Agastya added. "The killer likely stripped him of everything before dumping the body."

"So we have no idea who he is, who killed him, or why," Jason concluded, frustration creeping into his voice.

"We also found no fingerprints on the body or clothing. The killer likely cleaned it before disposal," Dr. Agastya explained. "We found traces of alcohol and cleaning chemicals in the nose and ears, which suggests a thorough cleanse."

"Anything that might help us crack this case?" Jason asked, determined to move forward. He needed to impress his superiors and secure a promotion to support his growing family.

"You're dealing with an intelligent killer," Dr. Agastya replied. "The wound on his legs, where his feet were severed, suggests the killer did it before killing him. The pain and fear likely distorted the man's features."

"Why go through that trouble?" Jason wondered aloud.

"Some killers keep trophies from their victims," Dr. Agastya explained. "They want to relive the thrill of the kill."

"Only a serial killer operates like that," Oliver chimed in.

"Let's hope we don’t see another case like this," Dr. Agastya remarked.

"You mentioned something strange on the body earlier. What was it?" Jason asked. If there was a clue—no matter how small or cryptic—it could be the break they needed. The room seemed to hold its breath as Dr. Agastya turned back to the body, his movements deliberate and precise.

"Right," he said, lifted the sheet from the body’s abdomen, exposing the pale, lifeless skin. "Check out the marks around the belly button."

Jason leaned in, his brow furrowing as he squinted at the area. At first glance, the skin appeared unremarkable, but as he focused, he noticed faint, almost imperceptible lines etched into the flesh. "Wait, I see some scratches," he murmured. "But they’re so faint—almost like they were made with a needle."

"Use this magnifying glass," Dr. Agastya instructed, handing him a small, handheld lens.

Jason took the magnifying glass and adjusted his position, bringing the lens close to the skin. As he peered through it, the tiny scratches enlarged, revealing a series of intricate symbols burned into the flesh around the man’s belly button. The marks were precise, almost artistic in their execution, but their meaning was far from clear. Jason’s pulse quickened as he studied the symbols, his mind racing to make sense of what he was seeing.

"What are these symbols?" Jason asked, his voice tinged with both fascination and frustration. He straightened up, handing the magnifying glass back to Dr. Agastya, his eyes never leaving the body. "They look deliberate, but I’ve never seen anything like this before."

Dr. Agastya nodded, his expression thoughtful. "I drew them out and tried to decipher them," he explained, reaching for a clipboard on the counter. He flipped through a few pages before handing him a sheet of paper with a carefully sketched replica of the symbols. "There are three symbols arranged in a circle: a key, a skull, and two arrows. Each one seems to represent something specific."

Jason’s brow furrowed as he stared at the symbols, the sterile hum of the forensic lab suddenly feeling oppressive. “Maybe he carved them himself?” he suggested, though the words sounded hollow even to him. The flickering fluorescent lights overhead cast a pallid glow over the body, making the symbols around the belly button seem almost spectral.

Dr. Agastya shook her head, her gloved finger tracing the perimeter of the marks with clinical precision. “I doubt it. These were burned into his skin shortly before he died—third-degree burns, likely from a heated tool. The tissue shows signs of rapid cauterization. He’d have been in excruciating pain.” His voice remained detached, but her eyes narrowed slightly, betraying a flicker of unease. “Whoever did this wanted him to feel it.”

A muscle twitched in Jason’s jaw. “So the killer wanted to send a message with these symbols,” he muttered, his mind racing through a labyrinth of possibilities—cult rituals, coded threats, personal vendettas. The key, the skull, the arrows. Life, death, continuity. The words looped in his head like a cursed mantra. “But what does it mean? A warning? A prophecy?”

Dr. Agastya peeled off her gloves with a snap, her gaze steady. “I can’t say. But the precision here… it’s deliberate. Almost ceremonial. The killer wants you to figure it out.” He paused, adding pointedly, “Or they’re mocking you for failing to.”

Oliver, who had been hovering near the door like a shadow, finally stepped forward. His face was ashen, his earlier bravado crumbling under the weight of the grotesque details. “So we’ve got no ID, no motive, no leads, and a dead man missing his feet,” he summarized, exhaling deeply. His voice cracked slightly. “And now we’re dealing with some… cryptic art project carved into his skin. What the hell is this?”

“Exactly,” Dr. Agastya agreed. He gestured to the autopsy report on the counter. “But I can tell you this much: the victim was healthy. No diseases, no drugs in his system, no signs of prior abuse. His heart, lungs, liver—all pristine. Whoever he was, he took care of himself. Until someone decided he shouldn’t exist at all.”

Jason snatched up the file, his fingers tightening around the edges. “Okay, I’m taking this report,” he said, tucking it under his arm like a shield. “If you find anything else, call me immediately. Anything. Even if it’s a stray fiber or a damn eyelash.”

“I will,” Dr. Agastya assured him.

As Jason and Oliver stepped into the hallway, the lab door hissed shut behind them, sealing the body and its secrets back into cold, sterile silence. The station’s fluorescent lights buzzed like agitated wasps, and the distant clatter of keyboards felt dissonantly mundane.

“What now?” Oliver asked quietly.