Her Anatomy

Jenna Wilde was staring at Mei-Ling’s cold body, the first Chinese woman to represent Indiana in the up-and-coming Miss America Pageant, and the first Asian victim in the homicide investigation.

Her eyelashes rained like foliage. The body was carefully dismembered, and then disposed of in different areas. Body parts were stored in a freezer to avoid decomposition. This young woman’s anatomy reminded the coroner of a Thanksgiving turkey.

It took the police two weeks to complete the search. After the autopsy, then came the stitching. The flesh was marinated by the hush-flowing river, wild hogs’ leftover meals, etc. No fingerprints left. The inner-organs, nose, cheekbones, jaw, pelvic bone, and tibia were gone. It was Jenna’s job to recreate Mei-Ling’s skin, dress her up, and place her into a gold casket.

The clock struck midnight as Jenna looked up. She pressed the green button on her recording pen, and cleared her throat. “Case #444, Mei-Ling Kwan, female, twenty-seven, five feet six, one hundred pounds…cause of death, dismemberment while she was still alive.” The power went out after a crack of deafening thunder. Jenna continued the meticulous description, something requested by Mei-Ling’s parents.

She picked up a wig made from human hair, and tenderly lifted Mei-Ling’s head to fit her hopefully-attached skull.

“Shit!”

She pressed too hard. The gap between Mei-Ling’s head and neck bent forward. She adjusted the head forcefully, despite her fear that it might fall off.

“I’m so sorry Mei-Ling.”

The slimy glue surrounding her head was failing, and the right arm fell partially, sinking to inner-bone. Slowly laying her down, Jenna opened the cabinet and reached for a plastic bucket.

“It won’t take long, please bear with me.”

Jenna touched Mei-Ling’s jaw. It dropped into her hand. She shook her head, looking at the incomplete masterpiece, condemning her poor workmanship. “Some anthropologist I am.” She took a tube of roof sealer from the drawer, and applied the white sticky liquid to a prosthetic jaw.

“Sorry for being clumsy.”

Jenna started on Mei-Ling’s flawless face. Jenna mixed semi-permanent body paint on a palette. House paint would be too cruel to use on human skin. After all, the dead deserved respect, too.

Jenna saw a gold object stuck inside Mei-Ling’s mouth. She opened the jaw, and retrieved some crumpled paper. Jenna coughed several times, fanning away the suffocating air. That paper looked like a chocolate wrapper. It was coated in the kind of congealed saliva only a dead woman can produce.

Jenna continued painting Mei-Ling’s torso. There were deep teeth marks, where hogs had eaten the flesh. Her nipples were bitten off. Nobody would see it after she was clothed. Her torn breasts slid down her body. Maggots were oozing from her navel—her bulging stomach was an undulating ticking time bomb waiting to explode. Those creepy-crawlers were fun to watch, but Jenna had to get to work.

Mei-Ling’s legs were thin. Her soles looked like she ran a marathon over broken glass. Jenna painted that area delicately.

“What courses did you take after high school?”

She picked up a few maggots that had crawled into Mei-Ling’s wig. Jenna sighed, “I try to keep myself warm by talking. I do this to others as well, in case you wonder. I want you to trust me, for the last time, okay?”

The power came back on but the room was still cold, like meat-storage.

Jenna looked around, and then to Mei-Ling. “I hope I’ve made you look beautiful.” Jenna carefully glued a pair of eyelashes on. “A few more and you’re done.” Jenna sharpened the eyeliner, and meticulously outlined Mei- Ling’s brows before shading them. She applied blush to both cheeks; spreading the color with a make-up sponge, and then followed with a few strokes of lipstick.

“Gorgeous –”

Mei-Ling Kwan looked like a Geisha.

Jenna crossed her arms, and scanned the “to-do” list. All done, except curling her hair. She studied Mei-Ling’s face—a masterpiece of re-plastering—a dead-makeover anyone would be proud of.

Hearing voices might be normal for a mortician like Jenna; it’s how she falls in love with the dead. She traced her fingers over Mei-Ling’s eyes, pouty lips, shoulder bone, hands, legs, toes, breasts, and then lightly brushed her undulating stomach, watching it roll with life.