Karin Slaughter - Blindsighted

She tapped the recorder back on, shaking her head at him. The sympathy she had so wanted a few minutes ago now irritated her. She felt exposed.

She dictated, "The appearance of the decedent is consistent with the stated age of twenty-two. The body has been refrigerated for a period of no less than three hours and is cool to the touch." Sara stopped, clearing her throat. "Rigor mortis is formed and fixed in the upper and lower extremities, and patches of livor mortis are seen posteriorly on the trunk and extremities, except in areas of pressure."

And on it went, this clinical description of a woman who only hours ago had been battered but alive, who weeks ago had been content if not happy. Sara cataloged the exterior appearance of Julia Matthews, imagining in her mind what the woman must have gone through. Was she awake when her teeth were pulled out so that her attacker could rape her face? Was she conscious when her rectum was being ripped open? Did the drugs block the sensations when she was nailed to the floor? An autopsy could only reveal the physical damage; the girls state of mind, her level of consciousness, would remain a mystery. No one would know what was going through her mind as she was assaulted. No one would ever see exactly what this girl had seen. Sara could only guess, and she did not like the images such guessing brought to mind. Again, she saw herself on the hospital gurney. Again, she saw herself being examined.

Sara forced herself to look up from the body, feeling shaky and out of place. Jeffrey was staring at her, a strange look on his face. "What?" she asked.

He shook his head, still keeping his eyes on her.

"I wish," Sara began, then stopped, clearing the lump in her throat. "I wish you wouldn't look at me like that, okay?" She waited, but he did not acknowledge her request.

He asked, "How am I looking at you?"

"Predatorily," she answered, but that wasn't quite right. He was looking at her the way she wanted him to look at her. There was a sense of responsibility to his expression, like he wanted nothing more than to take charge of things, to make things better. She hated herself for wanting this.

"It's unintentional," he said.

She snapped off her gloves. "Okay."

"I'm worried about you, Sara. I want you to talk to me about what's going on."

Sara walked toward the supply cabinet, not wanting to have this conversation over the body of Julia Matthews. "You don't get to do that anymore. Remember why?"

If she had slapped him, his expression would have been the same. "I never stopped caring about you."

She swallowed hard, trying not to let this get to her. "Thanks."

"Sometimes," he began, "when I wake up in the morning, I forget that you're not there. I forget that I lost you."

"Kind of like when you forgot you were married to me?"

He walked toward her, but she stepped back until she was a few inches from the cabinet. He stood in front of her, his hands on her arms. "I still love you."

"That's not enough."

He stepped closer to her. "What is?"

"Jeffrey," she said. "Please."

He finally backed away, his tone sharp as he asked, "What do you think?" He was referring to the body. "Do you think you'll find anything?"

Sara crossed her arms, feeling the need to protect herself. "I think she died with her secrets."

Jeffrey gave her a strange look, probably because Sara wasn't one to buy into melodrama. She made a conscious effort to act more like herself, to be more clinical about the situation, but even the thought of doing this was too emotionally taxing.

Sara kept her hand steady as she made the standard Y-incision across the chest. The sound as she skinned back the flesh cut through her thoughts. She tried to talk over them. "How are her parents holding up?"

Jeffrey said, "You can't imagine how horrible it was telling them she'd been raped. And then, this." He indicated the body. "You can't imagine."

Sara's mind wandered again. She saw her own father standing over a hospital bed, her mother embracing him from behind. She closed her eyes for a few seconds, willing this image from her mind. She would not be able to do this if she kept putting herself in Julia Matthews's place.

"Sara?" Jeffrey asked.

Sara looked up, surprised to realize that she had stopped the autopsy. She was standing in front of the body, arms crossed in front of her. Jeffrey waited patiently, not asking her the obvious question.

Sara picked up the scalpel and went to work, dictating, "The body is opened with the usual Y-incision and the organs of the thoracic and abdominal cavities are in their normal anatomic positions."

Jeffrey started talking again as soon as she stopped. Thankfully, he chose a different topic this time. He said, "I don't know what I'm going to do about Lena."

"What's that?" Sara asked, glad for the sound of his voice.

"She's not holding up well," he said. "I told her to take a couple of days off."

"Do you think she will?"

"I think she actually might."

Sara picked up the scissors, cutting the pericardial sac with quick snips. "So, then, what's the problem?"

"She's at the edge. I can sense that. I just don't know what to do." He indicated Julia Matthews. "I don't want her to end up doing something like this."

Sara scrutinized him over the rim of her glasses. She did not know whether or not he was using dime store psychology, hiding his concern for Sara by pretending a concern for Lena, or if he really was looking for advice on how to handle Lena.

She gave him an answer that would suit either scenario. "Lena Adams?" She shook her head no, certain of this one thing. "She's a fighter. People like Lena don't kill themselves. They kill other people, but they don't kill themselves."

"I know," Jeffrey answered. He was quiet then as Sara clamped off and removed the stomach.

"This won't be pleasant," she warned, placing the stomach in a stainless steel bowl. Jeffrey had been through plenty of autopsies before, but there was nothing so pungent as the odors of the digestive tract.

"Hey." Sara stopped, surprised at what she saw. "Look at this."

"What is it?"

She stood to the side so that he could see the contents of the stomach. The digestive juices were black and soupy, so she used a strainer to scoop out the contents.

"What is it?" he repeated.

"I don't know. Maybe seeds of some sort," Sara told him, using a pair of pickups to remove one. "I think we should call Mark Webster."

"Here," he offered, holding out an evidence bag.

She dropped the seed into the bag, asking, "You think he wants to get caught?"

"They all want to get caught, don't they?" he countered. "Look at where he left them. Both in semipublic places, both displayed. He's getting off on the risk as much as anything else."

"Yeah," she agreed, willing herself not to say more. She did not want to go into the gritty details of the case. She wanted to do her job and get out of here, away from Jeffrey.

Jeffrey didn't seem to want to comply. He asked, "The seeds are potent, right?"

Sara nodded.

"So, you think he kept her out of it while he was raping her?"

"I couldn't begin to guess," she answered truthfully.

He paused, as if he did not know how to phrase his next sentence.

"What?" she prompted.

" Lena," he said. "I mean, Julia told Lena that she enjoyed it."

Sara felt her brow furrow. "What?"

"Not exactly that she enjoyed it, but that he made love to her."

"He pulled her teeth out and ripped her rectum open. How could anyone call what he did to her making love?"

He shrugged, as if the answer was lost on him, but said, "Maybe he kept her so drugged up that she didn't feel it. Maybe she didn't know what was going on until after."

Sara considered this. "It's possible," she said, uncomfortable with the scenario.