TBD - The Beautiful Dead

The body was fresh. Freshly decapitated, arms axed off at the shoulder, legs hanging on by puny threads of veins and severed flesh. I was working a double night shift that night when I got the call. For days the media has been broadcasting a necrophilia grave robbing the local cemetery or snatching a decimated corpse from the scene of a fortnights triple murder.

The bodies of Patrick Wilson age eighteen and Jared "Martini" Vasquez age twenty-six were missing. A few days ago the body of Patrick Wilson was left on a dirty bum-ridden sidewalk. Who ever this necrophilia was he could easily evade anyone from seeing him dispose of the body.

The body was taken to the medical examiners crypt. She found dried semen in the esophagus of our victim. Even with what we found within the body, we could not identify our "sex-fiend" nor was he in the system. There was also no hairs, no skin particles ... basically nothing to trace him with.

You know, seeing all these media reports about the "Necro-rape," as some refer to it as or Satanism, started making me wonder what his motives were. Random necrophilia in this city? Seems kind of odd.

The case hit a stand still within a week. Without the return of "Martini" the case couldn't proceed. Maybe he was being kept like one of those taxidermy animals. Maybe our fiend wasn't finished. Maybe our unit should wait a bit longer before we shut the books on this one.

I sat there staring endlessly into the mountain of photos. Set A were the ones taken at the scene of the triple murder. The bodies were distorted. One was shot in the eye, another was hanging ten feet above the crime scene on a rusted railing, and the one we know as Martini was sitting on a make shift bench within the alley. His head was cleanly sliced off his neck. The wound left no traces of weaponry or finger imprints. Poor guy never saw it coming.

Set B were the ones taken in the crypt after Patrick was recovered from the dirty sidewalk and after the autopsy was done. There was dirt on his body from how he was moved, but when I arrived at the scene all the bodies were accounted for. How can a body just disappear ... especially a dead one? Then it hit me; the medical examiners do the autopsies. No one is hardly in the crypt, but them.

They're all pretty normal people. All of them except Kanchelsis. I've seen him sit in the crypt during his lunch hour or sometimes he would take a gloved hand and run it along the stitches of a recent autopsy. He creeps me out with the dark Italian opera, like those dolls in the repair shop without their eyes. I'd hate to stereotype, but he looks like a necrophilia.

I set off to the crypt, hoping Kanchelsis was still there. If he wasn't.. well I have my suspicions. I arrived to find him stitching a recent autopsy together for storage until the relatives came to ID the victim for us. He hadn't noticed my presence when I stepped in. He only did when I touched his shoulder.

"I have a few questions for you. "

He followed me wordlessly to the interrogation room. Once we entered, he sat down without a word and innocence in whatever I wanted to question him about.

"What do you think of a dead human or animal being violated by a live person? " I asked hoping to get the truth out of him quickly if he was the necrophilia.

"If this is about that necrophilia taking bodies from the triple murder, then it is absolute blasphemy that you are suspecting me to do such a thing, " He replied calmly. " but I will admit that a dead body is a beautiful body. " With that he left the room leaving me in a stunned shock.

After the shockingly odd interview with Kanchelsis. Odd, because I was expecting that answer from an ME. I sat in my office reviewing the evidence collected from Patrick. The semen in the esophagus, the dirt on the clothing he was wearing, and the striations on his face; hopefully all of it would tell us where Patrick was being kept and maybe more about our fiend. All we knew is the necrophilia was male, homosexual tendencies, and that he body snatched two victims of a triple murder, possibly, right out of our crypt.

I was about to get more coffee to wake me for the rest of my long night shift, well, until I heard an automobile come to screeching stop. I leaned over and pulled down a few blinds to see out into the dull gray streets. There was a medium sized truck parked about seven feet away from the station. A teen about five or six feet jumped out of the back. Another got out of the driver's seat, he was about 6' 3," and walked to the back of the truck. He got in and quickly pulled off a blood stained sheet to reveal the body of a young male victim. It was the necrophilia less than ten feet from the station, but he had an accomplice?

The taller one dragged the body out of the back and dumped in against the wall next the Irish tavern. He motioned something at his teen accomplice. They talked for about 5 minutes, damnit I wish I could lip read. My right hand searched blindly around the desk for the binoculars with the taller man handed his accomplice something. I had to take my eyes away from them for a second. Well, within that one-second the taller one sped off leaving his young accomplice with the body of the unnamed victim. The teen however had the body pushed against the wall. I open the window to get a better view on what was happening.

There was a blue-green eyeball laying beside the body. I got an immediate sick feeling in my stomach. He was skull fucking the body. One of the teen's hand was on the wall to remain stable, and the other must be holding the skull to keep it from moving. ' That sick fuck. ' I thought to myself as I closed the window. I grabbed my radio and headed for the stairs. I was going to get this kid even if I had to shot him in the leg. I kept my mind focused on the kid and getting to him before he could flee the scene. Floor for floor I thought that. When I got outside he had just finished his, what I considered to be, sick display of affection.

"Hey kid!" I yelled out to him. Maybe not the brightest idea. He looked towards me startled. Hastily he put the eye back in it's socket and ran for it. Shit. Why did I do that? I ran in pursuit of him. He won't get away, not after that display.

"I need back up. I'm pursuing an average height teenage male on foot going down Clematis and 3rd. Long black trench coat, short spiky hair." I radioed in as best as I could.

Within minutes of my call, there were sirens along the streets. Little did I know at that time there was a blockade set up about twenty-five feet in the direction he was running. I continued to chase him towards the trap. My karma must be running low, because he saw the blockade and headed down another alley. Shit. I followed him warily this time. The stupidity of trying to get him over ruled the thought that the could be armed. He continued to run until he saw he picked the wrong alley to go down. There was a dead end. I ran to the nearest door within the alley. It was locked. As I neared closer to the sounds of him trying to break down the door, I drew my weapon and told him to get on the ground with his hands interlaced behind his head. Obviously this attempted escape was over. I phoned Kanchelsis about the body.

"K? There is a body about five feet from the station. Possibly covered in bloody sheets. I want you to ID our victim and this punk ass who ran."

"No problem Vince."

Before I even thought of going into that interrogation room with the punk ass we recently arrested, I decided I must know at least his name. Making a fool of myself wasn't on my schedule and this punk ass wasn't going to make on it. I sat in the hallway of the left sector waiting for Kanchelsis to bring me what I needed. Sure enough just as I thought of it, he came waltzing calmly down the hallway. Curse him.

"His name is Daragor Ryan. No known address, probably living on the streets, no living relatives, AB blood, black hair, green eyes, 5' 8," approximately 130 pounds and no criminal record. " He explained quietly. I rolled my eyes at Kanchelsis. 'I only wanted his name you tard.'

I entered the room silently. Daragor didn't look up to see what the sound was nor did he move at all.

"Let's get straight to the point, shall we?" I said as I sat down across the table from him. "Do you know why you are here Daragor?" He still didn't look up at me.

"Because I skull fucked a corpse?" There was not even the lightest hint of remorse in his voice.

"Yes, that is why." I was shocked that he was being so compliant. Most criminals would be an ass and make you spend hours of valuable investigating time on them, which often leads to threats. "You know that necrophilia is illegal right?"

"Your point being?" He had no remorse at all for that ... display. Unfortunately I did make a fool of myself in there. I left the room without answering his question. I walked out expecting Kanchelsis to be there. He wasn't. 'Fucker, why can't you ever stay in one place?!'

I headed towards the crypt hoping not to see him admiring another corpse. As I made my way there I ran into him literally.

"Vince, I was just about to head back your way. I finished the autopsy on our unnamed victim."

"Well, then, don't waste my fucking time. Tell me!"

I really should treat him better. He is helping me more than any other ME in this case.

"Well, not much can be said. He is the third victim of the triple murder almost three weeks ago and a week ago one of the newbies reported a missing body from the holding room. His name is Daemon Sync, 6' exactly, cyan eyes, approximately 145 pounds, brunette and he was our hanging victim."

"Kanch, don't tell me statistics tell me what I can use on Dara-whatever."

"Well, the blood on the sheets is Daragor's blood type and the saliva on it is his."

Will there ever be anything is the God forsaken case that doesn't shock me? A light bulb instantly lit up in my mind. I shot back down the hallway to the interrogation room. Daragor hadn't moved from the spot he was placed.

"We found your DNA all over the sheets of Daemon. You know, the one you skull fucked. It was your blood and saliva on those sheets, why?"

Daragor didn't say anything for several long moments. "Mellifleur is a rapist when there is no "hot bodies" dead."

"Mellifleur what?" I asked him impatiently.

"All I know is his first name is Mellifleur." I could hear it in his voice. He was lying to me.

"When there are no "hot victims", who does he rape?"

"His little brother."

"Who is his little brother?"

"Who the fuck do you think?!" There was a strong sense of hurt in his eyes and in his tone.

I stepped out immediately after that, leaving Daragor to that last remark and broken inside. Kanchelsis wasn't outside the door nor was he in the hallways. Damnit! I check the crypt where he was running an ID search.

"Vince, before you say anything. I heard what the kid said and I'm running a scan for a 'Mellifleur Ryan.' Now all we do is wait."

I stood silent for several minutes, waiting for the search to find him. Neither me or Kanchelsis said a word. He was busy filing out the forms necessary for the family to pick up the bodies of their loved ones. Within a few more minutes after that the search found an ID.

"Mellfileur Ryan, last known address is 1871134 Peace Avenue. According to the check-in log, he hasn't been home for about four days."

Well, that was disheartening. Mellifleur hadn't been home for days. Asshole. Just when we hit a major break, the technological logs show he is not there.

Kanchelsis couldn't tell me more than what he already did. Only minute statistics, which I didn't care to know, nor did he tell me. Since there wasn't much to be said about the case and Kanchelsis had other bodies to examine for other cases I decided to head home. The drive was short since I didn't live far from my workplace.

I stepped in to see my normal apartment; organized and a dull white scheme lining every crevice of the small space. I hung my coat upon the nearest chair and check my answering machine.

Normally there was late bill notices and telemarketer scams. Or at least I thought so until a synthesized eerie voice made a marquee across the room. It must be one of those voice disguises.

"I know who you are and I know what you are trying to do. I know you are curious towards my actions and how you got that little slut to speak. Close the case as a homicide and dispose of my DNA. You have three days to comply."

The machine beeped with the final message and nevermore did it play.

felt a cold chill run up my spine. Despite knowing it was a voice disguise was one thing, stopping the chill was another. Being a man I should be able to brush it off, unfortunately I couldn't. I sat there in the duress of the apartment watching the phone like a hawk. I was staring so deeply at the phone it almost made my soul depart from my body when it suddenly rang. I didn't pick it up, it just rang and rang until the answering machine took it.

"LT. Vincent Zephyr...." It was him again. "Why don't you pick up the phone?" He asked so slyly. here was no voice disguises; he sounded like Kevin Ogilvie from Skinny Puppy on the Singles Collect. "I can see you staring at the phone Vincent. You look like a half-beaten animal caught in head lights. Well, then, come on boy pick up the phone."

I turned my head to look out the window. I heard a low chuckle, a dark chuckle. He knew I was searching for him amongst the hundreds of apartments of surrounding buildings.

"Now, since you are too afraid to pick up and speak to me like a man, I'll just verbalize clearly this address. Get a pen wench."

'Wench?' I thought questionably. 'Oh right, I'm not being a man about this!' As I rolled my eyes at myself.

"147547 West Ridge Street. I guarantee you a surprise when you arrive, and Vince ... you're on my list for when you die..."

Seconds later he was gone and the machine stopped. Only the sound of my breathing and the gentle rain could be heard outside.

I sat in the window of my apartment watching the rain fall. I thought about the case and what had happened. I was given an address and I was sitting there like a fucking idiot. What the hell was I thinking? I almost slipped and fell on my ass as I ran down the halls and stairs that would lead me to the ground floor. I saw a couple outside and I wanted to pay them to use their car, but he might still be watching me.

West Ridge Street was in a neighborhood similar to those of the Bronx. Crime ridden, dirty and blood stained. As I drove to the location I couldn't help feeling like a pawn in chess. I was his to twist and turn which ever way he saw fit. What was worse is that he knew where I lived, where I worked, my home phone and he may have been stalking me. I tried to block out these thoughts out of my mind and just watched the overhead street lights disappear one by one.

I arrived at the warehouse. It was old and creepy looking. I almost backed out of this "quest" when my cell rang.

"Tick tock. Tick tock. Tick tock. Tick tock. Tick tock. Tick tock. Tick tock."

That fucking bastard has my cell too!?

"Once a upon a time there was a little boy named Vince. Vince had a dark secret. A secret that could ruin his career and life. A secret that would expose him to the cruel unrelenting world. Now if Vince was a good boy he'd go inside the building. I'll be watching."

His voice was sinister. I felt my defense breaking from the inside out. I turned off the engine, got out of the car and walked warily towards the building. I felt scared, confused and surging adrenaline all at once. The door was slightly ajar and the room was pitch black with the exception of a few lights and broken panes.

"Glad you actually had the balls to come on short notice Vincent."

I stopped cold under a light fixture. I couldn't see him and his voice felt like it was coming at all directions.

"Where are you, you son of a bitch?!"

"In your head...." He whispered faintly.

"In your head..."

I remembered my early teens. Those were the days I heard and saw objects that no one else could. I heard children screaming, laughing and crying during one of my class. I saw people committing suicide and cutting themselves on the teacher's desk, but no one else saw it. My parents would preach "Shut the hell up and act normal!" How could I act normal when it wouldn't stop?

"You're lying." I called out, fear still dripping in my veins.

He appeared out of the darkness. He was icy pale, like albinos, piercing green eyes, clean cut black dyed hair and a thick red scar on his throat.

"If I was lying, then where is your proof?"

I stood there wordlessly. He was in front of me; face to face.

"What's wrong Cat-got-your-tongue?" He smiled evilly.

I narrowed my eyes and scowled at him. "Fucking bastard! You're enjoying this aren't you?!"

"Why of coarse I am. You're breaking inside so easily. Such an easy target. " I hadn't realized how close he really was to me until I felt a blade against my throat. "Close the case or else."

"Or else what?"

He removed the knife from my throat and belted me across the face before stepping away back into the darkness. I was confused beyond all point when I felt liquid dripping on me. I looked up to the low ceiling to see hundreds of blood droplets ready to fall. 'Just great, someone just kill me now.' I thought as my white shirt was stained with those droplets. A few droplets stained my face and neck as it dried. I thought things couldn't get any worse until I heard sirens outside. Fuck.

"Life's a bitch Vincent." The was rattling and heavy foot steps coming from above. It stopped momentarily about a foot from where I was standing. There was a few shuffles and then a loud thud next to me. The over head lamp only partially lit the object. It was another body. There was at least twenty stab wounds, or what looked to be stab wounds. Mellifleur then threw a bloody knife over the side and it landed three inches away from the body.

"Tick tock."

After that there was only the sound of car doors opening and closing quickly. They all ran through the doors of the warehouse and demanded that I back away from the body and get on my knees with my hand visible. 'Why me?'

I sat there hand cuffed to the cool metal chair. I was dressed in a neon orange jumpsuit with a state penitentiary number embedded in the stitches. Finger printed and in system, what a good resume. Mellifleur was right; this is a surprise. Across the room was a saggy skinned old woman with a court issued typewriter in front of her and a man dressed in a formal suit and tie. He was stern and unmerciful towards me even though I was detective.

"State your full name for the record." He said sourly.

"Vincent Joseph Zephyr II"

"State your former occupation."

"LT. detective."

"Mr. Zephyr," He started slowly. "do you know why you were arrested?"

"No actually I don't." I openly confessed.

"The body you were standing by had your DNA all over it and your finger prints were on the knife we recovered. Care to explain it?"

I didn't answer.

"You will be charged for murder and you will spend a very long time in prison for this."

"I didn't do it. It was Mellifleur Ryan."

Just as I said that the room blurred, it became dark and unfocused. I heard the man yelling 'Get a medic!! He is having a seizure!!' I wanted tell him to shut the hell up and I was fine, but why should I? It's not like they would believe me anyway. I thought I was dying right there until I heard a familiar voice calling my name. I was met with the stone eyes of a medic. He was shaking me like crazy. What the fuck?

"Vince!!"

Someone kept calling me as my vision blurred and my environment went dark.

"Vince!!! Vince, are you okay?"

I got out of my daze to see Kanchelsis patting my head with a cloth that smelled like rubbing alcohol. He had on latex gloves and a first aid kit near. The cloth had some blood on it.

"What happened?" I was laying down on the cold, newly wax floor. I tried to get up, but he stooped me.

"Someone slipped Phenobarbital into your coffee earlier. Who ever it was put a little too much in the drink. You didn't notice anything until you bumped your head on the desk. After that you were out," he explained.

"How long?" I was holding onto his arm, because my world was still spinning and I felt like I would pass out again if I didn't have something to hold onto.

"We don't know. I came to find you when you didn't answer your cell."

"What about Mellifleur Ryan?"

"Who is he?" Kanchelsis looked at me in utter confusion.

"He is the necrophiliac in the triple murder case were investigating!!"

"Vince, our unit has no records of a Mellifleur Ryan anywhere. I think that sedative did a number on your brain perception."

I stared at him blankly. 'No record?' It didn't make sense. What I experienced was real and felt real!

"He is real!! I saw him!!"

"Vince, you should go home and rest. Obliviously it fucked you up."

Kanchelsis helped me up after he bandaged a gash on my head. I went home that day and rested like he told me to. The events that transpired made Kanchelsis worried and he sent me to a psychiatric therapist to "talk" about what happened. After a week weeks, I learned to accept the fact that Mellifleur was an illusion that my brain created, but I still wonder if it truly was. Everything that undetermined length of time was a hallucination.

Or so I thought when I saw Mellifleur in the local park one clear Saturday evening. I blinked my eye several time and looked around to see if anyone else saw him. When I turned back to where he was, he was gone. Only a piece of paper laying face up on the ground. All that was inscribed was three small words.

In your head....


Epilogue

Placed three years in the future


It was mid fall now, the leaves red, brown and a golden shade of yellow. The weather started to chill and the summer kill spree levels dropped. I walked slowly to work, no longer depended on that hunk of metal society called a car. I was walking down sixth avenue, along side many mirrors of all shapes and sizes and by black market editions of the Mona Lisa. I stopped briefly to admire the paintings. She was a beautiful woman for her time. As I was studying the painting I saw a blade shade in one of the mirrors. I thought someone was behind me, but there wasn't it.

Almost three and a half years ago after my hallucination I was sent to a psychiatrist who preached that what I experienced was just a dream, but I did not confess my secret. In the mirror I saw the same man who almost framed me with the murder and violation of a body. He was pointing to the sky which was smoke gray with a mid-fall rain. I smiled and continued my journey to work. I was more agile and happier since I realized who I was, again.

My name is Vincent Joseph Zephyr and I am a nocturnal necrophiliac. Since I can't steal any bodies from crime scenes and take them home for a night or so, I have the medical examiners crypt to myself once Kanchelsis leaves for the night. Then I would sneak my way inside and choose the male of my desire. Yes, I said male. Sometimes I'd take out the eye if the papers said eye transplant. I'd deepen the holes on bullet wounds. If the head was decapitated from the body previous to death, I'd sink myself into the esophagus. If not, well, there is always the ass.

That night, when Kanchelsis left to go home, I sneaked into the crypt. There was a six-hour-old autopsy waiting for me. The boy was not even eighteen yet, and already so fresh. This young man, according to the papers, died from a drug over dose at the juvenile age of sixteen. Poor stupid, stupid boy.

I carefully moved him from his container to the autopsy bed. 'Damnit, he looks so delicious. Cold and lifeless, Oh God, such a beautiful work of lifeless art. He is mine until the family takes him away!' I traces the lines of his skin admiring how such a beautiful being subjected himself to the unholy discrepancy of drugs.

"Mine."

I slipped the remaining clothing, which was only a small blue cloth. He laid there open to the eyes of the world and to mine personally. His eyes were still intact, the hallucination I had made me want to skull fuck him. How I wished to show such an art his worth to necrozation. However, I couldn't be a necrophiliac if he wasn't dead.

I made sure the doors were locked before returning to my prize. I stripped down and got on the table for better access. I put the cradle used to hold a body lateral during an autopsy under his pelvis. I'll never remember what that cradle is called. His hips were in easier access to his previous position and I moved his legs so his ankles were hanging off the edge. He was beautifully exposed.

There was no need for prep. Every muscle in the human body relaxes instantly after death, allowing any sort of violation to occur. I easily slid into his cold body. I've almost forgotten how good this felt. Ever since I got a job, I haven't been able to find what I desperately needed! A fresh fuck. I moved harshly in and out of his body. Oh God, this was so good. Yes, he was cold and dry, but not for long. Foolish me, I thought he wouldn't move placed on the cradle.

I gripped his cold body and pushed in harder, not letting him slip his way off the table. My overheated body pushed against an icy dead one. Despite was some people think, I prefer a dead body over a live one. There is no marriage, no meeting the parents, no relationship, no family, no reproducing, and no reason to worry. Even if I am persecuted for showing my affection to what I please, the so be it.

I felt over heated in the midst of the cold room and I felt my impending orgasm nearing. The boy's dead was hung over the side of the table as I pounded into his body. The way his head was moving reminded me of my first violation, a member of the local Parish. I felt like a priest of the Vatican when the molesting of little boys were announced. Partially proud and full of denial. It was a twenty-one-year-old body. My friend actually, he signed a document we made on a napkin stating I could violate him if he died first and vice versa.

I couldn't hold myself back when I thought about the day my friend died and how good he felt. I came inside the young victim, humping him like a bunny during mating season as I rode out my euphoria. Despite how tired I was, I put him back in his container, but before I closed him up, I looked at his identification tag. 'Daniel Luicus Moral', it read.

"Well, Daniel - you were a good fuck."

I pushed his body into the container and closed to door. I redressed myself and casually walked out the door and out of the station sated.

And that, boy and girls, was my secret and how beautiful the dead is.

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^_^ Hi.

So who barfed, is going to barf or has thought about, but is not sure about barfing? =D

Reviews welcome.