Physical (on hold)

Chapter 3: You Can't Die Twice

The cold, white light of the fluorescent tube hummed and crackled on the morgue's ceiling, making Jun's unshaven jaw twitch. His bloodshot eyes had blue circles around them and he gave them a good rub, blinking and squeezing them shut, to ensure the best possible eyeball resolution.

Ray had claimed this would be nothing more than a formality, but Jun didn't want to leave his brain any room for interpretation.

The coroner folded the sheet back over itself, down to the top of Odile's chest. Jun balled his fists, gulping. It took every ounce of the performer in him to hold his shit together, rather than crumble and cry. He couldn't bear to look at her face, so he started from her collarbones and inched his way over her shoulders, to her neck and her chin.

Something about her cyan lips gave him pause. He saw them bright red and beautiful for a split second, parted in ecstasy, exhaling a moan...

"This isn't right," he blurted and his terrified gaze morphed into a confused frown. "Something's not right."

"What do you mean?" the coroner asked.

Jun crouched and bent over to study Odile's body from all angles. Still avoiding most of her face.

"I need to see the rest of her," he demanded. "All of her."

The coroner raised her eyebrows. "Are you sure?"

Jun's jaw set, teeth gritted. "Positive."

The sight would be traumatising. Odile had fallen off the rigging at the top of the arena, to her death on the stage floor at the bottom. Her spine, her legs had been wrecked on impact. But if his hunch was right...

Jun heard the flutter of the sheet, his eyes closed, and breathed in as deeply as he could without choking on formaldehyde. Slowly, cautiously, he pried his eyelids open. An unexpected gasp escaped him too quickly to be stifled, even as his hand instantly flew to his mouth. Tears streamed down his cheeks.

"Should I – " the coroner began, but Jun held up a hand to prevent her from covering the body.

He swallowed his sobs and cleared his throat and wiped his cheeks dry. The medical examiners had done a decent job of stitching Odile back together, like the bride of Frankenstein. Yet despite the discoloured skin and disconcerting sutures, Jun remained confident that he could find what he was looking for.

It wouldn't do to start poking around for birth marks in inappropriate places, so he settled on surveying every visible detail of her body as it lay on the metallic table. Her toes, her thighs, her hips, her disfigured ribs... He stopped and did a double-take. The most unexpected of things solidified his doubt into certainty.

"It's not her," Jun stated, self-assured.

"What do you mean?" the coroner inquired.

"It's not Odile."

The medical examiner, the police officer in charge and Jun's old friend, Raymond Scarborough, all stared at the dancer as if he'd grown another head.

"Odile would have never gotten a Brazilian wax."

The doctor and the policeman looked fit to facepalm.

"Jun..." Ray summoned a consoling tone.

"She was a stripper," the officer brusquely interceded, "before Vincent Friday got her to do his show. Those girls wax everywhere."

"I suppose you would know," Jun mumbled to himself.

"What was that?"

"Listen," he resumed, louder, "I was a stripper, too, and I know all about grooming. Odile always refused to get more than a bikini wax, even in the most revealing stage costumes. Come to think of it, she never wore anything more revealing than a regular bikini, even when she was a stripper. Trust me, I know."

"Jun, I get it, I really do," Ray tried again, "and I can only imagine how heartbroken you must be right now – "

"I know what I'm talking about, Ray!" the dancer lashed out. "Don't you fucking patronize me!"

"You haven't seen each other in five years," Ray insisted. "A lot can happen in five years, Jun, especially in this industry. You know that better than anyone."

"I know Odile better than anyone. That..." He pointed at the body on the table. "...is not Odile."

"Who is it, then?" the officer challenged, hands on his hips. "It's true that she had a twin and they were pretty much identical. But Odette Proctor passed away five years ago. You were there, too. She can't have died twice."

"I wasn't really there. I was on stage with Odile, finishing up the last act of Swan Lake, when Odette overdosed in her changing room. I never saw her."

"This is ridiculous," the medical examiner intervened, draping the white sheet back over the body. "You saw Odile crash to her death. Hell, an entire stadium of people saw her fall! And you're saying it can't be her because of her pubes?"

The airtight door of the morgue refrigerator slammed shut with a loud thud.

"That's absurd and disrespectful," the coroner continued. "Her poor parents just lost their last surviving child. Are you really going to tell them that their daughter died twice? And if that's the case, what happened to Odile?"

Jun's trimmed fingernails dug into his palms as he clenched his tense fists tighter. "That's what I intend to find out."