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CHAPTER TWELVE we're not the monsters
⋆*✧･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ:
WHEN YOU SMELL SOMETHING, OLFACTORY NEURONS—tiny cells located inside the nostrils—send electrical messages via axons to the olfactory bulb, part of the forebrain. Each of these olfactory neurons connects with a different neuron in the olfactory bulb, which then proceed to send information to other parts of the brain. Some of the parts that receive these signals—such as the hippocampus and amygdala—are the primary storage lockers for explicit memories. Therefore, a certain smell can trigger a certain memory.
For example, the smell of Jayme and Alphonso Hargreeves' corpses reminded Nadine of the others she'd found herself up close and personal with.
The first one had been Harold Jenkins. Nadine hadn't exactly been upset about his death—he was a serial killer that manipulated Viktor in order to take advantage of his powers, after all, and was the trigger to the first apocalypse—but the sight of his corpse, a gory pincushion of utensils, hadn't exactly gone down easy, regardless. There had been so much blood that she'd tried to stay away, but she hadn't been able to escape the vomit-inducing stench that had exuded from his cold, waxy corpse. The coppery and raw tinge of blood. The nose-hair-curling reek of rotting flesh. Even the faintest hint of bodily fluids—Harold Jenkins, like approximately fifty percent of people, had defecated right after death. It was horrific, repulsive, and, quite honestly, made Nadine want to curl up into a ball and die.
The Handler's body, too, had smelled nearly exactly the same, though hers was almost made worse with the addition of her sickeningly sweet perfume. Nadine had checked to see if she was still alive, but when she'd bent down to press her fingers against the freezing skin of her neck, she'd recoiled at the blast in the face of the same, unfortunately familiar, rot. It was just as horrible a second time, and she couldn't get away fast enough (though she did make time to strike the corpse across the face).
And those had been people she disliked.
Elliott had been, by far, the worst. Not only had his body shown obvious signs of torture—several missing teeth, a scalpel plunged into the upper lip, and a knife buried in his chest—but he'd smelled just like every other corpse. Rotting. Festering. Like trash left right out in the sun and an open vein and the inside of an outhouse.
It had taken Nadine a lot of will to be able to take the clamps out of his mouth and the scalpel from his lip, and that was only because she cared about him. She hated the fact that he'd become this sort of monster in death, though. Disgusting. Repulsive. Practically buzzing with flies.
He deserved better than that. She was glad he'd gotten a proper burial.
There had been the Swede, too, but Nadine had been still recovering from the supernova within her mind while dealing with him. Perhaps the illness had actually taken the edge off the stench. Whatever the reason, though, she didn't remember this one as clearly as the others.
