Rigor Mortis: The Prequel

9 December 1941

I stayed by Mr. Brahms's side when the men fled. A pursuit was the least of my worries; it was no use. People shouted and ran out of the tavern, yet I held his lukewarm body as close as I could as it slipped into a frozen carcass. His upper head was missing; it was horrendous. Bits of his crown stuck out of the broken flesh; parts of his skull scattered throughout the bar. While mourning out of shock, his warm blood poured and soaked into my uniform, but I didn't care. He was dead.

Before I knew it, reinforcements arrived. After the carcass got wrapped and handed over to the morgue, the police lent me a fresh set of clothes they had on hand. They offered to wash my bloodstained uniform, to which I declined.

Not even I could identify the source of paranoia and stress. Was it the firearm, or was it the corpse? I had no idea. They say that the worse the battle, the fewer people remember. I'd say it could have been the corpse.

___

10 December 1941

My train of thought has been disrupted numerous times since the accident. I told the press to leave my involvement out of the newsletters and in any form of media. It would have been a hassle. Still, they questioned me for personal remarks about my late employee. I could not answer. I barely knew him despite being so close.

He is a good employee. He was a good employee. Mr. Brahms seldom talked and kept to himself. He was a private person who didn't speak about his personal life. Mr. Brahms never gave me emergency contacts. As far as I knew, both his parents were gone. Be it passed or moved, I did not know. There were no friends or lovers either. He rarely chatted with the staff. There were times I wished he could have been more talkative. Despite his neutral demeanor, his expression always felt tired when they came around. It was very depressive.

I have decided to close the pub for a few months if that's fine with you, Mr. Brahms.

___

11 December 1941

Noticing as I was the only one who held accountability for his demise, there was a price to pay. As a failed manager and employer, I chose to play kin and attended the appointment at the morgue.

~

I attended the morgue the next day.

Upon signing Mr. Brahms's papers, they asked me if I wanted a burial or cremation. I answered cremation. As much as I desired to bury them, money became scarce as inflation rose. Besides, cremation was indeed cheaper and required less work to manage.

Though, the morgue notified me with an absurd statement. I requested to see the body.They kept saying his wounds never stopped bleeding. It seemed ridiculous when I first heard it. A corpse, those injuries never ceased percolating; what a statement! I informed myself when we headed toward the mortuary's cold chambers. I haven't seen Mr. Brahms since the tragedy. The thought of his corpse lying there, frigid and quiet, terrified me.

The mortuary assistant was already there when we arrived. The room felt flat and dim. The surrounding area grew colder as I walked closer to the center of the room. I dared myself not to look up, but I did anyway. And there it was, underneath rotten gauze, laid the corpse of my former employee.

They did not lie.

As opposed to his body, his head was left open and damp. Blood; blood flowed ever so slowly out of his wound and into a bucket carefully placed underneath to catch it. The bucket remains half full.

I stayed by his corpse, observing it with empty thoughts and tempered emotions. The sound of his blood trickling into the bucket triggered every nerve in my body. A few minutes later, amid silent daydreams, in the corner of my eyes, I saw it move.