The Heirs (The Heart's Edge Series, Book #1)

Chapter 6

When I was very little my grandmother had passed away and me and my sister only ever got to see her once because my mother insisted that we must not be taken near the coffin. Her face was covered by a viel when I had seen her and had briefly touched her cold hand before being taken back by a guard to a corner that my mother had secured for us in the large hall. Our relative kept going up to the casket and seeing her but I could only catch a glimpse of her.

Later, I remember I had sat with Adriana for a long time, telling her that grandma looked like she was a witch who lived near a moss covered lake and only came out of her crumbling cottage when she wanted to lure in children to feast on them. My father said that was not appropriate and I had shut up. It wasn't until I was older, that I understood why it was inappropriate.

I was only telling her what I saw - I argued.

I always tried to tell myself that no matter how harsh life might be, death must be a different sort of peace. One where even the cruelest tragedies couldn't reach you.

Today, as Julius lifted the white cloth and I came face to face with the dead body of the young woman, I knew that wasn't the case. Sometimes souls were troubled even in death. Death was sometimes slow and agonizing and showed no mercy even if you had already suffered in life enough.

The woman must be a few years older than me, perhaps in her early twenties, her face was full of youth and beauty. The supple curves of her body, although hidden under the white sheet, told of a life of luxuries. There was lightness to her features that made it hard for me to believe that she was not a pleasure to have wherever she went.

She had a husband, parents, friends, perhaps, even children. She must have laughed with them and cried in their sorrows. She must have danced under moonlight with her husband and must have hummed a sweet song in the morning while baking in the kitchen.

Perhaps, she was an artist. A painter. Her art cherished by proud parents and gifted to friends. A musician. Playing at parties for her friends and, sometimes, in the privacy of her room for her spouse.

I slowly peeled my eyes away from her face and looked at Ravenswood. He had discarded his jacket and rolled up his sleeves. He was already watching me carefully, the golden of his irisis reading my face as if solving a puzzle. I cleared my throat and looked at the table nearby.

He released a breath and spoke softly, "Professor Sclovisky is at the crime scene so we will have to carry out the autopsy ourselves. Would you like taking the notes or should I handle that?" He offered.

I looked at the scalpel and the bone saw laying in the table and then at the body. Kindness will only get you so far. It won't get this woman justice.

I shook my head, "I will take the scapel. Thank you." I hastily reached for the apron. Tying it around my waist, I disinfected the scaple by dipping it into a mild acid and wiping it off.

As I stood with my scapel hovering over the body, it was as if a door had been slammed shut between my mind and my heart. The sharp edge of the blade met cold flesh and red blossomed under it.

I let loose a breath when a made a clean incision.

It's fine. Just one more.

From the side of her chest to the heart, the scapel travelled with ease. The skin peeled back and I had to clench my teeth to stop myself from reacting to the pungent smell. Quickly, I picked up the bone saw and removed one of the ribs.

All this while, Ravenswood had been working silently at a sketch of the initial state of the body. His hand moved swiftly across the paper but the sketch was remarkably well made. He leaned over my shoulder to take a look at the insides that were now exposed and again started moving his pencil on the paper.