Beyond the Pale

by E. J. Wood

  ‘You should have said. I’d never hurt you, remember that, you are my girl, my one and only.’

  He kisses my forehead and Mrs Finnegan pauses her rant. Harold’s eyes are fixated, black and piercing and Guy turns towards them clasping my hand.

  ‘Please excuse us; we have another engagement to attend.’

  The light tapping of a speaker phone pauses everyone in the room and the hum of voices dissipate. A clearing of throat silences the room as a bald man of average build steps up and greets the guests.

  ‘Good evening,’ he smiles. The orator skilled in rhetoric clears his throat once again to silence the mumbling of voices and Guy wraps his arm around my waist. I could see Mrs Finnegan nearby eyeing us closely and I press against Guy closer returning my gaze to the public speaker.

  ‘I would like to thank you all for joining us this evening for the charity gala in honour of our closest ancestors, the apes. We have some very generous and wonderful guests amongst us and as some of you are aware we have managed to surpass our aim of 300,000 dollars.’

  There is a loud cheer and clapping of hands as the mumble of voices roar. The smile of the orator seemed genuinely pleased with the outcome and took the microphone again.

  ‘What I would like to discuss with you this evening before I leave you to continue and please do, the buffet is exquisite, is; do we really need motivation to help others? The answer is no, we know what we can do to help and we even know why we should do it. Change and happiness can only be created by ourselves and our environment can only improve with the help of ourselves but why can’t we find this balance in life? Why are we constantly fighting a losing battle? How do we motivate ourselves to change? To quit smoking, lose weight, stop abuse, animal cruelty and destruction of our rain forests? We already know, why, when we should do things but the question that is so trivial to most is how? Nowadays with books and film you would think that this would be the easiest to answer and the simplest to solve so I’d like you to raise your glasses and toast to the gorillas that we all so cherish, focus on your target and reach your goal, you, every one of you is apart of this evolution. We all need to learn from our mistakes to find the right path to happiness and with unity we can help save these animals that don’t have a voice of their own.’

  The room erupted and hands applauded left right and centre and Guy smiles clapping his hands. I grab his arm and pull him close so he can hear.

  ‘This is a wonderful thing you are involved in. The gorillas are very lucky,’ he turns and embraces both arms around me.

  ‘The money is going to be used into building a new larger enclosure. We have just managed to rescue two beautiful chimpanzees.’ His face looks sorrowful and I lean in further.

  ‘Go on,’ I urge.

  ‘It’s dark Amelia; it’s not something you would want to know.’

  ‘Hey tell me, I’m your girlfriend remember, no secrets,’ I wink smiling at him.

  ‘Let’s go sit down, I will tell you about them,’ he grabs my hand and we walk towards one of the tables complete with sheer white draping table cloths.

  ‘They are survivors Amelia; it’s very ugly and affects me personally. They were in confined captivity against their will and hadn’t even committed any crime, locked up like criminals. Because they are chimps, just chimps, different from us, but they have similar thoughts and sensitivity to human beings, they are children. I remember the first time I held an ape’s hand, the leathery feel of his palm and fingers, a real physical connection.’

  ‘I’d love to go back and have this experience. What is going to happen to them?’

  ‘They will need a lot of re-habilitation and this money raised tonight will help towards that. It will be a long process. They were dressed in cowboy outfits; sailor suits and ripped prison garb very much like the 1950s. They were forced to pedal or drive electric cars and walk on stilts. One rode a motorcycle and ponies, things completely unnatural. They never saw natural ground, all tiled, cement and cages.’

  ‘If it’s unnatural why did they perform?’

  ‘Acts like this ceased in 2003, not long ago and now are considered animal cruelty acts but many still operate illegally. The animals succumbed out of fear often prodded, beaten and even starved as punishment. Orang-utans are usually used in boxing matches in illegal entertainment industries and hopefully as organisations like this grow, they will be shut down.’

  Guy’s face is intense, serious and intimidating. He is passionate about helping them and I smile wrapping my arms around his neck. My Guy, my big ape.

  ***

  The night is long and drawn out and we are one of the last to leave the gala. I wouldn’t be surprised if there were in excess of three hundred guests. My feet ache from the red soled Louboutins and I flex my toes back and forth releasing the tension. Always wear expensive shoes, believe it or not, people notice. My legs push down the bed slowly as to not disturb his all mighty majesty. Feeling tired after yet another hectic and stimulating day; I ponder how Guy manages brainstorming my plan of returning back to work and the usual conundrum of day to day tribulations.

  CHAPTER 18

  The room applauds in praise and encouragement as I step into work for the first time in weeks.

  ‘Amelia?’ Cross bellows as he hurriedly rushes towards me before I have even placed my briefcase down at my desk.

  ‘Cross,’ I nod with the walk of shame.

  ‘I hope you are feeling well, it is good to have you back and we have all missed you very dearly.’

  ‘Thank you, I’m starting to see the light.’

  ‘Good. I’d like you to join me this morning, John is waiting.’

  ‘John?’

  ‘Yes, we have a DB. I’d appreciate your view, that’s only if you are feeling up to it?’

  ‘I’d like that very much, I am truly sorry,’ I apologetically reply.

  ‘No need to be sorry, your gentleman friend informed us.’

  ‘Informed you?’

  ‘Yes of your loss.’

  My brows crease, what did Guy say?

  ‘Oh thank you,’ I mutter, ‘I will be with you in five.’

  ***

  Braiding my hair back away from my face I dress in the usual laboratory attire ready for the DB. Cross didn’t give too much away and my mind runs wild at what to expect. The room is stark, sterile and cold and a white male body lies upon the cold steel slab. The autopsy table is a slanted, aluminium table with raised edges that has several faucets and drains used to wash away collecting blood. Photos of cadavers and videos are displayed on the walls along with regulations of the cadaver lab with proper dissection techniques. Hearing about an experience is very different from living it but it’s fascinating none the less. The smell is horrendous, the pungent smell of rotting flesh pervades the room and the hum of an air ventilator chills it with a constant airflow to hide the smell. When organic matter in dead bodies decomposes by bacteria it releases noxious gases such as sulphur dioxide and hydrogen sulphide. These combinations of smells are enough to make your stomach churn and I quickly grab the vapour rub dabbing it under my nose before inhaling anymore. Must take note – come fully prepared! This isn’t like medical school, a rookie mistake.

  ‘I will be printing and laminating the blood vessels to prevent the body fat soaking through, Amelia. If you could just help roll John over we will start the incisions on the back.’

  ‘Why the back?’

  ‘The chances of destroying the large back muscles until you are accustomed to dissection are minimal and this area is very impersonal. Think of it as protecting your innocence a little longer, until you have fine tuned that sense of smell,’ he winks.

  The hours pass at a phenomenal rate and I find myself resting my arm abreast the victims head. A wolf whistle sounds in my ears; Cross is tugging on one of the tendons as he continues dissecting nerves and blood vessels. The index finger of the cadaver raises and tickles my sense of humour.

  ‘I doubt this is the right time and pla
ce, don’t you?’ I smirk.

  ‘We’ve been in here for hours Amelia, lighten up.’

  I look down onto John’s face; his pallor expression is grey and empty. I have never really given a cadaver a name; then again, I have never actually performed an autopsy myself. Giving them a name makes them human and not just a piece of meat. I stare into Cross’s eyes momentarily and observe his concentration removing unnecessary parts and placing them into the bright orange biohazard bucket beside the slab. I had never really realised how cool, this could be.

  ‘What happened about respect and confidentiality Cross?’

  ‘Are you serious?’ he chuckles, ‘if you have finished on the back, grab the body block behind you. Let’s get his chest protruding.’

  I pick up the voice recorder on the adjacent table and place the block beneath John as he rolls onto his back and I note:

  ‘ Race – White Caucasian

   Sex - Male

   Hair colour and length – short, brown

   Eye colour - blue

   Approximate age – 35-40’

  I gulp as the odour tortures my nose. At the moment of death the body will release body fluids, mucus, spit, urine and the bowels will open up. If the body were left for almost a day it'll start to bloat and turn mostly black; our John is almost there.

  ‘Approximate time of death?’ Cross requests.

  ‘24-36 hours ago.’

  John appears to be asleep, his facial muscles are relaxed and his horrified expression is now gone.

  With twenty stab wounds it takes a while to describe the size, shape and location of each wound. We are only given a 24 hour window by homicide wanting to know the cause of each wound and where the victim was positioned when stabbed. If more than one assailant is involved, it’s the pathologist’s job to determine whether one knife or more was used and which fatal stab was the cause of death. This is going to run into the night.

  The scalpel with an engraved razor sharp blade is a graceful arc of glinting steel juxtaposed against the solid carved grip. It makes me instinctively have the desire to test its weight in my hand before admiring its gleam under the luminescent light of the lab. I slice into the skin from shoulder to shoulder meeting at the breast bone and extending down to the pubic bone.

  ‘Nicely done, Doctor.’

  ‘Thank you Cross.’

  ‘You have a real art for this!’ he looks bewildered and fascinated at my incision.

  I begin to peel back the skin, muscle and tissue from John prying it away from the bone with the scalpel and place the chest flap over his expressionless face exposing his rib cage and neck muscles.

  ‘Good Amelia. I will remove the larynx, oesophagus and other arteries and ligaments. I’d like to weigh these,’ Cross exclaims as he severs the organ’s attachment to the spinal cord, bladder and rectum. He gleams up at me and nods go ahead.

  ‘He’s all yours Amelia.’

  I remove the organs and weigh them individually. His liver is heavy weighing about three pounds and flimsy in my hands. I slice off the portal vein like butter in one swift manoeuvre and place it into the aluminium tray beside me. I smile remembering one of Aunt Gladys’s steak dinners and lick my lips reminiscing the taste. It was succulent, mouth watering and blue just before the meat contracts too much. John lies motionless, with only his cavity remaining. I remove the block from beneath his back and position it under his neck lifting his head. The Stryker saw is an intimidating piece of equipment and reminds me of Ghandi’s quote as I turn on the machine “the best way to find yourself is to lose yourself in the service of others.” How apt. The cap is cut to exposes his brain, I severe the tentorium and lift out his brain effortlessly.

  ‘Go on get home, you are exhausted. I will finish up. We’ve been in here for hours. Give me a report tomorrow morning.’ Cross urges as he stands beside John with bloodied gloves and a heart in his hands.

  ‘I’m fine honestly,’ I smile retracting the saw away from John.

  ‘You look like you are enjoying this a little too much with that smile.’

  ‘Oh no, just a fond memory came to mind.’

  ‘Whilst removing the liver? Heaven forbid.’

  We laugh in sync as he brushes his bloodied finger over my hand after weighing the heart.

  ‘You are very special Amelia.’

  ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘Don’t play coy. I’ve been watching you, you little cock-tease.’

  I dismiss his last comment immediately; perhaps I misheard?

  ‘I’m not sure I’m following?’

  ‘Don’t think I have had you all to myself for your skilled work Amelia and the way you dress lately, well.’

  His hand grabs me across from John clasping it firmly on my wrist so I cannot move.

  ‘I suggest you remove your hand before I make your skin into a lampshade,’ I threaten holding the scalpel in front of his face.

  ‘You wouldn’t dare, you’re just a frightened little bitch, a cock-tease, a cheap whore.’

  My heart beats furiously and his grip tightens and constricts like a python attacking its prey. I swallow rapidly anticipating Cross’s actions as he makes his way round to my side of the table. His movements are slow, predatory and his eyes are black, intense and piercing.

  ‘I said let go,’ as I struggle. Just wait Amelia, think of your job first, be patient. My subconscious advises. She is right!

  ‘Your tight fitted jeans, silk blouse and my just watching your nipples stiffen give me a hard-on. Did you notice the chill in the air Doctor? Cold enough to tighten the capillaries around your nipples, they are perfect and your ass, little whore.’

  Cross forces himself towards me pushing me firmly against the refrigerators and grips my wrist forcefully so I drop the scalpel to the floor. He slams me against the refrigerators a second time. The chill of the aluminium against my back sends a spine chill and bolts me upright. Cross is strong and pushes his body against mine, his erection firm stabbing at my hip and his breath is warm and belaboured. He secures both my wrists in one hand above my head.

  ‘Don’t move bitch,’ he spits.

  Cross removes the blood stained gown. The familiar sound of a zipper happens below my belly button. He undoes my trousers and starts caressing my breasts firmly tweaking my nipples beneath my shirt. I cringe and struggle but his grip tightens and my skin shafts against the bone.

  ‘GET OFF ME,’ I yell. His lips meet mine forcing themselves as he penetrates for the first time; his slimy wet tongue searches for mine, wanton, eager and rapid.

  The more I struggle the firmer is his grip and he pulls away from me with aggression.

  ‘Whore,’ he growls, spitting saliva at my face as he shouts inches away from me.

  His hand rises and swiftly makes contact on the side of my face. I drop to my knees clutching my cheek, horrified and gasping for breath. His body is heavy and slams on top of me. I am helpless beneath his weight as he straddles me forcing his hands between my legs shoving his fingers inside me.

  ‘I will teach you to defy me, bitch.’

  His voice quietens and I close my eyes praying for it to end and lie motionless. A tear descends my rose cheek and my body is pushed and pulled and ripped apart. My hair is yanked and a handful of wadding is shoved into my mouth to silence me. My clothes by now are drenched with blood, stained from my cut wrists and the blood that oozes slowly from my cheek. His pleasure is my pain. His hair is sweaty and he bites his lips as he forces himself inside me after pulling my jeans off and moans in triumph licking his fingers. You’re going to get what’s coming to you my subconscious warns as I lie motionless and weak at the shock. The tears stop as I gaze down on to my body watching Cross fulfil himself at my expense, his eyes close, and he groans swaying in and out as he strokes himself inside me. The fear leaves and anger prevails and my body stiffens as he groans in excitement. I want to scream but I can’t. My tongue tries to push the wadding out but fails and as I twitch my right hand I realise
it’s free, moving it slowly away from my side. My eyes dart besides me finding the scalpel on the floor only inches away from me and my hand reaches towards it. Cross starts to convulse and his muscles tighten contracting on top of me. His groaning increases in volume as he prepares to climax. I stretch and grab the scalpel lunging it towards him and he groans in a cataclysmic state as I slice his torso and scream releasing the wadding. My face is purple from anger. Get him Amelia, teach him a lesson, do it, do it coward my sub-conscious screams at me. Cross lies on the floor clutching his chest, his trousers are round his ankles and he moans in pain. Blood starts to pool on his skin.

  ‘Stop Amelia, please, I’m sorry, I will quit anything, don’t do it,’ he begs with one hand palm faced towards me.

  ‘Now who’s a limp dick?’ I scowl.

  My breathing steadies and I pull up my trousers over my sore traumatised area, cringing as the fabric scrapes across my tender skin. A metallic odour wafts under my nose tormenting it. I don’t know whether it is coming from the body drawers, the table or the blood stained scalpel blade. I can taste it. It’s thick, opaque and claret in colour and feels smooth as I rub it between my fingers bringing it closer to my nose. The blood smells like Aunt Gladys’ change jar she would have next to the warm apple pie. The morning sun would heat it up and perfume the whole house with its metallic odour. The smell is sickening, but familiar none the less.

  ‘You are a sick bitch,’ he spits.

  ‘You rape me and call me sick? Hmm intriguing but don’t you forget it!’

  My tongue extends and licks the end of the blade wiping clean the blood and delivers it into my mouth to saviour the taste.

  ‘Hmm like old copper coins,’ I swallow, dropping the scalpel and kicking him firmly as I walk out. I leave him coiled in the foetus position accompanied by John.

  ***

  The Cadillac roars as I turn on her ignition and I sit quietly. Was it really sexual assault? Have I just been raped? I shake my head in disbelief and grab onto the steering wheel. I caress myself between my legs and wince in pain. I feel so numb. Why am I so calm? Why can't I cry? I feel dirty and panic remembering Guy. Will he be able to tell that I have been raped? I’m so ashamed. Perhaps it was my fault? Maybe I wasn’t firm enough? I try hard to remember my encounters with Cross and shake my head. There is nothing I could have done that could have prevented this. I start to cry, not at the actions but by seeing Guy. I’m worthless, what will I do? What can I say? I put the car into gear and drive home. A car sounds its horns, people shout, bushes move and everything makes me jump. I’m agitated, anxious and sore. I sigh deeply taking in a deep breath to re-arrange myself wiping tears from my cheeks. Wincing at the cut I stroke my hair into shape, combing it behind my ears and button up my shirt to make sure that my breasts aren’t running away with themselves. As I step out of the car I see Guy and muster a smile. He gallops elegantly towards me shouting my name and sweeps me up into a strong embrace kissing my forehead forcefully.