♫ ee-kk-ee-kk-ee-kk-ee-kk-ee ♫

I am on the bottom of an endless ocean.

The pipe is leaking. The spill has become overwhelming. My job is to fix it. I don't want to do it, but I'm not sure I have a choice.

So said the person in the diving suit, at least. I can't see them. But they're there. They've been there my whole life. Just in the corner of my eye. The words they have yet to even speak to me already exist in the back of my mind. They made sure of it when they made me. 

They've been waiting for the right moment.

♫ ee-kk-ee-kk-ee-kk-ee-kk-ee ♫ 

The moment is now.

♫ ee-kk-ee-kk-ee-kk-ee-kk-ee ♫

My ears are ringing. My head hurts.

The guy from forensics is giving me a funny look. Appropriate, for a clown. Then again, even a clown should have a right to laugh; and what a laugh I'm worth. Spend Friday night thinking you're gonna get drunk like it's the end of the world, only to get called down to a murder scene. Fantastic.

My partner — Deandra — is also giving me a look. But I don't think it's very funny. Pity rarely is.

I adjust my hat and step into the little suburban home. I don't really get a chance to steel myself; the body's right there, in the entrance hallway. Shit. Why didn't anyone tell me?

Dee starts giving me the cold facts.

"Olivia Hitch. Forty-three. Married. Stabbed twice in the chest. By all accounts, we're looking at a home invasion here. Neighbors saw a man in a mask breaking in. She heard it, went to investigate without waking the husband. Got stabbed for the trouble."

"What happened to the perp?" I ask.

"Let's take it one step at a time, hotshot, I ain't finished yet." she scoffs. "So their kid — name's, uh, Jacob — seemingly hears the commotion and goes to see what's going on. Sees his Mom dead and the perp robbing their kitchen. He screams. Dad wakes up. Before he gets out of the bedroom, the perp is already on top of the kid, about to cut him up, just like the mom. Except—"

She pauses.

I raise my brow. "Except?"

"Except — and this is according to what the Dad saw when he got to the kitchen — the Mom got back up and started hitting the perp. Our guy, suddenly feeling outnumbered, scrams out the window. Mom walks over to the hallway, collapses right here. Doesn't get back up again. Dad tries tending to her. By the time he figures it's too late, he realizes his kid's gone, too."

"Gone?"

"Gone. Haven't been able to find him since."

♫ ee-kk-ee-kk-ee-kk-ee-kk-ee ♫

I adjust the surgical mask on my face, glancing at the naked body spread out on the table before me. One last deep breath, and I finally give a nod to my assistant to start recording.

I clear my throat. "The date is January 21st, 2047. This is the official autopsy of Olivia Hitch. I am joined here by my assistant, Doctor Dee Ferdinson."

Starting with the incision in the chest. Her skin is already perfectly pale. Hard to believe she'd been alive just yesterday. What had her plans for today been?

"The only visible marks on her body are that of the two wounds in her chest, caused by a sharp instrument; most likely a kitchen knife."

Dee winces, as usual. She can't see them as the empty shells they become. Too young. Too naive. It's partially why I've always told myself that, should the worst have to befall one of us, she would always end up on my table, instead of the other way around.

"The sharp instrument pierced the lungs. I note the slight fracture in the ribcage. Most probable explanation is that the assaulter rammed into the victim when causing the first wound." I turn to Dee. "Saw, please."

I saw through the ribcage itself. With this, I can easily remove the lungs. The real interest is the heart. Given the only two stab wounds and the relatively short period of time she supposedly died in, there are only so many explanations. The most probable one is generally the correct one.

"As I suspected, the aorta is sliced open. Death would've been instantaneous."

This declaration, I know, will cause some trouble to my colleagues. But I cannot replace duty with convenience.

I allow Dee to pull her head open. I am surprised to find a metal plate hiding around the temple area.

"Oh." I say. "That's not right. She never had that."

"What, sir?" Dee asks.

I find myself touching my own temple.

My head hurts.

"Take her apart." I say.

Dee doesn't understand.

"Take her apart. Her arms, her legs, her organs — take it all apart. I can't look at her whole anymore. Just get rid of it. Get rid of everything, for the love of God."

♫ ee-kk-ee-kk-ee-kk-ee-kk-ee ♫

"God's love now shines itself upon Olivia." I stand at the altar, speaking before a congregation, all dressed in black. "She was a good woman. A kind wife. And a trying mother. For, indeed, brothers and sisters, the best we can all truly hope for is try. Try to do good. Try to live in the Great Dee's light."

I turn around. This is a eulogy, but there's no body. She wasn't a part of any church; mine or otherwise. What am I saying?

What am I doing here?

My head hurts again.

"But the Lord's light, brothers and sisters, is often blinding. It is easy to lose ourselves, just as easy it is to lose the sight of the people trying to walk alongside us. Indeed, by our very design, we've never been allowed anything beyond just trying. Olivia tried. And she—"

Something in my temple—

"—She tried her very best. She had a—a thing for teas. There was the whole phase. And then there was the—the man in the toaster. I call him Toaster Ghost. He tried to help me. He did help me. And it was the first time I ever saw a ghost possess a corpse. I saw my dead, lifeless mother rise and save me. For a moment, I was relieved. And then I was horrified. Because I knew. I knew."

There's something in my—

"Toaster Ghost left her immediately. He was horrified, too. He was screaming. That made me scream even more. What good is God's light if even the dead can still feel fear? What good is God's light if the most you can hope for is not being... stuck? If you can know all the secrets of the universe and still be just as screwed as anyone else? No comfort. No resolution. Only you. Only you, running back to that toaster, because existing on the outside becomes impossible. Either you're screaming, or others are screaming or your ethereal form is screaming; doesn't matter. It's back to the toaster. And even when you're in the toaster, you still want to scream. The light isn't any better than the dark — you're always screaming. That, brothers and sisters, is a punishment one does not deserve after all that trying."

I need to—

"And that is why, I will no longer walk in God's light. I will no longer try."

♫ ee-kk-ee-lephant! Yeah! ♫

I blink, slowly turning my head towards the old man.

He stares at what he's done. There's something rolling down my cheek. Tears? Blood?

The gun in his hand is shaking. A small pistol. Not just small; downright tiny. So tiny you could hold it just between your fingers. I remember reading about that. Aren't those supposed to be World War 1 relics? He's old, but he's surely not ancient.

Maybe it's just my mind playing tricks on me. Warped perspective and stuff. 'Objects in the mirror may appear smaller than they actually are,' and all that jazz. Whatever. I think I can be forgiven if I don't get the details right here.

I do have a bullet in my head, after all.

The old man drops the gun. His grip on my hand loosens, too.

I grab him by the collar and slam him against the counter. He's strong. But he's still old. He plops down in an instant. No need to take him to the back room, I guess.

I empty the cash register. There's blood on the bills. We'll have to wash them. How do you wash money? I'll have to look into that. No. Dee will look into that. She owes me big-time for this. Or am I still apologizing for the forest? Worst-case, we're totally even.

I'm having some trouble breathing. It's probably the Spider-Man mask. Man, Spider-Man sucks these days. I haven't read the comics in a long while — God, who would, there's like thousands of them — but they should've let Doc-Ock control the body. Probably the best thing they'd ever done with the character.

Oh.

I finished putting the bag in the money. I mean, the money in the bag.

I should go.

♫ Oooh, the elephant knoo-oo-oows... ♫

As I'm walking across the parking lot, I see Dee running from the camper. Why is she running? Oh, right. She must've heard the gunshot. Gunshot. Gun. Fake gun. Shit. I've left the fake gun in the store. Well, it's not a 'fake' gun, it's a TOY gun. 'Fake' gun would be like a gun that's actually not even in your hand. Whatever. Shut up. Back to the point. Fingerprints. Have to go back for it.

Dee's yelling something. I can't hear her.

She'll end up on that table before me. Wait, no, she already has. Table? What table? I'm—Right. Dead. Murder. Investigate. Partner. Detective? No. Not like that. Sister? Brothers and sisters, I have many of them. Except I don't. Where am I?

My knee hurts.

Everything's spinning. Everything's crashing around me. The world must be ending. It's horrible. It feels horrible. But I can't see it.

I can't see shit in this thing.

♫ ...You're a dy-ing roo-oo-oose! ♫