The Autopsy of Her Sins

Tags: Ghost Perspective, Biased Family, Medical Examiner Mother, Family Regret While I was being butchered alive by a killer, my medical examiner mother was busy shopping with my adopted sister, Rachel. After gouging out one of my eyes, the killer used my phone to FaceTime my mother. The call rang a few times before being flatly declined. When the killer tried calling again, he had already been blocked. He looked down at me with a mocking smirk. When the police were called to the crime scene, my mother stared at my mangled corpse, repeatedly cursing the killer’s sickening cruelty. She just didn't realize that the girl lying there—dead in the most horrific way imaginable—was her own daughter. My body was discovered in the backwoods behind the hills. By the time I was found, I had been dead for a week. Under the sweltering summer heat, the corpse had already decomposed and begun to reek. The morning jogger who found me was pale as a ghost. He vomited uncontrollably as his trembling fingers dialed 911. A sudden, urgent call dragged my mother away from Rachel’s birthday party, sending her rushing straight to this cold, gruesome crime scene. Though she had seen countless nightmarish scenes throughout her career, her brow instinctively furrowed the moment her eyes fell on my mutilated body, a flicker of pain crossing her face that she couldn't hide. After a week of intense sun exposure and decomposition, the body had already swollen into a horrific, bloated state. The face had been smashed in with a heavy object—a bloody, pulpy mess of shattered white bone. I was stripped stark naked, parts of my broken bones piercing right through the rotting flesh, exposed to the world like a silent scream of agony. My mother slipped on her gloves to begin the preliminary examination. The body was a sticky, liquefied mess. After a long moment, she reached down to my ankle and removed a bracelet dangling a tiny puppy charm. I watched her, a knot forming in my chest. My grandmother had given me that bracelet before she passed away. It was on my birthday. Rachel and I were born only a day apart. Yet Mom and Dad could never remember my birthday. Every year, after throwing a lavish, extravagant party for Rachel, Mom would head straight back to the department and stay gone for weeks. That year, Grandma had painstakingly woven that bracelet for me, even engraving my name onto the charm. When Rachel saw Grandma give it to me, she pretended to be jealous and called Mom, crying. That evening, Mom stormed into the house and lashed out at me furiously. "You're actually jealous of your sister? Just because I threw her a birthday party, you ran to your grandmother to stir up drama and spite Rachel? Why are you so malicious?!" Mom glared at me, her voice dripping with venom. "Emma, don't play these petty games with me. So what if you're my flesh and blood? Rachel has lived with us for twenty years. She matters infinitely more than you ever will. You're nothing but an ungrateful stray!" With that, she yanked the bracelet off my wrist, sneered at it, and snapped it in two before hurling it out into the yard. The memory was still burned into my mind. That night, I had sobbed in the dark bushes for hours until I finally found it sitting in a muddy puddle. I thought Mom would definitely remember that bracelet. Instead, she expressionlessly dropped it into an evidence bag. I let out a soft sigh. There was no sadness left in me, only a deep sense of resignation. She never loved me. How could she possibly remember? When I was little, both of my parents were busy with work and left me to be raised by my grandmother in the countryside. While other kids had their parents by their sides, little me spent every waking moment praying for the day they would come take me home. When I turned nine and had to start school, Grandma told me that Mom and Dad were finally coming to bring me back. I was ecstatic beyond words. Yet on the way to pick me up, Dad ran into an armed robber. He never came back. Mom wept until she could barely breathe at Dad's funeral. When I was finally brought home, I discovered there was already another girl living there. That girl was Rachel.Rachel was the daughter of Dad's old partner from the force. During a raid years ago, her father was tragically killed in the line of duty, and Dad had adopted her. The way Rachel looked at me was packed with hostility and suspicion, as if I were a parasite intruding on her life. With tear-streaked eyes, she pointed a finger at me and screamed, "You stole my dad! You killed him!" I froze, completely at a loss for how to respond. Seeing this, Mom rushed over, wrapped Rachel in a tight hug, and gently whispered comforts into her ear. From that day forward, Mom blamed every single tragedy on me. Detective Miller walked over and asked Mom, "What's the situation with the body?" Miller was Dad's closest friend from the precinct. Mom rubbed her temples and said, "Female, roughly twenty years old. Preliminary cause of death is a severed windpipe caused by a sharp weapon. She suffered prolonged torture before she died." Miller lit a cigarette, took a deep drag, and slowly blew the smoke out into the warm air. "Damn. We need to close this before the media blows it up," he said grimly. He turned back to Mom. "The killer is still out there. It's not safe. Don't let Rachel or Emma wander out at night." Mom waved a hand dismissively. "I don't need to worry about Rachel. She's a good girl, always listens to me." Then, her face contorted in disgust. "As for Emma... I couldn't care less. I can't control her anyway." Miller sighed, hesitating for a second before saying, "Emma is your biological daughter, after all. Go a little easier on her." Mom shook her head. "You don't understand, Miller. She's the reason her father is dead. If only she'd come home and behave herself. Ever since she moved in, this house hasn't known peace for a single day. When she isn't picking fights with Rachel, she's pulling some other spiteful stunt." Just mentioning me filled Mom with bitter resentment. "Today is Rachel's birthday. Rachel has been asking for her for days, calling her non-stop. And what does Emma do? Ignores every text, declines every call. That's what you get when you don't raise them yourself. For all I know, she's probably dead in a ditch somewhere." Floating in the air, I listened to her bitter complaints without a ripple of emotion. For some reason, ever since I became a ghost, all those agonizing feelings had vanished. Under the pale fluorescent lights of the autopsy room, Mom stood in her white lab coat and rubber gloves. Her brow was knitted tight, and a complex look clouded her eyes as she stared at my mangled body laid out on the metal table. Her gaze was filled with unprecedented pity and heartbreak. In my entire life, she had never once looked at me like that. Her eyes slowly shifted, eventually landing on my lower waist. There was a horrifying, jagged scar there. It was from a fight with Rachel shortly after I had moved in. That day, Mom had just finished cooking. She gently stroked Rachel's hair, telling her to eat well and stay safe on her way to school. Rachel had put on her usual obedient, sweet act in front of Mom. But the second Mom turned her back, Rachel rolled her eyes in sheer disgust, violently wiped the spot Mom had touched, and muttered under her breath, "Disgusting bitch." Fury instantly ignited inside me. I lunged forward and grabbed Rachel by the hair. In the chaotic struggle, a ceramic bowl shattered on the floor. Rachel grabbed a sharp shard and viciously dragged it across my waist. I watched the blood gush out in torrents. The pain took my breath away. Meanwhile, Rachel burst into tears and called Mom. The moment the call ended, her tears vanished into thin air. She casually sat down on the sofa, scrolling through her phone as if nothing had happened. I, on the other hand, lost so much blood that my vision blurred, and I sank into pitch-black darkness. When I finally woke up, I was in a hospital bed. The first thing that greeted me was a violent slap across the face from Mom. She roared at me, "How could you be so wicked?! Just because Rachel took one extra egg, you butchered her like this?!" Dazed, I looked over at Rachel, only then noticing the small band-aid plastered on her arm. My soul hovered quietly above, watching Mom frown as she meticulously examined that very scar. After inspecting it, she said calmly to her assistant, "This is an old scar. It wasn't left by the killer." Right then, Mom's phone rang. It was Rachel.Mom quickly stripped off her rubber gloves, hurried out into the hallway, and answered. Her voice turned so sweet and tender it could melt ice. "Sweetie, what is it?" From the other end came Rachel's delicate, cutesy voice. "Mom, are we still getting dinner tonight?" "Tonight?" Mom hesitated, then quickly softened. "Of course. Mom will definitely be there." "You're the best, Mom!" Rachel chirped. "I wonder if Emma can make it, though. I really hope she comes. I've tried so hard for so long to make her feel like part of the family. I know she hates me... after all, I took you and Dad away from her for all those years..." At the mention of Dad, Mom's face darkened instantly. "Rachel, forget about her. She's a hopeless stray. If it weren't for her, your father would still be alive right now. She doesn't deserve to be my daughter. You will always be my precious baby." Rachel let out a soft, sweet giggle. "Uncle Miller called me today and told me to stay safe outside. You should remind Emma, too." Mom frowned dismissively. "Just look out for yourself. Leave her be." Inside the precinct's briefing room, the officers sat gathered around the long table. The moment Mom announced the autopsy results in a heavy, trembling voice, the entire room plunged into dead silence. Shock and grief were plastered across every single face. Because what had actually been done to me was infinitely more depraved than anything they had imagined. Both of my eyeballs had been brutally gouged out, leaving behind two hollow, black voids. My head was barely hanging onto my neck by a thin strip of shredded flesh. Not a single patch of skin on my entire body was intact; splinters of crushed bone were mashed into sticky, ruined muscle. Just hearing it described sent chills running down their spines. The case was colossal. Public outrage was surging like a tidal wave online, impossible to contain. The higher-ups were breathing down their necks, demanding an immediate arrest, loading an unbearable weight onto everyone's shoulders. The atmosphere in the room turned suffocatingly grim. Once the debrief ended, Detective Miller lit a cigarette, staring at Mom with furrowed brows. "I called Emma this morning, but she didn't pick up," he said in a low voice. "She hasn't replied to my SnapChat texts either. Isn't she home?" Mom let out a cold, mocking sneer. "She has legs of her own. I couldn't control her if I tried. She's probably playing her little runaway game again. It's hardly the first time." She was right. It wasn't the first time I had gone missing. The last time was a few years ago back in high school. Rachel had locked me inside an abandoned gym storage shed. It was located in an isolated corner of the campus where nobody ever walked. I screamed for help until my throat bled, but the only answer I got was my own hollow echo and dead silence. I was locked in there the entire night, shivering in the dark, until the elderly morning security guard finally found me the next day. When I dragged myself home, Mom and Rachel were sitting comfortably at the dining table, eating breakfast. Seeing me covered in filth and bruises, Mom blew up into an uncontrollable rage. She grabbed a broom and began beating me relentlessly. I tried to choke out an explanation, but she wouldn't hear a single word. She just kept swinging the broom over and over again. Back then, Grandma was still alive. I ran to Grandma's house, sobbing as I told her everything that had happened. Furious, Grandma dragged me back home, determined to demand justice for me. Yet when Mom saw us, she merely said with icy indifference, "Rachel didn't do it on purpose." Grandma unleashed a furious tirade, screaming curses at Mom's face. Only then did Mom finally force Rachel to step out and offer a half-hearted apology. My thoughts snapped back to the present. Hearing Mom's dismissive brush-off, Miller let out a heavy sigh. He didn't push any further. He just quietly finished his cigarette and crushed the butt viciously into the ashtray. That afternoon, a breakthrough arrived. The police tracked down the primary crime scene.An abandoned, half-built concrete shell on the edge of town. The news sent a jolt of adrenaline through the entire team, Mom included. Everyone scrambled to gear up, ready to head out for forensic processing. As the chief medical examiner, Mom was vital to the operation. She put on her tactical gear, her expression dead-serious and sharp, and climbed into the squad car with the other detectives. When the cruisers slowly pulled up before the rotting concrete skeleton, an overwhelming, sickening stench of iron and rot slammed into the car. The odor was so thick and pungent it made their stomachs violently heave. Mom and the others grimaced, took a steadying breath, and stepped inside the derelict structure. The interior was dim, thick with that vomit-inducing stench. The concrete walls were splattered with dried, violent arcs of blood; trash and rusty debris littered the floor. Staring at the horrific scene, my ghostly form couldn't stop shivering. The day the killer took me, the sky had been an ugly, bruised gray. Rachel had suddenly called me out of the blue. Her voice had sounded remarkably sincere through the phone. She claimed that after all these years, she finally realized how wrong she had been to me, and that she wanted to lay flowers at Grandma's grave to show her remorse. I didn't doubt her for a single second. After all, people could change, couldn't they? So without hesitation, I agreed to meet her. I followed the address Rachel texted me. It was an isolated, derelict factory yard, miles away from civilization, with nothing but the bitter wind howling in my ears. The second I stepped through the door, a crushing force struck the back of my head. Everything went black. As I drifted between agonizing consciousness and blacking out, I groggily overheard Rachel talking to a man. Rachel's voice carried a chilling blend of smugness and venom: "I lured her here for you. If you want your revenge, take it. Just don't ever contact me again." The man grunted, clearly annoyed by her attitude. "Keep your mouth shut. If you blow this, I won't hesitate to come after you next." Rachel waved him off with total disdain. "Relax. I want her dead more than you do." After Rachel left, the man realized I was coming to. He walked over slowly, roughly gripping my chin. His cold, soulless eyes seemed to drill right through my soul. He stared at me for a long, silent moment before slamming a heavy fist into my face. The sheer pain nearly suffocated me. Then, he pulled out a small, curved skinning knife. He waved the gleaming blade before my face, and without a shred of hesitation, carved my eye right out of its socket. The agony was so absolute I felt my soul rip in half. The entire world fell into endless darkness. As I passed out from the pain, the man didn't stop. He used my phone to place a video call to my mother, wanting her to see the horrific state I was in. Yet Mom declined the call without a second thought. When he tried calling again, he realized he had been instantly blocked. Cursing in disgust, he hurled my phone against the concrete wall, smashing it to pieces. When I woke up again, it was because he dumped a bucket of freezing water over my head. Soaked and shivering uncontrollably, my teeth chattered violently. I had no idea who this monster was, or why he was doing this to me. The pain was so blinding I couldn't even force a scream past my lips; I could only endure it in silence. I don't know how long I sat in that suffocating darkness before the man's raspy voice cut through the air again. "Because of your cop dad, my son is gone. He just stole some cash—did he really deserve the death penalty?" he sneered slowly. "A father's debt is paid by the child. You're going to pay for it with your life." With that, he picked up the knife and began slicing into my flesh, strip by agonizing strip. The torture pushed me past the brink of sanity, but I was completely powerless to fight back. In the end, I was too broken to make a sound, completely numb to the torment. All I could do was silently wait for death to swallow me whole. Back in the present, while Mom was hyper-focused on analyzing every blood splatter on the wall, a piercing ringtone shattered the silence of the scene. "Chief... the DNA results... they just came back," her assistant's voice shook violently through the speaker, unable to hide the terror and panic.