Identity V Embalmer Novels & Stories

" William created the image and discovered it was more like a horror film. "I returned to the funeral home with the mortician to observe how he was repairing the man's body after the service. He worked on it for one night before allowing his family to bid farewell to the remains. A pile of decaying meat was not the guy he restored, but rather a man with healthy joints and muscles. This issue has most likely been handled by other morticians, and it is quite OK to take it back to the mortuary where it was done. It is none of his concern that he has one eye removed. However, he persisted in assisting the guy in regaining his sight and allowing him to move as freely as possible. He thinks that t

Finally, we both lay in bed, panting heavily. "So, aren't we going to give your parents a befitting burial? I mean, to pay them one last respect. They deserve it. I cannot believe your mom was so kind to me. She was like the mother I never had. Babe, their bodies have been embalmed for a long time. I think it's high time we laid them to rest," I suggested, watching Ramirez nod in agreement. "I guess I should inform the werewolf soldiers to prepare my armor," Ramirez said, looking at me for confirmation.

The cab stopped at the morgue and Jennifer stepped out, her face calm before walking inside with purposeful steps. Inside, the morgue melled faintly of flowers and cold air. The mortician looked up when she entered. Jennifer kept her voice low and steady. "I’m Vivian," she said. "I’m here for Susan Carpenter...my Aunt. I’ve come to take her body for burial."

Jay was choked up as he replied, “Yeah.” Jay walked over and gently placed his hand on Baby Robbie’s shoulders. He said, “Jens, the Corvettes picked up a female corpse on the mountainside. She has the military intelligence division’s mark on her body. Come and help Daddy identify her.” Baby Robbie looked at Daddy in shock. He was calling him Jens but was asking him to identify a military intelligence division’s corpse? That meant he must have known that he and Jenson had switched identities. Daddy had tacitly accepted their little plan.

When I cut my wrists, I sent the undertaker I hired my exact location. [It’s 304, Unit 1, Garden Road. Don’t get it wrong now. [Be sure to come two hours later.] Half a month ago, I learned that I had cancer, so I went online to hire an undertaker and asked him to provide the full service. I also asked him to come whenever I asked him to. The older generation always said that you had to be properly buried, or you would not be able to rest in peace, and I believed it.

His eyes had worked and watched with glassily, seeing the bare minimum about him, concentrated on fashioning the stone and chain. The blood seeped into the naked gem, streaking and dying it a rich red to contrast with the spun gold twine that it hung from. There had been little heart left to finish the ritual but he had finally spotted the tiny fragment of a vessel which was weaved into the blend. The embalmer was a strange figure, lanky and disproportioned, giving him the appearance of a panicked crane fly when he was in his master's presence and his limbs trembled. Relief washed over him as Am-Heh offered a curt nod after surveying his work. It had been a hard task, the inner cavity torn a

Quincy knocked on the door and called out, "Is anyone home?" Soon, a middle-aged man with a limp appeared. Caitlin recognized him immediately from the photo she had seen at the funeral home, but the man now looked completely different. His clothes were torn, his beard untamed, and he had the air of someone who had fallen from grace. "Who are you?" Gavin croaked, his voice hoarse. "We’re here to ask you about a matter," Quincy replied. "Two years ago, you worked as an embalmer at the third mortuary, correct?"

"Why can't I even see you for the last time?" Morticians held high regard for the emotions of the living and the dignity of the deceased. Helma clenched her hands. "Mr. Wilson, if you can trust me, I want to be Phillip's mortician." The ward became quiet. Wilson turned to look at Helma with confusion and anger in his eyes. "Miss King, I appreciate your suggestion, but my son is not a toy. I need to hire the most professional…" Helma pursed her lips. "Mr. Wilson, you have misunderstood me. I graduated from Greenville University's Forensic Medicine Department. I am also a professional embalmer.

As soon as possible," her voice broke as she spoke. After a moment of waiting, a tall, bald man with a cautious expression emerged from a corridor. His grin wavered the moment he laid eyes on me. "Mr. Smith?" I asked, even though I already knew the answer. "Yes, sir. How may I help you?" He stuttered. “I’ll be brief. Four of my men,” I gestured lazily to Rico, Torres, Franco, and Javi, “will act as pallbearers for the funeral happening next Tomorrow." I said, staring into his fear-streaked face.

"We took it to the old storage shed at the edge of the compound. Marcus is standing guard. Eli's given the order to seal it until we can arrange a burial tonight." I nodded, the clinical nature of his words doing little to mask the horror of the reality. Mr. Gable was no longer a mutilated father; he was a logistical problem, a biohazard, a body to be stored and disposed of. It was a necessary dehumanization, a survival tactic, but it left a cold, hollow feeling in my chest.