For the Record, I Love You

The cold air prickles his skin, raising the hairs on his arms. William tugs the sleeve of his coat to his wrist, adjusting his position above her body. A loud click fills the silent room, and a bright light illuminates the silvers of the table, adding a shine to the greys and blues of her cold, lifeless body. "Well…" William reaches down, twisting her toe tag toward him reading her name. "Ah, Gabby. It's been nice working with you, but it's time to go into the freezer," he says, pulling back the long plastic curtains pushing the embalming table to the refrigeration unit.

He stares at the clock waiting for time to pass, then closes his eyes. Home becomes a desperate craving when every day you are surrounded by the mangled bodies of those misfortunate enough not to escape the infected. For five years since he made it inside the gates, William Fernay has worked as an autopsy technician for those brought in from the outside. Once a week, Scouters make maps outside the walls, killing those who turned into monsters, finding new trails and natural resources, and bringing back survivors as well as the bodies of those who have passed.

The infection took out fifty-seven percent of the population seven years ago, destroying nations by the minute. What was once the adventure is now suicide, and what was once safe is non-existent. Though the disease becomes more controllable with each passing year, the number of the bodies brought in from the outside, disfigured and unrecognizable, never cease to come in by the hundreds a day.

Finally, the clock strikes 2:30 PM, and it is time to go home. His brain numb and thoughtless, William leaves for the day. The smell of embalming fluid sticks to his clothes, fading as the outside exposure releases the chemical smell into the fresh air.

As he walks, his emerald eyes fixate on those of the living, scanning their bone structures and how vibrant and alive their skin looks. Then his eyes lock on a woman. His empty mind is suddenly rushed with too many thoughts to hear at once. "Miss!" he yells, confused and shocked at his own reactions as he grabs her vibrantly tattooed arm. She turns to him; her brown eyes shine bright in fear and confusion.

"Who the Hell are you?" Her black hair falls in the frame of her face as she yanks her arm away. William wasn't sure what it was, what was compelling his need to talk to her. It wasn't sexual attraction, nor was it a long-lost friendship. He scans her frantically, looking for an explanation for his actions.

His eyes roll over the color that lays pigmented and bright to her pale and almost lifeless skin. Something was off, but… what was it? Then his attention lands on her neck, where a heart-shaped locket lays perfectly against her skin, displaying the words, "For the record, I love you." Words struggle to fall from his lips, attempting to formulate a sentence. "I… I'm sorry. I-" He pauses, realizing he needs an answer that won’t scare her away. "I think you're beautiful." He shakes his head. That’s not the correct response. "No! I-"

"Look, I'm not interested. Please don't just grab random people to hit on them,” she interrupts, turning to walk away.

Distressed, William reaches out to her. "Wait! Please wait." He bites his inner cheek and pulls out his phone. "Hear me out. I work at the morgue, and most people who come in from outside the gates never get identified. You look like a relative in someone's picture they had in their wallet. If I can get your number to see if you can identify someone - even if you don't know them - the chance to let someone rest easily means a lot."

She stares down, gripping the inside of her wrist, her cut fingernails pressing into her skin. "I can't give you mine. But, if you're serious, I'll give you my wife's number." She looks up at William, her brown eyes visibly filled with concern. "I don't have a phone number. But if that's what you need, hers should work just fine, right?"

He hands out his phone to her and nods. "That works for me. I’ll call her tonight."

After exchanging numbers, she holds out her hand. "My name is Grace; Mable is my wife. I hope we can help you." Grace smiles cautiously and walks away as Will watches her long black hair and colorful skin disappear in the crowd of people.

As she fades, he steps backward, tumbling into a run back to the morgue. "I'm not insane. I'm not crazy." He gasps through his breaths. Reaching the morgue, he fumbles with his keys, falling into the doorway. He rushes downstairs to his files. "I know I've seen it," he mutters to himself, scrambling through files and photos. Hours pass and the diener collapses to his knees. "It just doesn't make sense." Frustrated, he pulls his phone from his pocket.

[ Calling… Mable Masina ]

--

Will wakes the next morning, pulling his head from his desk, surrounded by notes and files. He gathers together one folder of information and, with tired, bloodshot eyes, proceeds out the door, glancing at Mable's message with their address. They live on the inner corner of the city, about a thirty-minute walk from his home. This gives him enough time to go home, shower, and regroup after work. How do I even confront them about this? What if I'm wrong? Thoughts spiral through his mind as the clock ticks out of control. "It just can't be possible," he whispers to himself, holding a crumpled-up picture from his wallet. "It can't be."

After several mind-numbing hours at work, the moment has arrived to get the answer his mind desperately begs for. Raising his hand, he knocks on their door and waits. It has to be her. His heart pounds out of his chest as he grips the picture in his pocket. Then the door opens, and he is greeted with fierce and aggressive hazel eyes. She stands at eye level with William, both intimidating and captivating. Her eyes scan over him. "You're the diener?" She asks, leaning in the doorway. He nods, feeling the hostility thicken the air.

Mable steps back, allowing Will inside their home. Upon entering the house, he notices their unique and morbid style. Beautiful green plants litter the room, surrounded by taxidermy and animal bones. Looking around, he's speechless but unsettled. "So, you guys like taxidermy?" He laughs nervously.

Grace appears from around the corner, nodding her head holding a tray of tea and cookies. She’s visibly more relaxed today in the comfort of her own home. "Mable's really good at it! She's done it for years,” she says as she sets the tray down on the small wooden coffee table in the center of two small couches. Grace sits and gestures to the other couch. "Please have a seat.”

Mable sits next to her, placing her hand on Grace's thigh, gripping her hand protectively. The differences between their skin tones are almost chilling. Mable remains a warm, glowing tan, whereas Grace… Her skin looks cold to the touch, pale, almost translucent. William looks at both of them with a nervous but kind smile. He decides to break the uncomfortable silence. “Mable, what do you do for work?”

“I’m a medical professional,” she answers defensively.

William winces at her cold tone. He tries a different approach to break the ice. "So, have you two been together a long time?"

Mable nods. "About fifteen years now." This is the first time she has smiled since the meeting.

"So before the apocalypse?"

Grace smiles. "Yes, we actually got married before the infection broke out."

That's when William gets a glimpse of the ring on her finger, hand-crafted. "I see your ring is unique. Did Mable make that?"

Grace nods with excitement. "Yes! She also made my locket!" She points to her throat.

The words shine in the light: “For the record, I love you.”

Williams's throat swells. He glances around the room, his eyes landing on a photo of their wedding day. It’s like playing a game of 'spot the difference.' Her skin looks bright and alive, and what stands out most is her arm. In their wedding photo, he can see a clear, full sleeve of colors on her skin. Looking now, only half of a tattoo remains on the upper part of her arm, the rest of her arm blank.

William twists in his seat, filling with emotion. Finally, he bursts, slamming his folder on the table, revealing pictures of a corpse. "I just need answers!" He yells frantically, pointing at the one-armed, headless torso in the picture. "This! This is you." He points at Grace. "The tattoos, they match!" He slides the image to the left, revealing the photo underneath. "Your locket… it's the same one." His fingers tremble as he points.

Mable slams her hand to the table, shoving the photos to the floor. "You're sick!" She yells.

William stands. "No! I know it's her. I can't find this body anymore. Her files no longer exist. I need to know if this is her, please!" His tone changes; sorrow fills his face as tears well in his eyes. Will pulls from his pocket a picture of a small child with beaming green eyes, just like his. "I just need to know if there's a way to get her back."

Mable sits back down, grief and empathy painted on her face. Finally she caves, and the horrific truth is revealed.

It was winter. The two were only ten miles away from reaching the safety of the city, the first ounce of protection they would have felt in months of living out in the open. Only ten miles away, they were attacked by wanderers in the woods. Mable was able to make it out unscathed. Grace, on the other hand, had gotten her arm scratched by one of the deceased. As the infection began to spread, they knew she wasn't going to make it.

Together they came up with a plan to get as close as possible. To slow down the infection, Grace severed her infected arm to make it a few more miles. Finally, too weak to go on, Grace took refuge in a nearby cave while Mable reached the gates. Mable had to be accepted and placed into the safety society. After three days, she went back to find Grace, her legs all the way to her stomach cold and black with the infection. She was on her dying breaths.

Mable refused to accept the fate handed to her and dragged Grace's body close enough to the gates that the scouts would find her. She amputated the limbs too infected for recovery. Finally, Mable promised Grace that they would be together again. After one final kiss, she beheads Grace, preserving her partner’s head with her inside the gates.

Mable, a well-respected surgeon before the outbreak, was able to work in the inner-city hospital. This is where she would steal parts of people's bodies to rebuild her dead lover. Mable even stole back Grace's torso from Williams's unit and destroyed the evidence of her existence. All except the pictures she didn't know were inside his desk.

After tirelessly working day and night, she finally was able to bring her to life. Mable achieved the impossible, but knew no one could ever know she had done this; she would never be able to do it again. Knowing that performing this kind of miracle on anyone else would be close to impossible, she kept it a secret.

Mable knew that revealing this would only hurt those she could not help. And she was right.

Williams's throat tightens as he holds the picture of his lost child in his hand, knowing his one possible chance of getting her back could never happen.