WEBVTT
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What you're about to hear is based
on actual events. Listener discretion is advised.
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The chill in the air is terrible, so that Berg must make a
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mummy of himself as he walks through
the streets pre dawn. February in Dusseldorf.
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Should be luminescent, he thinks,
but nothing seems to shine anymore.
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Even the snow seems dead, dulled
as it is by the noxious smoke of
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the motor cars and taxis and trucks
that seem to have thickened every roadside in
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the city since his childhood. There's
hardly room to move in the city anymore,
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he thinks, much less breathe.
He tries to adjust his glasses against
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the chimney pipe he's made of the
front of his jacket. The glass discs
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are almost completely foggy now, and
he has to hold his head at a
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foolish, drunken angle as he walks. It is only because of this that
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he finds the body. It is
not the fact that the woman is laying
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on the ground that piques his interest, nor is it even the terribly uncomfortable
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position in which she's positioned, but
rather the pale hand that's partially buried in
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snow. He sighs and stops,
knowing without a second glance that the woman
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is dead. The first look shows
him the half lidded, opaque eyes,
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and the eyebrows and forehead covered with
a light dusting of snow. Not two
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hundred meters away are the doors to
his office, the city morgue, where
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he works as a coroner. He
kneels and checks her pulse as precaution,
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then, satisfied, shakes off the
cold and stands. He rubs a glazing
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of frost from his mustache and removes
his glasses, cleaning them to the best
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of his ability on the handkerchief he
pulls from his sleeve. I'm so sorry,
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he tells the corpse. If she
were alive, she would be the
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only living thing on the street to
hear him. But she's not. He
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is speaking, perhaps only to himself, on his head inside for a moment.
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But I'll send someone out shortly,
And though it's his business to work
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with the dead, he suddenly feels
brightened, a deep chill overcoming him as
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he retreats to his office, a
chill that comes not from the bitter cold
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air, but from the sense that
this woman has succumbed to something other than
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the elements. As a man who's
trained himself to keep an open mind,
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it surprises him that he's already certain
she's a victim of murder. The interior
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of the coroner's office starkly contrasts the
scene outside, Hot and terribly humid from
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the steam furnace that heats the building. Burgh's glasses fog again, and this
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time he could do nothing for them. They are too cold to fix.
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He abandons them and walks carefully to
the door of his office, calling for
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his assistant. The Dener, as
the coroner's assistant is called, comes over,
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coffee in hand. Yes, mister
Burn, he asks. There's a
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dead woman outside the office, about
two hundred meters up the street, in
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the direction of my home, Burgh
says, rifling through the morning's correspondence,
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stacks upon stacks of files and requests
for autopsies. The Great War had unleased
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a torrent of blood onto Europe that
had dried up everywhere but Germany these last
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few years, and things seem to
only ever get worse. Are you serious,
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the Dener asks, Burg blinks and
looks at him, raising an eyebrow.
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Are you still here, he responds, going back to his files.
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The much younger man rolls his eyes
and leaves the office. Berg fills himself
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a cup of coffee and flips through
the pile in his desk case by case
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until the morning. Finally concedes to
drop a hazy purple light unto his window
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sill. He doesn't notice his eyes
are resting on the report of a young
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girl found murdered and burned beneath a
bush and flinger. He looks through half
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a dozen times before finally reaching for
his cup and fighting an empty Then he
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stands and tries to find the deaner
he is as very much he should be
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tending to the dead, frozen woman
in the autopsy hall. Berg sets aside
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his empty cup and walks around the
table in a circle. He puts on
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a medical glove and wraps the flush
of her leg with his knuckles. There
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is some give and almost no noise, save for the gentle rasp of fabric.
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He had expected her body to still
be fairly rigid, but only the
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neck has remained in an unnatural position. The rest of her has settled much
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the way a body should on the
steel autopsy table. Did you warm her,
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Burgh asked the Dener. The man
shakes his head. No more than
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carrying her in with the help of
a few patrolmen, the Dener says.
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The detective says, she looks like
a vagrant frozen to death. No foul
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play my degree for the most part, Burgh says, pointing to different parts
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of the body. She's barely frozen, and it's terribly cold outside. And
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be surprised if she died too long
before I woke up this morning, He
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leans closer. This building would have
been open then, all that light and
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heat shining out the windows, and
she died in a dark, cold,
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little cubby at the end of the
block. I wonder if she thought of
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sheltering here for just a bit,
and why she decided against it. She's
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a gypsy, the Dener says,
not hiding his disgust. She probably knew
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better. The night guard would never
have let her inside. Murder, then,
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Burke says. The Dener gives them
a serious look. Are you joking?
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He asks, no, but write
it up as an accidental death.
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I'm sure the courts won't bother prosecuting
the soul of a wounded nation anyhow.
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He rests his hands on the woman's
eyes, knowing they won't close by touch
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alone, but giving her a few
moments rest regardless. Put her in G
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four and bring me this one,
he hands the deaner of the file.
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I'll give her Gypsy here until the
afternoon to fully saw. An hour later,
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they have the dead girl on the
slab. She is pitifully naked and
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terribly small. Her left breast is
peppered with ugly red purple stab wounds.
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There are similar wounds in the area
of her liver and one to her temple.
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The diner stands by patiently holding a
stenopad and setting the large reel to
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reel tape player to record. My
count is that there are thirteen stab wounds
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to the girl's left breast, Berg
says. He prods the area to ensure
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he's not missing any and then reconfirms
the number. The wounds are tightly grouped
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into without deformity, suggesting the body
was not in motion when the attack happened.
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Additionally, there are three wounds to
her liver and a single wound to
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her left temple. Burg stops and
looks at the body, turning slightly.
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Then he raises his gloved hand over
the stab wounds and lets it fall gently
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several times. He doesn't have to
make much of an adjustment to reach the
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head, the chest, and the
abdominal wounds. He nods moves the dead
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girl's chin to the side. There
is some substantial bruising here to her throat.
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He continues. He matches his own
hands to the livid marks on the
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girl's pale skin. They are almost
perfect. The breadth of the marks suggest
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very likely manual strangulation, clearly not
any common literature, a rope or what
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have you. He moves her chin
again. There are also some fairly substantial
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burns to the girl's neck and chin. Though he's a clearly post mortem,
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the blackened portions of the skin cleaned
away by my deaner before this autopsy likely
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obscured the aforementioned bruises from the view
of the police who wrote the original report.
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He pauses a long time, stepping
slowly backward along the small body.
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He looks at the burns of the
legs and then shakes his head, which
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suggests, he says, pushing the
girl's legs apart. He uses a swab
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inside of a giant and emerges with
a small, jellied yellow glob of.
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He holds this above the table away
from the corpse. Mister Platts, he
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says, using the Dener's Christian name. He actually has to pause to remember
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it. Please bring me a vial
to place the center. The Dener sets
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aside his steno pad and obliges Burg. Using the careful, rushed sort of
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steps someone in a hurry might use
in a library, Burg deposits the sample
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and then takes up a sterile cloth
To continue, he says. The Dener
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picks up the path. A very
small amount of what appears to be,
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in my expertise to be semen has
been found inside the entrance of the girls
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vagina. He holds up the vial
and closer inspection. The sample I've obtained
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strikes me as being far beneath the
average volume of human ejaculate one expects from
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a man between point two five milli
leaders and one milli leader. Sample in
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question is, at my best,
guest, less than point oh one midleleaders.
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He leans closer to the girl and
uses the sterile cloth on her labia.
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He stands back to inspect. A
surface cleaning of the girl's vaginal area
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has revealed a yellow, crusted substance
I believe to be additional ejaculate, He
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says, a receptacle for this.
Police mister platts Plots obliges him again and
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they resume. He pries open the
girl's genitalia with the forceps and looks inside,
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touching here and there and then making
a few additional swabs. Further inspection
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of the area shows scratching consistent with
a forcible digital penetration, but as with
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the stab wounds to the chest,
abdominal region and head, there's no indication
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of struggle. Why this happened,
given the sample of ejaculate, lack of
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substantial blood and the vaginal canal,
and the lack of any struggle type wounds,
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I'd have to surmise the girl was
penetrated with a finger by the assailant,
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and that the finger in question was
coated to some degree in seaman,
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and that this was done post mortem. Berg stops what he's doing and turns
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away from the body for a long
moment, taking a deep breath and looking
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at a distant spot on the wall. Sir, the deaner asks, Burg
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waves a hand but doesn't turn around
for a few more seconds. What he
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does, he continues as though nothing
has happened. I believe a further dissection
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of the vaginal complex will confirm those
theories. However, we'll cross that bridge
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when we come to it. Or
now, I'll begin the standard internal inspection,
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starting with a modified y incision to
preserve the stab wounds on the body's
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left breast. He does as he
says, cutting deeply into the flesh beside
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the girl's collar bones and is sending
to a shared point before tracing a line
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down her sternum to her upper pelvis. The only slight deviation in these otherwise
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straight lines is the delicate U shaped
curve of his knife around the girl's belly
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button. An anatomical note he notices
but needs not repeat, is that the
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girl's belly button is of the outward
facing variety. He pulls the skin of
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the girl's chest and abd him in
free, noticing an odd play of light
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through the holes the stab wounds of
left in the flesh. Then she is
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as open and bare as any of
the other dead things that wind up on
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his table. He cuts and describes
as he's cutting, noting the depth and
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severity of the punctures to her heart, her lungs, and her liver.
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All in all, roughly half of
the stab wounds would have been eventually fatal
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on their own, and still half
more of those almost instantly fatal. The
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depth and intensity of the exam shows
further evidence that the girl was most certainly
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unconscious before the knife blows began.
The further excision and dissection of the vagina
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also confirms his assessment of the finger
damage done by the insertion of ejaculate into
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the vaginal canal. He says,
the only words uttered after hours of separating
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and moving and weighing in time,
the girl's innards are in neat little piles,
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bagged and labeled, and sitting on
another table where they won't get in
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the way. Her face is now
completely obscured, the flesh of her neck
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having been laid bare, and the
muscles of her throat flayed and separated up
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in a broad red fan. For
his individual inspection, highoid bone is broken
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quite badly, and at least three
places, Berg says, pulling the shattered
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wishbone shaped bone free and setting them
together on the table. In at least
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two places, I can observe some
fairly deep and ragged lacerations in the tissue
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beside the brakes and the bone,
suggesting an extreme force applied inconsistently to the
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neck. Literally every infra highroid and
super highroid muscle shows bruising, with especially
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noticeable damage to the stylo glosses and
highlo glosses. In fact, the left
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Never go to the post office again. The autopsy goes on until the
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girl has no secrets left, until
she is rendered and reduced to the most
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bare parts of herself. There is
no indignity in this process, though for
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once, the completion of it does
not leave Burg with the feeling of elation.
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Along autopsy normally does, the feeling
that he has turned every card on
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the table face up for the questing
eyes of the law. There's something missing,
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and he realizes what it is.
She sits down for lunch with his
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Dener. Do I smell odd?
The Dener asks, touching at his sleeve
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and giving it a quick sniff.
What, Burg asks, I think I
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spilled from Meldeheid on myself, and
I can't seem to shake the smell,
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the Dener says. Burg gives him
an incredible look and SIPs at his beer.
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Now in the town square, with
the sun up and the meager winter
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crowns out and about on the streets, the city doesn't seem so grim.
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But then his mind wanders to the
woman frozen, dead and forgotten outside the
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city's very halls of justice, and
thinks to himself that the sun must always
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set. He size and as another
drink. Do you remember the elderly woman
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we autopsied about a week ago?
Burgh asks the Dener as they walk outside
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after lunch, though neither of them
would ever admitted they aren't keen on returning
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to work after finishing the job on
the girl. They are professionals, but
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even some things require a time out
in the fresh air. Stabbed twenty four
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times? Is that the one?
The deaner asks, Burg, nods and
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gestures for him to stop in the
road. What are you doing? The
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00:18:53.680 --> 00:18:59.880
entire Roman senate only stabbed Julius Caesar
twenty three times, Berg says, grab
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00:19:00.079 --> 00:19:03.079
the Dener by his collar and jabbing
him in the chest as fast as he
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can with his fingers. The Dener
protests, and the passing couple give the
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both of them odd looks. Burg
steps back, panting slightly and patting away
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a flush of sweat on his forehead. He shakes his head. That was
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twenty four he says, that was
fucking insane, The Dener says, snapping
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his fingers at Berg and then settling
his clothes back to rights. The hell
220
00:19:26.559 --> 00:19:30.759
man. Look at me, Burg
says, I'm sweating, I've lost my
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breath even, and I'm not even
struggling with you for real, not even
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holding a knife. Your point,
Who hates an old woman that much?
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He asks, I've seen hundreds of
bodies with multiple stab wounds, but few
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with more than twelve, or so
much less twenty four. Almost always it's
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some lover's quarrel or vengeance or crime
of hate, real hate. But who
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hates an old lady, an elderly
woman with no real vices, no criminal
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00:20:00.200 --> 00:20:07.480
history, and as far as we
know, fairly agreeable disposition. A madman,
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the Dener says, waving to the
couple who were now peering over their
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shoulders at him and his boss.
I should think, but perhaps not.
230
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The mad aren't in control of their
facilities, But this one was. He
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didn't stab randomly, like you might
at the specters of your imagination, but
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accurately, viciously, with intent and
knowledge of what his actions would do.
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You are using the masculine fairly liberally, the Dener notes, beginning to walk
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again. He's become sick of this
street now that he's suddenly one of its
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most notorious celebrities. I think it
should have to be a man given a
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manual damage to the girl's neck,
Berg says. He falls in step with
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the Dener and adjusts his coat against
the rising wind. The girl, the
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Dener interjects, from this morning,
what about her? The kind of man
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who could so harm an old woman
like that is the same kind of man
240
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who would do the same to a
child. Burke says. The physical similarities
241
00:21:11.240 --> 00:21:15.279
are obvious, the shape and locations
of the wounds match fairly well. But
242
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I think there is something more to
all this, something a touch more sinister
243
00:21:22.039 --> 00:21:26.640
enlighten me. Well. Perhaps the
man is not really in his mind at
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00:21:26.720 --> 00:21:32.759
least stabbing the old woman or the
child, Burke says, tapping his chin
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slowly. I'm sure he knows what
he's doing, perhaps even why. But
246
00:21:38.000 --> 00:21:42.759
the stabbing itself is about something else. He's trying to accomplish, something other
247
00:21:42.799 --> 00:21:48.000
than simply stabbing people. What a
godlessly morbid thought, the deaner comments,
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00:21:48.000 --> 00:21:55.079
peering around surreptitiously for eavesdroppers. This
is possibly the last time he can show
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00:21:55.119 --> 00:21:57.839
his face in this part of town
for a while. The worst part is,
250
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I don't think he'd be done if
that were the case, Berg says,
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and the deaner passes him a serious
look. I suspect he's already probably
252
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thinking about doing it again. Maybe
he even has, possibly many times before
253
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as well. We just didn't know
to look. The dener looks around and
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pulls his own coat up higher against
the cold. He touches the scar,
255
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not for the first time that night. It is a small thing, as
256
00:22:41.920 --> 00:22:45.960
all large things are tucked up beneath
the tidy fall of his hair on the
257
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top of his head. The man
looking at him in the mirror is simple
258
00:22:49.200 --> 00:22:53.720
in both expression and features. He
lacks the complexity that makes him seem almost
259
00:22:53.720 --> 00:22:59.039
like a charcoal sketching of a person, a handsome sort of non person,
260
00:22:59.359 --> 00:23:04.039
drummed up dream by some advertising artist
to express his love of a certain automobile
261
00:23:04.160 --> 00:23:10.839
or hair product. He touches the
scar again. A piece of scrap metal
262
00:23:10.880 --> 00:23:14.440
fell from the sky, it seemed, and split his skull like an axe
263
00:23:15.119 --> 00:23:19.440
a work site accident. The immediate
damage was substantial, terrible, but not
264
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enough to kill him. They had
shaved off his hair and stitched him back
265
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together, tenderly prodding the chips in
his skull before deciding they needed no extra
266
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attention. He had wondered, hoped, in fact, that the doctors would
267
00:23:33.079 --> 00:23:37.440
pull free the shattered pieces of his
skull and poke at his brain, that
268
00:23:37.519 --> 00:23:42.000
they would see in him what nobody
but the unlucky ever saw. Perhaps they
269
00:23:42.039 --> 00:23:47.240
would stop it, or perhaps they
would tell him finally, let him know
270
00:23:48.200 --> 00:23:52.599
it was all real. Touching the
scar creates a low electrical tingle in his
271
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scalp that spreads roots down into his
brain all the way to the back of
272
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his eyes and the base of his
neck. Pain bills like drop of water,
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00:24:00.839 --> 00:24:04.119
like grains of rice being poured over
a pegboard. The herding is the
274
00:24:04.160 --> 00:24:08.720
sound of rain growing until all the
desparent noises become the single shared roar on
275
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the storm it is beating on the
inside of his skull. He sighs and
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rests his elbows in the dresser beneath
the mirror. His hands, the rough
277
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hands of a common laborer, despite
his dress, are thick with callouses.
278
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They scratch his cheeks, his ears. He tries to catch his breath,
279
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breathing slowly, slowly. His wife
is standing beside him. All of a
280
00:24:36.000 --> 00:24:40.319
sudden, and he realizes he has
been like this for some time. The
281
00:24:40.359 --> 00:24:45.359
headaches again, she asks. He
nods, face still buried in his palms.
282
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Her own soft hands so much softer
than his, touch his face.
283
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They are like sunwarm silk. They
make him think of window curtains in the
284
00:24:55.359 --> 00:25:00.160
summer, blowing into brush against his
face. They do not cure the at
285
00:25:00.160 --> 00:25:03.319
ache, but they wear away at
the rough edges of it. They pulled
286
00:25:03.319 --> 00:25:08.000
the deepest of its spikes from his
brain. The mental image makes him further
287
00:25:08.079 --> 00:25:12.279
think of blood pooling in a woman's
navel, filling her belly button until it
288
00:25:12.359 --> 00:25:18.400
drips over the side of her still
motionless stomach. It hardens as it goes,
289
00:25:18.880 --> 00:25:22.960
becoming a dry brown crust. I
need to go for a walk,
290
00:25:22.000 --> 00:25:27.200
I think, he says. Her
arms slip over and beneath him. Again,
291
00:25:27.240 --> 00:25:32.079
he thinks of curtains, but this
time he imagines them wet and ragged,
292
00:25:32.480 --> 00:25:36.319
sliding up his chest to wrap around
his throat. He feels the bite
293
00:25:36.319 --> 00:25:40.480
of the fabric against his wimpipe and
the heady exhilaration of losing his breath.
294
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Are you going to be long?
She asks? He nods, shrugs,
295
00:25:47.079 --> 00:25:51.039
rises from the dresser and turns to
her. She adjusted the pels of his
296
00:25:51.079 --> 00:25:56.400
tidy brown suit don't wait up for
me, he says, striding through,
297
00:25:56.440 --> 00:26:02.000
then closing the bedroom door. Good
night. He goes to the kitchen and
298
00:26:02.079 --> 00:26:06.200
rifles through the drawers. Beside the
sink. Upstairs, his wife is tucking
299
00:26:06.200 --> 00:26:10.599
herself into bed. The sound is
familiar and comforting, and he waits in
300
00:26:10.640 --> 00:26:14.400
the dark of the kitchen, staring
up at the floorboards, until our nightly
301
00:26:14.480 --> 00:26:18.480
ritual is complete. Then he lights
a candle. The home is fitted with
302
00:26:18.480 --> 00:26:22.400
the new electric lights now filling most
of the homes, even in the poorer
303
00:26:22.400 --> 00:26:27.000
sections of town. He hates the
odd yellow glow it seems to have cast
304
00:26:27.079 --> 00:26:32.559
over all the city. Where once
the night danced with the irregular shadows of
305
00:26:32.599 --> 00:26:37.160
the gas lamps, now there were
only constant and frozen silhouettes littering all of
306
00:26:37.240 --> 00:26:41.480
the world. It felt sometimes as
though the city were nothing more than layers
307
00:26:41.559 --> 00:26:45.759
upon layers of cutouts, stuck together
by God in a mockery of a better
308
00:26:45.799 --> 00:26:49.480
world he once knew. He holds
the candle beside his face as he rummages
309
00:26:49.480 --> 00:26:53.839
through the drawers, trying to find
something to work with. He settles on
310
00:26:53.880 --> 00:26:57.200
the scissors again, pulling them out
and turning them over in his hands.
311
00:26:57.240 --> 00:27:03.799
A few times they are as always
spotless. Even the little spaces about the
312
00:27:03.839 --> 00:27:07.880
hinges are clean. It would be
a shame, despite how he used the
313
00:27:07.960 --> 00:27:14.720
things to ruin them or lose them. They are a nicely crafted set of
314
00:27:14.720 --> 00:27:19.640
tailor scissors, replete with porchit engravings
beneath the handhold loops, and of course
315
00:27:21.640 --> 00:27:26.240
very sharp. He sets out into
the February cold, not bothering to pull
316
00:27:26.279 --> 00:27:30.279
his heavy coat higher around his face. The chill wind burns his skin,
317
00:27:30.680 --> 00:27:34.480
a feeling he doesn't find uncomfortable in
the least. He has always love fire,
318
00:27:36.079 --> 00:27:37.960
and he turns the wind to flame
in his mind. As he walks.
319
00:27:38.880 --> 00:27:42.039
The brush of snow over the ground
and the following gusts become the raking
320
00:27:42.079 --> 00:27:45.680
breath of an inferno. The pain
of the cold against his skin is the
321
00:27:45.680 --> 00:27:51.279
heat of standing too close to this
imaginary fire. It is almost enough to
322
00:27:51.319 --> 00:27:56.960
quell the headache. Almost His love
of fire is older in his heart than
323
00:27:56.039 --> 00:28:02.160
most all the others that reside there. Both thee and mundane they lay together.
324
00:28:03.319 --> 00:28:06.759
It causes his mind to wander to
the goose, as it often does
325
00:28:06.799 --> 00:28:11.559
when he begins his walks. There
are so many he remembers he can recall
326
00:28:11.680 --> 00:28:15.599
every one of their faces, his
partners in the nightly waltzes. They are
327
00:28:15.680 --> 00:28:21.119
old and young, male and female, their build, their sex, their
328
00:28:21.200 --> 00:28:25.799
age. None of it matters.
He could care less about innocence or beauty,
329
00:28:26.160 --> 00:28:30.200
about wealth or status. No,
he requires only the beating heart,
330
00:28:32.000 --> 00:28:36.000
the miles of arteries and gallons of
blood, the steady thrumb rising to an
331
00:28:36.079 --> 00:28:41.720
unsteady cadence, running, racing,
and finally bursting, spilling out over over
332
00:28:41.759 --> 00:28:45.119
the grass and the ground, over
the ice and the gravel of this foul
333
00:28:45.160 --> 00:28:51.319
February in a city he no longer
understands, falling as still and silent as
334
00:28:51.359 --> 00:28:56.079
the snow resting on his shoulders on
the fence post beside him. Over all
335
00:28:56.079 --> 00:29:00.920
the universe, and at the heart
of these pulse sitting desires, sits the
336
00:29:00.960 --> 00:29:04.480
goose. It was one of a
pear, and small for a goose.
337
00:29:06.240 --> 00:29:10.279
The spring was in its earliest phases, and so it was likely an adolescent
338
00:29:10.880 --> 00:29:12.920
hatch that year and just now finding
a mate. In the low, fetid
339
00:29:12.960 --> 00:29:18.759
puddles outside of Cologne, the scene
was simple pastor a boy sitting on the
340
00:29:18.839 --> 00:29:22.920
edge of a low, small pond
shaped like a kidney bean. The trees
341
00:29:22.960 --> 00:29:29.359
around the pond were thick leaved and
brushing branches with a sound that only to
342
00:29:29.799 --> 00:29:34.359
young Peter Curtain and all the world
would sound like fire. The goose,
343
00:29:34.759 --> 00:29:40.039
stocky and with a far shorter,
thicker neck than a swan or its Canadian
344
00:29:40.039 --> 00:29:44.839
cousins, wandered into the middle distance
between his partner and Peter. Peter was
345
00:29:44.880 --> 00:29:48.440
casting stones into the pond and letting
his mind wander, thinking about the way
346
00:29:48.480 --> 00:29:52.519
the steam hissed when his mother dropped
pork cutlets into the pan, the way
347
00:29:52.519 --> 00:29:56.880
the spurting, steaming crack of the
searing meat made him feel like he just
348
00:29:56.880 --> 00:29:59.920
stood up too fast, like he
was about to fall off the edge of
349
00:29:59.920 --> 00:30:03.880
the earth. He'd stood and taking
one of the rocks and grabbed the goose
350
00:30:03.920 --> 00:30:07.200
by his short, snaking neck and
brained the bird with it. The animal's
351
00:30:07.200 --> 00:30:11.000
eye had collapsed into a pool of
jelly, and its beak had followed suit
352
00:30:11.039 --> 00:30:15.720
on the next blow. Its head
still moved like a snake because it tried
353
00:30:15.720 --> 00:30:19.440
to free itself, tried even perhaps
to understand what was happening to it.
354
00:30:21.240 --> 00:30:26.039
It could not scream, it was
too hurt, but its partner could.
355
00:30:26.079 --> 00:30:30.440
The thing was terribly, terribly hot, between young Peter's legs, like a
356
00:30:30.440 --> 00:30:36.039
little ball of fire pressing up into
his crotch. He'd moaned and clenched the
357
00:30:36.079 --> 00:30:40.599
thing tighter, pulling hard at its
neck, dropping the stone even to pull,
358
00:30:40.759 --> 00:30:44.880
pull at the thing's neck, crushing
it, yanking it, pulling it
359
00:30:45.000 --> 00:30:48.160
so that the body would push harder
at the sudden and vicious hardness between Peter's
360
00:30:48.240 --> 00:30:52.480
legs. Then there was a release, and the goose's head came clean off,
361
00:30:52.880 --> 00:30:56.079
leaving nothing but a stump, so
slick and bloody that Peter was pitched
362
00:30:56.079 --> 00:31:02.119
forward onto his face. His head
had ground, and the goose's writhing neck
363
00:31:02.200 --> 00:31:06.400
slid toward him, the blood from
this slender, hard thing spurting out onto
364
00:31:06.440 --> 00:31:11.200
Peter's face. You can hear the
blood, could hear it pumping from the
365
00:31:11.240 --> 00:31:15.519
goose's ruined body. He'd held the
thing close to him until it had grown
366
00:31:15.599 --> 00:31:18.920
cold and still, and then had
left it behind, the way any child
367
00:31:19.000 --> 00:31:23.359
leaves behind an old toy. He
placed it in the pond and let it
368
00:31:23.400 --> 00:31:26.880
float back to its partner, who
had retreated to the far end of the
369
00:31:26.880 --> 00:31:32.880
water to scream at him. Then
a scream as well at the empty sky
370
00:31:32.960 --> 00:32:00.119
overhead. Peter comes to his senses, whispering some black nonsense under his breath.
371
00:32:01.200 --> 00:32:06.519
His breath is heavy, heavy,
and thick with condensation and the smell
372
00:32:06.559 --> 00:32:12.039
of an unfamiliar cologne. He blinks
and pushes himself up, looking wildly about
373
00:32:12.039 --> 00:32:15.920
the street around him. It is
the early morning hours of a February day
374
00:32:15.119 --> 00:32:20.960
in Dusseldorff. His hands are bloody. A man is dying in the snow.
375
00:32:21.039 --> 00:32:25.759
Between his knees. The fucking scissors
he is saying, the sense of
376
00:32:25.799 --> 00:32:31.079
emerging with his past self, a
passing bit of vertigo really washes over and
377
00:32:31.160 --> 00:32:36.680
through him, and then is gone. He doesn't recognize the man, because
378
00:32:36.680 --> 00:32:40.279
of course why would he. But
he does recognize the fancy said of tailor's
379
00:32:40.319 --> 00:32:45.559
scissors buried in the man's neck.
They are not covered with blood like in
380
00:32:45.599 --> 00:32:49.240
some tawdry penny dreadful, but the
few drops that have made it through the
381
00:32:49.279 --> 00:32:52.519
man's clothing are more than enough to
slick the handles like motor oil. He
382
00:32:52.599 --> 00:32:57.599
has to intertwine his fingers through the
looped handles and to place his foot on
383
00:32:57.680 --> 00:33:01.160
the man's back to pull the damn
things free. He looks around with wide
384
00:33:01.559 --> 00:33:07.079
dark eyes for witnesses, but there
are none. The streets are otherwise empty
385
00:33:07.279 --> 00:33:13.240
at this hour. Blood flies as
the scissors come free, flecking the snow
386
00:33:13.279 --> 00:33:17.640
beside him in a wide red archipelago. Peter tosses the scissors aside and grabs
387
00:33:17.720 --> 00:33:22.799
roughly at the dying man's collar,
pulling him back and up onto his knees.
388
00:33:22.359 --> 00:33:25.440
He jerks the man's clothing down until
his neck and shoulders are bare.
389
00:33:27.160 --> 00:33:30.319
He searches for a fresh stab wound
and finds one just between the spine and
390
00:33:30.400 --> 00:33:35.480
shoulder blades. Most likely it's the
one that tried to claim his scissors.
391
00:33:36.079 --> 00:33:39.960
He watches it pulsing oozing blood for
just a moment before pressing his lips to
392
00:33:40.039 --> 00:33:45.079
it. He drinks the blood,
tries even to press his tongue inside the
393
00:33:45.119 --> 00:33:49.559
wound. Then he places his ear
over it, wrapping his arms around the
394
00:33:49.640 --> 00:33:52.759
dying man to hold him in place. There's the rasp of the man's breath
395
00:33:52.759 --> 00:33:57.160
and his wounded lungs, and the
weak thrumb of his heart, and to
396
00:33:57.240 --> 00:34:01.920
blow that the sound of the blood
sink from the wound. Peter clenches his
397
00:34:02.000 --> 00:34:06.440
teeth as his hips begin to buck, and then he is falling atop the
398
00:34:06.480 --> 00:34:09.599
wounded man. In the snow,
moaning and grinding his pelvis against nothing,
399
00:34:10.320 --> 00:34:15.760
jamming his hand into his underwear to
finish himself, clenching his penis so tightly
400
00:34:15.760 --> 00:34:19.880
in his own hand it threatens to
snap free. Then it is over.
401
00:34:20.519 --> 00:34:25.119
His face is burning, he is
blind. His ecstasy has driven him face
402
00:34:25.199 --> 00:34:30.079
first into the snow, and the
cold is burning him. Peter allows the
403
00:34:30.119 --> 00:34:34.039
sensation for a moment longer, hoping
it will sober him, and it does
404
00:34:34.159 --> 00:34:37.639
after a fashion. Eventually he pushes
himself to his knees and looks down at
405
00:34:37.679 --> 00:34:43.039
the man. He is fully dead, Now sprawled in an awkward position and
406
00:34:43.079 --> 00:34:46.599
disheveled, Peter fixes the man's clothes
for him, and then leaves, quickly,
407
00:34:46.960 --> 00:34:51.159
striding across the street to clean himself. In the reflection of a dark
408
00:34:51.199 --> 00:34:55.719
shop window. He uses snow as
before, and the pain of it enlivens
409
00:34:55.760 --> 00:35:00.960
him. At first, his image
in the glass his ghastly, blood streaked
410
00:35:00.960 --> 00:35:07.400
and wide eyed, But soon he
is himself again, at least the self
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00:35:07.440 --> 00:35:12.079
he may present to the world,
the dream of Peter curtain others have when
412
00:35:12.119 --> 00:35:15.719
they look at him. He pulls
free a comb and fixes his hair,
413
00:35:15.400 --> 00:35:20.239
turning his head this way and that, for nodding slightly and tucking away the
414
00:35:20.239 --> 00:35:25.119
comb the scissors. He walks through
the streets for hours more, the stains
415
00:35:25.119 --> 00:35:30.039
of the earlier man camouflaged by the
dark of both the night and his suit.
416
00:35:30.000 --> 00:35:34.639
There are other possibilities he sees as
he walks, but the headache is
417
00:35:34.679 --> 00:35:37.880
dimmed to embers, and he is
far more sober than earlier. Still,
418
00:35:37.880 --> 00:35:43.440
however, he walks. There is
a woman he finds three streets down from
419
00:35:43.440 --> 00:35:46.039
the dead man, cooling and the
gravel filled gutter. She is in her
420
00:35:46.039 --> 00:35:51.400
early thirties, pretty if plump,
and walking with the careful steps of a
421
00:35:51.440 --> 00:35:57.039
woman not quite paying attention to her
surroundings. The footfalls of her leather soled
422
00:35:57.039 --> 00:36:00.840
shoes are loud enough to disguise Peters, and he might just pace with her.
423
00:36:00.920 --> 00:36:05.079
Instinctually. It's a thing he doesn't
even intend to do, but that
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00:36:05.239 --> 00:36:08.760
is written into the very heart of
him. He can feel the heat rising
425
00:36:08.840 --> 00:36:14.000
in his heart. It's not every
night he has to, but some nights
426
00:36:14.039 --> 00:36:17.840
are that lucky. Some nights are
simply wonderful. They feel to him the
427
00:36:17.880 --> 00:36:21.960
way he thinks long, weak nights
at a beer garden must feel to other
428
00:36:22.000 --> 00:36:25.119
men as they strip themselves, free
of care and worry and binge to excess,
429
00:36:25.800 --> 00:36:30.800
only to wake slightly groggy and hung
over the next morning. Hung over,
430
00:36:30.079 --> 00:36:37.000
yes, but also somewhat lighter,
somewhat more free. He pulls the
431
00:36:37.000 --> 00:36:40.440
scissors from his pocket as they turn
onto a street of dark town houses.
432
00:36:40.880 --> 00:36:45.280
The brown stone stoops, laying in
file like piles of sleeping soldiers from street
433
00:36:45.320 --> 00:36:50.719
sign to street sign. Is close
enough now to see the individual hairs and
434
00:36:50.760 --> 00:36:53.639
the ponytail on the back of her
head. He can smell the soap she
435
00:36:53.800 --> 00:36:58.639
used to clean her hair, and
the perfumed over smell of the old sweat
436
00:36:58.760 --> 00:37:02.880
dried into her coat. Can he
hear it, though, the sound of
437
00:37:02.920 --> 00:37:07.960
her beating heart, just there,
beneath the cadence of their shared footsteps,
438
00:37:09.000 --> 00:37:13.840
just beneath the rasp of his scissors
catching on the fabric of his pocket.
439
00:37:14.719 --> 00:37:20.480
Yes, the sound of her blood
coursing, racing, humping, beating,
440
00:37:20.840 --> 00:37:24.840
thrumbing, pulsing through her veins.
The pressure of it, the beat of
441
00:37:24.880 --> 00:37:29.920
it, the blood being crushed by
the thin walls of her arteries, begging
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00:37:30.400 --> 00:37:35.480
for freedom, yearning to fly.
He raises the scissors outstretches his hand,
443
00:37:36.199 --> 00:37:39.119
His toe catches on a slightly upraised
lip of sidewalk, and his fingers float
444
00:37:39.199 --> 00:37:45.039
in front of his face, a
centimeter shy of the woman's collar. Then
445
00:37:45.039 --> 00:37:47.360
he is stumbling, his feet just
out of sync with the young woman's.
446
00:37:49.039 --> 00:37:52.760
Without a thought, he crouches and
spins into the shadows beside one of the
447
00:37:52.800 --> 00:37:57.760
staircases, just out of sight.
The woman hears the noise and yelps and
448
00:37:57.840 --> 00:38:01.639
turns, clenching her fists to her
chest. He closes his eyes and listens
449
00:38:01.679 --> 00:38:07.840
to her walking backward. The steps
are slow and careful, cautious, terrified.
450
00:38:09.280 --> 00:38:14.519
Is someone there? She asks.
He sits in silence, looking at
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00:38:14.519 --> 00:38:16.880
his scissors, and then into the
deep shadows of the trash heaps and stairs
452
00:38:16.920 --> 00:38:21.800
ahead of him. He rests the
tip of the scissors against the stone of
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00:38:21.800 --> 00:38:27.760
the staircase beside his head and scrapes
them against it. Scritch scritch, Hello,
454
00:38:28.199 --> 00:38:35.119
she asks again. He scratches them
but says nothing. Scritch scratch.
455
00:38:36.159 --> 00:38:39.280
Then the woman is running. Her
steps grow softer and softer and fade to
456
00:38:39.360 --> 00:38:45.039
silence. He stands and looks around, sighing to himself and placing the scissors
457
00:38:45.039 --> 00:39:16.159
in his pocket. Then he,
too is gone. The man lays flayed
458
00:39:16.360 --> 00:39:22.840
and open on the table. Two
men in masks standing over him. The
459
00:39:22.920 --> 00:39:27.719
gloved fingers of one of them are
holding still the man's bare shoulder blade,
460
00:39:28.440 --> 00:39:31.920
while the other carefully places a piece
of paper on the bone and rubs a
461
00:39:31.960 --> 00:39:37.000
bit of graphite over it to make
an etching. The resultant image is a
462
00:39:37.079 --> 00:39:44.239
small, irregular rectangle. When the
man with the graphite is finished, they
463
00:39:44.320 --> 00:39:49.360
step back and remove their gloves and
masks. It's a fairly good impression of
464
00:39:49.400 --> 00:39:53.840
the impression, the deaner says,
turning the paper this way and that with
465
00:39:54.039 --> 00:40:00.880
splayed fingers. Berg has already fetched
a few additional sheets of clean paper from
466
00:40:00.920 --> 00:40:07.199
the filing cabinet and began copying the
triangle. He sections each of the copies
467
00:40:07.239 --> 00:40:12.800
off with marks made by Ruler,
and then looks at the Dener. I'll
468
00:40:12.800 --> 00:40:16.440
finish this, he says to the
man, Bring me the knives. He
469
00:40:16.559 --> 00:40:22.800
spends the rest of the day stabbing
paper with knives. The Dener brings Burg
470
00:40:22.000 --> 00:40:28.639
from all over the city various kinds
of cutlery that make all sorts of different
471
00:40:28.719 --> 00:40:34.760
shapes once stabbed into the paper.
It is while Burg is cutting the squares
472
00:40:34.880 --> 00:40:39.440
off another failed strip of knife tests
that. The deaner rather abruptly takes the
473
00:40:39.440 --> 00:40:45.320
scissors out of his hands and stabs
one of the test squares. The mark
474
00:40:45.079 --> 00:40:52.400
is remarkably similar. They look at
each other for just a moment scissors,
475
00:40:52.440 --> 00:40:58.239
then Burgh asks, I suppose,
so, the Dener says, and he
476
00:40:58.400 --> 00:41:02.800
departs. Burg is stunned by the
amount of different scissors they are able to
477
00:41:02.840 --> 00:41:08.360
test. In addition to the bone
and flesh scissors employed by his own office
478
00:41:09.159 --> 00:41:15.159
and many butcher shops, there are
scissors for paper, for metal, for
479
00:41:15.280 --> 00:41:22.079
stone, and incredibly enough even for
glass. But of all of them,
480
00:41:22.119 --> 00:41:27.360
the closest match is one of the
sets of five scissors they've procured from cloth
481
00:41:27.400 --> 00:41:32.639
cutters, a tailor, in fact, from just down the street. The
482
00:41:32.719 --> 00:41:37.719
Dener has the honor of stabbing the
paper, and both of them stare longer
483
00:41:37.760 --> 00:41:44.599
at the hole there than they did
at the deaf little marking in the backbone
484
00:41:44.599 --> 00:41:49.440
of the dead man. On the
autopsy table. The Dener holds the things
485
00:41:49.480 --> 00:41:53.480
in front of him, eyes wide. He looks at Burg, who slowly
486
00:41:53.559 --> 00:42:00.800
nods his head. The scissors are
made of blackened metal, with two engraved
487
00:42:00.880 --> 00:42:07.159
portraits beneath the hand loops, a
perfect match that both of them think,
488
00:42:08.199 --> 00:42:47.039
though neither wants to be the first
to say it. Monstro is an incongruity
489
00:42:47.119 --> 00:42:52.039
production. If you've enjoyed this experience, please subscribe and leave a positive review.
490
00:42:52.559 --> 00:42:57.559
Please support our sponsors. You can
find out more by searching for Monstro
491
00:42:57.719 --> 00:43:02.840
podcast on Facebook, Twitter, and
Instagram, or visit us at monstrou podcast
492
00:43:04.199 --> 00:43:07.679
dot com. The show was written
and hosted by Jack Luna, Tyler Bell,
493
00:43:07.920 --> 00:43:14.480
and Mike Boudet. Sound designed by
Jonathan McMichael and Robert Rivelli. Original
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00:43:14.599 --> 00:43:21.199
score by Leon Rogers, art by
Jake Perez. Executive producer Mike Boudet.
1
00:00:03.000 --> 00:00:08.679
What you're about to hear is based
on actual events. Listener discretion is advised.
2
00:00:19.519 --> 00:00:23.760
The chill in the air is terrible, so that Berg must make a
3
00:00:23.839 --> 00:00:29.640
mummy of himself as he walks through
the streets pre dawn. February in Dusseldorf.
4
00:00:29.960 --> 00:00:34.560
Should be luminescent, he thinks,
but nothing seems to shine anymore.
5
00:00:35.560 --> 00:00:40.920
Even the snow seems dead, dulled
as it is by the noxious smoke of
6
00:00:40.960 --> 00:00:46.840
the motor cars and taxis and trucks
that seem to have thickened every roadside in
7
00:00:46.880 --> 00:00:51.719
the city since his childhood. There's
hardly room to move in the city anymore,
8
00:00:52.359 --> 00:00:57.359
he thinks, much less breathe.
He tries to adjust his glasses against
9
00:00:57.399 --> 00:01:02.079
the chimney pipe he's made of the
front of his jacket. The glass discs
10
00:01:02.159 --> 00:01:06.799
are almost completely foggy now, and
he has to hold his head at a
11
00:01:06.840 --> 00:01:11.319
foolish, drunken angle as he walks. It is only because of this that
12
00:01:11.400 --> 00:01:17.840
he finds the body. It is
not the fact that the woman is laying
13
00:01:17.920 --> 00:01:23.480
on the ground that piques his interest, nor is it even the terribly uncomfortable
14
00:01:23.480 --> 00:01:30.640
position in which she's positioned, but
rather the pale hand that's partially buried in
15
00:01:30.879 --> 00:01:36.760
snow. He sighs and stops,
knowing without a second glance that the woman
16
00:01:37.480 --> 00:01:42.040
is dead. The first look shows
him the half lidded, opaque eyes,
17
00:01:42.840 --> 00:01:49.840
and the eyebrows and forehead covered with
a light dusting of snow. Not two
18
00:01:49.959 --> 00:01:55.439
hundred meters away are the doors to
his office, the city morgue, where
19
00:01:55.439 --> 00:02:00.640
he works as a coroner. He
kneels and checks her pulse as precaution,
20
00:02:00.280 --> 00:02:07.200
then, satisfied, shakes off the
cold and stands. He rubs a glazing
21
00:02:07.239 --> 00:02:13.120
of frost from his mustache and removes
his glasses, cleaning them to the best
22
00:02:13.120 --> 00:02:19.680
of his ability on the handkerchief he
pulls from his sleeve. I'm so sorry,
23
00:02:19.800 --> 00:02:23.479
he tells the corpse. If she
were alive, she would be the
24
00:02:23.520 --> 00:02:30.000
only living thing on the street to
hear him. But she's not. He
25
00:02:30.159 --> 00:02:36.120
is speaking, perhaps only to himself, on his head inside for a moment.
26
00:02:36.159 --> 00:02:40.080
But I'll send someone out shortly,
And though it's his business to work
27
00:02:40.199 --> 00:02:46.919
with the dead, he suddenly feels
brightened, a deep chill overcoming him as
28
00:02:46.919 --> 00:02:53.319
he retreats to his office, a
chill that comes not from the bitter cold
29
00:02:53.360 --> 00:02:58.479
air, but from the sense that
this woman has succumbed to something other than
30
00:02:58.520 --> 00:03:01.960
the elements. As a man who's
trained himself to keep an open mind,
31
00:03:02.120 --> 00:04:02.759
it surprises him that he's already certain
she's a victim of murder. The interior
32
00:04:02.800 --> 00:04:09.080
of the coroner's office starkly contrasts the
scene outside, Hot and terribly humid from
33
00:04:09.080 --> 00:04:13.560
the steam furnace that heats the building. Burgh's glasses fog again, and this
34
00:04:13.639 --> 00:04:15.959
time he could do nothing for them. They are too cold to fix.
35
00:04:17.160 --> 00:04:21.879
He abandons them and walks carefully to
the door of his office, calling for
36
00:04:21.959 --> 00:04:28.600
his assistant. The Dener, as
the coroner's assistant is called, comes over,
37
00:04:29.199 --> 00:04:32.639
coffee in hand. Yes, mister
Burn, he asks. There's a
38
00:04:32.639 --> 00:04:36.079
dead woman outside the office, about
two hundred meters up the street, in
39
00:04:36.199 --> 00:04:41.639
the direction of my home, Burgh
says, rifling through the morning's correspondence,
40
00:04:42.519 --> 00:04:46.480
stacks upon stacks of files and requests
for autopsies. The Great War had unleased
41
00:04:46.480 --> 00:04:50.399
a torrent of blood onto Europe that
had dried up everywhere but Germany these last
42
00:04:50.439 --> 00:04:56.680
few years, and things seem to
only ever get worse. Are you serious,
43
00:04:57.000 --> 00:05:00.360
the Dener asks, Burg blinks and
looks at him, raising an eyebrow.
44
00:05:01.199 --> 00:05:04.839
Are you still here, he responds, going back to his files.
45
00:05:05.759 --> 00:05:10.920
The much younger man rolls his eyes
and leaves the office. Berg fills himself
46
00:05:10.920 --> 00:05:15.199
a cup of coffee and flips through
the pile in his desk case by case
47
00:05:15.720 --> 00:05:18.319
until the morning. Finally concedes to
drop a hazy purple light unto his window
48
00:05:18.360 --> 00:05:23.920
sill. He doesn't notice his eyes
are resting on the report of a young
49
00:05:23.959 --> 00:05:29.040
girl found murdered and burned beneath a
bush and flinger. He looks through half
50
00:05:29.040 --> 00:05:33.120
a dozen times before finally reaching for
his cup and fighting an empty Then he
51
00:05:33.199 --> 00:05:39.199
stands and tries to find the deaner
he is as very much he should be
52
00:05:39.560 --> 00:05:44.079
tending to the dead, frozen woman
in the autopsy hall. Berg sets aside
53
00:05:44.079 --> 00:05:46.759
his empty cup and walks around the
table in a circle. He puts on
54
00:05:46.800 --> 00:05:50.800
a medical glove and wraps the flush
of her leg with his knuckles. There
55
00:05:50.959 --> 00:05:56.439
is some give and almost no noise, save for the gentle rasp of fabric.
56
00:05:57.399 --> 00:06:00.040
He had expected her body to still
be fairly rigid, but only the
57
00:06:00.160 --> 00:06:05.639
neck has remained in an unnatural position. The rest of her has settled much
58
00:06:05.680 --> 00:06:11.199
the way a body should on the
steel autopsy table. Did you warm her,
59
00:06:11.600 --> 00:06:15.079
Burgh asked the Dener. The man
shakes his head. No more than
60
00:06:15.120 --> 00:06:18.480
carrying her in with the help of
a few patrolmen, the Dener says.
61
00:06:19.120 --> 00:06:23.560
The detective says, she looks like
a vagrant frozen to death. No foul
62
00:06:23.600 --> 00:06:28.920
play my degree for the most part, Burgh says, pointing to different parts
63
00:06:28.920 --> 00:06:32.920
of the body. She's barely frozen, and it's terribly cold outside. And
64
00:06:33.079 --> 00:06:36.800
be surprised if she died too long
before I woke up this morning, He
65
00:06:36.920 --> 00:06:42.120
leans closer. This building would have
been open then, all that light and
66
00:06:42.199 --> 00:06:45.800
heat shining out the windows, and
she died in a dark, cold,
67
00:06:45.839 --> 00:06:48.240
little cubby at the end of the
block. I wonder if she thought of
68
00:06:48.279 --> 00:06:54.160
sheltering here for just a bit,
and why she decided against it. She's
69
00:06:54.199 --> 00:06:59.639
a gypsy, the Dener says,
not hiding his disgust. She probably knew
70
00:06:59.680 --> 00:07:02.959
better. The night guard would never
have let her inside. Murder, then,
71
00:07:03.439 --> 00:07:09.040
Burke says. The Dener gives them
a serious look. Are you joking?
72
00:07:09.680 --> 00:07:13.720
He asks, no, but write
it up as an accidental death.
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00:07:14.240 --> 00:07:17.279
I'm sure the courts won't bother prosecuting
the soul of a wounded nation anyhow.
74
00:07:18.000 --> 00:07:21.399
He rests his hands on the woman's
eyes, knowing they won't close by touch
75
00:07:21.399 --> 00:07:26.839
alone, but giving her a few
moments rest regardless. Put her in G
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00:07:27.000 --> 00:07:30.279
four and bring me this one,
he hands the deaner of the file.
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00:07:30.839 --> 00:07:58.079
I'll give her Gypsy here until the
afternoon to fully saw. An hour later,
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00:07:58.120 --> 00:08:01.839
they have the dead girl on the
slab. She is pitifully naked and
79
00:08:01.519 --> 00:08:07.480
terribly small. Her left breast is
peppered with ugly red purple stab wounds.
80
00:08:07.199 --> 00:08:11.879
There are similar wounds in the area
of her liver and one to her temple.
81
00:08:11.720 --> 00:08:16.199
The diner stands by patiently holding a
stenopad and setting the large reel to
82
00:08:16.279 --> 00:08:22.360
reel tape player to record. My
count is that there are thirteen stab wounds
83
00:08:22.360 --> 00:08:28.040
to the girl's left breast, Berg
says. He prods the area to ensure
84
00:08:28.040 --> 00:08:31.960
he's not missing any and then reconfirms
the number. The wounds are tightly grouped
85
00:08:31.960 --> 00:08:37.200
into without deformity, suggesting the body
was not in motion when the attack happened.
86
00:08:37.960 --> 00:08:41.720
Additionally, there are three wounds to
her liver and a single wound to
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00:08:41.799 --> 00:08:45.840
her left temple. Burg stops and
looks at the body, turning slightly.
88
00:08:46.759 --> 00:08:50.840
Then he raises his gloved hand over
the stab wounds and lets it fall gently
89
00:08:50.879 --> 00:08:54.799
several times. He doesn't have to
make much of an adjustment to reach the
90
00:08:54.840 --> 00:08:58.879
head, the chest, and the
abdominal wounds. He nods moves the dead
91
00:08:58.879 --> 00:09:03.480
girl's chin to the side. There
is some substantial bruising here to her throat.
92
00:09:03.080 --> 00:09:07.840
He continues. He matches his own
hands to the livid marks on the
93
00:09:07.879 --> 00:09:13.440
girl's pale skin. They are almost
perfect. The breadth of the marks suggest
94
00:09:13.559 --> 00:09:18.320
very likely manual strangulation, clearly not
any common literature, a rope or what
95
00:09:18.440 --> 00:09:22.840
have you. He moves her chin
again. There are also some fairly substantial
96
00:09:22.840 --> 00:09:28.399
burns to the girl's neck and chin. Though he's a clearly post mortem,
97
00:09:28.519 --> 00:09:31.840
the blackened portions of the skin cleaned
away by my deaner before this autopsy likely
98
00:09:33.200 --> 00:09:37.759
obscured the aforementioned bruises from the view
of the police who wrote the original report.
99
00:09:37.799 --> 00:09:41.600
He pauses a long time, stepping
slowly backward along the small body.
100
00:09:43.360 --> 00:09:46.639
He looks at the burns of the
legs and then shakes his head, which
101
00:09:46.679 --> 00:09:52.120
suggests, he says, pushing the
girl's legs apart. He uses a swab
102
00:09:52.120 --> 00:09:56.960
inside of a giant and emerges with
a small, jellied yellow glob of.
103
00:09:58.240 --> 00:10:03.440
He holds this above the table away
from the corpse. Mister Platts, he
104
00:10:03.559 --> 00:10:07.879
says, using the Dener's Christian name. He actually has to pause to remember
105
00:10:07.919 --> 00:10:11.200
it. Please bring me a vial
to place the center. The Dener sets
106
00:10:11.200 --> 00:10:16.679
aside his steno pad and obliges Burg. Using the careful, rushed sort of
107
00:10:16.679 --> 00:10:20.320
steps someone in a hurry might use
in a library, Burg deposits the sample
108
00:10:20.360 --> 00:10:26.559
and then takes up a sterile cloth
To continue, he says. The Dener
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00:10:26.600 --> 00:10:30.159
picks up the path. A very
small amount of what appears to be,
110
00:10:30.320 --> 00:10:33.840
in my expertise to be semen has
been found inside the entrance of the girls
111
00:10:33.919 --> 00:10:39.639
vagina. He holds up the vial
and closer inspection. The sample I've obtained
112
00:10:39.639 --> 00:10:43.919
strikes me as being far beneath the
average volume of human ejaculate one expects from
113
00:10:43.919 --> 00:10:48.480
a man between point two five milli
leaders and one milli leader. Sample in
114
00:10:48.559 --> 00:10:54.000
question is, at my best,
guest, less than point oh one midleleaders.
115
00:10:54.679 --> 00:10:58.159
He leans closer to the girl and
uses the sterile cloth on her labia.
116
00:10:58.600 --> 00:11:03.080
He stands back to inspect. A
surface cleaning of the girl's vaginal area
117
00:11:03.120 --> 00:11:07.080
has revealed a yellow, crusted substance
I believe to be additional ejaculate, He
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00:11:07.200 --> 00:11:13.840
says, a receptacle for this.
Police mister platts Plots obliges him again and
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00:11:13.919 --> 00:11:18.240
they resume. He pries open the
girl's genitalia with the forceps and looks inside,
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00:11:18.960 --> 00:11:24.200
touching here and there and then making
a few additional swabs. Further inspection
121
00:11:24.200 --> 00:11:31.240
of the area shows scratching consistent with
a forcible digital penetration, but as with
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00:11:31.399 --> 00:11:35.639
the stab wounds to the chest,
abdominal region and head, there's no indication
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00:11:35.679 --> 00:11:39.440
of struggle. Why this happened,
given the sample of ejaculate, lack of
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00:11:39.480 --> 00:11:45.159
substantial blood and the vaginal canal,
and the lack of any struggle type wounds,
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00:11:45.759 --> 00:11:48.120
I'd have to surmise the girl was
penetrated with a finger by the assailant,
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00:11:48.559 --> 00:11:52.960
and that the finger in question was
coated to some degree in seaman,
127
00:11:52.519 --> 00:11:58.480
and that this was done post mortem. Berg stops what he's doing and turns
128
00:11:58.519 --> 00:12:01.000
away from the body for a long
moment, taking a deep breath and looking
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00:12:01.039 --> 00:12:07.360
at a distant spot on the wall. Sir, the deaner asks, Burg
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00:12:07.440 --> 00:12:11.360
waves a hand but doesn't turn around
for a few more seconds. What he
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00:12:11.440 --> 00:12:18.039
does, he continues as though nothing
has happened. I believe a further dissection
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00:12:18.360 --> 00:12:24.159
of the vaginal complex will confirm those
theories. However, we'll cross that bridge
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00:12:24.159 --> 00:12:28.639
when we come to it. Or
now, I'll begin the standard internal inspection,
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00:12:28.720 --> 00:12:33.120
starting with a modified y incision to
preserve the stab wounds on the body's
135
00:12:33.200 --> 00:12:37.600
left breast. He does as he
says, cutting deeply into the flesh beside
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00:12:37.639 --> 00:12:43.480
the girl's collar bones and is sending
to a shared point before tracing a line
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00:12:43.480 --> 00:12:48.159
down her sternum to her upper pelvis. The only slight deviation in these otherwise
138
00:12:48.159 --> 00:12:52.080
straight lines is the delicate U shaped
curve of his knife around the girl's belly
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00:12:52.120 --> 00:12:56.559
button. An anatomical note he notices
but needs not repeat, is that the
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00:12:56.600 --> 00:13:01.759
girl's belly button is of the outward
facing variety. He pulls the skin of
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00:13:01.799 --> 00:13:05.480
the girl's chest and abd him in
free, noticing an odd play of light
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00:13:05.559 --> 00:13:09.440
through the holes the stab wounds of
left in the flesh. Then she is
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00:13:09.480 --> 00:13:11.320
as open and bare as any of
the other dead things that wind up on
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00:13:11.399 --> 00:13:16.679
his table. He cuts and describes
as he's cutting, noting the depth and
145
00:13:16.720 --> 00:13:20.159
severity of the punctures to her heart, her lungs, and her liver.
146
00:13:20.240 --> 00:13:24.559
All in all, roughly half of
the stab wounds would have been eventually fatal
147
00:13:24.600 --> 00:13:28.559
on their own, and still half
more of those almost instantly fatal. The
148
00:13:28.639 --> 00:13:33.960
depth and intensity of the exam shows
further evidence that the girl was most certainly
149
00:13:33.080 --> 00:13:39.679
unconscious before the knife blows began.
The further excision and dissection of the vagina
150
00:13:39.759 --> 00:13:43.960
also confirms his assessment of the finger
damage done by the insertion of ejaculate into
151
00:13:43.960 --> 00:13:50.600
the vaginal canal. He says,
the only words uttered after hours of separating
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00:13:50.600 --> 00:13:56.919
and moving and weighing in time,
the girl's innards are in neat little piles,
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00:13:56.000 --> 00:14:00.480
bagged and labeled, and sitting on
another table where they won't get in
154
00:14:00.519 --> 00:14:03.919
the way. Her face is now
completely obscured, the flesh of her neck
155
00:14:03.960 --> 00:14:09.080
having been laid bare, and the
muscles of her throat flayed and separated up
156
00:14:09.080 --> 00:14:15.399
in a broad red fan. For
his individual inspection, highoid bone is broken
157
00:14:15.519 --> 00:14:20.960
quite badly, and at least three
places, Berg says, pulling the shattered
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00:14:20.000 --> 00:14:26.240
wishbone shaped bone free and setting them
together on the table. In at least
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00:14:26.240 --> 00:14:30.200
two places, I can observe some
fairly deep and ragged lacerations in the tissue
160
00:14:30.240 --> 00:14:35.399
beside the brakes and the bone,
suggesting an extreme force applied inconsistently to the
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00:14:35.480 --> 00:14:41.240
neck. Literally every infra highroid and
super highroid muscle shows bruising, with especially
162
00:14:41.360 --> 00:14:46.039
noticeable damage to the stylo glosses and
highlo glosses. In fact, the left
163
00:14:46.240 --> 00:15:03.080
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00:15:03.120 --> 00:15:07.559
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Never go to the post office again. The autopsy goes on until the
192
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girl has no secrets left, until
she is rendered and reduced to the most
193
00:17:25.119 --> 00:17:29.960
bare parts of herself. There is
no indignity in this process, though for
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00:17:30.160 --> 00:17:33.599
once, the completion of it does
not leave Burg with the feeling of elation.
195
00:17:33.000 --> 00:17:37.880
Along autopsy normally does, the feeling
that he has turned every card on
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00:17:37.920 --> 00:17:42.240
the table face up for the questing
eyes of the law. There's something missing,
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00:17:42.759 --> 00:17:47.119
and he realizes what it is.
She sits down for lunch with his
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00:17:47.240 --> 00:17:52.160
Dener. Do I smell odd?
The Dener asks, touching at his sleeve
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00:17:52.160 --> 00:17:56.039
and giving it a quick sniff.
What, Burg asks, I think I
200
00:17:56.079 --> 00:18:00.640
spilled from Meldeheid on myself, and
I can't seem to shake the smell,
201
00:18:00.200 --> 00:18:04.279
the Dener says. Burg gives him
an incredible look and SIPs at his beer.
202
00:18:06.119 --> 00:18:08.119
Now in the town square, with
the sun up and the meager winter
203
00:18:08.200 --> 00:18:12.480
crowns out and about on the streets, the city doesn't seem so grim.
204
00:18:12.519 --> 00:18:18.799
But then his mind wanders to the
woman frozen, dead and forgotten outside the
205
00:18:18.799 --> 00:18:22.119
city's very halls of justice, and
thinks to himself that the sun must always
206
00:18:22.119 --> 00:18:27.240
set. He size and as another
drink. Do you remember the elderly woman
207
00:18:27.319 --> 00:18:32.799
we autopsied about a week ago?
Burgh asks the Dener as they walk outside
208
00:18:32.799 --> 00:18:37.640
after lunch, though neither of them
would ever admitted they aren't keen on returning
209
00:18:37.680 --> 00:18:41.680
to work after finishing the job on
the girl. They are professionals, but
210
00:18:41.000 --> 00:18:45.440
even some things require a time out
in the fresh air. Stabbed twenty four
211
00:18:45.480 --> 00:18:49.400
times? Is that the one?
The deaner asks, Burg, nods and
212
00:18:49.480 --> 00:18:53.519
gestures for him to stop in the
road. What are you doing? The
213
00:18:53.680 --> 00:18:59.880
entire Roman senate only stabbed Julius Caesar
twenty three times, Berg says, grab
214
00:19:00.079 --> 00:19:03.079
the Dener by his collar and jabbing
him in the chest as fast as he
215
00:19:03.079 --> 00:19:07.160
can with his fingers. The Dener
protests, and the passing couple give the
216
00:19:07.240 --> 00:19:11.079
both of them odd looks. Burg
steps back, panting slightly and patting away
217
00:19:11.119 --> 00:19:15.119
a flush of sweat on his forehead. He shakes his head. That was
218
00:19:15.200 --> 00:19:22.599
twenty four he says, that was
fucking insane, The Dener says, snapping
219
00:19:22.599 --> 00:19:26.480
his fingers at Berg and then settling
his clothes back to rights. The hell
220
00:19:26.559 --> 00:19:30.759
man. Look at me, Burg
says, I'm sweating, I've lost my
221
00:19:30.799 --> 00:19:34.880
breath even, and I'm not even
struggling with you for real, not even
222
00:19:34.920 --> 00:19:41.359
holding a knife. Your point,
Who hates an old woman that much?
223
00:19:41.799 --> 00:19:47.839
He asks, I've seen hundreds of
bodies with multiple stab wounds, but few
224
00:19:47.920 --> 00:19:52.319
with more than twelve, or so
much less twenty four. Almost always it's
225
00:19:52.359 --> 00:19:56.039
some lover's quarrel or vengeance or crime
of hate, real hate. But who
226
00:19:56.039 --> 00:20:00.119
hates an old lady, an elderly
woman with no real vices, no criminal
227
00:20:00.200 --> 00:20:07.480
history, and as far as we
know, fairly agreeable disposition. A madman,
228
00:20:07.039 --> 00:20:11.720
the Dener says, waving to the
couple who were now peering over their
229
00:20:11.759 --> 00:20:15.400
shoulders at him and his boss.
I should think, but perhaps not.
230
00:20:17.319 --> 00:20:21.680
The mad aren't in control of their
facilities, But this one was. He
231
00:20:21.759 --> 00:20:26.039
didn't stab randomly, like you might
at the specters of your imagination, but
232
00:20:26.440 --> 00:20:32.160
accurately, viciously, with intent and
knowledge of what his actions would do.
233
00:20:33.079 --> 00:20:37.000
You are using the masculine fairly liberally, the Dener notes, beginning to walk
234
00:20:37.039 --> 00:20:41.480
again. He's become sick of this
street now that he's suddenly one of its
235
00:20:41.480 --> 00:20:47.319
most notorious celebrities. I think it
should have to be a man given a
236
00:20:47.519 --> 00:20:52.119
manual damage to the girl's neck,
Berg says. He falls in step with
237
00:20:52.160 --> 00:20:56.519
the Dener and adjusts his coat against
the rising wind. The girl, the
238
00:20:56.599 --> 00:21:00.720
Dener interjects, from this morning,
what about her? The kind of man
239
00:21:00.839 --> 00:21:07.240
who could so harm an old woman
like that is the same kind of man
240
00:21:07.279 --> 00:21:11.200
who would do the same to a
child. Burke says. The physical similarities
241
00:21:11.240 --> 00:21:15.279
are obvious, the shape and locations
of the wounds match fairly well. But
242
00:21:15.400 --> 00:21:19.960
I think there is something more to
all this, something a touch more sinister
243
00:21:22.039 --> 00:21:26.640
enlighten me. Well. Perhaps the
man is not really in his mind at
244
00:21:26.720 --> 00:21:32.759
least stabbing the old woman or the
child, Burke says, tapping his chin
245
00:21:32.839 --> 00:21:37.880
slowly. I'm sure he knows what
he's doing, perhaps even why. But
246
00:21:38.000 --> 00:21:42.759
the stabbing itself is about something else. He's trying to accomplish, something other
247
00:21:42.799 --> 00:21:48.000
than simply stabbing people. What a
godlessly morbid thought, the deaner comments,
248
00:21:48.000 --> 00:21:55.079
peering around surreptitiously for eavesdroppers. This
is possibly the last time he can show
249
00:21:55.119 --> 00:21:57.839
his face in this part of town
for a while. The worst part is,
250
00:21:57.880 --> 00:22:02.279
I don't think he'd be done if
that were the case, Berg says,
251
00:22:02.960 --> 00:22:07.680
and the deaner passes him a serious
look. I suspect he's already probably
252
00:22:07.759 --> 00:22:12.680
thinking about doing it again. Maybe
he even has, possibly many times before
253
00:22:12.680 --> 00:22:17.480
as well. We just didn't know
to look. The dener looks around and
254
00:22:17.519 --> 00:22:37.960
pulls his own coat up higher against
the cold. He touches the scar,
255
00:22:37.119 --> 00:22:41.759
not for the first time that night. It is a small thing, as
256
00:22:41.920 --> 00:22:45.960
all large things are tucked up beneath
the tidy fall of his hair on the
257
00:22:45.960 --> 00:22:49.160
top of his head. The man
looking at him in the mirror is simple
258
00:22:49.200 --> 00:22:53.720
in both expression and features. He
lacks the complexity that makes him seem almost
259
00:22:53.720 --> 00:22:59.039
like a charcoal sketching of a person, a handsome sort of non person,
260
00:22:59.359 --> 00:23:04.039
drummed up dream by some advertising artist
to express his love of a certain automobile
261
00:23:04.160 --> 00:23:10.839
or hair product. He touches the
scar again. A piece of scrap metal
262
00:23:10.880 --> 00:23:14.440
fell from the sky, it seemed, and split his skull like an axe
263
00:23:15.119 --> 00:23:19.440
a work site accident. The immediate
damage was substantial, terrible, but not
264
00:23:19.640 --> 00:23:23.200
enough to kill him. They had
shaved off his hair and stitched him back
265
00:23:23.240 --> 00:23:29.119
together, tenderly prodding the chips in
his skull before deciding they needed no extra
266
00:23:29.160 --> 00:23:33.039
attention. He had wondered, hoped, in fact, that the doctors would
267
00:23:33.079 --> 00:23:37.440
pull free the shattered pieces of his
skull and poke at his brain, that
268
00:23:37.519 --> 00:23:42.000
they would see in him what nobody
but the unlucky ever saw. Perhaps they
269
00:23:42.039 --> 00:23:47.240
would stop it, or perhaps they
would tell him finally, let him know
270
00:23:48.200 --> 00:23:52.599
it was all real. Touching the
scar creates a low electrical tingle in his
271
00:23:52.720 --> 00:23:56.559
scalp that spreads roots down into his
brain all the way to the back of
272
00:23:56.559 --> 00:24:00.480
his eyes and the base of his
neck. Pain bills like drop of water,
273
00:24:00.839 --> 00:24:04.119
like grains of rice being poured over
a pegboard. The herding is the
274
00:24:04.160 --> 00:24:08.720
sound of rain growing until all the
desparent noises become the single shared roar on
275
00:24:08.799 --> 00:24:15.680
the storm it is beating on the
inside of his skull. He sighs and
276
00:24:15.759 --> 00:24:19.559
rests his elbows in the dresser beneath
the mirror. His hands, the rough
277
00:24:19.599 --> 00:24:23.519
hands of a common laborer, despite
his dress, are thick with callouses.
278
00:24:25.200 --> 00:24:29.680
They scratch his cheeks, his ears. He tries to catch his breath,
279
00:24:29.880 --> 00:24:34.920
breathing slowly, slowly. His wife
is standing beside him. All of a
280
00:24:36.000 --> 00:24:40.319
sudden, and he realizes he has
been like this for some time. The
281
00:24:40.359 --> 00:24:45.359
headaches again, she asks. He
nods, face still buried in his palms.
282
00:24:45.359 --> 00:24:49.400
Her own soft hands so much softer
than his, touch his face.
283
00:24:51.440 --> 00:24:55.319
They are like sunwarm silk. They
make him think of window curtains in the
284
00:24:55.359 --> 00:25:00.160
summer, blowing into brush against his
face. They do not cure the at
285
00:25:00.160 --> 00:25:03.319
ache, but they wear away at
the rough edges of it. They pulled
286
00:25:03.319 --> 00:25:08.000
the deepest of its spikes from his
brain. The mental image makes him further
287
00:25:08.079 --> 00:25:12.279
think of blood pooling in a woman's
navel, filling her belly button until it
288
00:25:12.359 --> 00:25:18.400
drips over the side of her still
motionless stomach. It hardens as it goes,
289
00:25:18.880 --> 00:25:22.960
becoming a dry brown crust. I
need to go for a walk,
290
00:25:22.000 --> 00:25:27.200
I think, he says. Her
arms slip over and beneath him. Again,
291
00:25:27.240 --> 00:25:32.079
he thinks of curtains, but this
time he imagines them wet and ragged,
292
00:25:32.480 --> 00:25:36.319
sliding up his chest to wrap around
his throat. He feels the bite
293
00:25:36.319 --> 00:25:40.480
of the fabric against his wimpipe and
the heady exhilaration of losing his breath.
294
00:25:41.880 --> 00:25:45.279
Are you going to be long?
She asks? He nods, shrugs,
295
00:25:47.079 --> 00:25:51.039
rises from the dresser and turns to
her. She adjusted the pels of his
296
00:25:51.079 --> 00:25:56.400
tidy brown suit don't wait up for
me, he says, striding through,
297
00:25:56.440 --> 00:26:02.000
then closing the bedroom door. Good
night. He goes to the kitchen and
298
00:26:02.079 --> 00:26:06.200
rifles through the drawers. Beside the
sink. Upstairs, his wife is tucking
299
00:26:06.200 --> 00:26:10.599
herself into bed. The sound is
familiar and comforting, and he waits in
300
00:26:10.640 --> 00:26:14.400
the dark of the kitchen, staring
up at the floorboards, until our nightly
301
00:26:14.480 --> 00:26:18.480
ritual is complete. Then he lights
a candle. The home is fitted with
302
00:26:18.480 --> 00:26:22.400
the new electric lights now filling most
of the homes, even in the poorer
303
00:26:22.400 --> 00:26:27.000
sections of town. He hates the
odd yellow glow it seems to have cast
304
00:26:27.079 --> 00:26:32.559
over all the city. Where once
the night danced with the irregular shadows of
305
00:26:32.599 --> 00:26:37.160
the gas lamps, now there were
only constant and frozen silhouettes littering all of
306
00:26:37.240 --> 00:26:41.480
the world. It felt sometimes as
though the city were nothing more than layers
307
00:26:41.559 --> 00:26:45.759
upon layers of cutouts, stuck together
by God in a mockery of a better
308
00:26:45.799 --> 00:26:49.480
world he once knew. He holds
the candle beside his face as he rummages
309
00:26:49.480 --> 00:26:53.839
through the drawers, trying to find
something to work with. He settles on
310
00:26:53.880 --> 00:26:57.200
the scissors again, pulling them out
and turning them over in his hands.
311
00:26:57.240 --> 00:27:03.799
A few times they are as always
spotless. Even the little spaces about the
312
00:27:03.839 --> 00:27:07.880
hinges are clean. It would be
a shame, despite how he used the
313
00:27:07.960 --> 00:27:14.720
things to ruin them or lose them. They are a nicely crafted set of
314
00:27:14.720 --> 00:27:19.640
tailor scissors, replete with porchit engravings
beneath the handhold loops, and of course
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00:27:21.640 --> 00:27:26.240
very sharp. He sets out into
the February cold, not bothering to pull
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00:27:26.279 --> 00:27:30.279
his heavy coat higher around his face. The chill wind burns his skin,
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00:27:30.680 --> 00:27:34.480
a feeling he doesn't find uncomfortable in
the least. He has always love fire,
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00:27:36.079 --> 00:27:37.960
and he turns the wind to flame
in his mind. As he walks.
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00:27:38.880 --> 00:27:42.039
The brush of snow over the ground
and the following gusts become the raking
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00:27:42.079 --> 00:27:45.680
breath of an inferno. The pain
of the cold against his skin is the
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00:27:45.680 --> 00:27:51.279
heat of standing too close to this
imaginary fire. It is almost enough to
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00:27:51.319 --> 00:27:56.960
quell the headache. Almost His love
of fire is older in his heart than
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00:27:56.039 --> 00:28:02.160
most all the others that reside there. Both thee and mundane they lay together.
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00:28:03.319 --> 00:28:06.759
It causes his mind to wander to
the goose, as it often does
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00:28:06.799 --> 00:28:11.559
when he begins his walks. There
are so many he remembers he can recall
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00:28:11.680 --> 00:28:15.599
every one of their faces, his
partners in the nightly waltzes. They are
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00:28:15.680 --> 00:28:21.119
old and young, male and female, their build, their sex, their
328
00:28:21.200 --> 00:28:25.799
age. None of it matters.
He could care less about innocence or beauty,
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00:28:26.160 --> 00:28:30.200
about wealth or status. No,
he requires only the beating heart,
330
00:28:32.000 --> 00:28:36.000
the miles of arteries and gallons of
blood, the steady thrumb rising to an
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00:28:36.079 --> 00:28:41.720
unsteady cadence, running, racing,
and finally bursting, spilling out over over
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00:28:41.759 --> 00:28:45.119
the grass and the ground, over
the ice and the gravel of this foul
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00:28:45.160 --> 00:28:51.319
February in a city he no longer
understands, falling as still and silent as
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00:28:51.359 --> 00:28:56.079
the snow resting on his shoulders on
the fence post beside him. Over all
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00:28:56.079 --> 00:29:00.920
the universe, and at the heart
of these pulse sitting desires, sits the
336
00:29:00.960 --> 00:29:04.480
goose. It was one of a
pear, and small for a goose.
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00:29:06.240 --> 00:29:10.279
The spring was in its earliest phases, and so it was likely an adolescent
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00:29:10.880 --> 00:29:12.920
hatch that year and just now finding
a mate. In the low, fetid
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00:29:12.960 --> 00:29:18.759
puddles outside of Cologne, the scene
was simple pastor a boy sitting on the
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00:29:18.839 --> 00:29:22.920
edge of a low, small pond
shaped like a kidney bean. The trees
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00:29:22.960 --> 00:29:29.359
around the pond were thick leaved and
brushing branches with a sound that only to
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00:29:29.799 --> 00:29:34.359
young Peter Curtain and all the world
would sound like fire. The goose,
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00:29:34.759 --> 00:29:40.039
stocky and with a far shorter,
thicker neck than a swan or its Canadian
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00:29:40.039 --> 00:29:44.839
cousins, wandered into the middle distance
between his partner and Peter. Peter was
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00:29:44.880 --> 00:29:48.440
casting stones into the pond and letting
his mind wander, thinking about the way
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00:29:48.480 --> 00:29:52.519
the steam hissed when his mother dropped
pork cutlets into the pan, the way
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00:29:52.519 --> 00:29:56.880
the spurting, steaming crack of the
searing meat made him feel like he just
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00:29:56.880 --> 00:29:59.920
stood up too fast, like he
was about to fall off the edge of
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00:29:59.920 --> 00:30:03.880
the earth. He'd stood and taking
one of the rocks and grabbed the goose
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00:30:03.920 --> 00:30:07.200
by his short, snaking neck and
brained the bird with it. The animal's
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00:30:07.200 --> 00:30:11.000
eye had collapsed into a pool of
jelly, and its beak had followed suit
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00:30:11.039 --> 00:30:15.720
on the next blow. Its head
still moved like a snake because it tried
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00:30:15.720 --> 00:30:19.440
to free itself, tried even perhaps
to understand what was happening to it.
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00:30:21.240 --> 00:30:26.039
It could not scream, it was
too hurt, but its partner could.
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00:30:26.079 --> 00:30:30.440
The thing was terribly, terribly hot, between young Peter's legs, like a
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00:30:30.440 --> 00:30:36.039
little ball of fire pressing up into
his crotch. He'd moaned and clenched the
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00:30:36.079 --> 00:30:40.599
thing tighter, pulling hard at its
neck, dropping the stone even to pull,
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00:30:40.759 --> 00:30:44.880
pull at the thing's neck, crushing
it, yanking it, pulling it
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00:30:45.000 --> 00:30:48.160
so that the body would push harder
at the sudden and vicious hardness between Peter's
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00:30:48.240 --> 00:30:52.480
legs. Then there was a release, and the goose's head came clean off,
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00:30:52.880 --> 00:30:56.079
leaving nothing but a stump, so
slick and bloody that Peter was pitched
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00:30:56.079 --> 00:31:02.119
forward onto his face. His head
had ground, and the goose's writhing neck
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00:31:02.200 --> 00:31:06.400
slid toward him, the blood from
this slender, hard thing spurting out onto
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00:31:06.440 --> 00:31:11.200
Peter's face. You can hear the
blood, could hear it pumping from the
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00:31:11.240 --> 00:31:15.519
goose's ruined body. He'd held the
thing close to him until it had grown
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00:31:15.599 --> 00:31:18.920
cold and still, and then had
left it behind, the way any child
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00:31:19.000 --> 00:31:23.359
leaves behind an old toy. He
placed it in the pond and let it
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00:31:23.400 --> 00:31:26.880
float back to its partner, who
had retreated to the far end of the
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00:31:26.880 --> 00:31:32.880
water to scream at him. Then
a scream as well at the empty sky
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00:31:32.960 --> 00:32:00.119
overhead. Peter comes to his senses, whispering some black nonsense under his breath.
371
00:32:01.200 --> 00:32:06.519
His breath is heavy, heavy,
and thick with condensation and the smell
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00:32:06.559 --> 00:32:12.039
of an unfamiliar cologne. He blinks
and pushes himself up, looking wildly about
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00:32:12.039 --> 00:32:15.920
the street around him. It is
the early morning hours of a February day
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00:32:15.119 --> 00:32:20.960
in Dusseldorff. His hands are bloody. A man is dying in the snow.
375
00:32:21.039 --> 00:32:25.759
Between his knees. The fucking scissors
he is saying, the sense of
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00:32:25.799 --> 00:32:31.079
emerging with his past self, a
passing bit of vertigo really washes over and
377
00:32:31.160 --> 00:32:36.680
through him, and then is gone. He doesn't recognize the man, because
378
00:32:36.680 --> 00:32:40.279
of course why would he. But
he does recognize the fancy said of tailor's
379
00:32:40.319 --> 00:32:45.559
scissors buried in the man's neck.
They are not covered with blood like in
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00:32:45.599 --> 00:32:49.240
some tawdry penny dreadful, but the
few drops that have made it through the
381
00:32:49.279 --> 00:32:52.519
man's clothing are more than enough to
slick the handles like motor oil. He
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00:32:52.599 --> 00:32:57.599
has to intertwine his fingers through the
looped handles and to place his foot on
383
00:32:57.680 --> 00:33:01.160
the man's back to pull the damn
things free. He looks around with wide
384
00:33:01.559 --> 00:33:07.079
dark eyes for witnesses, but there
are none. The streets are otherwise empty
385
00:33:07.279 --> 00:33:13.240
at this hour. Blood flies as
the scissors come free, flecking the snow
386
00:33:13.279 --> 00:33:17.640
beside him in a wide red archipelago. Peter tosses the scissors aside and grabs
387
00:33:17.720 --> 00:33:22.799
roughly at the dying man's collar,
pulling him back and up onto his knees.
388
00:33:22.359 --> 00:33:25.440
He jerks the man's clothing down until
his neck and shoulders are bare.
389
00:33:27.160 --> 00:33:30.319
He searches for a fresh stab wound
and finds one just between the spine and
390
00:33:30.400 --> 00:33:35.480
shoulder blades. Most likely it's the
one that tried to claim his scissors.
391
00:33:36.079 --> 00:33:39.960
He watches it pulsing oozing blood for
just a moment before pressing his lips to
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00:33:40.039 --> 00:33:45.079
it. He drinks the blood,
tries even to press his tongue inside the
393
00:33:45.119 --> 00:33:49.559
wound. Then he places his ear
over it, wrapping his arms around the
394
00:33:49.640 --> 00:33:52.759
dying man to hold him in place. There's the rasp of the man's breath
395
00:33:52.759 --> 00:33:57.160
and his wounded lungs, and the
weak thrumb of his heart, and to
396
00:33:57.240 --> 00:34:01.920
blow that the sound of the blood
sink from the wound. Peter clenches his
397
00:34:02.000 --> 00:34:06.440
teeth as his hips begin to buck, and then he is falling atop the
398
00:34:06.480 --> 00:34:09.599
wounded man. In the snow,
moaning and grinding his pelvis against nothing,
399
00:34:10.320 --> 00:34:15.760
jamming his hand into his underwear to
finish himself, clenching his penis so tightly
400
00:34:15.760 --> 00:34:19.880
in his own hand it threatens to
snap free. Then it is over.
401
00:34:20.519 --> 00:34:25.119
His face is burning, he is
blind. His ecstasy has driven him face
402
00:34:25.199 --> 00:34:30.079
first into the snow, and the
cold is burning him. Peter allows the
403
00:34:30.119 --> 00:34:34.039
sensation for a moment longer, hoping
it will sober him, and it does
404
00:34:34.159 --> 00:34:37.639
after a fashion. Eventually he pushes
himself to his knees and looks down at
405
00:34:37.679 --> 00:34:43.039
the man. He is fully dead, Now sprawled in an awkward position and
406
00:34:43.079 --> 00:34:46.599
disheveled, Peter fixes the man's clothes
for him, and then leaves, quickly,
407
00:34:46.960 --> 00:34:51.159
striding across the street to clean himself. In the reflection of a dark
408
00:34:51.199 --> 00:34:55.719
shop window. He uses snow as
before, and the pain of it enlivens
409
00:34:55.760 --> 00:35:00.960
him. At first, his image
in the glass his ghastly, blood streaked
410
00:35:00.960 --> 00:35:07.400
and wide eyed, But soon he
is himself again, at least the self
411
00:35:07.440 --> 00:35:12.079
he may present to the world,
the dream of Peter curtain others have when
412
00:35:12.119 --> 00:35:15.719
they look at him. He pulls
free a comb and fixes his hair,
413
00:35:15.400 --> 00:35:20.239
turning his head this way and that, for nodding slightly and tucking away the
414
00:35:20.239 --> 00:35:25.119
comb the scissors. He walks through
the streets for hours more, the stains
415
00:35:25.119 --> 00:35:30.039
of the earlier man camouflaged by the
dark of both the night and his suit.
416
00:35:30.000 --> 00:35:34.639
There are other possibilities he sees as
he walks, but the headache is
417
00:35:34.679 --> 00:35:37.880
dimmed to embers, and he is
far more sober than earlier. Still,
418
00:35:37.880 --> 00:35:43.440
however, he walks. There is
a woman he finds three streets down from
419
00:35:43.440 --> 00:35:46.039
the dead man, cooling and the
gravel filled gutter. She is in her
420
00:35:46.039 --> 00:35:51.400
early thirties, pretty if plump,
and walking with the careful steps of a
421
00:35:51.440 --> 00:35:57.039
woman not quite paying attention to her
surroundings. The footfalls of her leather soled
422
00:35:57.039 --> 00:36:00.840
shoes are loud enough to disguise Peters, and he might just pace with her.
423
00:36:00.920 --> 00:36:05.079
Instinctually. It's a thing he doesn't
even intend to do, but that
424
00:36:05.239 --> 00:36:08.760
is written into the very heart of
him. He can feel the heat rising
425
00:36:08.840 --> 00:36:14.000
in his heart. It's not every
night he has to, but some nights
426
00:36:14.039 --> 00:36:17.840
are that lucky. Some nights are
simply wonderful. They feel to him the
427
00:36:17.880 --> 00:36:21.960
way he thinks long, weak nights
at a beer garden must feel to other
428
00:36:22.000 --> 00:36:25.119
men as they strip themselves, free
of care and worry and binge to excess,
429
00:36:25.800 --> 00:36:30.800
only to wake slightly groggy and hung
over the next morning. Hung over,
430
00:36:30.079 --> 00:36:37.000
yes, but also somewhat lighter,
somewhat more free. He pulls the
431
00:36:37.000 --> 00:36:40.440
scissors from his pocket as they turn
onto a street of dark town houses.
432
00:36:40.880 --> 00:36:45.280
The brown stone stoops, laying in
file like piles of sleeping soldiers from street
433
00:36:45.320 --> 00:36:50.719
sign to street sign. Is close
enough now to see the individual hairs and
434
00:36:50.760 --> 00:36:53.639
the ponytail on the back of her
head. He can smell the soap she
435
00:36:53.800 --> 00:36:58.639
used to clean her hair, and
the perfumed over smell of the old sweat
436
00:36:58.760 --> 00:37:02.880
dried into her coat. Can he
hear it, though, the sound of
437
00:37:02.920 --> 00:37:07.960
her beating heart, just there,
beneath the cadence of their shared footsteps,
438
00:37:09.000 --> 00:37:13.840
just beneath the rasp of his scissors
catching on the fabric of his pocket.
439
00:37:14.719 --> 00:37:20.480
Yes, the sound of her blood
coursing, racing, humping, beating,
440
00:37:20.840 --> 00:37:24.840
thrumbing, pulsing through her veins.
The pressure of it, the beat of
441
00:37:24.880 --> 00:37:29.920
it, the blood being crushed by
the thin walls of her arteries, begging
442
00:37:30.400 --> 00:37:35.480
for freedom, yearning to fly.
He raises the scissors outstretches his hand,
443
00:37:36.199 --> 00:37:39.119
His toe catches on a slightly upraised
lip of sidewalk, and his fingers float
444
00:37:39.199 --> 00:37:45.039
in front of his face, a
centimeter shy of the woman's collar. Then
445
00:37:45.039 --> 00:37:47.360
he is stumbling, his feet just
out of sync with the young woman's.
446
00:37:49.039 --> 00:37:52.760
Without a thought, he crouches and
spins into the shadows beside one of the
447
00:37:52.800 --> 00:37:57.760
staircases, just out of sight.
The woman hears the noise and yelps and
448
00:37:57.840 --> 00:38:01.639
turns, clenching her fists to her
chest. He closes his eyes and listens
449
00:38:01.679 --> 00:38:07.840
to her walking backward. The steps
are slow and careful, cautious, terrified.
450
00:38:09.280 --> 00:38:14.519
Is someone there? She asks.
He sits in silence, looking at
451
00:38:14.519 --> 00:38:16.880
his scissors, and then into the
deep shadows of the trash heaps and stairs
452
00:38:16.920 --> 00:38:21.800
ahead of him. He rests the
tip of the scissors against the stone of
453
00:38:21.800 --> 00:38:27.760
the staircase beside his head and scrapes
them against it. Scritch scritch, Hello,
454
00:38:28.199 --> 00:38:35.119
she asks again. He scratches them
but says nothing. Scritch scratch.
455
00:38:36.159 --> 00:38:39.280
Then the woman is running. Her
steps grow softer and softer and fade to
456
00:38:39.360 --> 00:38:45.039
silence. He stands and looks around, sighing to himself and placing the scissors
457
00:38:45.039 --> 00:39:16.159
in his pocket. Then he,
too is gone. The man lays flayed
458
00:39:16.360 --> 00:39:22.840
and open on the table. Two
men in masks standing over him. The
459
00:39:22.920 --> 00:39:27.719
gloved fingers of one of them are
holding still the man's bare shoulder blade,
460
00:39:28.440 --> 00:39:31.920
while the other carefully places a piece
of paper on the bone and rubs a
461
00:39:31.960 --> 00:39:37.000
bit of graphite over it to make
an etching. The resultant image is a
462
00:39:37.079 --> 00:39:44.239
small, irregular rectangle. When the
man with the graphite is finished, they
463
00:39:44.320 --> 00:39:49.360
step back and remove their gloves and
masks. It's a fairly good impression of
464
00:39:49.400 --> 00:39:53.840
the impression, the deaner says,
turning the paper this way and that with
465
00:39:54.039 --> 00:40:00.880
splayed fingers. Berg has already fetched
a few additional sheets of clean paper from
466
00:40:00.920 --> 00:40:07.199
the filing cabinet and began copying the
triangle. He sections each of the copies
467
00:40:07.239 --> 00:40:12.800
off with marks made by Ruler,
and then looks at the Dener. I'll
468
00:40:12.800 --> 00:40:16.440
finish this, he says to the
man, Bring me the knives. He
469
00:40:16.559 --> 00:40:22.800
spends the rest of the day stabbing
paper with knives. The Dener brings Burg
470
00:40:22.000 --> 00:40:28.639
from all over the city various kinds
of cutlery that make all sorts of different
471
00:40:28.719 --> 00:40:34.760
shapes once stabbed into the paper.
It is while Burg is cutting the squares
472
00:40:34.880 --> 00:40:39.440
off another failed strip of knife tests
that. The deaner rather abruptly takes the
473
00:40:39.440 --> 00:40:45.320
scissors out of his hands and stabs
one of the test squares. The mark
474
00:40:45.079 --> 00:40:52.400
is remarkably similar. They look at
each other for just a moment scissors,
475
00:40:52.440 --> 00:40:58.239
then Burgh asks, I suppose,
so, the Dener says, and he
476
00:40:58.400 --> 00:41:02.800
departs. Burg is stunned by the
amount of different scissors they are able to
477
00:41:02.840 --> 00:41:08.360
test. In addition to the bone
and flesh scissors employed by his own office
478
00:41:09.159 --> 00:41:15.159
and many butcher shops, there are
scissors for paper, for metal, for
479
00:41:15.280 --> 00:41:22.079
stone, and incredibly enough even for
glass. But of all of them,
480
00:41:22.119 --> 00:41:27.360
the closest match is one of the
sets of five scissors they've procured from cloth
481
00:41:27.400 --> 00:41:32.639
cutters, a tailor, in fact, from just down the street. The
482
00:41:32.719 --> 00:41:37.719
Dener has the honor of stabbing the
paper, and both of them stare longer
483
00:41:37.760 --> 00:41:44.599
at the hole there than they did
at the deaf little marking in the backbone
484
00:41:44.599 --> 00:41:49.440
of the dead man. On the
autopsy table. The Dener holds the things
485
00:41:49.480 --> 00:41:53.480
in front of him, eyes wide. He looks at Burg, who slowly
486
00:41:53.559 --> 00:42:00.800
nods his head. The scissors are
made of blackened metal, with two engraved
487
00:42:00.880 --> 00:42:07.159
portraits beneath the hand loops, a
perfect match that both of them think,
488
00:42:08.199 --> 00:42:47.039
though neither wants to be the first
to say it. Monstro is an incongruity
489
00:42:47.119 --> 00:42:52.039
production. If you've enjoyed this experience, please subscribe and leave a positive review.
490
00:42:52.559 --> 00:42:57.559
Please support our sponsors. You can
find out more by searching for Monstro
491
00:42:57.719 --> 00:43:02.840
podcast on Facebook, Twitter, and
Instagram, or visit us at monstrou podcast
492
00:43:04.199 --> 00:43:07.679
dot com. The show was written
and hosted by Jack Luna, Tyler Bell,
493
00:43:07.920 --> 00:43:14.480
and Mike Boudet. Sound designed by
Jonathan McMichael and Robert Rivelli. Original
494
00:43:14.599 --> 00:43:21.199
score by Leon Rogers, art by
Jake Perez. Executive producer Mike Boudet.
