The man wore a bleached-white coat, which blended in with the clean, bright room that still smelled of some corrosive cleanser. Lack of emotion and the pale lighting made his face both ghostly and solemn. Like a weathered marble statue in a moon-lit garden.
The man moved silently to a long steel table, with scalpel and forceps in his hands. He was not shaking. He had done this many times. He could imagine how someone might feel repelled, or even disgusted, by what he was about to do, but it has to be done. And it has to be done properly, the way he does it.
It’s seldom done properly nowadays, he thought to himself. So he could not quit. He will not quit, until the day he couldn’t lift a scalpel.
He touched the deranged body of the child gently. And he started to cut.
* * *
I promise you all, my poor children. I promise you all that I will send those bastards to jail, for as long as I can manage…
The man put away the dissected body of the child and grinned as he started to write his report.
* * *
“Dr. Garrison, as an expert witness of pediatric forensics, please tell us what may have caused the death of the child,” the judge said.
Dr. Garrison stood up solemnly, but this time with vivid hatred and contempt towards the defendant.
Inspired by a story about a pathologist who thought he had to help the prosecutor lay charges on the defendants.