"You okay?" Jeffrey asked, giving her a concerned look.

"Yeah," Sara managed, wondering if she really was. She felt raw, like a wound that would not scab. Sara knew that if Jeffrey made a pass at her, she would take him up on the offer. All she could think of was how good it would feel to let him take her into his arms, to feel his lips kissing hers, his tongue in her mouth. Her body ached for him now in a way she had not ached for him in years. She did not particularly want sex, she just wanted the assurance of his presence. She wanted to feel protected. She wanted to belong to him. Sara had learned a long time ago that sex was the only way Jeffrey knew how to give her these things.

From across the table, Jeffrey asked, "Sara?"

She opened her mouth, thinking to proposition him, but stopped herself. So much had happened in the last few years. So much had changed. The man she wanted did not really exist anymore. Sara wasn't sure if he ever had.

She cleared her throat. "Yeah?"

"You want to hold off on this?" he asked.

"No," Sara answered in a clipped tone, inwardly berating herself for thinking she needed Jeffrey. The truth was she didn't. She had gotten this far without him. She could certainly go further.

She tapped her foot on the remote for the Dictaphone, stating, "This is the unembalmed body of a thin but well-built, well-nourished young adult white female weighing"-Sara looked at the chalkboard over Jeffrey's shoulder where she had made notations-"one hundred and twelve pounds and having a length of sixty-four inches." She tapped the recorder off, taking a deep breath to clear her mind. Sara was having trouble breathing.

"Sara?"

She tapped the recorder back on, shaking her head at him. The sympathy she had so wanted a few minutes ago now irritated her. She felt exposed.

She dictated, "The appearance of the decedent is consistent with the stated age of twenty-two. The body has been refrigerated for a period of no less than three hours and is cool to the touch." Sara stopped, clearing her throat. "Rigor mortis is formed and fixed in the upper and lower extremities, and patches of livor mortis are seen posteriorly on the trunk and extremities, except in areas of pressure."

And on it went, this clinical description of a woman who only hours ago had been battered but alive, who weeks ago had been content if not happy. Sara cataloged the exterior appearance of Julia Matthews, imagining in her mind what the woman must have gone through. Was she awake when her teeth were pulled out so that her attacker could rape her face? Was she conscious when her rectum was being ripped open? Did the drugs block the sensations when she was nailed to the floor? An autopsy could only reveal the physical damage; the girls state of mind, her level of consciousness, would remain a mystery. No one would know what was going through her mind as she was assaulted. No one would ever see exactly what this girl had seen. Sara could only guess, and she did not like the images such guessing brought to mind. Again, she saw herself on the hospital gurney. Again, she saw herself being examined.

Sara forced herself to look up from the body, feeling shaky and out of place. Jeffrey was staring at her, a strange look on his face. "What?" she asked.

He shook his head, still keeping his eyes on her.

"I wish," Sara began, then stopped, clearing the lump in her throat. "I wish you wouldn't look at me like that, okay?" She waited, but he did not acknowledge her request.

He asked, "How am I looking at you?"

"Predatorily," she answered, but that wasn't quite right. He was looking at her the way she wanted him to look at her. There was a sense of responsibility to his expression, like he wanted nothing more than to take charge of things, to make things better. She hated herself for wanting this.

"It's unintentional," he said.

She snapped off her gloves. "Okay."

"I'm worried about you, Sara. I want you to talk to me about what's going on."

Sara walked toward the supply cabinet, not wanting to have this conversation over the body of Julia Matthews. "You don't get to do that anymore. Remember why?"

If she had slapped him, his expression would have been the same. "I never stopped caring about you."

She swallowed hard, trying not to let this get to her. "Thanks."

"Sometimes," he began, "when I wake up in the morning, I forget that you're not there. I forget that I lost you."

"Kind of like when you forgot you were married to me?"

He walked toward her, but she stepped back until she was a few inches from the cabinet. He stood in front of her, his hands on her arms. "I still love you."

"That's not enough."

He stepped closer to her. "What is?"

"Jeffrey," she said. "Please."

He finally backed away, his tone sharp as he asked, "What do you think?" He was referring to the body. "Do you think you'll find anything?"

Sara crossed her arms, feeling the need to protect herself. "I think she died with her secrets."

Jeffrey gave her a strange look, probably because Sara wasn't one to buy into melodrama. She made a conscious effort to act more like herself, to be more clinical about the situation, but even the thought of doing this was too emotionally taxing.

Sara kept her hand steady as she made the standard Y-incision across the chest. The sound as she skinned back the flesh cut through her thoughts. She tried to talk over them. "How are her parents holding up?"

Jeffrey said, "You can't imagine how horrible it was telling them she'd been raped. And then, this." He indicated the body. "You can't imagine."

Sara's mind wandered again. She saw her own father standing over a hospital bed, her mother embracing him from behind. She closed her eyes for a few seconds, willing this image from her mind. She would not be able to do this if she kept putting herself in Julia Matthews's place.

"Sara?" Jeffrey asked.

Sara looked up, surprised to realize that she had stopped the autopsy. She was standing in front of the body, arms crossed in front of her. Jeffrey waited patiently, not asking her the obvious question.

Sara picked up the scalpel and went to work, dictating, "The body is opened with the usual Y-incision and the organs of the thoracic and abdominal cavities are in their normal anatomic positions."

Jeffrey started talking again as soon as she stopped. Thankfully, he chose a different topic this time. He said, "I don't know what I'm going to do about Lena."

"What's that?" Sara asked, glad for the sound of his voice.

"She's not holding up well," he said. "I told her to take a couple of days off."

"Do you think she will?"

"I think she actually might."

Sara picked up the scissors, cutting the pericardial sac with quick snips. "So, then, what's the problem?"

"She's at the edge. I can sense that. I just don't know what to do." He indicated Julia Matthews. "I don't want her to end up doing something like this."

Sara scrutinized him over the rim of her glasses. She did not know whether or not he was using dime store psychology, hiding his concern for Sara by pretending a concern for Lena, or if he really was looking for advice on how to handle Lena.

She gave him an answer that would suit either scenario. "Lena Adams?" She shook her head no, certain of this one thing. "She's a fighter. People like Lena don't kill themselves. They kill other people, but they don't kill themselves."

"I know," Jeffrey answered. He was quiet then as Sara clamped off and removed the stomach.

"This won't be pleasant," she warned, placing the stomach in a stainless steel bowl. Jeffrey had been through plenty of autopsies before, but there was nothing so pungent as the odors of the digestive tract.

"Hey." Sara stopped, surprised at what she saw. "Look at this."