Chapter 2My Mother Came Back… The Day I Identified the Dead

It was two in the morning.

The walls in this cramped, old apartment were paper-thin, and a soft, rustling sound was drifting from the bedroom next door.

I lay awake in the dark, my mind spinning. On one hand, I saw the serial number A-7734 on the cold metal plate. On the other, I saw the woman who had so carefully carried the hot pot to the table.

"Ugh..."

A heavily muffled gasp of pain echoed from her room, followed by the soft thud of something hitting the wooden floor.

I pulled back my blanket, ignored my slippers, and walked barefoot to her door. I gently pressed down on the handle.

The door wasn't latched, leaving a small crack.

Under the pale, cold moonlight streaming through the window, I saw her.

She wasn't in bed. She was sitting on the floor in front of her vanity, clutching a bottle of cheap, heavy concealer I had abandoned long ago. She was clumsily dabbing the thick makeup onto her neck and arms.

Her movements were awkward, her shoulder joints creaking with a terrible stiffness. Every lift of her arm seemed to require an immense amount of physical effort.

The spots she was trying so desperately to hide were dark, purplish-blue patches of postmortem lividity.

As the door gave a tiny squeak, her hand jerked. The glass bottle slipped from her fingers and landed with a soft thud on the rug.

She spun around, her eyes wide with sheer panic and vulnerability.

"Gwenny... don't look! Please, go back to bed!"

She scrambled to grab a nearby throw blanket, wrapping it tightly around herself as she tried to retreat into the shadows beneath the vanity. Large, heavy tears rolled down her cheeks, her voice shaking violently.

"Mom caught some weird skin disease... there are ugly spots all over me..."

"I look horrible. I don't want to scare you. Please don't look at me like this, Gwenny. Go on, get out!"

She was trembling, clutching the edges of the blanket for dear life.

I took a deep breath, keeping my face entirely blank, and flipped on the overhead light.

Under the harsh, white glare of the bulb, she huddled in the corner, shaking.

I pulled a pair of sterile medical gloves from my pajama pocket, slipped them on, and knelt down in front of her.

"I'm a surgeon, Mom."

"If you're sick, why didn't you tell me?"

I reached for the blanket.

She held onto it with a death grip, weeping. "Gwenny, it's so ugly... you'll hate me..."

"I'm your daughter. I could never hate you."

My voice was soft, but it carried a quiet, unyielding authority.

I gently pried her fingers loose and pulled the blanket down.

Up close, the purple patches were clearly not a skin disease. They were the classic signs of pooling blood after circulation had stopped. Her body temperature was incredibly low. Even in the sticky heat of this summer night, her skin felt like solid ice.

"Bear with me," I said.

I reached into the small medical kit I had brought from my room and pulled out a syringe. The cylinder was filled with a concentrated embalming fluid I had quietly taken from the pathology lab.

"It's just fatigue from the trip, Mom."

"The mountain air was damp, which triggered some acute arthritis and poor circulation. I'm going to give you a special injection. You'll feel much better tomorrow."

Her tear-filled eyes looked at me with a pure, almost childlike trust.

"Really? After the shot, you won't think I'm gross?"

"Really."

I pushed up her sleeve, wiping her shoulder with an alcohol swab.

There was no bounce or elasticity to her muscle. When the needle pierced her skin, it felt like pushing into a cold, dense piece of raw meat.

Not a single drop of blood emerged.

My expression didn't change as I slowly pushed the plunger down, injecting the entire dose of preservative. When I pulled the needle out, I held an alcohol pad over the puncture site for a long moment.

"All done. Go get some sleep."

I helped her stiff arms up, guiding her toward the bed. She complied like a obedient doll, letting me tuck her in.

Her lips parted, as if she wanted to say something, but only a faint whisper escaped.

"Gwenny... Mom will protect you. No one is ever going to hurt you again..."

I turned off the light and stepped out, leaning my back against the hallway wall. I covered my mouth, tears finally spilling over.