My name is Raslin McCree, and I'm a Forensic Scientist. When a body is found, my team and I search every aspect and every nook and crannie of the victim. We look for evidence of how the victim died, how long it has been since death, and most importantly, who it was. My specific job was to take a cast of the skull and make a face out of it. The bust is then put on display so people that possibly saw the person before death might recognize them and come forward.
The cast is made out of a mold of the skull, and it is often imcomplete. The cast is given to me, and with different skin depths from the supposed weight, sex, age, and height of the victim, I make a face. Sometimes it's very accurate, sometimes it's not. The most important thing, though, is that my team and I are working together to solve a crime.
One particular crime that was solved with my help was the Young River Case. (sometimes I'm not even needed, because the evidence is so, well, evident that the murdur was quickly solved. however, this is usually rare) A half-buried skeleton was found by two duck hunters one autumn day, along the Young River. The skull was nearly complete, which was rather uncommon. Most of the teeth were missing though, and with the teeth that were left, there was not enough DNA to make a positive identity. As my other team members worked quickly and efficiently, I went into my private work area and began slowly kneeding my clay.
The smooth, plyable texture was a welcome feeling to my fingers. It's specially made to be easy to work with. The strips of one inch by six inches of gray material needed to be joined like facial tissues. There were other materials needed. For example, I need fake eyeballs, of random color. I need hair, also of random color.
The clay had become the right plyablity. It was still warm from my fingers when I went through my regular ritual of skin measurments. As I ponderd over the information, I realized I'll be making a 23-year-old woman's face. She was 5'6", and 113 pounds. I balked at the weight and height. I know people who would kill to be that small. I sighed. Maybe she died of malnutrition. The weight is a little too small. I wondered how my teammates were doing.
I enjoyed my job, but unfortunatly, my job required that someone dies. Everytime I use the special clay, and made the measurements, someone died. Perhaps they were abused, in more ways than one, sometimes they died in a horrible manner. "No one will know who it is unless I get started," I muttered.
So I began. The first layers to go on are the thickest and the area where the skin is to be puffed out. The puffed out skin is usually on the larger weights, so I didn't need very much at all for this bust. I applied the second layer, and stuck the eyeballs in. The next layer I put on would be directly for the eyeballs, then the nose. I had to do the nose a little differently. You take the diameter of the nose in certain places and use a specific formula to get the size of the nose. The Young River girl had a small, puggish nose.
As I began the finishing touches, the bust became a person. A walking, talking person who would never do any of that again. The face also had a familiar touch to it. Then I got a hunch. I smoothed the lines out a little, and added dark eyelashes, eyebrows, and dark brown hair. I didn't look at the bust completely yet, I wanted to see it finished. I put the final finishing touches on reformed cast, which is smoothing the fingerprints from the clay with water and a paintbrush, then painting color on. I was finished.
For the first time since I got the hunch, I looked at the bust. Then I gasped. The next thing I knew was the ceiling was rotated ninety degrees backward. Gavin Hoover came rushing in. "Raslin! Are you okay?" I scrunched my eyebrows together. "Huh? I'm.." I caught sight of the bust again and moaned. "What it it? Do you know her," Gavin asked. I sat up. Knew her? Of course. She was my college roommate for four years. After she graduated, I hadn't heard from her since. She must have been murdured. I hope she died quick, because she was too nice to suffer.
"Gavin, I knew her. She was my roommate. Her name is Kelly Van Tran. She was born in Idaho and we went to the same college. I haven't heard from her since she graduated. I guess this is why." Gavin nodded. "I'm sorry." Then he added, "You know Raslin, you just saved us from a lot of work." He helped me to my feet, then patted my back. "Well, your information is extremely useful, but it still leave questions unanswered unless we get that to the public. You know what to do." Then, after he hugged me, he left me alone with the bust.
It was so eriy, that I had to turn away. But I needed to take the picture to go in the paper. So I did. After that, I cleaned everything up and coved Kelly's bust with a white linen. She would be safe for now. Then, on the way home, I dropped the picture off at the newspaper place.
The weekend seemed to drag on, but when I came to work the Forensics team was all excited. "Raslin," Gavin greeted me with all smiles, "We found the killer. He came forward Sunday morning and confessed. He said he took Kelly on a date, and she had an allergic reaction or something and stopped breathing. When he found no pulse, he panicked and dumped the body in the river. He saw the picture in the paper and felt really guilty." I smiled. Gavin tended to overreact with solved cases, but I felt okay with jumping up and down with him.
Later, we figured out what Kelly had died from. She was allergic to a certain kind of wine which she had obviously forgotten about. When she went into shock, her date panicked and the rest is history. Sometimes we'll catch a serial killer, and those are the most satisfiying, because even though some died, no more will suffer their fate from the same person. But all this could have been avoided if Kelly's date had just taken her to the hospital instead of trying to dispose of the body. He signed her fate, and he was going to jail for it. The Foresic Team's work was finished, and the Young River Case was closed.
Note: None of this is true, it's all fake. I made up the names and case, and
my foresic knowledge is rather scratchy. I put everything into it, however,
because I used to want to be a foresic anthropologist like Raslin. I also wanted
to be everything else there ever was to be, but that's another story, one which
will probably never be written. This is not my last story. As soon as I can find
where I put my Chuck story, I'll send that one to Ron. Oh, this was my English
final. I got a 92. Not bad, huh?
What's Next: I dunno. Any requests?