Reconstructing the Face of a Headless Corpse

While I was being tortured by those monsters, my brother was busy shopping for clothes with my stand-in. I called him, hoping to hear his voice one last time. Instead, he told me, “If you want to die, just hurry up and do it. Stop bothering me.” A few days later, he sat in his office as the department’s genius forensic sketch artist, tasked with reconstructing the face of a headless corpse. He tore through dozens of sheets of paper, but in the end, the face he drew was mine. And for the first time in his life, my brother panicked. The police arrived quickly after the report came in, cordoning off the scene while curious onlookers gathered. From the distance, I saw my brother, Jason Locke, finally show up, casually late as always. I’d always been proud of him. He was the youngest and most talented forensic sketch artist in the department. With just a few vague details from a witness or a blurry surveillance image, he could bring a suspect’s face to life. Thanks to his sketches, countless cases had been solved, and suspects apprehended. Even victims who had been mutilated beyond recognition—Jason could draw them, too. But today, could he draw me? I doubted it. After all, they’d torn me apart. When they hacked off my arms and legs, I was still breathing. Even now, thinking back to that excruciating pain makes my body tremble. The forensic team carefully photographed my dismembered remains, placing each piece into evidence bags. Most of my body had been recovered—except for my head. The coroner’s preliminary report read, “The victim appears to be a male, approximately 17 years old, based on bone structure. Severe bruising, countless stab wounds, and multiple compound fractures indicate prolonged torture before death. The motive seems to be revenge.” Jason took one look at the remains, turned pale, and ran to the side to vomit. It turns out, even in death, he still found me disgusting. The investigation hit a dead end until a foam box suddenly fell from a nearby rooftop. Inside were the severed eyes, nose, mouth, and ears of a human. The police launched a manhunt, but the perpetrator wasn’t caught. The conclusion was clear: the killer was taunting them, brazenly watching from nearby. Back at the station, Jason got to work. With no leads on the suspect, he started with “me.” As always, he bowed slightly to the remains before beginning—a ritual of respect he performed before sketching any victim. “Such a young age… what a tragedy.” “Your family must be heartbroken.” My heart ached at his words. Really? Would you be heartbroken, Jason? Or would you finally feel free, knowing I’m gone? He put on his gloves with practiced precision, carefully arranging the severed eyes, nose, mouth, and ears in front of him. His movements were professional, even gentle. Once, I had longed for him to show me even a fraction of that tenderness—maybe a hug, a pat on the head. But that had always been a hopeless dream. He had never even smiled at me. Suddenly, his hands froze mid-motion. His fingers trembled as he flipped over the left ear. There was a large scar behind it, a burn mark I’d had since childhood. His knuckles turned white as he pressed his thumb against the ear, brushing away some dust. But the scar wasn’t there. He exhaled slowly, almost in relief, muttering to himself, “It couldn’t be him. He’s too stubborn to die.” But Jason, you’re wrong. I was stubborn, but even I couldn’t survive this. The scar wasn’t there because they had carved it off my skin. Every scar, every birthmark—they had stripped them all away. Jason’s skill was unmatched. It didn’t take long for him to sketch my face perfectly. But instead of relief, he looked disturbed. He stared at the drawing for a long moment before tearing it to shreds. Then, he picked up his pencil and started again. His eyelashes quivered as sweat beaded on his forehead. His grip on the pencil was so tight, his fingertips turned pale. By the time our uncle walked into the room, Jason had already crumpled a dozen failed sketches. Curious, our uncle picked one up and frowned. “Why are you drawing Alex?” Jason didn’t look up, his voice strained. “I don’t know. Every time I try to draw, his face just keeps coming to mind.” “Creepy,” our uncle muttered before tossing the sketch aside. Jason’s face darkened. Once again, I had made him unhappy. But don’t worry, Jason. From now on, I’ll never upset you again.

My uncle, the police chief, worked in the same department as my brother. I always liked Uncle Matt. He wasn’t like Jason—he was kind to me, always gentle. But Jason never let me get close to him. “You don’t deserve it,” he’d say. “You killed his little sister, Alex. How dare you stick to him like that?” “Don’t you think every time he looks at you, he remembers the sister you took from him?” “Murderer. That’s what you are.” So, even though I liked Uncle Matt, I tried my best not to bother him. But Uncle Matt always treated me well, no matter what. Like now, when Jason insulted me, Uncle Matt just sighed and shook his head. “Jason, don’t talk about your brother like that.” “Alex remembered it’s your birthday today. He even asked me to give you this gift.” Uncle Matt handed Jason a card and a neatly wrapped box. Jason didn’t even glance at it before tossing it straight into the trash. Uncle Matt quickly bent down to retrieve it. “You’re so stubborn,” he muttered. “Alex knows you hate him. That’s why he didn’t give it to you himself—he was afraid you wouldn’t accept it.” That’s right. Every year, I gave Jason a gift for his birthday, and every year, he would throw it away. Because Jason’s birthday was also the anniversary of our parents’ death. It happened on Jason’s 11th birthday. Mom and Dad had taken us out for dinner, and they’d bought a chocolate cake for the celebration. But I had thrown a tantrum, insisting I wanted a strawberry cake instead. So, they went across the street to exchange it. That’s when the car accident happened. I still remember Jason’s heart-wrenching cries, the way he screamed for them. I, on the other hand, didn’t shed a single tear. Jason called me a monster. He wouldn’t let me near our parents’ bodies. He screamed at me until his voice broke. “This is all your fault! You killed them!” “Why couldn’t you just let it go? Why couldn’t you have died instead?” His eyes burned with hatred. “Go ahead, Alex. Eat all the strawberry cake you want. Eat the whole damn world’s supply.” Back then, I finally cried. Big, heavy tears. Because he was right. It was my selfishness that killed them. I should’ve been the one to die. I wasn’t even allowed to attend their funeral—Jason wouldn’t let me. “You don’t deserve to be there,” he’d said. For the next ten years, my brother—who once loved me more than anyone else—never cared for me again. When he became an adult, Jason even adopted a boy my age, Chris, to take my place. All the love that used to be mine, he gave to Chris. When Chris grew his hair long, Jason called it stylish. When I did the same, I was “rebellious” and “unruly.” Chris moved into my old bedroom while I was sent to live in the basement. Uncle Matt placed a hand on Jason’s shoulder and said softly, “Jason, ten years is enough. You’ve hated Alex long enough.” “He’s your brother. You can’t treat him like this.” “I’m sure he feels guilty. He’s probably been carrying that guilt for years. I know it hasn’t been easy for him either.” Jason scoffed. “Guilty? Him?” “Uncle Matt, don’t you hate him? He killed your little sister. He’s a monster. If he hadn’t thrown that tantrum, they’d still be alive.” “Mom and Dad died right in front of him, and he didn’t shed a single tear.” Jason glanced at my corpse then, just for a second. Had he recognized me? But in the next moment, his face darkened, and he spat out, “I only wish that body was his.” “I hate him more than anything in the world.” Every time he talked about me, his voice was filled with venom. But now, he could finally be happy. His wish had come true. That body was mine. Just then, a fax came through on Jason’s computer. It read: “Do you like my gift, genius sketch artist? Guess who’ll be next.” Jason and Uncle Matt exchanged a glance, their faces pale. Jason immediately pulled out his phone and called Chris. “Chris, are you okay? You’re safe, right?” “Good. Don’t go anywhere for now, okay?” Chris was always his first priority. Jason, I wish you could’ve cared about me like that. But I know you hated me too much for that. Uncle Matt told Jason to call me as well, and reluctantly, he did. But my phone was off. I didn’t even know where it was. It had disappeared the day I died. Uncle Matt turned to look at my body, his face pale. “No… it can’t be…” I felt a surge of excitement. Were they about to figure it out? But Jason shook his head, his voice firm. “Impossible. There’s no way it’s him. He’s too stubborn to die.” “That reckless idiot. He called me the other day, whining about how mean I was to him.” “I don’t get it. Why can’t he just grow up and stop being so selfish? Why can’t he be more like Chris?” Jason hesitated for a moment before muttering, “Still, I can’t shake this bad feeling. Alex said he ordered a cake for me today and wanted me to come pick it up. But now I can’t reach him.” Uncle Matt sent me a text, his face filled with worry. “Alex, be good. Don’t run off anywhere for the next few days, okay?” “By the way, Jason loved your gift.” Uncle Matt, thank you. But it’s too late. The body lying behind you is mine. A few minutes later, Chris arrived. Jason’s face lit up instantly. He reached out and ruffled Chris’s hair, his touch so gentle it made me turn away. Even as a ghost, jealousy burned in my chest. Jason told Uncle Matt he wasn’t feeling well and left to take Chris out for cake. Uncle Matt reminded him, “Make sure Alex comes with you. He loves cake, too.” Uncle Matt was always so kind to me. But I won’t be able to join them. Before leaving, Jason left me a voicemail. “Alex, what’s your problem? Do you think disappearing like this is going to make me worry? You’re dreaming.” “Even if you died in a ditch somewhere, I wouldn’t blink.” “Call Uncle Matt back before tomorrow. He’s worried about you. You’re so selfish.” “Anyway, I’m off to eat cake with Chris.” I stood right in front of him, watching as his anger burned. A deep ache spread through my chest. Jason, you really know how to hurt me. You’ve told me to die so many times, and now I finally have. Ten years ago, my selfishness turned you into an orphan. I hope my death brings you peace.

Some invisible tether pulled my soul along as I followed them home. It was Jason’s birthday, but he spent his time carefully cutting a slice of cake for Chris. Chris was a snake. He treated me horribly when no one else was looking, but now he put on this fake, sweet act. “Jason, shouldn’t we try to find Alex? He loves cake too,” Chris said with a concerned expression that I knew was completely phony. The warmth in Jason’s gaze instantly disappeared, replaced by irritation. “Why are you bringing him up? Didn’t you hear him ignoring my calls earlier?” he snapped. “For all I care, he can stay gone for the rest of his life.” Jason’s voice softened as he turned back to Chris. “Chris, let’s just pretend he’s dead. From now on, you’re my only brother.” Chris gave him an obedient nod, but I could see the smug, calculating glint in his eyes. It was the same look he always had after framing me for something and watching Jason tear into me over it. The cake they ate was strawberry, but Jason wouldn’t even let me say the word “strawberry” around him. Chris took a bite and complained, “It’s not even good. Jason, you don’t even know what I like.” His tone was sharp, but Jason just chuckled, his expression soft. I envied Chris, the way he could throw tantrums and still be doted on. When you’re the favorite, you can get away with anything. I, on the other hand, could stay quiet and obedient and still never earn a shred of affection from Jason. Jason suddenly pulled a small necklace from his pocket, almost like a magician producing a trick. It was too small for Chris’s neck, so he fastened it around his wrist instead. Tears welled up in my eyes, and I couldn’t hold them back any longer. That necklace… It was the one Mom had put around my neck at my first birthday party. After she died, I used to take it out and look at it whenever I missed her. But Jason had ripped it from me, saying I wasn’t worthy of wearing it. I’d begged him to give it back so many times, and he’d always said, “I’ll give it to you when you’re dead.” And now, here it was, given so effortlessly to Chris. Well, Jason, I’m dead now. Does that mean you can give it back to me? The first autopsy report came out the next day, confirming what the coroner had already suspected. Jason slammed the paper down on his desk, cursing under his breath. “Whoever did this is a goddamn monster.” “By the way, has anyone come forward to claim the body yet?” he asked his assistant. When the assistant shook his head, Jason’s anger only grew. “Unbelievable. What kind of people abandon their own kid like this? When they show up, make sure I give them a piece of my mind.” The assistant nodded awkwardly. “We’ll probably have to do a DNA match,” Jason continued. “Go tell the lab to collect the samples.” Then, he picked up his pencil to resume the sketch he hadn’t finished the day before—my face. But before he could begin, his phone rang. Jason’s expression darkened as he listened to the person on the other end. A few moments later, Uncle Matt walked into the room, his face filled with concern. “Did you take Alex for cake yesterday?” he asked. Jason scowled. “Why do you even care about that useless brat?” he shot back. “Do you know what his teacher just told me? He’s been skipping school. Three days now!” “I bust my ass working to pay for his tuition, and this is how he repays me?” “He better not come back, because if he does, I’m going to teach him a lesson he’ll never forget.” Jason, I didn’t mean to skip school. But I didn’t have a choice. Uncle Matt wasn’t angry with me, though. He turned his frustration on Jason instead. “Jason, that’s enough!” he snapped. “Alex hasn’t been to school in three days, and you can’t reach him. Don’t you think you should be worried about where he is?” “What if something’s happened to him? Your parents left him in your care. Is this how you’re honoring their memory? What are you going to tell them when you meet them in heaven?” Uncle Matt’s voice cracked as his eyes grew red. Jason opened his mouth to argue but seemed to think better of it and stayed quiet. After Uncle Matt left, a second autopsy report arrived. Jason took it from the officer delivering it, but as he read, his face turned ghostly pale. I drifted closer to see what it said. There, printed in black and white, were the words: “A note was found in the victim’s stomach. It contained a single letter: K.”

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