They brought a dead nun to the morgue

Foseca nodded. He seemed to understand his colleague’s unease. Then he began to prepare for the procedure.

But before the autopsy could begin, an icy wind repeatedly invaded the room, causing the window to burst open with a crash.

 The papers on the table flew, the instruments ticked. Camilo shuddered. His body reacted with a repeated chill. He immediately turned towards the body on the stretcher and with a lump in his throat asked:

 “Do you really think we should do this, doctor?”

—To touch a nun, someone sacred? —Fóseca didn’t respond immediately, only letting out a long sigh. His gaze was fixed on the nun’s body and he too felt the same chill.

Something had changed in the atmosphere. Thus, he spoke firmly. This is our job, Camilo. 

Whoever it is, we need to find answers. We need to know the cause of death. He paused and finished.

Sometimes life presents things that seem wrong, but that are necessary.

The young doctor, still hesitant, nodded. They both breathed deeply. The veteran then took the initiative. Let’s talk. Where did you say you saw something?

“On the back,” Camilo replied. “Through the opening of the habit. There’s something there. It seems so.” Foseca approached the stretcher and examined it carefully. “Let me see.” As he drew closer, he leaned over the body.

In effect, the black habit had a small tear and through it one could see a piece of skin and something strange about it.

A dark stain, small but visible. The forensic doctor examined Camilo. They exchanged a brief look of confirmation. It was enough.

—Help me turn her over— Foseca asked. With care and respect, the two doctors placed the nun’s body face down on the icy stretcher.

Before starting, Foseca closed his eyes, took a deep breath and murmured a prayer. He asked God for forgiveness, because although it was his job, touching something sacred in that way caused him oppression in his chest.

—Pass me some scissors—he asked. Camilo handed him the instrument and Foseca began to carefully cut the back of the habit, but it only took a few centimeters for his eyes to open wide.

What he saw there was not a simple tattoo, but an inscription, something written. “Is there any truth to this?” Foseca murmured, between surprise and curiosity. “I asked him: ‘Is there something there, something written?’ Camilo exclaimed, getting even closer.”

Driven by the desire to understand, Foseca accelerated his movements, leaving the nun’s back completely exposed.

And then, as if time had stopped, the two doctors remained motionless. Their eyes remained wide open, their faces pale, without words.

Neither of them dared to blink. Silence filled the room as if the morgue itself had suffocated them. Is that what I’m reading, doctor?

“I’m not imagining this, am I?” Camilo asked, his voice breaking with fear. Foseca, still holding the scissors in his trembling hands, answered without taking his eyes off the description.

If you’re imagining it, so am I. As if I needed to make sure of what I was seeing, as if my eyes weren’t enough.

 The experienced Dr. Foseca extended his trembling hand and delicately slid his finger over the text.

Her lips moved slowly as she read in a low voice the words engraved on the young woman’s back. Please, don’t perform the autopsy on my body. Wait two hours.

What I need is in the pocket of my habit. The silence that followed was almost as still as the message.

Foseca, stretched over the body, remained motionless for several seconds as if he had assimilated what had happened. It was absurd, inexplicable, unbelievable.

Camilo, overcome by a nearly jovial tranquility, did not wait for more instructions.

He took a few steps forward, leaning over the habit. He quickly scanned the side of the black habit until he identified two discreet pockets sewn into the fabric.

The first one was fine, but when he put his fingers in the second one he felt something. He opened his eyes wide. “Doctor Foseca, there’s something here.”

It looks small, it looks like… He slowly took out the object and then finished the sentence with a voice trembling with astonishment. It was as if time stood still for him.

Camilo was left holding the small USB device in his hand as Foseca slowly approached. The older man took the object and twirled it between his fingers.

It was made of black plastic, common, seemingly non-offensive, but the sensation that enveloped it was anything but relaxing. What could have been inside?