Charlie helped me get the body bag from beneath the torso. He was clearly playing a deferential role now, letting me take the lead. I got the scissors, snipped away at the jeans and the remains of a T-shirt so we could remove them. Then we removed the underwear. I put all the clothes in the hazardous waste bin. I placed the head at the top of the table.
“So we need to wash him down and get him ready for embalming,” I said into the stillness.
Charlie stared at the head, flinched.
“I’ll wash the head,” I said.
Dwayne Duffy had been a good-looking kid in life. Trauma to his face had messed up much of that, but with a little patience, we could get him back to some semblance of how he used to look. I used the sprayer attached to the spigot to gently wash Dwayne’s head and hair.
Charlie helped as we once more used the sprayer, this time to wash Dwayne’s body. The deceased young man was painfully thin, of slight build, more a boy than a man.