Betrayed by Carol Thompson

my soul was not functioning. I was frozen and the world was spinning as I battled to maintain my balance against a hurricane of grief that brought me to my knees. No change of season, no sun to shine on my aching body, only the dreadful cold and darkness.
    Shadowy figures talked to me, tried to comfort me, but their words fell on deaf ears. Hands reached out, but there was no strength or energy to hold onto as I slipped back into my heartache. Time was no longer the same for me as for others.

The mortuary
    Tuesday morning. Apprehension chipped away at my heart, a dull clunking under the persistent feeling of dream-like illusion and un reality. Carolyn came round to the house and tried again to talk me out of going to the mortuary.
    â€œFor God’s sake, I know what rotting flesh looks like!” I snapped, and immediately felt guilty. She was only expressing her concern fo r me as a friend.
    The police had told Buddy and me that they would only take us to the mortuary if we were both sedated. I had no intention of being drugged when I saw my daughter for the last time, but we went to talk to our doctor anyway. He agreed with me, but gave us a prescri ption for tranquillisers in case we needed them afterwards.
    â€œHave you been to the doctor?” Captain Kotze asked when he arrived at the house. We nodded but didn’t admit we hadn’t actually taken an y medication.
    Buddy was looking ragged. Although he didn’t want to see T race y at the mortuary, he didn’t want me to face it on my own. Marsha agreed to come with us but was resolute that she wouldn’t go in to see Tracey. The family made a last-ditch effort to stop me from going. I ignored them and went to sit on my own to wait until Captain Kotze and his partner were ready to escort us there.
    I remember nothing about the drive, but our arrival at the mortu ary remains crystal clear in my mind. Buddy had aged overnight, his eyes red-rimmed and his skin almost grey in its pallor. He seemed to have had the life sucked out of him, and all that was left was a walk ing shell of a man. His voice was the voice of a stranger. I was worrie d about him, but I couldn’t forego seeing my child for the last time.
    â€œDon’t come into the viewing room with me,” I said, touching his arm lightly. “I promise I won’t hold it against you. I have to do this, but you don’t.”
    â€œI won’t let you do this alone,” he repeated stubbornly.
    Captain Kotze and his partner were very kind. They did their best to calm us and offer moral support. The Captain appeared to be a dif ferent man from the one I had been dealing with before and I won dered fleetingly if perhaps the strain we had been living under had made me misjudge him.
    The smell knocked us back as we walked through the main doors towards the waiting room. To people who work at the mortuary it is the smell of chemicals and cleaning agents mingled with body odours and stale cigarette smoke. To me it was the smell of death, hopeless ness, emptiness, something that seeped into my pores and will live with me forever. Marsha turned grey-green and I put my hand on her shoulder.
    â€œYou’ve done more than we expected. Go and wait in the car,” I said.
    â€œNo, I’m worried about Buddy. I’d rather be with him than waiting alone in the car.”
    The two police officers stayed close to Buddy’s side, concerned that he might pass out. The wait seemed endless. A file was lying on the desk and I knew it was Tracey’s murder docket. We paced up and down the waiting room, chain-smoking in defiance of the ban on smoking in public buildings. Then a man called us to go through to the viewing room.
    â€œAre you sure you want to do this?” he asked one final time.
    â€œOf course it’s not want I want to do!” I felt like shouting. But it was something I believed I had to do, so I just nodded.
    I walked into the viewing room, acutely aware