Page 79 of Chosen Path
“Hi. As Hope mentioned, I’m a forensic pathologist. My job is to figure out why someone has died. I came to Scandia Bluff because your new village doctor, Doctor Hart, is worried. She’s worried that seven—now eight—of your friends and neighbors have died in an unusually short period of time. So after Mr. Lundgren died, Doctor Hart asked for my help. And the very same evening that I arrived in your village, Corrine Wolf died. I don’t believe that was a coincidence. I believe Corrine was killed—murdered—to prevent her from talking to me.”
He paused to let that sink in. As a whisper of disbelief and discomfort rolled through the room, he looked to the man and woman standing in the back, flanked by police officers. Greg’s expression was stricken; Kimberly’s, defiant.
“To understand the recent events here, we need to look to your history. From my review of Doctor Hart’s, Doctor Larson’s, and Doctor Collins’ files, I have a theory, but that’s all it is: a theory. To confirm it, I’ll need your help.”
A short, dark-haired man popped to his feet. Bodhi recognized him as Frank, the mail carrier. He shifted uneasily from one foot to the other and clasped his hands together like a child about to recite a memorized poem.
“I think we need to get everything out in the open. It’s long past time. I’m willing to help Doctor King.” The words rushed out of Frank’s mouth in one fast statement as he glanced around the room. He sat back down in a hurry.
Bodhi spoke to him directly. “You’re on the council, right?”
Frank nodded.
“Aside from Frank, Mrs. Dickerson, and Mr. Rockman, who else sits on the council?” Bodhi looked around now, addressing the room.
Two dozen hands went up.
Ed Pratt, who was seated at the rightmost table, stood. “Everyone who can trace a direct line to a village founder has a spot on the council. But the executive council, which runs things, is made up of the four council members who’ve held their seats the longest. That’s the way it’s always been.”
Bodhi gave the tall, blonde mortician a thankful smile. “And that executive council until very recently was made up of Greg and Kimberly, along with Nikolas, and Corrine—the two most recent deaths.”
“That’s right,” Ed confirmed.
“The village council is formally named the Ättestupa Council. Hope told me‘Ättestupa’is a Scandinavian word that roughly translates to ‘clan or kin’ plus ‘high, steep cliff.’ That makes logical sense. Scandia Bluff is, after all, a village established by Nordic settlers on the top of the highest peak in the state.”
Heads bobbed agreement in the sea of people.
“But I’ve had the oddest sensation that I know the word from another context. You’ve all experienced the feeling of having a word on the tip of your tongue but being utterly unable to access it? It’s felt a bit like that. Then, as I was looking through Doctor Collins’ records, I remembered: Ättestupa isn’t just any high precipice. It’s also the practice of senicide—or the killing of people of advanced age. In Icelandic myth, to avoid becoming a burden to their families and communities, senior citizens were either pushed off a high cliff or they jumped off it to their death.”
The whispers grew to a low rumble. He needed to move this story along faster before he lost control of the narrative and the crowd.
He raised his voice to be heard over the din and spoke louder. “As you all most likely know, your village motto is ‘I will not be a burden.’ The early death records show an unusually high number of older folks who died as a result of falls from Scandia Bluff into the ravine behind Corrine Wolf’s home.”
The room went silent.
“What I believe, and what I think Doc Larson knew, is those people didn’t wander up to a cliff’s edge and tumble off. At some point, your Ättestupa Council, or at least the four executive members, determined that those villagers had reached the point of being a burden and sentenced them to die. And when Doc realized this was happening, he worked to have access to those killing spots closed off. Some of you might remember his campaign in the late sixties to remove access to the bluff. And, in fact, after he did that, the falling deaths ended, but the senicide didn’t. Doc didn’t end the practice, he simply made it more humane.”
From his spot by the door, Greg called Bodhi’s name. As one, the room turned to face Greg.
“That’s not entirely accurate. The council never sentenced anyone to die. When a family member or neighbor noticed someone was failing, they came to the executive council and explained what was happening. If the four executives agreed—and it had to be unanimous—the council met with the individual. You have to remember how isolated we are, especially in the winter. Most folks, when presented with evidence that they were no longer able to care for themselves made the decision to jump. It was a voluntary decision.”
“Suicide?” someone shouted from a table in the middle of the room.
“It wasn’t viewed that way,” Greg insisted. “It was like putting your affairs in order or cleaning out your house. They knew they were going to die and they wanted to do it on their terms.”
“By jumping,” Bodhi confirmed.
“Yes, until Doc put a stop to it. According to the council records, he came to the executive council and explained how barbaric the practice was. That it was a painful and terrifying death. Doc understood that this was how the village chose to organize its affairs, and he proposed a gentler way. After the council heard evidence and talked to the person in question, if the villager agreed and only if they agreed, they’d go to Doc and ask for a specific prescription that would allow them to die peacefully in their sleep.”
“Barbiturates and muscle relaxants,” Bodhi guessed.
“Ah-yup. This was really no different from Act 39,” Greg said in a hurry.
“Well, it’s a little different,” Bodhi corrected him. “These folks you’re talking about weren’t necessarily terminally ill, and, for most of this time, Act 39 didn’t even exist.”
But Greg had made his point. Bodhi could sense the crowd’s anger and shock lessening. He glanced at Molly, and she joined him at the front of the room.
“Then Doc decided he wanted to retire. He was ninety. He was tired of running the practice, so he offered me a position to work for him during a transition period and then I would take over his practice. But, as you all know, he died suddenly before I came aboard.” Molly paused and looked at Greg.
