Chapter 6 : Creepy Conversations with the Coroner
Blair’s POV
“And six twenty-three is your change. Enjoy your night,” says the chirpy little cashier behind the counter. Most people who work as late as I do look like they’re actual zombies working the graveyard shift. There are usually bags under their eyes, they are quiet and often moody, and they have a shifty look to their eyes.
This chick, on the other hand, looks and sounds happy. It is a refreshing change of pace. Rarely do other people have the same demeanor when it comes to working so late at night for long hours. Is she new and not used to the grind? I haven’t seen her before. Is she just this happy? I certainly hope so. That whole thing about energy begets energy is definitely true—at least for me.
“Thanks, you too,” I reply, slipping the change into the tip jar. I probably could have used that last six dollars to put into my emergency fund, but I’m in a good mood. Besides, this chipper youngster could probably use it, too.
I unwrap my sandwich and start the walk back down the street toward the hospital, munching on the way. I am on one of my limited breaks and the sandwich in my hand is the first meal I’ve had all day.
I can only imagine Mia scolding me for not nourishing my body correctly, but I tamp down that voice in the back of my head quickly. I ate at some point before I went to sleep the night before and slept all the way until I needed to go to the hospital. Isn’t sleep equally as important?
As I raise the sandwich to my mouth, all of the hair on the back of my neck once again raises uncomfortably. I don’t need to look, but I do it anyway. I glance up toward the nearby rooftops and see a familiar silhouette leaping from one rooftop to the next. For a moment, I swear I see a pair of green, reflective eyes glance over before vanishing into the shadows of the steep slope of the shadows.
Raven.
It has been an entire week since I saved his life in my living room. I wonder for a moment about how his injuries are healing. I also think about all of those things he said to me that night about honor and this whole “life debt” thing. I really can’t believe that he is following through with it. Then again, is he? Is he following me in hopes that I would be in some kind of mortal danger so he could be free of me?
I think about the curiosity in his eyes while we talked and wonder, just briefly, if he is following me because he is curious about me.
On the other hand, maybe he’s hunting me down and tracking my movements to tell his little vampire buddies.
I shudder at the thought of being one of those torn-apart bodies you hear about on the news. I see the headlines now. ‘Woman found mutilated in Chicago streets! The body of a young woman, yet to be identified by authorities, was found in the middle of the street late Wednesday night. It looks like she was attacked by a pack of vicious animals, but authorities have refused to comment any further.’
It would not be the first time something like that happened in Chicago, especially downtown in the dead of night. At least it’ll be morning soon. I’m slated to work for most of the night. Maybe I’ll get off before the sun sets.
I look over and imagine Raven hunkered down by the edge of the roof, those green eyes fixed on me from the darkness. Part of me wonders if he sees something I haven’t noticed yet and that’s why he is following me, but I don’t get to ponder this for very long. A series of sirens draws my attention like a moth to a flame. Snarfing down a few more bites, I quicken my pace to a jog and wrap what is left of my sandwich.
No rest for the wicked.
Three ambulances screech into the loading bay as some of my co-workers file out of the building.
“Welcome back,” calls one of my fellow nurses. She smiles as she maneuvers her long red hair into a bun before slipping on some gloves. “There’s a spot in the fridge for your snack.”
“Thanks!” I call back as I jog inside, throw my sandwich in with the Tupperware dinners of my co-workers, and pivot while snagging a pair of gloves for myself.
“What do we have?” I call out as I dart next to one of the triage doctors leading a woman in a neck brace who is strapped down to the gurney.
“We have a multiple vehicle accident with patients experiencing severe head trauma. Our patient has multiple lacerations and a suspected neck injury,” says the doctor. I recognize him as the same guy I worked with the other night. Shit, what is his name?
I don’t have time to look at the doctor’s name tag. What is important is making sure this woman doesn’t bleed out before we have a chance to save her.
I immediately start hooking her up to the devices and preparing the IV, but the moment I do, I know it’s too late. The pupils don’t dilate and the heart monitor starts to flatline. We try, but it doesn’t do any good. Whatever happened to her neck and her head during the accident and during transport was too much.
As all of the other nurses and doctors pull their patients through, I stare into the paling features of my patient. It isn’t the first time this has happened, but I still feel like shit. I rip off my gloves and make sure the curtain is pulled as I start preparing everything for the next patient.
“Nurse, would you mind taking her down to the coroner?” asks the doctor, his eyes distant as he too stares at our patient. “Apparently, her husband and son are in the next room and I need to go tell them what happened.”
“Sure thing. Hey, I’m sorry,” I say, catching his eye.
There is a look that we share that all medical people know. It’s recognition of a loss but the reluctance to feel in the moment. Whether it is because we are desensitized to it or because we have to guard our hearts, we all know the look when someone has lost a patient. There’s no time to process the patient’s death.
There are others to save. It wouldn’t be fair to them to come in distracted.
I make sure to work on the paperwork silently as the family comes in and grieves for what feels like time cut too short before they are escorted away. I look at the woman one more time before draping a cover over her paling features and hurrying over to the elevator which leads down into the basement.
I never like going to the morgue down in the basement of the hospital. It’s cold and dingy. There’s this looming smell in the air that has nothing to do with the patients we lost. I can’t quite place it. Formaldehyde? Soiled gauze? I have no idea.
What makes the trip worse is the local coroner, Arthur. I saw him last week when I lost Raven’s friend. Arthur came and carted away the body once we determined we couldn’t save him. A shiver runs down my spine involuntarily as I think about the older coroner. Something about his wide-toothed grin makes me uneasy. I know it isn’t right to jump to conclusions or judge people based on appearances, but that grin of Arthur’s makes me think that he is always up to something.
Still, I need to see him and talk to him to make everything official. The elevator clatters open and I step in, feeling the misty cold of the basement seeping up through the gap in the floor seep through my shoes and socks.
I make it to the bottom floor, the elevator once again clattering as it opens, and I’m instantly transported to that unspoken, eerie part of the hospital. Sure enough, the smell lingering in the stagnant air wafts into my nostrils as I take my first breath. The air is a tad colder than normal, but that could be because I still feel myself burning with frustration at not being able to save my patient.
I roll her body down the hallway under the pale lights above until I make it through the door. My shoes and the rattle of the gurney wheels are the only sounds at the moment. It’s like I’m in some kind of horror movie. My hair stands on end as I push open the final set of doors and enter the main area of the morgue.
Immediately, I see Arthur Mends standing right there in the middle of the room at one of the autopsy tables. I see various bags of liquid draining into a body just as other fluids are being drained out. The sight makes me nauseous.
The sound of the door makes Arthur spin slowly around. If there was a cliche flash of lightning from behind him through the minuscule window in the corner of the room, it would have made the scene.
He pulls down his mask with his gloved pinky and smiles that eerie, toothy grin. “Well, Nurse Blair Evans. What a pleasure to see you,” he says as his misty blue eyes take in the scene. “Ah, I see. What a misfortune. Yet another has fallen. Place the gurney over here next to me, please. I can begin working on her.”
“Right,” I say. My chest constricts when I see him. Why am I getting such creepy vibes from him? He is being pleasant today; or, rather, tonight. He’s usually only here in the evenings.
“From that accident?” asks Arthur as he shuffles to a nearby cabinet to retrieve more needles and supplies to prepare the woman.
“Yeah,” I mutter, stepping away and folding my arms across my chest. I keep looking at her red hair and how pretty she is.
“What is on your mind? This is not the first time you’ve looked death in the face,” states Arthur as he begins folding back the blankets.
“It’s… nothing,” I mutter, taking half of a step backward away from him. His clouded blue eyes give me a disbelieving look, prompting me to reply. “It’s just… I’m sure that she had a really pretty smile. She looks like she would have a kind smile.”
“Indeed,” says Arthur. “What a pretty smile indeed. Shame about all of those lovely teeth. All of those happy memories she probably smiled at were gone. You know that every set of teeth is unique to each person right? Such a waste. Unique bite. Unique person. Shame we can’t utilize such things after a person is gone. Teeth aren’t like organs or bone.”
“Yeah, I… I knew that,” I mutter. The hair raises on my arms and I shift awkwardly as I watch Arthur’s lithe fingers reach down and unfasten the neck brace from the woman’s neck. I hear the bones crack as her head goes limp.
“Such a waste,” says Arthur. He glances down at her clothing and sees a small I.D. card on her torso. A driver’s license that reads Amanda Sparks. Arthur points to a small sticker on the card, showing she is an organ donor. “Such a waste. Had I been called earlier, we may have been able to harvest some of the organs. That may have made this life extend for just a little longer.”
I shudder and nod. “Yeah, right. I… We didn’t see that,” I mutter. “Do you need me for anything else? Or am I good?”
Arthur smiles and shakes his head. “Nothing from me, my dear. Go and live your life,” he says as he begins his macabre work.
I do not need to be told twice. I turn on my heel and head back to the main area of the hospital. I make a silent vow to not come down here on my own if I can avoid it. More importantly, I make another vow to keep all of my patients out of this terrible place and out of Arthur’s grip.
If death had a face, it would be his, and I choose to defy it for as long as I can.