Chapter 10 Ethan #2
Pushing through the double doors of the morgue, excitement fills my bloodstream.
I’ve missed the feel of a scalpel in my grasp, the way it slices through cold flesh to reveal a corpse’s insides.
Raw muscle like prime cuts of steak, lost inside a sea of red.
The smell of potent chemicals and copper blood dance inside my nose and I inhale heavily, absorbing the rich scents.
After fastening the buckle on the leather apron, I go about my usual routine of scrubbing my hands and slipping on a pair of black latex gloves.
A motion of movements that’s engrained into my brain.
Mr Wilson must hear me as he turns from his position at the side of the metal table to face me, blood covering his gloves and the tube he’s holding. “Ah, my boy. Feeling better?”
I nod and step over to the table. “Much better,” I start.
“Who do we have here?” I gesture towards the young woman who is lying cold on the table.
Her chest cavity is splayed open like a book, revealing her juicy insides.
Lips as blue as ice sit on her pale face, plump and round.
Her short brown hair falls away from her face and I lift one of her translucent eyelids to reveal one dull hazel eye, the pupil blown wide.
“This is Christine, twenty-nine, possible overdose.”
I nod again, agreeing with Mr Wilson’s statement. Christine’s skin has a slight yellow tinge to it, and along with the blown pupils, she shows typical traits of overdose. I’m unsure of what she’s overdosed on, but I’ll find out as soon as I test her blood and dig around inside her kidney and liver.
Lifting the needle and tube from the table, I press the sharp point to the inside of her arm.
“I’ll run tests on her blood, then get to work on the kidney and liver.
” Mr Wilson nods like a proud father and continues with his work whilst I draw a vial of blood from her arm.
The tube quickly fills with rich red liquid, almost like an expensive wine and a hunger like I’ve never felt before sparks to life inside of me.
I wonder what Christine’s blood would taste like?
I’m assuming it would be rotten and sour, nothing like what my little sister would taste like.
Before the tube has the chance to overspill, I shove the sordid thought away and remove the needle before screwing the top on the tube then sticking a fresh label on the side with Christine’s details on.
Over the course of a couple of hours, I’ve tested Christine’s blood to reveal that she did in fact overdose on heroin.
I definitely won’t be tasting her blood now.
I’ve also taken samples from her kidney, and now I’m onto the liver.
The squishy meat rests heavy in the palms of my hands and the urge to squish it until it resembles some kind of pulverised fruit is high but I must keep my professionalism.
Placing the dark organ in the metal bowl that sits on the scales, the pointer ticks around the numbers and I jot down the weight on my clipboard before placing it into a biohazard bag and then over to the table where I place it with the kidney I weighed earlier.
Christine quickly starts to resemble a pinata. All of her organs are bagged up like packets of sweets. If you bash her hard enough with a baseball bat, she’d definitely spill her guts.
The thought makes me smirk.
Once everything is back inside Christine’s corpse, Mr Wilson makes quick work of sewing her back up. “This one’s for cremation. Stick her back in cold storage will you? Then bring in Mrs Greenhaugh, her family are wanting an open casket funeral.”
“On it.” I say, then get to work wheeling Christine through the back doors of the morgue and into the cold storage.
Doors like kitchen cupboards line the walls and I pull open the one with Christine’s name on it, then line up the trolley to slide her onto the pull out drawer.
Her plump tits jiggle as I shove her onto the drawer.
I probably shouldn’t but, I give one a swift slap before pulling up the white sheet over her body, then I push the drawer back inside the cooled space and shut the door.
After sliding the lock in place, as if the dead bitch is gonna crawl out, I grab the trolley and move over to Mrs Greenhaugh's temporary bedroom, repeating the process again of opening the door and sliding her onto the trolley.
Sweat begins to gather on my brows and I use the back of my arm to wipe it away then kick the brakes free, allowing the trolley to move when a haunting voice stops me in my tracks.
“Ethan..”
Cold freezes my bones into place and the gloves covering my hands creak from how tight I’m holding onto the trolley.
This isn’t real. I’m hearing things. Stress and grief are playing a sick joke on me but I could have sworn I heard my sister calling my name.
Inhaling deeply, I blow out a harsh breath and turn slowly on my heels to find the cold storage empty.
There’s no ghost of my sister, just me and the dead.
I scrunch my eyes closed tightly and snap them open again to find the same emptiness as before.
Even in death she’s haunting me but I know she’s here, exactly where I asked her to be.
“Ethan? Is everything alright?” Mr Wilson’s voice from the next room over, shoves me out my trance and I shake off the uneasy feeling.
“Yeah, all good here. I’m coming back now.
” I shout back and shove Mrs Greenhaugh through the double doors and into the autopsy room, then prep her for embalming, all the while my sister’s voice weighs heavy on my mind.