Chapter 15 Mr Wilson
Greying clouds, filled to the brim with heavy rain cover the sky in a cold darkness.
It won’t be long before the heavens open and I’m caught in the storm.
I can’t remember the last time we actually didn't have rain. I’m sure the wife won’t be best pleased that she can’t hang her washing out to dry, I did tell her that we should invest in a dryer but she’s very old fashioned and I daren’t argue with that.
I couldn’t sleep last night. My mind was heavy with the thoughts of coming into work today. I wasn’t sure what I had to face but something just felt off about the whole day.
Maybe I’m just an old man with vivid thoughts and desperate for retirement.
Pulling into Nocturnal Mortuary, I park the car in my usual space and turn the key to switch off the engine, allowing the silence to settle around me. Gentle patters of rain begin to land on the windscreen, each droplet landing in various areas.
I can’t put this off any longer, get your act together old boy.
Turning in the seat I unfasten the seatbelt, grab my bag from the passenger seat, and remove myself from the car before locking it behind me and heading inside just in time before the heavy rain crashes down from the sky.
Once I’m inside and dry, I place my bag down on the small front desk then shrug out of my coat before hanging it on one of the pegs next to the door and move over to the desk.
It only takes me a couple of seconds to log onto the system and check the calendar for today.
One cremation and two embalmings for a burial.
Just like everyday, I ponder on the thought of whether I’m getting too old for this job now. I’ve crossed many unethical lines here with my assistant, but we’ve always had the patient's best interests at heart and I’ll never feel guilty for that.
I’m just very tired now, and maybe spending my retirement at home with my lovely wife is exactly what I need. After the day is done, I’ll speak with my assistant on the future of Nocturnal Mortuary.
Clicking off the calendar, I put the computer in sleep mode, push my glasses up my nose and head into the autopsy room to give it another quick clean over.
There’s already a fresh scent of disinfectant the moment I enter the room and it seems my assistant is already one step ahead of me.
He’s a good lad. He’ll do well here, I know he will.
I walk over to the corner where I keep my white coat and slip it on with ease, just like I do every day, then I pluck a pair of gloves from the box that’s sitting next to the sink and grab my clipboard from the table.
My thumb grapples with the corner of the paper as I lift it to read which bodies I need to collect from the cold storage. There’s no names, just numbers.
It’s strange, but I think nothing of it. Maybe I just forgot to note down the names. My memory isn’t the best nowadays. Old age will do that to you.
Tucking the clipboard under my arm, I push through the double doors of the autopsy room and head into the cold storage.
My polished brown shoes squeak on the overly clean floor with each step I take as I stride into the room.
As soon as I’m inside, I retrieve the clipboard again from under my arm and check the numbers, seeing which drawer they match with.
My eyes scour the rows of locked doors until I find what I’m looking for, then I place the clipboard down on a small table near the door and begin to roll the trolley over to the first door.
My whole body moves on autopilot, going over the steps of unlocking the small cupboard-like doors and pulling out the drawer to reveal the body I need to collect. A thin white sheet lays over the cold body and I make quick work of putting it on the trolley and pushing it into the autopsy room.
I then repeat the steps again, for a second time.
I don’t quite remember the last time I did a double embalming at the same time but I’ve been doing this job for years. It won’t take me longer than an hour to get these two ready. It’d be even quicker if my assistant decided to grace me with his presence.
Speaking of my assistant, where the bleeding hell is that lad? He better not have gotten into trouble with his father. He’s a piece of work, that one. I’ve never really been fond of Stuart Ashcroft, he’s always rubbed me up the wrong way.
Anyway, I’m sure he’ll turn up soon. He’s never missed a day.
Thinking no more of it, I get to work on collecting the embalming machine and the various chemicals I need, all whilst whistling a random tune that’s been stuck in my head for days.
Flicking on the machine, it produces a low humming sound and I move with a tired slowness around the room to collect the instruments, laying them in a uniform line on the table.
My hand hovers over the table as I go to place the sterilised scalpel down when the sound of the back doors opening catches my attention.
My gaze flicks to the round window on the autopsy door. “Ethan, is that you lad?” I wait for a brief moment, expecting him to shout to let me know that he’s here, probably late from being caught up with his father again but instead, no one replies.
Confusion fills my mind and I crease my brows behind my glasses. Where is that boy?
Maybe he just didn’t hear me. Half of the time, he’s in a world of his own.
I gently place the scalpel down and walk over to the door and peer through the window, finding the hallway empty. Everything is exactly how I left it just minutes ago.
“Hm. I’m sure he’ll be here in a minute.” I mutter to myself and walk back over to the tables sitting in the centre of the room and remove the sheets, and what lays before me is something I could never imagine to see in my lifetime.
I stumble backwards, knocking the table. Instruments clatter to the floor with a deafening sound and immediately my blood runs cold, almost to a freezing temperature.
Is this what it’s like to see a ghost? But I know in my mind that what I’m seeing before me isn’t a ghost. It’s very real. They’re both very real.
“Alina?”
“Ethan?”
My words feel like knives as I speak out the names of the two teenagers that lay cold on the table, both of them lifeless.
Forever frozen in time.
And dead.