Chapter 1 Brielle #2
“Yes,” I reply simply with a hard swallow as I begin to finish up the last stitch.
“Now you gonna tell me who is after you?” I reach for the gauze packet next to me, but I cease when the sound of pounding footsteps and unfamiliar voices resounds from the hallway.
Some of the individuals have thick Italian accents, which mix with the sound of a couple of my colleagues’ voices.
“Fuck, they’re gonna find us,” Marcus hastily whispers. He begins to frantically look around the storage room for somewhere to hide.
“No, no, they’re not. Here, place this on your wound, keep pressure. I need to put you in that room. I’m sorry, but it is the morgue. It is the only way to hide you.” I help Bobby to his feet as he sucks in a harsh breath of air, wincing from the pain.
“Do what you got to do, doll. I’ll happily lie with the dead rather than become one of them.” Marcus grabs under Bobby’s other side as we hurry through the morgue doors.
“Stay in here. Don’t make a sound. I have a plan.
” Glancing around the room, a gruesome idea comes to mind.
The culprits are bound to see the smeared bloodstains leading toward the supply closet, and I need to devise a cover.
My white nursing smock is covered in blood, so I decide to reach for one of the fresh, dead carcasses in the fridge and push it through to the supply closet.
Hopefully this strange idea will work, but at this point anything will be a trial and a potential failure.
The man-boys stare wide-eyed at me as I push the trolly carrying the dead man.
“Just trust me,” I whisper, and Bobby and Marcus simultaneously nod their heads.
Stopping the cart next to one supply shelf, my hand reaches for the drenched gauze pads that aided Bobby.
I open up the body bag and whisper a small “Forgive me” to the deceased man I’m now going to use in an attempt to save two other men’s lives.
I’m going to hell anyway. I set the scene up to appear as if the carcass continues to bleed post-mortem. Hopefully it will work .
I brace in anticipation as the supply room lock clicks. My nursing supervisor’s voice can be heard on the other side of the door, irritated by the Italian men questioning her and pressing her to hurry up.
Nancy says, “You know this is rude behavior. I am trying to assist you and all you’re doing is bullying and badgering me, for some nitwit who stole your pocket watch! This is a hospital!”
The door swings open. Four men in beautiful pristine suits stand next to the hospital guard, a nursing colleague and my nursing supervisor, Nancy.
“Oh, Brielle? Everything all right, love?” Nancy looks at me like I have three heads. I swiftly explain my lie, the post-mortem bleeder. How they bled all over the hospital hallway and I rushed to grab supplies to cease the problem. It makes sense and it looks like Nancy buys it.
“Oh, okay, love. Have you seen any young men? Some pocket-stealing-looking fools?” she asks in that soft, pleasant tone of hers, her short white bob bouncing with each word and gesture as she speaks with her hands.
“I have not, I’m…” I can’t finish my sentence, for a man with slick jet-black hair marches toward me and my dead man.
“Well then, senora. You wouldn’t mind if I pay some respects to the dead?” One hand cradles the lapel of his suit jacket as the other reaches out, gesturing to the body before us.
“Excuse me!” Nancy lets out an exasperated huff. “Ever since you gentlemen have come to London, you act like you own everything. This is an outrage!”
The man furrows his dark eyebrows and a hint of murder flashes through his eyes.
He’s about to round on Nancy, but for some reason I act without thinking and tap his shoulder, then hope he won’t notice the small specks of dried blood that now cling to his upper arm from my touch.
If he is who I think he is, then I’ll be dead for touching an Italian mobster’s suit, let alone leaving blood on it.
“It’s all right!” I state in panic. “It’s okay, you can pay…
your…respects.” I hope he won’t say or do whatever he was about to, to my dear Nancy.
He turns toward me, flashing a wicked smile in my direction.
“Thank you, doll.” His voice is as slick as his hair.
His mouth cran es in concentration, sliding his tongue to the inside of his cheek. The movement is unnerving.
As he peels back the zipper to the body bag, I hold my breath. As the flap opens, I decide to stare at the ground, waiting for the verdict.
“Hmm. Poor sucker,” the man lets out, then tosses the flap over the carcass and walks toward the door.
I try to be quiet as I take in a large breath of air, feeling my lungs expand within my rib cage.
I’m not in the clear yet, for the man turns around and states, “If you see some insolent boys, let us know, please?” He stares at me, sending shivers down my spine.
“Of course, sir,” I spit out, trying to keep my voice from shaking.
Before he turns to leave, he gives me a haunting wink.
I wait for the door to shut and the lock to click back into place.
The sound of their footsteps dwindles down the hallway.
Finally, I push the trolly carrying my deceased friend back through the morgue doors.
As I come through the other side I glare at Bobby and Marcus.
“You’re in trouble with the mob? The Italian mob!
?” I try to keep my tone of voice low and not strained or surprised, but fail .
Bobby, looking slightly more alive, explains, “Well, yes, love. To be exact—Sabini. I pissed off Sabini a lot.”
“HOW!? WHY!? By stealing a bloody pocket watch you bellend!?” I ask after safely returning my carcass friend to the fridge.
Marcus laughs and answers for Bobby. “It’s worse. He shagged his daughter.” Then he slaps Bobby’s upper arm, causing him to wince in pain.
“You knobhead.” That’s all I can retort to this ridiculous scenario I find myself in. I want to pinch the bridge of my nose in frustration but am reminded of the blood on my fingertips.
Bobby gives a smug smirk as he slowly hobbles towards me. “Well, love, they can’t help it. The birds love us Adders.”
I crinkle my nose and stare at him in confusion. “The what?” I ask.
His eyes grow wide and in unison Bobby and Marcus repeat, “The bloody Adders, Afton Adders.” With no look of recollection flashing across my face, they deflate and Bobby begins explaining what the hell they’re speaking of.
“The Afton Adders. We came up to London to visit some of our bookies and buy a horse for the races. There was a big get-together, ya see, and everyone was there, including some of Sabini’s men and family.
Well, this pretty bird was flirting with me and I couldn’t turn down her mix of Italian and English accents.
Next thing you know, she’s grabbing my cock through my pants and tugging me to the back of the barn. ”
I continue to stare at him. “And then after getting your cock wet, you decided to sign your own death certificate with it too.”
Marcus’s eyebrow shoot to his hairline. “I ain’t never heard a woman talk like that outside of Lockham. You got a dirty mouth, love!” Marcus chuckles.
Rolling my eyes at him, I retort, “I’m a nurse, man-boy. We see dirty things, touch dirty things and say dirty things. Plus, the war changed me a tick.” I start washing my hands in the morgue sink as Bobby hobbles closer.
“Nah, love, you’re not just a nurse, you’re an angel. I can’t thank you enough for saving me.” As I dry my hands, I look up at his grateful face, and his eyes start to brighten.
Before I can discuss getting them out of the hospital safely, Marcus asks, “You touch men’ s cocks?”
My head snaps toward his direction. “Excuse me?” I sneer.
Bobby places his head in his hands. “Marcus, shut the fuck up.”
“I’m genuinely curious. You said you see dirty things and touch dirty things, so do you touch cocks a lot?” The poor man-boy is actually standing in a questioning manner, flabbergasted and waiting to hear the answer.
“Marcus, we have to clean people sometimes. We see much more blood and gore, though. It isn’t what you’re thinking, dear.”
He cocks an eyebrow, still looking confused and contemplating his next question, but Bobby interjects.
“She isn’t giving out hand jobs like our massage house girls. If you dare ask her, I swear on my brother’s grave I’ll slap you. Now let’s get out of here.”
Marcus nods at Bobby, then back to me. To be honest, this is an entertaining turn of events.
I help usher them out through the back section of the hospital, where waste is disposed of.
They leave as quick as they came into my life.
Bobby gives a small kiss to my cheek and continues to call me “angel” and thank me for saving his life.
After bidding them farewell, I return to find my shift is to end soon.
I wrap up my patient care and final medication passes, and beg the nursing supervisor to let me come back for more shifts.
That way, I can be out of my own house and away from my husband.
As I begin my walk back to my home, the feeling of dread washes over me. Home is a place you want to go to. A place to feel safe, warm and welcome—not regret, uncertainty and anxiety. I take a deep breath as I continue my dark journey home and reach for the courage my brother helped me create.