-1-
It was after midnight. The attendant
wheeled the gurney through the narrow unoccupied hallway. An old man identified
only by the tag attached to his right great toe lay naked inside the zippered
bag. Marvin Hall, patient number 00118613.
The overhead fluorescent lighting buzzed
with a recurrent static, one bulb flickering in the distance. While the upper
floors of the hospital were bright and welcomed all that entered, the narrow basement
halls that led to the morgue were dim, the dingy walls in need of paint, the
floor dirty brown in color, the ceiling low, claustrophobic.
He slammed at the stainless plate attached
to the wall with his fist and the large metal doors swung outward with a loud
clang. He hurried to deposit the expired one onto a chilled slab. He slammed
the vault door, eyeing the shadowed recesses where old equipment sat discarded.
The skin on his neck pricked causing an
involuntary shudder to cross his shoulders and stream along his spine.
“Santa Maria, Madre de Dios.” Two fingers
of his right hand touched his forehead, his chest, one shoulder and then the
other as he sought protection from whatever resided within those sunless walls.
He half expected to see the devil as he
waited to greet the recently departed into perdition’s viscera. The metal doors
opened to his summons and he half walked, half ran the now empty gurney back
toward the elevator that would return him to light.
-2-
Marvin Hall’s face appeared when the bag
was opened. He was an old man with thin white hair and wrinkles cut deep on his
now pasty face. He was likely in is
eighties, close to the age of the man the impalpable one had recently departed.
Too old, too frail. He closed the bag
and returned Marvin to his temporary home.
-3-
Six floors above the basement level, a
woman's sobs filled the room when the physician called the code and announced
the time of death - 04:49. The woman's husband held her, tears streaming down
his face.
The doctor removed the endotrachael tube
from the mouth of the deceased newborn. Its heartbeat had ceased minutes before
delivery and never been revived.
A nurse cried as she wrapped the small body
in a white blanket with pink and blue stripes along the edges. A chill swept by
her and she shuddered. She gathered the bundle, walked across the room and handed
the baby to his mother as the remaining nursery staff solemnly exited.
"He's beautiful, perfect." The
mother bent down, kissing the forehead of the son she cradled in her arms.
"What's his name?" the nurse
asked.
"Jude."
Shocked family members entered the room, crying.
As they gathered around the grieving couple, the nurse retreated.
***
He hovered over the chilled lifeless one.
The butcher delighted. He had claimed bodies in the past, but never a child, an
infant. While the pleasure he sought would be delayed for years, requiring his
patience, a youthful vessel would be worth the wait.
As he glimpsed Jude’s future, his orgasmic
energy reverberated
…the
remains of twenty-nine young women have been uncovered in several national
parks and forests along the Pacific Northwest…The FBI have linked the deaths
and they appear similar in nature to Robert Flem, a serial killer that was executed
in 1975…it is believed a copycat killer…
A bulb hummed and then ceased glowing. Yes,
well worth the wait.
-4-
The woman placed the small black bag onto a
metal table located in the center of the room. The funeral home would be
arriving shortly. She lowered the zipper and looked at the boy's face. Her
throat and chest clinched. Her gloved hand embraced his head, her fingers
stroking over his forehead. The nurse had left him swaddled. She loosened the
snug wrap, revealing the baby band around his ankle. It confirmed he was the
baby boy of Lawson, Elena. The orange identification card that accompanied the
small body seemed large, out of place, foreign.
The death of one so young, so healthy in
appearance seemed cruel. She draped the pink and blue edges back over him,
covering him. The zipper secured, his face now hidden from view.
The woman turned and walked toward a desk.
A noise sounded behind her, making her pause. She looked back at the table. Did
one corner of the bag...she turned and stepped closer, staring at the black
form. She jumped, stumbling backward toward a wall. It moved.
"Dr. Thomas," she shrieked banging
her fist over and over on the plaster. "Dr. Thomas," she screamed
again, never taking her eyes from the dark parcel in the center of the room.
As he settled in, the movement increased,
the bag rocking back and forth like a canoe in raging waters.
The woman continued to shout Dr. Thomas's
name over her incessant pounding.
"What is it?" The door flung
open, the balding man glaring at the frantic woman.
His eyes followed her trembling finger as
it pointed across the room. The bag shook violently as the infant worked to
flex and extend his enclosed limbs. Its cries muffled.
"My God."
-5-
"Today's top headlines: Doctors in Oregon
are trying to explain how an infant declared to be stillborn was found alive hours
later in the hospital morgue. But first, an update on our weather. Bob, what
will this hurricane mean for the Tampa Bay area?"
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