“What time do you have to be there?” Morty asked.
“Seven.” The word emerged from my throat as a hoarse whisper.
“Then relax,” he smiled, glancing at his watch. “You’ve still got thirty minutes.” He indicated the shrouded body. “Ready?”
Not even if I had thirty years. “I s’pose.”
With a gentleness that belied his often-grim sense of humour, Morty drew back the white sheet, revealing the face of a young man whose blue lips were stretched into a gentle smile.
“Handsome devil, wasn’t he?” Morty muttered. I stared at the pale-faced stranger. Rising panic clutched at my heart as I tried to superimpose my little brother’s face onto the dead man’s adult features.
Hell...I have no idea if that’s Mikey or not. I realised. I thought I could just stroll up and say ‘yes, that’s him’ or ‘no - never seen him before’. But - .
“Take a minute, Sara,” Morty said softly. “It’s best to be certain.”
Take a minute? My heart thudded against my ribs as I stared at the tousled mop of brown hair. I don’t think I even know this man. But then...Mikey’s been missing since he was nine - of course he’d look different!
“Brown hair, brown eyes, similar profile to the picture,” Morty prompted, but my mind was in turmoil.
“Have a closer look if you need to.” His gentle words reached me from a great distance, barely penetrating the fog that filled my head.
“I...um,” I mumbled. Belatedly, I realised that I’d stopped some ten paces short of the trolley. I shuffled my leaden feet forward. My mind seemed to have turned to mush. From deep within me a familiar voice chided;
Why the hesitation, Sara? You see dead bodies every day!
Right, I thought. But none of them have turned out to be my brother - yet.
“Are you all right?” Morty asked quietly. I managed an unsteady nod as I dragged my feet forwards. I could feel the uncertainty that was furrowing my brow. The young man continued to smile heavenwards, oblivious to my turmoil. In wondering why he had found contentment in death, my attention settled on his smile; on those pale lips. My eye traced the lightly-stubbled jaw that might have been lovingly shaped by a sculptor and my mind immediately found a comparison.
Michelangelo’s David. I followed the lines of his neck to the strong shoulder that peeped from beneath the sheet.
He can’t be Mikey...can he? I wondered. He was just a skinny little kid.
“Are you sure you’re all right?” Morty stepped around the trolley to stand behind me. I was too fixated upon our patient to feel nervous about Morty’s proximity.
“I’m all right,” I said over my shoulder. “I’m just not sure.”
“Not sure if it’s him, you mean?” Morty said. I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. I felt my breath catch in my tightening throat. My eyes stung with tears.
“Did your brother have any identifying marks?” Morty asked. I shivered as his warm breath touched my neck. His reassuring hand lightly brushed against my shoulder and I instinctively flinched away from the unexpected contact.
“Mikey had brown eyes,” I croaked, trying to offer something constructive, then realised that Morty had already noted that particular detail.
“That’s fairly common,” Morty said. “I meant any birthmarks? Childhood injuries?”
Injuries? Apart from being beaten regularly by a man who wasn’t even his father?
“I...can’t remember,” I croaked, wiping away the welling tears with my fingertips. “Give me a minute to think.” I sniffed, screwing my eyes closed. My God, I rehearsed this moment so many times... I dug an old tissue from the pocket of my combats and pressed it to my nose.
“Your hair is a shade darker than his,” Morty said, trying to help.
“His nose is wrong,” I muttered. “Nothing like mine.” My throat had grown so tight I was barely able to speak.
“Yours has been broken, that’s why,” Morty said quietly.
“Yeah, a punch in the face often offends,” I croaked, trying to sound nonchalant. Especially when it happens in your own home. “I can see that you’re upset,” Morty sighed after a moment. “Have some time alone with him. You know where to find me.” I nodded rapidly and he disappeared through the doorway towards his office. The retreating squeaks of his Wellingtons faded as the doors swung closed behind him. The mortuary grew quiet, the silence almost tangible. I realised that I was staring at the dead man’s face once again. My uncertainty disturbed me. Was this the body of my missing brother, or wasn’t it? How could I just not know? I decided that I had to make some kind of effort to resolve this - one way or
the other. I shifted a reluctant foot closer to the trolley. But am I ready? I shuffled another foot forwards. All this time I’ve been wondering...terrified that it might end like this. Like my feet, my heart seemed to grow heavier with every step.
I’d almost be better off not knowing. As I fought to steady my breathing, I realised that I was close to panic. My every instinct urged me to flee from this place. Instead, I watched myself raise a shaking hand and reach out for the young man’s eye. My trembling fingers hovered over his contented face, reluctant to touch him. If I did that, then I would have to accept him as real.
Time, Sara! A voice nagged. You haven’t got all bloody day!
I sighed and moved my hand across the final inch. My fingertips brushed against the long lashes as I gently pushed up his eyelid.
A brown eye stared back at me.
No reaction from the pupil, my professional mind noted, lucid despite my whirling emotions. Brown eyes. It’s a fairly common colour, but even so... Uncertainty still gripped me as I gazed at the motionless body. Once again I studied the line of his jaw, his classic cheekbones and found no resemblance to my brother. And yet...I couldn’t be absolutely certain. I drew in a steadying breath and knew that I had to look deeper. His eyes, his face... His features were telling me nothing.
Mikey? Were you really in there? I pressed a palm to his cheek and felt the familiar tingle that promised life somewhere deep within the body. Hope stirred within my heart.
Considering that he’s been in a fridge for over two hours, he should be a lot colder. But where there’s warmth, there’s hope. I let my eyes close as my senses strained outwards. A familiar sensation raised hairs on my neck as once more, my awareness crept cautiously into the world beyond flesh and blood, seeking that remaining spark of life; the lingering evidence that my brother - or anyone - had once inhabited this cooling body.
But there was only a cold empty silence.
Strange, I thought. I definitely felt something...some kind of trace.
My senses groped around in the emptiness that the young man’s death had left behind. There was no sensation of up or down; of near or far. I was like a small child feeling my way around a darkened forest, uncertain of what lay around me. And then I sensed something warm; something bright. But it was more than
that - a lot more. Every one of my senses came alive like never before. I felt as if I’d walked from the chill of a December morning into a busy bakery. The comforting sensation of warmth infused my nose, inviting me in. It was like nothing I’d ever encountered. I reached out towards the brightness, eager to understand more.
But the errant spark fled like a startled insect, vanishing within a heartbeat to leave me alone in the cold vacuum. With a rising sense of dismay, I fumbled around in the vast emptiness, seeking any traces that the bright presence might have left behind. If I could follow it, I might be able to lead it back.
But something dark was approaching. Something cold and dangerous. Instinctively, I shrank from it, dwarfed by the immensity of the sinister presence as it reached for me with icy fingers. I could sense its vast curiosity, its overwhelming need to pin down my tiny spark of warmth. My instincts screamed at me. I fled, snapping back into my body with a suddenness that sent me staggering away from the trolley. I stared in panic at the young man, half-expecting some sort of malevole
nt creature to explode from his chest.
But the brightly-lit mortuary was as still and silent as if time itself had been suspended.
You were there, weren’t you? I thought, gazing at the dead man. And that dark - whatever it was - frightened you away.
* * *
I might have remained there indefinitely, gazing at the fixed smile before me, but the unmistakable clink of a coffee mug startled me back to reality. Shaking myself from my daze, I drew the sheet carefully over the young man’s angelic face before, with a small grunt of effort, I rolled both tray and body back into the fridge. Heaving the trolley to one side, I swung the huge door closed until the lock clicked. I took a moment to press my forehead to the stainless steel surface, trying to still the frantic fluttering within my chest. It wasn’t Mikey, I told myself firmly. It didn’t feel like him at all. With a sigh, I forced myself away from the fridge and headed for Morty’s office. But as I pulled open the mortuary door, a cold shiver stiffened my spine. My immediate thought was fearful - had
the darkness found me? I spun on my heel, certain of the eyes upon my back, but the room was empty.
I snorted disdainfully. Spooked by an empty mortuary. Gathering myself as best I could, I scurried down the dimly-lit corridor. I desperately wanted to forget what I’d just seen - what I thought I’d felt - in the mortuary. Aside from the creak of my boots and the rustle of my clothing as I moved, the building was eerily silent.
As I entered his office, Morty studied me over steepled fingers. Two fresh mugs of coffee steamed near his elbow. I wondered if - hoped that - one of them was for me.
He still cares. “Can’t you put some music on?” I jerked a trembling thumb over my shoulder. “It’s too quiet in there.”
“Place got you spooked?” Morty smiled.
“No,” I lied. “It’s just that you can hear every - .”
“Anyway, I tried that once,” Morty leaned back in his chair. “Didn’t work out.”
“What happened?” I said.
“They didn’t like my taste in music,” Morty shrugged. “Said it would waken the dead.”
“Um...who said - ?” I said, then faltered. Probably best not to ask. I clenched my jaw to suppress a powerful yawn. Morty slid one of the steaming mugs towards me. It was printed with the words; ‘Graves; can you dig them?’ I managed to suppress a smile - even though I’d seen it before.
“So what do you think?” Morty asked.
“About what?” I said, momentarily distracted by the other mug which read; ‘Death; a chance to finally put your feet up.’
“Your brother, Sara.”
“Oh.” I stared at Morty, wondering what the hell to say next. ‘It didn’t feel like him?’ - but that would just sound insane. “He looks too old, Morty.” I shook my head. Good answer. “Remember, Mikey was six years younger than me,” I added. Morty shrugged. “We still haven’t established his exact age. And he didn’t come with a date of manufacture. I just thought you’d like to see him before the pathologists...you know.” He drew a finger down his sternum, miming the motion of a scalpel. I turned my mind away from the idea that someone would be cutting up my brother. But that was no longer an issue - because it wasn’t Mikey in that fridge. But what the hell had I seen? Something bright; something dark. I suddenly felt
immensely weary and slumped into a seat near the door.
“Hey...” Morty soothed. “Your brother’s probably still out there, boozing it up like the rest of us.” I glanced up, already forming a disapproving frown as he hoisted his coffee cup like a beer tankard then quaffed a mouthful of the scalding liquid. Drops of steaming coffee soaked into his white coat as he grimaced at his own recklessness.
“That makes me feel so much better. Thanks.” I had tried to sound stern, but Morty’s clowning had put paid to that.
“Of course,” Morty peered into his steaming mug as he nursed his scorched tongue. “There’s always the chance that he might not want to be found.”
“But why would he hide from us? What would make a nine-year old boy run away from his own family?” Even as I asked the question, I already knew the answer.
Didn’t I get myself the hell away from that place the moment I was old enough?
“Maybe it’s just time you let him go - it’s been what, ten years?”
“Nearly eleven,” I heard myself mutter.
“Then let him go, Sara.”
“Let him go...” I echoed numbly. If only it was that easy...
“Seriously, you should talk to someone about all this - if not me then someone who can really help you.” Morty held out a box of tissues. I threw him a tight smile as I dragged out one, then another.
“I don’t need to talk about it.” I blew my nose with as much dignity as I could muster.
“Grief counselling can help, even for a missing person,” he persisted. “Just having a friendly ear...”
“Have you been talking to Doctor Ed again?” I peered at him with gritty eyes.
“Nooo...” Morty shifted nervously as he absently scratched the back of his neck. “But you know that Ed would be happy to give you some time - off the record - .”
“You have been talking to him,” I fixed him with what I hoped was a hard stare. “I wish you’d stop trying to organise my life for me.”
“Well, then, if you won’t speak to him, take me up on my offer.”
“Morty...I’m not going to date you.” I’m not fit to date anyone.
“It wouldn’t be a date...not really,” he said. “Just think of it as two colleagues having a quiet drink after work.”
“We’ve been through this before. I’m too busy with work.” As I trotted out the old excuse, I wondered who I was trying to convince - me or Morty.
“I can’t go out with you.” Why not? a mischievous thought countered. What harm would it do? I sighed as the notion of socialising with Morty confronted me once again. It might just do you some good. Take your mind off work, get you back into the real world.
All right! I snapped at the nagging voice. Back off, will you?
Then at least be nice to him.
“It’s good of you to offer, Morty, and...” I began somewhat hesitantly.
Say it! ‘And I think it might be nice to go out for once’!
“And?” he asked, hope rising in his voice.
Say it! Spit it out!
“I think...it...um...might be...nice...” I cringed at my own words. Is ‘nice’ really the best word?
“Nice? Nice to..?” A smile tugged at his lips. I knew I had painted myself into a corner. I had to say something.
He’s going to think I’ m such a bloody fool! “To...to go - .”
Oh, how old are you? You’re acting like a teenager!
“What I mean is...”
“Are you saying yes?” Morty smiled.
“Well, I think - .” My gut twisted as I stared over the precipice of commitment. Had I finally run out of plausible excuses? What had happened to my ‘poisonous harpy’ stance?
Aw hell. Maybe I shouldn’t - . Despite the coolness of the building, I realised that I had broken into a sweat. I stared down at my shining palms in disbelief.
Is he really making me that nervous? Can’t I even agree to a quiet drink without getting the shakes? My feet seemed to be buzzing. A tinnitus whine was filling my ears. I shook my head to clear it, but the whine was growing louder, becoming a whistle. It sounded like someone was guiding a jet aircraft into the corridor behind me. “What is that noise?” I frowned as a sudden pain stabbed at my temples. And why is the floor vibrating? The overhead fluorescent lights buzzed loudly, then darkened with a pop. Around the office, pens, trays and folders danced a brief, insane Pogo before hurling
themselves to the floor. The whine rippled through the office like a physical sensation, shattering Morty’s coffee mug into tiny fragments. Mine, still untouched, toppled to the floor and rolled beneath my chair. As I moved to retrieve it, a percussive thump punched my feet, knocking
me completely off-balance. My breath exploded outwards as I crashed backwards into the darkened corridor. A distant shriek that may or may not have been my own scream filled my ears. I was dimly aware of Morty’s legs flashing past as I fought to regain my breath. A moment later, the mortuary doors swung open, spilling an aurora of dazzling light across my prone body. Brilliant patterns played across the ceiling, throwing cavorting shadows down the corridor. Then the door clattered shut, leaving me to blink away scores of after-images.
What the hell’s happening? I struggled to my feet and stumbled down the corridor, pushing open the heavy doors to stare in awe at the scene before me. Brilliant white light danced along the mortuary walls, rippling across the white-painted brickwork like sunlight reflected from the surface of a pond. But it left no shadows, flowing instead into every nook and cranny of the mortuary like a living entity. I knew that I ought to have been dazzled. But the opposite was true. My eyes were drinking in the light as if they were thirsty for it.
But Morty seemed less concerned with the medicinal qualities of the rippling light than with his row of fridges. I followed his gaze - and stared at the damage, aghast. The centre of one of the tall fridge doors had blown outwards, tearing its substantial upper hinge out of the wall. The surface of the stainless steel door had been battered into crumpled tinfoil. White vapour whistled past the edges of the buckled door like escaping steam. The heavy chrome-plated handle and the lower hinge were still holding the door closed, but as the vapour jetted into the mortuary, the tall door shuddered and rattled as if it was frantically trying to escape from whatever lay within. The other eleven doors, I realised, were completely undamaged.
Only one door had suffered.
The door that I had closed less than five minutes ago.
* * *
Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Disconnected Page 21
