Dead Lez Walking

by G. Benson

  They rounded a corner and Xin danced out of the way of someone coming in the other direction.

  “Morning, Joy!” Xin said. She may hate mornings, but it didn’t take too long for that perkiness to start up.

  “Good morning.”

  Taren groaned internally at the voice. Of course it was Joy.

  Eyes lit up, Joy was smiling at Xin. Her dark wavy hair, an auburn colour if the light hit it right like it did now, was escaping her sloppy ponytail. Not that Taren noticed her hair, nor thought it was attractive. When she turned to Taren, Joy’s blue eyes went cold.

  It was still a shock to see that, after how soft she’d gone around Taren only a few weeks ago. That blue had been calm, a sea lit up when the sun hit it. They would run into each other and end up leaning against a wall, arms crossed and heads close as they laughed. Joy would give her that cocky smile and Taren, embarrassingly, would melt. There’d been coffees bought for each other. Run-ins in stairwells where, even if one of them had been rushing beforehand, they’d slow. End up in each other’s space to say hi, even if only for a second. Hand brushes on the railing. Skirting past each other, too close.

  All the fun, early-stage flirtation.

  And now this hard look. The difference was like a slap, even though it had been happening for weeks.

  Sucking it up, Taren tried to smother her displeasure at seeing her. “Doctor Ayton.”

  Xin was staring at them, and Taren wished she could flick her on the nose. It wasn’t helping.

  “Taren.”

  Ice, ice, baby. The woman gave her attention back to Xin, her expression softening again. “Have a nice day.”

  Then she was gone. All she left behind was a scent of perfume that Taren wanted to hate but couldn’t. It made her think of summer, despite the ominous dark clouds outside, the cold that clung in the unheated back hallways they’d been using. That smell was all sunshine and warmth and that one date they’d been on and the way Joy’s lightly tanned skin had smelt, especially in that spot right behind her ear.

  Taren’s stomach swooped.

  “What was that about?”

  Heading to A&E, Taren tried to pretend she hadn’t heard the question. Footsteps sounded behind her and Xin caught up. A moment of silence. Probably deciding how much she should push. Curiosity finally won out. “Taren? Come on, what is it with you two? You’re like ice towards each other now.”

  “It’s nothing. Some people you don’t click with, you know?”

  Except that anyone in their circle in the hospital knew that for weeks, months even, they’d been clicking just fine.

  Xin bit her lip as they neared the staff entrance for A&E. “She always seems nice.”

  Taren pulled the door open, probably too hard. It launched towards her. “Yes, well, Ayton and I don’t get along, that’s all.”

  “You seemed like you were pretty friendly a few weeks ago.”

  Taren could think it. Didn’t mean Xin had to say it.

  They stepped into A&E and both stopped dead.

  “Woah,” Xin breathed out.

  There wasn’t a single spare bed. The whiteboard that listed patient names and beds was flooded, names in cramped handwriting doubled up. From the looks of it they were ramping—the ambulances outside were lined up one after the other. Beds had been opened up in the corridors. Someone was yelling from behind a curtain in the corner. Nope, make that several people were yelling. Kids were crying. It was a hell scape. But despite that, Taren bounced on her toes, adrenaline already starting to hit her system.

  “Yeah, woah.”

  They stepped forward together into the mass of people.

  Jim

  0900 sharp

  Dancing in the morgue was probably something most people would frown upon, but Jim liked to keep things light.

  Actually, he liked to keep up with his ‘Dad moves’ so Sara, in all her sixteen-year-old eye-rolling glory, could keep hiding her face whenever he busted them out. If she groaned aloud, Jim gave himself ten bonus points.

  He’d accrued a lot of points.

  The music was up louder than it should be, but he really liked ABBA.

  Plus, the morgue was really quiet today. It was unsettling.

  He flicked the monitor on and positioned the camera that hung from the ceiling over the trunk of the patient laid out. Sighing, he turned off his very outdated iPod and shoved the bright pink gadget back in his pocket. His wife had thought she was hilarious buying him that colour. Jim didn’t mind it. It was fun.

  Especially in this place. Grey pressed down from all sides, and they were underground, so there was zero natural light. Dull. Some days he thought he’d make them paint the whole place pink so there was some colour. The fluorescent lighting was harsh, somehow washing out all the chrome and white even more.

  With a tug, he pulled his glove on like a mad scientist in a cartoon, letting it snap against his wrist, and regarded the woman on the table.

  “You’re a bit young for unknown causes, aren’t you? What are you, mid-twenties?”

  A glance down at the file open on a trolley confirmed her age. He fist pumped.

  “Twenty-seven! Close enough.”

  No more messing around then. He sucked in a deep breath and pressed the button to start recording. His gaze swept the second tray on his right to make sure he was completely set up. Everything accounted for. All the instruments were lined up perfectly, shiny and ready. Utter organisation. The only place he revelled in it, to his wife’s dismay.

  At home, one would think he didn’t even know the meaning of the word.

  Time to start.

  “Caucasian female, IDed as Ellie Brown, twenty-seven. Arrived at A&E in the early hours of the morning, 14th of July 2021. Complaint of a wound to her arm. Patient was disorientated and couldn’t explain the circumstances. Time of death, 0558 this morning, 14th July post-seizure on ward.” Jim raised the patient’s arm so the bite mark on the side and back of her bicep could be seen on the monitor. “Wound is sutured, extensive tissue damage evident. Small, considering the damage. Dog can be ruled out. Several haematomas present. One to her chin, five that appear to be fingerprints on her left arm, and several to her shins. Colouration suggests they occurred within the last twelve hours.” Jim picked up his scalpel, blade slicing easily through her chest and down to her umbilical. “Y-incision made; I will begin the internal examination.” He reached for the shears without even having to look. He knew this process better than he knew the words to Dancing Queen. All muscle memory. “God, it’s cold.”

  About to crack the chest, movement made him tear his eyes back up to the patient’s face. Eyelids fluttering? Now she was utterly still. He leaned over, staring at her. He held his breath, didn’t move.

  The buzzing from the monitor was loud in his ears.

  The hair on his arms prickled.

  The door opened and Jim jumped up, hitting his head on the light over the table. He glared at his boss, heart thumping as he rubbed his head.

  “Jesus, Hank.”

  Hank smothered a smirk. “What, did you think I was one of the dead?”

  Struggling to settle his breathing, Jim tried to shake the shock off. His heart was in his throat. “I was in my own world. What’s up?”

  “Telephone.”

  Jim looked pointedly from his gloves to the half-open body on the table and back to Hank. Who shrugged.

  “Said it’s urgent.”

  Grumbling, Jim pulled his gloves off. He switched the equipment to ‘pause’ and washed his hands.

  “She looks a little green.”

  Hank’s voice sounded vaguely disgusted. How he had got the promotion over him, Jim would never understand. He looked back to the patient. And had to agree. Damn it.

  “Yeah, she does actually.”

  Hank peered around the room. “Maybe something’s up with the lights; the one in the hall is still flickering. I called Scott in maintenance to get o
ver here.”

  Jim nodded and, with a last peek over his shoulder, walked out, closing the door behind him.

  The corridor outside did still have that damn flickering light, and he scowled at it as he walked down to the big room they all used as an office and space to take breaks. It had huge windows into the hallway, as if that could make it feel like they were less underground. Some help with possible claustrophobia or something.

  The phone call was quick, at least, and he stared at the keys hanging in the key box, counting along the lines of them as he often did in the back of his mind, regardless of what else was going on.

  “Was it about Andrea?”

  Jim put the phone down and shook his head at Hank. “That’s what I was hoping, but no.”

  “It’s strange she’s not shown up. What time did she leave last night after she was called in for her on call?”

  “The last body clocked by her was at 2345. Don’t know when she would have left after that, though.”

  “That woman is a workaholic.” Hank pulled his pants up higher on his waist. “Probably all she has to go home to is a cat.”

  That was unfair. So what if she did? What if that was what she was happy with? Hank was a rude asshat.

  A word Sara had taught Jim. He enjoyed it.

  He tried not to let his irritation show in his voice. “Her parents died last year. I think she’s just burying herself in work for a while.”

  “Yeah, well now it’s affecting her work. Ironic, no?”

  “So she’s late—”

  “Over an hour late.”

  Hank went to the fancy coffee machine Jim didn’t really understand how to use that Andrea had brought in for them all. Because she was an exceptionally nice person.

  The sound of coffee grinding was loud as Jim considered how to manage Hank. “I’ve called her twice. I’m sure she’ll show. If she doesn’t arrive by twelve, though, maybe we should call her next of kin.”

  Sighing as if all his patience were being tested, Hank watched his coffee drip into his cup. “Yeah, I suppose we should.” He narrowed his eyes at Jim. “Weren’t you in the middle of a job?”

  Rude. So very rude.

  “Yeah, off I go.”

  Off Jim did go, anything to be away from him.

  Jim couldn’t help that he didn’t like his boss. The guy could be a chauvinistic ass, and Jim had never had time for that. Being with the cadaver was better than spending time with Hank, but saying that out loud would make his life hell.

  Shadows stretched along the hallway. It was like the fact that they were below ground level meant no one bothered to make it liveable. More than one of the lights flickered now, and Jim felt a headache building between his eyes. It was going to be a long day.

  Andrea was never late.

  He did up his lab coat and paused in front of the door to the autopsy room. Maybe he could put his iPod in his ears—nope. He kicked himself. No more music, what with the new fancy video equipment the hospital had installed for autopsies.

  Still getting used to that part.

  “Okay, Jim. There was no movement from the corpse.” He reached for the door handle. “No more Walking Dead with Sara.”

  He pushed the door open.

  Every hair on his body stood on end.

  There was no body on the table.

  “What the—”

  He stepped forward, scrutinising the room. With no idea what he expected to see, he looked behind the door.

  Nothing.

  Jim swallowed heavily.

  He checked the door.

  “Room four?”

  He snorted—he’d been working in room five.

  Rolling his eyes, Jim mentally slapped himself. He needed to pull himself together. The door snicked shut behind him and he slipped into room five.

  The table was empty.

  He froze.

  His heart pounded.

  “Hank—this isn’t funny.”

  His gaze skimmed over the room. His tray of instruments. The television that showed the table the camera was facing. The very empty table.

  Jim stepped forward, hand falling slowly from the door handle. He took a few more steps in.

  His breathing was loud in his ears. He felt something move behind him. Heart thudding, his hands went cold. Jim turned slowly. Maybe it was the wrong room again.

  Logic said it wasn’t.

  He screamed.

  Joy

  0930

  Taren had called her Doctor Ayton.

  So impersonal.

  Not that Joy could blame her.

  If you slept with someone on the first date after weeks—months?—of flirting and then blew them off, they were probably going to be cold towards you for a while at work.

  Scrubbing out of her surgery, Joy kicked herself for snapping at the overexcited resident who had just operated mostly solo on his first aneurysm. Normally she loved to teach them and guide them through it, but after being called in at one that morning for an emergency and not getting any sleep after, Joy had no patience. Though that had definitely got worse after seeing bloody Taren.

  It didn’t help that the woman always looked so incredible, with her long limbs and sharp cheekbones and eyes that were such an incredible brown Joy’s chest tightened at the mere sight of them. Her deep brown hair in beautiful, springy curls she could bury her hands in before pulling Taren in to kiss her…

  “Idiot,” she muttered.

  “What was that, Doctor Ayton?”

  She looked up, surprised the overly excited resident was still there. “Oh, not you.”

  Well, yes, you too. Everyone, today.

  “Anything else I can do?”

  Why was he so damn chipper?

  “Sure, Raj, follow the patient into post-op and check the sutures. They were solid, but it can’t hurt.”

  Seeming confused as to why he was doing the job of the more-than-reliable post-op nurses, he ran off to do her bidding. She almost felt guilty. He was her favourite resident.

  But Joy was having an exceptionally bad day.

  Being a surgeon was generally something she loved. She had confounded her parents when she went for surgery, having had a phobia of blood since forever. Then she had chosen vascular as her speciality and they had thrown up their hands and not understood her at all.

  There was no way Joy could explain it properly.

  There was something about the network of vessels in the human body. The way the body compensated when things went wrong, and the way it could hide the biggest of problems. Opening up a patient and seeing that scans had failed to pick up exactly how complicated the problem was got her blood pumping. A successful surgery?

  There was nothing that could rival that feeling.

  Though she’d felt something akin to it only a few weeks ago.

  Once she had finally stopped fainting in her first year, Joy had decided she could easily spend her entire life operating.

  Today, however, she wanted to go home and sit on the couch with ice-cream for company. Preferably with chocolate ice-cream, but she wasn’t a choosy woman. Yet she couldn’t do that, especially not the ice-cream part. Which didn’t help her incredibly grouchy mood.

  Normally, Joy kept her personal life and her work life well separated. She huffed at herself in irritation. Work was made for focus. Concentration. She was friendly with everyone, but you didn’t mesh the two together.

  She was not managing that this morning.

  Or the last few weeks.

  The PA spat out a garbled message.

  “Psych to A&E, Psych to A&E.”

  Joy—who on days like today hated her name because she was anything but full of that emotion—flinched in sympathy for the A&E staff. Probably some patients in the waiting room who were sick of waiting to have their non-existent viral symptoms examined had finally lost their patience.

  She left the Operating Rooms, headed for the e
levator and pushed the down button.

  Days like today, what with the emergency in A&E and her mood, were why she loved being a surgeon. No chatting with patients beyond pre- and post-ops—and she could generally shaft those onto interns and residents.

  For their education, of course.

  The elevator opened and she forced herself to smother her groan as Brody grinned at her. Instead, she smiled and hoped it reached her eyes. “Morning.”

  Her boss was far too talkative for her liking.

  “Morning, Joy. You must be beat after your on call last night. Heard you got a double amputation come in.”

  Button pressed for the level she was after, Joy nodded. “Some poor guy who had ignored his diabetic education. His feet were a mess.”

  Eyes sparkling, Brody’s words didn’t fit the keen interest on his face. “Oh, poor man.”

  Despite herself, Joy quirked a smile. “Want the details?”

  “God, yes. I’m in an office all day, I miss this stuff.”

  “Gangrenous flesh. Necrotic, of course. No peripheral pulses. And…” She paused dramatically. Theatrics weren’t usually her thing, but if it kept her boss off hospital politics…

  “Were there…?”

  Joy gave a nod.

  “No! We haven’t had one with that in ages!”

  “There they were, little bugs living in his feet.”

  “Poor man.”

  “You can stop saying that, no one can hear you except me. And I know you don’t mean it.”

  The elevator dinged and Brody held his hands up in defeat as Joy stepped out. “You caught me.”

  Joy turned around and gave a wave. “I’ll see you in the meeting tomorrow, Brody.”

  He looked regretful after their talk about surgery. “Yay. Meetings.”

  The doors closed.

  Her smile fell. Jackass.

  Served him right for ruining the reputation of the previous boss in his eager climb up the ladder.

  Joy walked down the long walkway that connected Block B to Block A. Leaving Block B behind was a nice feeling. It was far too busy there, especially when as tired as Joy was.

  The smells in the walkway from the canteen at the end made her stomach growl, though she ignored the feeling even when she knew she shouldn’t.