by Steve Hester
CHAPTER 18
An unmarked van was travelling up the A6 towards the city. It was practically sedate in comparison to Annie's aggressive driving style but it certainly was in a rush. The taxi rank outside Piccadilly train station drifted into view and finally the driver shifted down several gears and slowed as the red lights came on the junction's traffic lights.
The station had undergone a multimillion pound regeneration and rebuild in the early 2000's. The cramped, dark interiors that served the 1960's and 70's so well had been replaced with high ceilings, skylights, and lots of faux marble. Cafés, bars, clothes shops and even a little supermarket filled the upper and lower tiers of the concourse. It was a prime example of how comfortable waiting for a delayed train should be.
The van wasn't going that way though. On the opposite corner stood an old, Edwardian fire station. It was an imposing building during the day but at night it lurked in the darkness like an upturned plug on someone's bedroom floor. The occasional headlight would catch it, giving it the same effect as a bolt of lightning does to a mad scientist’s castle, briefly highlighting one of its many towers against the night sky.
The van passed in between the two contrasting buildings and turned towards the fire station. One set of double doors, under a sign carved into the stone that read “Coroners Court”, opened from the inside and the van rolled in.
The inside was looking as dilapidated as the outside. Dust filled the room and the only source of light was a very weak light strip that hung lopsidedly from one of the steel beams above. The only thing that didn't look like it belonged was a comparatively pristine metallic platform at the back of the room.
The van drove up onto it and came to a halt. There was a pause for a second or so before it stirred into life. A set of blocks came out of the metal, holding the tires in place before a pair of guardrails extended up and locked into position. There was a 'THUNK' somewhere and the platform started to descend into the floor.
A hundred and fifty feet below Smithy was waiting. Gothic's parking garage was home to an odd collection of vehicles, many belonging to the various staff that worked there. Tiny city cars nestled in next to Porsches and parking was usually on a first come first served basis. One section though was usually taken up by the 'company' cars: a selection of highly modified saloons, vans and 4x4s. Each one was armoured, supercharged and tuned for speed and manoeuvrability, complete with run flat tyres and bulletproof windows.
The sudden explosion of activity around the city had emptied it tonight and the sound of the lift's descent echoed around the garage much louder than normal.
The platform cleared the final few feet and came to a stop. The clamps and railings disappeared and a green light blinked on before the van rolled back off the lift, coming to a halt again in front of Smithy. The two agents that got out exchanged nods with him before they opened the back doors and lowered two stretchers out.
“Where's the third?” asked Smithy.
The two agents glanced at each other. They were fresh out of training and were treated like skivvies by the rest. The fact that they looked too young to be in a place like this didn't help their cause much either. They warily looked at Smithy in case he was setting them up for a practical joke.
“There were only two. Clark and Michelle.” said one of them.
“Aw shit.” Smithy turned quickly and headed back into the base.
“Take them to Sian.” he shouted over his shoulder before tapping the earpiece he was wearing.
“Boss, we're missing a body.”
Jacob's voice crackled into his ear.
“There were only two.” He said.
“'Fraid not.” Said Smithy. “The chatter on the police frequency said there were three: Michelle, Clark and a Jason Walker. It was his house they were staking out.”
There was a moment’s pause on the line followed by a thump.
“Boss? You ok?”
“He's fine,” said Annie “he's just punched the dashboard.”
“I knew I was getting too old for this.” Said Jacob. “There was an ambulance leaving the scene just as we got there and I never picked up on it. I need you to find out where it's gone and find out what's happened to him.”
Smithy grabbed his chair and swivelled round to his monitors.
“I'm already on it.” He said.
He tapped a few buttons. Suddenly an alert notice popped up onto his screen. He opened it up, his face suddenly glowing.
“The body is going to have to wait boss! We've found the potential! He's in a police station nearby. How soon can you get back here?”
“The traffics backed up for miles.” Said Annie. “Must be because of the crash.”
“Get everyone we have spare out to that station. We know where he is, I'm not taking any more chances.” said Jacob
“We don't have anyone boss. Simpson and Mackenzie are here but everyone else is spread out around the city, there's activity everywhere! We're tap dancing on thin ice trying to stop it from spilling out.”
“Damn it! They're too green for this. Clark and Michelle had experience and he cut them down without a fight. I'm not sending two rookies after this guy, there's not going to be two more bodies on my conscience tonight.”
There was another pause.
“You'll have to go out Smithy.” Said Jacob.
Smithy froze. There was a reason why he hated leaving the base.
“Boss... You know I...”
“Yes I know. Right now I need to you get over there and keep an eye on him. Do what you have to.”
“Yes boss.”
He hung up the call.
“Oh I'm so going to regret this.” He said as he headed to the lift.
…
The weekends are always busiest for Accident and Emergency departments all over the world and mostly because of alcohol. After a week chained to a desk or a shop counter, most people want to cut loose, let off steam and for many a few bottles of something potent is the way to do it.
Unfortunately this can result in fights, accidental injury (most likely self-inflicted whilst pretending to be a superhero) and, in some cases, severe alcohol poisoning. The waiting rooms fill up with people being sick into cardboard bowls amongst others nursing broken limbs and embarrassing situations involving garden gnomes. Given how colourful the patients usually are, the flashing lights of the ambulances become a regular occurrence, slipping almost unnoticed into the background.
This particular ambulance wasn't flashing its lights or had its siren wailing. It cruised up to the A & E with no real sense of urgency and the two paramedics climbed out. They didn't say much to each other; there wasn't a whole lot to be said. The doors to the back of the ambulance were opened and they pulled out a stretcher on which was a body covered by a sheet.
He'd died of his wounds not long after they set off but there wasn't really much either of them could have done to keep the poor sod alive. He was a mess. There was massive bleeding, both internally and externally, severe trauma to the head, broken bones, you name it. The fact that he'd lasted as long as he did was down to sheer luck instead of medical intervention.
They made their way through the heavy transparent plastic doors and into the hospital. Most of the people in the A & E waiting room wouldn't have any idea of the amount of corpses that get wheeled through there on a regular basis. The stretcher was guided into a corridor out the back and then along others throughout the labyrinth of the hospital until it was finally pushed through the doors of the mortuary.
The mortician was a man named Martin Barry and he currently had his feet up on his desk with a cup of tea in one hand and a newspaper opened to the crossword page in the other. He looked up as the paramedics came in with a disappointed expression on his face. Fourteen across would have to wait.
“I knew it wouldn't stay quiet.” He said swinging his feet off and standing up.
He made his way over to the paramedics who were transferring the body from the stretcher to a waiting gurney.
>
“What have you got for me tonight then?” he asked.
“Young male about 19 or 20, hit and run by the looks of it. Found outside his house about an hour ago. Died not that long after we left the scene.” said one of the paramedics.
Martin lifted the sheet from the bodies face.
Jason stared back at him. Blood caked his face and his skull looked like crushed melon. The only thing holding everything in at this stage was his skin. Martin gave a cursory glance over the rest of his body. The boys T-shirt had been torn open during the failed attempt to save his life. Bruising had started beforehand and could be seen across his chest in vivid purple blotches, indicating where his ribs had broken. Martin pulled the sheet back over him.
“Poor sod, right outside his own house...”
He turned back to the paramedics and took a clipboard off them.
“Right, leave it with me then.” He said signing a sheet of paper. “I'll run a basic, see if I can find the cause, although I'm guessing at this stage that it wont be too difficult. Assault with a four-wheeled vehicle is pretty open and shut. Is there an on-going?”
“I'd guess so.” Said one of the paramedics. “Some nutter went on a joyride through the town earlier, not that far away either so I'd guess the two are connected. Probably end up with a few more in here before nights out if they don't catch him!”
“Oh joy.” said Martin.
He handed back the clipboard, wishing the two paramedics well as they left and then grabbed a second one that was hung on the wall. He went over to his desk and fished around in the paper trays on a shelf above it, the search initially turning up a bar of chocolate that he'd hidden up there some six months previously before he found what he was looking for.
The sheet of paper he pulled out was a form. He slid it under the clip and started to fill in some of the basic details before finally turning to Jason's body.
“Right then, let's see what you can tell me...”
About twenty minutes later Martin had laid Jason out on his slab and was busying himself for a proper examination of the body. His clothes had been removed and sealed in evidence bags for the investigation later so the only thing protecting what modesty he had was a thin sheet covering the lower half of his body.
Martin put on a fresh pair of latex gloves and flicked on the tape recorder above the table.
“22 of October, 8:45pm. Martin Barry, Stepping Hill examiner’s office examining body of a white male in his... late teens, early twenties. Name according to articles found in his wallet is Jason Walker. The deceased is five feet eleven inches in height. Weight: 161 pounds. My initial examination would suggest that the cause of death was massive trauma caused by impact with a motor vehicle.”
There was a slight rattle behind him. He turned around but the rest of the lab was empty. He shrugged and carried on.
“There is bruising around the ribcage consistent with paramedic attempts at resuscitation. An internal exam is to be made after consultation with victim's next of kin but I suspect there to be massive internal blood loss. There are injuries around the cranium that...”
There was the rattle again. Martin had been working around cadavers for the better part of thirteen years and had grown a very thick skin when it came to theories about ghosts and such but there was definitely an odd feel to the air.
“Recording paused at...” He glanced at the clock on the wall. “8:47pm.”
He reached up and stopped the tape. There was the rattle again. He moved to the corner of the work area and turned round into what he called the “Frozen Food Aisle”. There were two rows of mortuary freezers built on opposite walls. There was the rattle again.
His heart momentarily sped up when he saw one of the lockers was unlocked, it's door gently swinging and catching on the bolt. He slowly moved towards it and felt a waft of cold air wash over him. Images of rotting zombie arms reaching out to grab him flittered across his brain, it's nails gouging out his flesh before the teeth emerged to feast...
He was about three foot from the locker when he remembered that there was no one in there. Its previous occupant had been moved out earlier that day and the refrigeration unit was blowing out the cold air from its open door. He chided himself for getting worked up and slammed the door shut properly.
He turned back round and screamed so did the lab assistant who was stood behind him.
“Bloody Nora, Carl! You scared the shit out of me, you stupid bastard!!” said Martin.
“Sorry mate! Sorry, didn't mean to make you jump!” said Carl.
“Damn near gave me a heart attack you silly sod! What you doing here anyway?”
Martin lead him back round to the workspace.
“I'm pulling a late one with Doctor Clancy. He said you were working as well so I thought I'd pop by, see if you wanted anything.” said Carl.
“Such as?”
“Food. Going to San Marcos for a takeaway, you want anything?”
Martin thought for a few moments.
“Yeah... Get me... Get me one of their chicken calzones with sweet corn. I'll give you the money when you get back.”
Carl pulled a notepad out of his pocket and jotted down the order.
“Ok.” he said. “You want a drink?”
“Yeah get me a can of lemonade or whatever they have.”
The notepad went back into the pocket.
“Ok, I'll see you in a bit.” said Carl.
He turned and went out of the double doors. Martin followed him and shouted up the corridor.
“And knock next time!!”
Carl gave him a thumbs up. The doors flapped behind Martin as he returned to the body.
“Bloody idiot.” he said to himself. He flicked on the recorder again.
“Examination resumed at 8:52pm. Now where...? Ah, cranium. Yes. There are several injuries around the cranium and neck suggesting impact with a solid object. What appear to be small shards of glass imbedded in the forehead and hairline would suggest the object is most likely the windscreen of the vehicle involved...”
A glint of something metallic caught his eye. Jason's fingers were starting the initial stages of rigour mortis and Martin could feel the slight resistance as he pulled them back and saw a chain drop out of his grip.
“There's something in the hand, it looks like it's partially buried under the skin.”
He picked up a scalpel.
“Object appears to be some sort of jewellery rather than shrapnel from the impact. I am attempting to extract it from the hand. Making my incision...”
The edge of the scalpel effortlessly sliced into Jason's hand but the moment the blade touched the object there was a jolt. Martin stumbled back a few feet and the scalpel twirled into the air before falling, blade first, into Jason's chest.
The body twitched. Martin edged forward a step before there was a shout. Jason's eyes opened revealing milky white pupils and his body arched on the slab, gasping for air. He thrashed wildly for a moment before he sat upright and his breathing started to even out. He glanced around himself confused before he looked down at his chest, the handle of the scalpel quivering as he breathed.
He looked at Martin who was staring at him open mouthed.
“Ow.” said Jason.
“You're... How are..? They tried to revive you, they couldn't revive you!! You're dead! The injuries... You shouldn't be alive!!”
Jason pulled the scalpel from his chest and examined the wound. There was no blood but the small slit still remained. Now he thought about it, there wasn't any pain either. Not much of anything...
“I'm... I'm not sure.”
He swung his legs off the table and jumped off onto the cold linoleum floor. He started to walk very unsteadily as if he was trying to remember how to use his legs, his hands holding onto the side of the table. A thought came through the foggy mess that was his mind.
“Where are my clothes?”
Martin pointed at the pile of Jason's belongings, all sealed in plastic, o
n his desk. Jason lurched over and picked up the bag containing his t-shirt.
“Hey!” Martin shook the moment off and moved over to the desk. “Sorry, but you can't open that! It's evidence.”
It was too late. Jason ripped open the packet and pulled out the ragged remains of his t-shirt.
“It's torn.” He said with no emotion.
“The paramedics, they had to.” said Martin. He went over to the phone that was mounted to the wall near the door. “I'd better call upstairs. You've been through a lot; they'd better examine you and see...”
“I'd rather you didn't.” Said Jason.
Something in his voice made Martin stop. His mouth however kept going.
“I'm going to have to. You just woke up on my table. Your injuries mean that you shouldn't even be conscious, never mind walking around! You should be dead and somehow you're not! We need to make sure you're ok, physically and mentally. I'm sorry but it's going to be a while before the doctors let you out.”
He went back to the phone and started to call up to the hospital switchboard. Jason's hand rested on the hook, cutting off the connection.
“Look,” said Martin “I know you're probably feeling very confused and no doubt in pain but I need to call them.”
He stared into Jason's eyes. There was no pupil there, only a milky white cloud as alien as anything he'd ever seen.
“I'm not confused.” Said Jason.
The phone was bolted into the wall but it might as well have been stuck on with tape. It broke free of its moorings and slammed into Martin's head. The pathologist staggered back and slipped onto the floor and into unconsciousness.
