Lexie hated the morgue. The mere thought of the place filled her with a sick anxiety she couldn’t shake. Could there be anything more confronting than standing where she stood now, in the sterile surrounds of the autopsy suite, besieged by rows of cold, steel tables, laden with dead bodies being courteously dissected?
Besides those in the room no longer breathing, there were numerous pathologists, technicians and assistants, all adorned in scrubs, routinely going about their work. Just another day at the office!
Lexie could hear water pipes thumping. A fan wheezed somewhere in the distance. The smell of formaldehyde and the unmistakable aroma of death saturated the air and permeated her mouth, the pores of her skin, her hair.
The body of Robert King, aka Bluey, lay upon the slab in front of her while the pathologist worked steadily on the corpse. They were about halfway through the process and lines of concentration creased his sombre face as the scalpel sliced into the pancreas. He mumbled something about fats, carbohydrates and proteins, that we’re all made up of the same biochemical ingredients. He glanced up to see if she was paying attention.
Lexie gave a mechanical nod.
My brother lay on a slab just like this one . . . And I could have ended up here too.
Glancing away, she watched Mark Byrne, the crime scene officer, painstakingly take photographs of the corpse from different angles. Not surprisingly, in this environment she had no trouble keeping her focus off Josh or his close proximity. Mentally she had already slipped into a numb void, watching the pathologist work as though from a distance. She felt herself dissociate, her mind slipping back, rewinding to her very first week in the job.
It had been part of her induction; all probationary constables straight out of the police academy were required to observe an autopsy. It was a part of her training she had been dreading and, to be honest, she had found the brutality of the procedure deeply disturbing. Yet once it was over she had been relieved and proud of herself for surviving the ordeal without fainting or losing her breakfast. There had been a moment when the morgue attendant led them to the storage facility, telling them the room had the capacity to hold up to three hundred and thirty bodies at any one time – just in case a jumbo jet went down. He’d laughed at the look on Lexie’s face as he slid the giant metal doors open and a frosty gust of stale air engulfed them, but she’d held her nerve.
The morgue attendant had encouraged Lexie and three of her academy buddies to go in and have a look around.
‘You may as well get used to dead’uns; you’re going to see enough of them,’ he’d laughed again.
Lexie wasn’t comfortable with treating the dead as objects of fascination, but being the only female in the group, she was out to prove she could deal with anything, so, without looking back, she’d reluctantly ventured into the cold, bleak storage room.
What she didn’t know was that the morgue attendant, purely for his own amusement, had held the others back. Moments later she heard the metal doors slam shut behind her. Everything went black. Her heart pounded violently and she was racked by paralysing panic as she realised she was trapped in an above-ground necropolis.
Lexie shivered at the memory, remembering how her body had trembled. How she’d hugged herself against the cold and clenched her jaw to stop her teeth chattering. How she’d been terrified to move for fear of stumbling into a gurney, knocking into a body.
She’d opened her mouth to scream – then closed it again. She’d wanted to cry – but didn’t. She knew she couldn’t show any weakness; that’s what they wanted. Minutes, or was it seconds later, the doors sprung open and light filled the room. She let out a relieved breath and walked out of there as swiftly and as calmly as she could manage. Since then she had not, and would not, set foot inside that frozen room again.
Was it any wonder she had nightmares?
‘Not a smoker.’ The pathologist’s voice snapped her back to the present. ‘Nice healthy tissue.’
Did it really matter that his tissue was healthy? He was dead!
As the pathologist continued to cut through organs with scissors and knife, she wondered how anyone could do this day after day. Was it possible to become accustomed to ripping flesh from bone, dissecting chilled organs, inhaling the aroma of death?
The fluorescent lights gave no hint as to what time of the day or night it was outside the confines of this room and the white floor, with its in-built drains flowing steadily with bodily fluids, was beginning to make Lexie feel nauseous. When he lifted out the stomach and placed it on the cutting board, slicing it open to drain its contents, Lexie could no longer resist the urge to block the putrid smell. The odour was vicious, the sort of scent that burnt the lining of your nose and remained, like a bad aftertaste, in the back of your throat. She grimaced with disgust, as she clamped her fingers around her nostrils.
She glanced at the clock on the wall. It was now 9.45 am. They had been working for almost sixteen hours straight. She rubbed her tired eyes, seeing everything through a haze of exhaustion. Last night and this moment seemed as surreal as a bad dream. How long could someone go without sleep, she wondered, glancing sideways at Josh, who was staring vacantly into the bloody hole where Bluey’s skin and ribs had once been. His hands were shoved into his pockets and his face was notably pale.
The pathologist started on the heart and she forced herself to pay attention.
‘Heart’s in good condition,’ he said, ‘not too much use to him now, of course.’
This bloke was a real comedian. Pity she was not in the mood for humour. She just wanted him to hurry up so she could get out of here.
‘The three bullets entered here,’ he said, indicating an upper chamber of the heart, ‘almost in the same place under the shoulder bone. The shooter was a skilled shot. Though normally, being wounded in this area of the body would not be fatal.’
‘Then what killed him?’ Josh asked.
‘It appears one of the bullets has travelled down and lodged in his aorta, blocking his blood supply and causing a cardiac arrest. Most unfortunate.’
I’m sure Bluey would agree, Lexie thought, glancing at the bullet that had killed him, now safely encased with the other two in a glass evidence jar. To maintain continuity they would take the evidence back to the station, where it would be entered into the exhibit book and then later delivered to ballistics for profiling.
The pathologist was ready for stitching. Lexie found herself staring, transfixed, as Bluey’s head wobbled from side to side as the needle wove in and out, threading a crooked line through the severed skin of his neck. Repulsed but fascinated, it struck her now as it had so often before, that this body, the remains of Robert King, no longer appeared human. It was a brutal reminder that life can be so instantly snuffed out. Only yesterday he had been alive, blood flowing though his veins, drinking beer, playing with his kids, and now he resembled something out of a wax museum.
An anonymous corpse was much easier to deal with, she reasoned. It lacked individuality, a personality, unlike this man whom she had witnessed taking his last breaths.
Something bumped her shoulder. Lexie looked up at Josh. He had moved closer. His face had turned grey and before she realised what was happening, he slumped and slowly collapsed against her. She grabbed his arms trying to steady him, but he was taller, heavier and, while trying to keep him upright, she lost her balance, slipping to the floor with him.
The pathologist peered over the body giving them a quick glance. An amused smirk twitched the corners of his mouth as he continued working. Using a gloved finger, he pointed to a bench against the far wall.
‘There are towels over there,’ he informed her coolly.
Paying scant attention to the body being stitched above them, Lexie propped Josh against the leg of the autopsy table.
‘Are you all right?’ she asked, noticing his eyes were staring and glassed over.
He didn’t answer.
Jumping up, Lexie raced for a towel. She soaked it with cold water and returned to his side.
‘Are you sick?’ she asked, squatting next to him, draping the towel around his neck, dabbing the cool ends across his face. The noises of equipment clanging and voices in the background faded into insignificance.
His legs were stretched out in front of him and his eyes were now closed. She put her hand to his forehead and could feel the heat radiating off his skin. As she moved the wet towel over his hair, little beads of water fell onto his shirt. His head dropped forward, letting her take control. Lexie was good at taking control.
His head fell a little to the left, his forehead brushing her breast. She ignored the tingle and continued to wipe the towel across his hair, easing wet strands off his face, unsure of what else to do. What was wrong with him, she wondered. Did he have a weak stomach?
Suddenly, his head snapped up. His green eyes stared straight at her as he gave her a shy smile. The dimples came out in full force, their effect almost propelling her backwards.
‘Thanks,’ he said in an unsteady voice. ‘I can’t believe I did that. I’m so embarrassed.’
His steady gaze held hers.
‘Here I am, waiting for you to keel over and instead it’s me who collapses.’ He shook his head in disbelief. ‘You’re stronger than I gave you credit for, Lexie.’
She glanced away quickly, afraid he might see straight through her.
‘Yes, I’m real tough,’ she replied, her voice laced with sarcasm.
Josh smiled, not looking embarrassed at all, Lexie thought. Was he flirting with her? She moved back, putting some distance between them.
‘Do you feel a bit better?’ she asked, more abruptly than she’d intended, still aware of his intense scrutiny.
Josh fixed the towel around his neck and paused before answering. There was confusion – or was it conflict – behind his eyes.
‘I’m not sick. My sister got rushed to hospital the other night, after I saw you at the pub. I spent the night there with her, then I was called into work. I’ve had hardly any sleep and I probably haven’t eaten enough either. I think my body shuts down if I don’t get enough food.’
Enough food? From what Lexie could tell this guy never stopped eating.
‘I’m just tired, felt a bit faint, that’s all. I’ll survive.’
‘Oh.’ Lexie couldn’t think of much else to say. ‘I hope your sister’s all right,’ she added, getting to her feet.
Offering her hand, she helped him up, breaking the contact as soon as he was steady. Josh stretched and looked at the pathologist apologetically.
‘Sorry about that,’ he offered.
The pathologist’s deep chuckle reverberated off the sterile walls and echoed around the room.
‘Like I don’t see that almost every day!’
Josh raised his eyebrows at the ribbing.
‘I’ll meet you outside,’ he told Lexie.
She watched him turn and walk towards the door without looking back.