Arsenic for the Soul (8 page)

She lifted the linen sheet off the
cadaver’s legs and grimaced at the purplish-grey tinge of his skin.
She held her breath and quickly checked the toe tag. The guard was
probably getting a kick out of making her get this close to
a—

The corpse spasmed.

“
What the hell!”

The guard doubled over in
laughter.

“
He’s been doing that all
morning! His nervous system is still shooting off. Sorry, I need to
have my fun with the new students.”

“
You’re lucky I didn’t club
that thing in the head! Are you sure it’s not one of the morgue
techs hiding under the sheet?”

“
You’re welcome to
check.”

“
No, I’d prefer to keep my
lunch in my stomach.”

In spite of herself, Vivian couldn’t
help but grin at the poor joke.

“
You want to see something
really horrifying?”

Vivian turned a curious gaze on him.
She wondered what else this morgue concealed besides severed limbs
and maggot-infested bodies.

“
I’ve seen my share of
horror. Not much impresses me these days.”

“
An innocent lady like you?
I didn’t have you pegged as the sinister type. Well, maybe you’ll
enjoy this then.”

“
What exactly?”

The guard delicately lifted a shroud
off a female corpse. The woman’s face was marbled with splotches of
decay and degenerating vessels. The skin was slipping in folds on
her face and neck, but it did little to disguise the boiling
lesions. There was no mistaking, it was the homeless woman who
succumbed on Vivian’s first day of clinicals. Crenshaw, the head
surgeon, was too hasty to write her off as a drug
overdose.

Her emaciated frame was fast
disintegrating on the table as the bacteria once housed in her
gastrointestinal spilled out.

“
Disgusting, isn’t
it?”

Vivian didn’t reply. Her
head was swimming at the sight of this hub of meat-eating
bacteria.
Maybe I’m imagining a problem
when there’s none. But if there’s the slightest chance…

An idea popped into her head that
certainly guaranteed dismissal from the nursing program—if she was
caught. When the attendant turned his head, she quickly flipped out
her phone. Her pulse was pounding and she worked hard to steady her
hands. She snapped a picture of the lesions on the
corpse.

The guard looked up from his paperwork
as Vivian tucked away her phone.

Maybe Gavin could answer her nagging
doubts about these markings—and forgive her crime against ethical
behavior.

* * *

The Toxic Mistress was every shade of
splendor and debauchery that an outcast could ever long for.
Located on the cusp of Wenceslas Square, it funneled stray
onlookers inside who wouldn’t be seen again for nights at a time—if
they were fortunate.

Of course, one couldn’t enter the
Toxic Mistress in any other attire besides elegant, dark, twisted,
and lurid. Vivian was loath to disappoint anyone who turned an eye
her way.

She was dressed in a halter mini-dress
strung together from liquid red spandex. Always straddling the
border between sexy and excessive, the keyhole cutout plunged down
to her navel. Vivian designed much of her own club attire because
the boutiques simply didn’t measure up to her level of
“cute.”

With the aid of contacts, Vivian’s
eyes wore the guise of black sclera and white irises. Jet black
lipstick was painted on her mouth and bone-colored rose was nestled
in her hair.

She noted the addition of blue velvet
curtains that cordoned off VIP lounges. Stranger still, the Toxic
Mistress seemed refurbished in the spirit of a hospital.

Sometimes it was a wonder how such a
place still operated within the cage of society. It was a fringe
sanctuary for the disenfranchised and disinherited. The medical
overtones in the club reminded her somewhat of the University
Hospital, from the cybergoth nurse outfits to an
absinthe-dispensing IV. The Victorian elements had been dialed down
in favor of a more medical approach—like an abandoned surgical
ward.

Vivian didn’t want to reminisce about
clinicals now. She distracted herself by searching for a familiar
face among the clients.

Always curious about what crawled in
off the streets, she noticed a man being intravenously injected
with glowing liquid. Truly, there was nothing sweeter then delirium
directly shunted to the brain.

Men and women with a fetish for
leather congregated in the far corners. They wore bizarre
headdresses, goggles, artificial dreadlocks, or gas masks layered
in spikes.

Some appeared to have prosthetic legs
and arms equipped with surgical attachments. In the light, it was
hard to tell whether those appendages were genuine or optical
illusions. She dreaded to think someone would swap their prosthetic
hands out for hooks at the end of the day.

Vivian glanced at the stage as
punishing riff fell on the crowd. The nightly performances rotated
between Russian synth pop, Neue Deutsche Harte, cybergoth
distortion, and Czech metal.

Tonight the nu metal group
Misanthrophilia was setting the atmosphere and sharpening their
lyrics before lunging for the jugular. Slugging guitars and
battering drums poured into the Toxic Mistress in a matter of
minutes. Each cathartic rumble of the guitars added another layer
to the bile fest.

As much as Vivian would have enjoyed
the chaotic show, she was here for business and not pleasure. She
finally spotted Gavin lording over the bar like a gatekeeper to the
forbidden.

A Mohawk of slick blades protruded
from his skull. Supposedly an explosion at an anatomy model plant
left him with shrapnel embedded in his head.

How strange that an injury to his
brain reshaped his personality. If that wasn’t odd enough, it drove
him to the dark realms of the Toxic Mistress.

He fashioned the blades into a razor
sharp Mohawk to cement his newfound identity in the deranged and
deviant. A monocle gleamed on his right eye like a portal into his
incognizant brain, always whirring with chaotic thoughts that would
frighten outsiders.

His wardrobe consisted of a striped
shirt and suspenders. He was a wiry figure with an equally angular
face.

In so many ways he reminded Vivian of
a villain she might see immortalized in film, albeit an eccentric
one that would garner the audience’s praise far more than the
hero.

She chuckled at the sight of Gavin. It
amazed her to think that he once lectured her in the classroom. His
knowledge of anatomy and human physiology was unparalleled, with a
penchant for witty banter to match. He was easily her favorite
teacher during her short tenure in college.

Now she considered him a confidant who
listened to her life story without so much as a judging thought or
pushing advice on her—unless he was advising her on her poison of
choice.

“
Vivian, always a pleasure
to see you,” he smiled. “What will it be tonight? The Green Fairy?
Or would you be inclined to try one of my newest concoctions? I
call this little draught Mephistopheles’ Elixir.”

“
I think I’ll wait for the
toxicology reports from your victims before I give it a try. I
can’t be too careful, now can I?”

“
Ah, the young and
headstrong, always so resistant to change. Here I thought you were
bolder than most.”

Vivian propped herself up on the
bar.

“
But in all seriousness,
Gavin, I came to tickle your brain about a certain subject. You’re
the smartest and oddest character I know, so who better to approach
about matters of medical nature?”

Gavin filled up another tray of shots,
which was promptly fetched by a server clad in an eyepatch,
garters, and a latex corset.

“
I’m not sure whether
you’re being overly dramatic or genuine in your praise, but I’ll
take it all the same. As for your request, I hope you aren’t
looking for a psychiatric evaluation. That would be cruel and
unusual punishment for me.”

“
No, nothing like
that.”

Gavin flashed a cocky smile and leaned
back—almost skewering a waitress with his steel-tipped
Mohawk.

“
Speaking of medicine, I
don’t believe I’ve told you about my latest foray into civilized
society! When I’m not catering to the depraved masses, I work at
the medical examiner’s office. I suppose it’s the most conspicuous
place a person of my nature can work, no?”

“
Yeah, you don’t exactly
look like the secretary type happily greeting patients.”

Vivian chuckled at her reflection in
the blades affixed to his head.

“
Not only that, but now I
have the opportunity to put my medical knowledge to use. It has
been far too long since I worked with human anatomy.”

“
Really? I never could have
imagined a shortage of anatomy at the Toxic Mistress. Don’t you
flirt with the girls here?”

“
Your anatomy jokes are
starting to wear on me. Sometimes I wonder what you think of me.
This isn’t a brothel we’re running. Before we get down to business,
indulge me with a little pleasantry. Tell me how my favorite
student is doing in the nursing program.”

“
I’m being tormented at the
hospital by a surgeon called Dr. Crenshaw. That’s the drama you’re
looking for.”

“
Ah, Crenshaw! We took a
few classes together at the university—when I still had hair. I
remember his prickly demeanor. He always went about with a chip on
his shoulder. I never could figure out why.”

“
A chip on his shoulder?
More like a pole up his ass. Anyway, I have something else in mind
tonight. What would you say if I told you I need genetic testing
for an umbilical cord? Do you think you could work your magic on
it?”

She discretely handed the
satin-wrapped bundle to him. Gavin took a peek and his eyes
rounded.

“
It must have been
preserved for years. It’s in impeccable condition. Look at the way
the torsions are still visible!”

“
That’s mildly disturbing
how excited you sound over an umbilical cord.”

“
My dear Vivian, all
aspects of medical science, even the morbid and strange, are
fascinating and worthy of appraisal.”

“
So can you use this to
trace Camilla’s lineage and come up with a list of living
relatives? Or am I hoping for too much?”

“
Your friend Camilla? Why
in the world does she have an umbilical cord?”

“
It’s a long story, but we
suspect it might be hers. Suffice to say, someone left it for her,
along with a series of disturbing messages. We think she has a
stalker.”

“
Ah, so this isn’t merely
out of medical curiosity. I may have some connections that can help
you. I need Camilla to provide a DNA sample for comparison, of
course. Once we have a positive confirmation, I’ll see what I can
do.”

Vivian leaned in with a look so
intense that it electrified Gavin.

“
I also need your opinion
on a woman who died in the hospital. It’s not really any of my
business but it’s bugging me. Her skin looks like something out of
a horror movie and I’d wager it’s somehow connected to her
death.”

“
Where is she
now?”

“
The body is in holding at
the hospital morgue. I don’t think they’ll transfer it to the
medical examiner unless they have reason to believe a crime was
involved.”

“
True enough,” Gavin said.
“And I can’t exactly drop in and take a peek.”

“
Which is why I had to
break some rules and take a picture for you. I know, I know,
privacy and all that. Shoot me later.”

She whipped out her phone. Gavin’s
eyes fell to the photo.

He lowered his glasses on his hawkish
nose and suppressed a shiver in his voice. Vivian had never seen
him look so unnerved.

“
You took this photo from
the University Hospital? How many cases of this have you
seen?”

“
Only one so far. What do
you know about this?”

“
Cutaneous lesions with a
nodular appearance, red plaque clustering around the neck and
cheeks… How precisely did she die?”

“
She was brought in for
respiratory failure. She coughed up bloody mucus. Once she went
into cardiac arrest there wasn’t much we could do to save
her.”

“
This doesn’t bode well at
all… Respiratory arrest isn’t a common factor but this looks like
lupus vulgaris… Cutaneous tuberculosis.”

Vivian looked at her arm where she
received her BCG vaccine. She silently thanked the charismatic
blood technician for poking her with a needle.

“
I could be mistaken. Of
course I would need to take other symptoms into account such as
weight loss, bloody sputum, fatigue, and chills, but I can’t
account for that with a single photograph.”

“
How does tuberculosis
spread?”

“
It is a bacterial
infection caused by
Myobacterium
tuberculosis.
The difference between
tuberculosis and its cutaneous cousin is that the bacteria nests in
the skin instead of the lungs.”