Disconnected (32 page)

Compassion instead of sarcasm?
  “It’s nothing - it’s silly really. I just - .”
I just want to know if that’s my brother under there!
  I felt a scream growing within me - an explosive tension that begged for release.
Not now. Not here.
I forced the feeling down deep, bottling it firmly.

“Let’s do this,” I muttered. The last thing I needed to see on a Monday morning was the lifeless body of my only brother, but events seemed to have gained the momentum of a freight train. I couldn’t back out of this now.

“Let me see him.” I heard the words leaving my mouth, but it was as if someone else had formed them. Time seemed to slow to a crawl as my voice drifted towards Morty’s ears and I wondered if I’d have time to snatch back the words before they reached him. But even if I could, I wouldn’t have. I needed my answer.

“You’re sure?” Morty said quietly. “We can leave it until - .”

I shook my head. “I’ve waited this long. I want to know.”

“I don’t want you to - .”

“Morty,” I croaked past the growing lump in my throat. “If you don’t hurry this up, I’ll be late for my shift.”
Or I’ll lose my nerve. Bottle out. Run.

“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 malevolent 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