“That would be fine, thanks,” Ed said. He was surprised. It usually wasn’t this easy, but Edge Key wasn’t in a very large county.
The line clicked and then started ringing. Ed was trying to formulate the message he was going to leave when someone picked up the phone. “Undertaker.”
“Um, I was trying to reach one of the county medical examiners,” Ed said, sounding puzzled. The name threw him.
“You got him . . . or one of ‘em anyway. How can I help you?”
“Is it, ah, Dr. Undertaker?” Ed said tentatively.
Laughter erupted on the other end. “Undertaker’s a nickname I got back in Chicago years ago. Since I’m sure you don’t really care what my name is, how can I help you?”
“Actually, Doctor, I’m a reporter. I’m following up on a woman who died yesterday at the Ivory Rock Clinic on Edge Key. I think she was brought to your place for an autopsy. You wouldn’t happen to know who I could speak to for information about this case, would you?”
“I’d say it’s your lucky day,” Undertaker said. He was also thinking it was his lucky day. This was his chance to stick it to that jerk of a cop he talked to yesterday, Lieutenant Eric Bischoff. If he got fired for revealing too much information to this reporter, it’d be worth it. Besides, he was supposed to be retired anyway. “I caught that case when it came in. I’d be glad to help you in any way I could, Mr., um, what did you say your name was?”
“I didn’t, but it’s Ed Nanreit. I guess you could start by telling me the origin of the name, Undertaker. It’s not important to the story; I’m just curious.”
“I’m Japanese. My full name is Funaki Tajiri. No one could remember my name and those that did couldn’t pronounce it, so one of the detectives on the Chicago police force jokingly called me Undertaker one day. The name stuck.”
“Foo, um, could you say that again?”
“Funaki, F-U-N-A-K-I, Tajiri, T-A-J-I-R-I. Now you know why I got the nickname. Please, call me, Undertaker.”
“Okay, Undertaker. No offense, but that sure is a heck of a lot easier.”
“None taken.”
“Could you tell me if an autopsy was either performed already or is scheduled to be performed?”
“Yeah. I performed an autopsy on her late yesterday.”
“A source of mine told me that the woman’s body was, um . . .”
“Mutilated? Disfigured? That she was. I spent the majority of my career working as an M.E. in Chicago—gang shootings, mob hits, all sorts of traffic fatalities—and I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“Could you describe the condition of the body?” Ed asked, although he knew the answer to the question. Ed wanted to hear Undertaker’s description.
“The most gruesome aspect of her condition was that her orbital cavity was empty.”
“Her eyeballs were removed?”
“Yes. It appears that she removed them with her own hands.”
“What else?”
“Her facial features appeared to be frozen as if she’d been screaming at the time of death.”
“What about her hair?”
“It was an unnatural shade of white as if all the color had been drained out, but not anything that you would associate with a hair dye. Did you hear about the hair or do you have some other source of information?”
“I’ll explain in a minute, Undertaker. First though, could you tell me what you think the cause of death was?”
“I’m still running some tests, but my preliminary conclusion is that she died of cardiac arrest induced by a severe trauma or shock.”
“Do you have any idea of what that trauma or shock was?”
“At this point, none at all. Like I said, I’ve never seen anything like this. Now, your turn. How did you know about the hair?”
“What would you say if I told you that the woman you performed an autopsy on yesterday was just one of many whose body was found in pretty much the same condition?”
“How many bodies are you talking about?”
“Over fifty—easy.”
“I’d say that you’re probably mistaken. Or nuts. Multiple mutilated bodies tend to attract attention. I sincerely doubt that there’ve been that many similar deaths and nobody noticed. I get bulletins all the time from law enforcement agencies across the country and I’ve never seen or heard of anything close to what I saw yesterday. I’ve also never read about anything like that in any of the medical journals, or heard anyone even talking about something remotely similar at a seminar or convention for medical examiners. You have to be mistaken.”
“Undertaker, I personally saw a body that fit the description of the woman you performed an autopsy on when I was a kid. A few days ago, I interviewed several eyewitnesses who described another similar find. Within the next few days, I should have copies of the police case files, including the autopsy reports, from another eight bodies where the deceased had the following in common: white hair, mouth frozen open in a scream and a specific self-inflicted wound—the eyes were gouged out. Sound familiar? In each of those cases, the decedent was a vagrant and the cause of death was listed as suicide.”
“Suicide.” Undertaker said—it was more a statement than a question.
“Yeah, suicide. Why? Does that mean something?”
“I shouldn’t be telling you this . . . Actually, I shouldn’t have told you everything that I’ve already told you. It could mean my job to reveal details of an active investigation.”
“If you’d feel better, I won’t use your name,” Ed said, again breaking the code of journalism according to Manifesto Veritas.
“I’d rather all this be off the record for now, but I understand that you’re going to do what you’ve got to do regardless of any promises you make to me, so I won’t ask you to make me a promise you can’t keep.
“Anyway, after I finished the autopsy, I contacted the Edge Key Police Department and spoke to the person in charge of the investigation. To make a long story short, he basically threatened me when I told him that I didn’t think that the woman killed herself. I was basically ordered to list the cause of death as a suicide—or else.”
“Or else what?”
“Or else he’d make my life a living hell. I’ve lived through plenty of threats during my career by people who were a hellava lot more powerful that some hick cop in a hick town. All he managed to do was piss me off. To tell the truth, that’s the only reason I told you anything about the investigation at all.”
“What was this cop’s name?”
“Lieutenant Eric Bischoff. You know him?”
“You could say that. Undertaker, when I obtain those police files, could I meet with you? I’d like to get a professional opinion on their contents. I’m sure I’m also going to have a lot more questions for you before I put this story together. My paper would be willing to pay you a consultant’s fee for your time.”
“I don’t think that’ll be necessary. I have a pretty good pension; money doesn’t mean that much to me. The only reason I took this job was because retirement bored me to tears. I’d be happy to meet with you, Ed. Let’s just say, you’ve piqued my curiosity. I’d like to know what’s going on here.”
“Then, I’ll be in touch, Undertaker. Stay safe,” Ed said and hung up. He wasn’t sure why he said that last part, but it seemed necessary for some reason.
CHAPTER 19
“Fear is that little darkroom where negatives are developed.”
—Michael Pritchard
“Thanks, Lieutenant,” Dr. Austin said. Then the two men shook hands and Bischoff walked through the doors that led to the exit of the clinic.
That’s all Torrie witnessed when she walked out of her office into the hall. “What was that about?” Torrie asked Dr. Austin as he walked down the hall towards her on his way somewhere else.
“Huh?” Dr. Austin said. He’d been deep in thought and hadn’t heard Torrie’s question.
“That cop . . . What was that all about? Didn’t we get enough
of them yesterday?”
“He was just, um, following up on a couple of things,” Dr. Austin said.
It sounded like Dr. Austin was hiding something to Torrie, but she let it go for now. “Would you step into my office for a minute, Dr. Austin? I wanted to get your opinion on something.”
“Sure, Torrie. I’ve always got time for you,” he said and followed Torrie into her office.
Torrie took a seat behind her desk before she began speaking, but Dr. Austin remained standing. “I have a, um, patient I’m seeing who’s troubled by a recurring nightmare,” Torrie said. “I remember the basics on dream interpretation, you know, Freud and Jung, but this isn’t an area that I feel proficient in. I’d like your help if you know anything about this area.”
“Nightmares are about fear,” Dr. Austin said as he sat on the edge of her desk and folded his hands together. “They’re the mind’s way of alerting us to a problem in our lives that needs to be solved much in the same way that physical pain will alert us to a problem with our physical body. You have a pain in your belly, it alerts you to see a doctor who diagnoses appendicitis. The appendix is removed and the physical pain stops. Get it?”
“Uh-huh,” Torrie said, nodding her head.
“Unfortunately, the mind is more subtle than the body. It doesn’t give you direct clues about what’s wrong with you or how to solve the problem; it wants you to face your fears, but it doesn’t tell you what those fears are. Instead, the mind will transfer your fears into frightening and horrifying images that are only symbols of the actual fear you’re facing. Of course, your body doesn’t know the difference between a nightmare and being awake, so the autonomic response mechanism is triggered.”
“The fight or flight response, right?”
“Exactly. That’s why the person experiencing a nightmare will wake up soaked in sweat, their pulse racing and having difficulty breathing. It’s that adrenaline rush at work, which was developed eons ago to equip our bodies to either fight the attacking lion or to flee it.
“Now, a recurring nightmare is often a warning of lingering psychological conflicts. It’s a signal of something that’s deeply bothering you and needs to be corrected. Whatever that fear or conflict is, it’s so important that your mind becomes obsessed with it. That’s why the dream continues to repeat itself in the same pattern—the mind is stuck in a rut. The recurring nightmare is the most intense message the mind can send to face a particular fear.
“The key to defeating a recurring nightmare is to identify the fear. So, the question you need to ask yourself is: What scares you?”
“What did you just say?!” Ed said. He’d come over to the clinic in the hopes that he could take Torrie out to lunch and happened to arrive at the doorway to Torrie’s office just in time to hear Dr. Austin’s last few words.
“Oh, hi, Ed,” Dr. Austin said as he stood up to shake Ed’s hand. “Dr. Wilson and I were discussing a patient, but we can continue this later. I’ll walk you down to Kane’s room and-”
“Did you ask her, ‘What scares you’?” Ed interrupted.
“Um, I was explaining to her about a particular question that needs to be asked in order to help treat a patient. Why? Does that question mean something to you?”
“No, Dr. Austin. I’m sorry, that was quite rude of me. It’s just that . . .” Ed started to explain, then remembered who he was talking to. “It doesn’t really matter. How’s Uncle Kane doing?” he said quickly to change the subject.
Dr. Austin looked at Ed far too long, from Ed’s perspective, before he answered the question. “Actually, Kane’s doing just fine. I still don’t know what caused the behavior that prompted the police to bring him here, but I can’t find a thing wrong with him now. I might even release him later today so he’s not stuck here over the weekend, but I haven’t decided yet. That’ll probably depend more on his attitude than anything.”
“Maybe I should have a talk with him before you speak to him,” Ed said. “He’s more likely to be reasonable if he knows there’s a chance he can get out of here. I’ve never understood it, but he likes being on the street. He misses it when he’s here. It’s strange.”
“That’s because you’re imposing your value system on Kane,” Dr. Austin said. “You’ve heard the old saying, different strokes for different folks.”
“Gotcha, Doc,” Ed said. “Um, I wanted to ask Torrie something. Are you finished with your conversation or should I come back?”
“We weren’t finished, but I’ve got to get going,” Dr. Austin said to Ed, then he looked over at Torrie. “We’ll finish up later, if that’s all right.”
“That’s fine, Dr. Austin. I’ll talk to you later,” Torrie said and waited until he left. “So, what did you want to ask me?” she whispered to Ed in a sultry voice while trying to look as provocative as she could manage.
Ed blushed and looked at the floor. “I was just going to ask you to lunch. But, um . . .”
“Lunch is fine. I was only teasing. I’ve still got work to do . . . but you’ve got me all to yourself for the whole weekend to do with as you see fit.”
“You’re bad,” Ed said, blushing harder. “Let’s get out of here. I’ll look in on Uncle Kane when we get back.” As they started walking out, Ed’s cell phone rang. “Hello,” he answered. “They are? That’s super. Where’re you located? Okay. Okay. Yeah, I know right where that is. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes. How much is the total? How much?! Yeah, rush job. That’ll be fine. Bye,” he said and hung up the phone.
“It sounds like you’re not taking me to lunch,” Torrie said.
“We can still go. I just have to make a stop at the copy store on the mainland. We can grab a bite over there. The case files I requested from the police department are ready.”
On the way over to the copy store, Ed filled Torrie in on his conversation with Undertaker. Torrie wasn’t even aware that an autopsy had been performed. It seemed that Ed was more in the loop than she was.
“. . . and since I’ve got the files now,” Ed said to Torrie after they’d stopped by the copy store to pick up his copies of the case files. They’d probably overcharged him, but at the moment he was too excited to care. “I can meet with Undertaker and get his perspective on all of this. The story is starting to fall into place. All I need now is to figure out what all of this has to do with Dr. Austin, Nurse Trish and the clinic.”
“And since Uncle Kane is probably going to be released, I suppose you’ll be able to get back home sooner than you thought,” Torrie said, sounding sad.
Ed hadn’t thought about going home. He’d felt more at home in Edge Key in the past few days than he’d ever felt at home in his apartment in Pompano Beach. Torrie’s statement only served to remind him of an issue he’d been avoiding in his mind.
“I’ve got to go home sometime, I guess, but that doesn’t mean we have to stop seeing each other. You’re only a couple of hours away. There’s weekends, holidays, vacations. You’ll probably see me so much that you’ll get sick of me,” he said and grabbed her hand.
An uneasy silence fell over them. When they stopped at Burger King for lunch, they hardly said a word to each other. Ed was actually happy when Torrie got up to use the bathroom. It gave him a break from the uncomfortable situation. It also gave him a chance to call Undertaker. Ed dialed the number to the coroner’s office and asked for Undertaker’s extension.
“Undertaker,” he answered on the first ring.
“Hi, Undertaker, this is Ed Nanreit.”
“The reporter. Did you forget to ask me something earlier?”
“No. The reason I’m calling is because I got copies of the police case files we discussed this morning quicker than I expected. I was hoping to arrange a meeting so you could review them. At your convenience, of course.”
“Yeah, definitely. I’m even more interested in those files than I was this morning. The only problem is, I’m going to be tied up here for quite a while. Ed, they’re bringing in another body sometime
this afternoon.”
“You don’t mean . . .”
“They look the same, Ed.”
“Oh my God. What’s going on?”
“I don’t know, but that’s why I’m eager to get a look at those files of yours.”
“Do you know who it is?”
“I don’t have that much information yet. All I know is that it was a male this time. Some vagrant from what I’ve been told.”
Ed plopped his head into the hand that wasn’t holding the phone—he had a sick feeling in the pit of his gut. “Undertaker, you’ve been very candid with me, so I think I owe it to you to be straight with you too. I was following up on another angle to this investigation last night. I met with several homeless people who live in the area of Edge Key known as Vagrant-ville. Something tells me that your corpse will turn out to be one of the individuals I interviewed last night.”
“If that’s true, then I think you need to start watching your back, Ed.”
How do you watch you back from a supernatural creature that can mimic a human? Ed wondered.
Ed didn’t want to mention this part of his theory to Undertaker—yet. He wanted to be taken seriously for once instead of a crackpot reporter for a sleazy tabloid. A man of science will usually run from any explanation that isn’t pragmatic. Ed needed Undertaker to take him seriously.
“Are you still there, Ed?”
“Yeah. Sorry, I was just thinking,” Ed said as Torrie returned from the bathroom. “Why don’t I give you my cell number and you can call me when you’re available to review these files. I’ll meet you whenever you want, Undertaker.”
“Okay, that sounds good, but I want to wait until I’ve had a chance to perform an autopsy on this latest case. Maybe I’ll find something that’ll help me figure out what’s going on here.”
The Fringe Dwellers Page 15