Gallows Humor

by Carolyn Elizabeth

  “Who?”

  “The fall at the construction site?” She unzipped the bag to reveal her guy was in fact a girl—a young one. “Damn,” she breathed as she looked at the ruined body, deformed limbs and skull split open.

  “Masters, MacKenzie, twenty-year-old, white female, in her third year at the university.” He came over and looked at the body. His eye was twitching like it did when he got very angry. “My youngest just turned twenty.”

  “Sorry,” she mumbled, unsure how to respond. The tragic death of young people was always so affecting, not matter how hardened you grew.

  “For what?” He cleared his throat erasing any trace of emotion. “That ain’t her.” He stepped away from the table. “And yes, I got your report. Your attention to detail never fails to amaze. What was that? Like twenty pages?”

  “Thirteen,” she replied, waiting as he took his notes. “And?”

  “And what, Curtis? You want a pat on the back for doing your job? Go ask your boss.”

  Collier was in a mood today and she debated just dropping it, but she couldn’t let it go. “I want to know what you think of the depressed skull fracture on his posterior skull. I would like you to consider it a signature fracture and that there may have been something other than the fall that caused it.”

  He snapped his book closed and took his time tucking it back into his pocket before he responded. “Like what?”

  “I don’t know. It’s a construction site—a brick, a block, a beam, a board?” As soon as the words were out of her mouth she grimaced, waiting for it.

  “Or some other alliterative object?” he asked, dryly. “Don’t quit your day job, Curtis.”

  “This is my goddamn day job, Collier.”

  He sighed. “What did Webster say?”

  Corey thinned her lips. “He hasn’t replied to my report.”

  “Well, when he does, and if he has concerns about the cause or manner of death, then we’ll take another look at it.”

  “Fine,” she said through clenched teeth as she turned to the body in front of her. “In the meantime I’ll get this one out to you by the end of the day. I’ll try to keep it short.”

  He studied her a moment before he turned to leave. “Good luck on your date,” he called as the door closed.

  Her head snapped up from behind the camera. “Bastard.” She grumbled but she didn’t really mean it. Collier was the kind of friend who would never say it out loud, but if she ever needed anything, he would be there. And he most definitely was interested in her love life. That had always been obvious.

  Chapter Twelve

  Cin showed up five minutes after Collier left and was all too happy to take the lead on the crash victim, after she spent some time contemplating her own mortality and wondering if the young woman was someone she ever passed on campus, saw lounging on the quad, or bumped into at the coffee cart.

  Blessedly she was not one of Cin’s students, but when word got around of her death, Cin would keep an ear out for people who knew her, assuring them her death was swift and likely painless and she was well taken care of afterward.

  Now, though, like everyone in the death industry, medical or otherwise, she shut it all down and became the scientist she was. She took photos, measured and described injuries in precise, clinical detail while Corey supervised and took notes.

  When they were through, Dr. Webster ambled down, took a look, and approved and signed the death certificate—catastrophic trauma to the head and torso.

  Cin packed the body away and cleaned up while Corey wrote and proofread the brief report and sent it off to Dr. Webster and Collier.

  Corey was done by three and spent the rest of the afternoon mindlessly clicking through her mandatory safety training modules, trying hard not to worry about what she was going to wear to dinner. At five she headed home.

  She stood in the shower for a long time, contemplating the loaded gun theory and wondering when she became so randy. The sheets hadn’t even been changed since the last time she and Anna were together. It wasn’t like she was just coming off a months’ long dry spell. There was just something so sensual about Thayer that turned her on so hard and so fast it left her head spinning.

  She had plenty of time still, so she threw on a robe, changed the sheets and made the bed while still damp from the shower. She threw in a load of laundry, did the dishes, bagged up the trash and wiped down the counters.

  She was far from a slob, but with no one to impress she tended to back burner a lot. She couldn’t even remember if she had ever cleaned up for Anna. Likely it was Anna who had cleaned and she just never noticed.

  She leaned against the bathroom sink and studied herself in the mirror, trying to avoid getting down on herself for being such a jerk. Anna was right; this was going to haunt her and she was starting to have second thoughts about going out with Thayer. Maybe she just wasn’t relationship material.

  In a fit of low self-esteem, she decided to call Thayer and cancel but two problems presented themselves immediately. She still didn’t know Thayer’s number and she seemed to have left her phone in the morgue, probably on her desk.

  “Damn it.” She flopped onto the couch with a beer. It was only quarter to seven. She sucked on her beer and eyed her tidy place, wondering exactly what made her think Thayer would be coming home with her tonight. “Your looks and charm, of course.”

  She debated the wisdom of it while drinking a second beer and stood in front of her closet. Why was this so hard? Thayer had already seen her in her rattiest clothes, scrubs, and her workout gear. Why was this different?

  Unable to come to a satisfactory answer, or at least one she was willing to admit to herself, she slipped into jeans—faded but not ripped, and the ones she had been told made her ass look great. She slid a wide black leather belt through the loops and pulled her soft white button-down from the hanger. It was clean and had even been pressed, probably by Anna.

  She gelled her hair lightly, brushed her teeth, and unable to recall if she had brushed up against deodorant she reapplied. Her black eye was barely noticeable and she didn’t have makeup to cover it with had she wanted to.

  She slid her feet into black leather low-heeled boots and decided she had enough time to run back to the morgue and get her phone.

  She glanced around the empty loading dock as she pulled in. All delivery trucks and maintenance vehicles were long gone for the day and there were no more porters smoking in the corner near the overflowing ashtray. The only movement now was loose trash blowing around the overstuffed Dumpster. It was just starting to get dark, the sun lowering and elongating the shadows, but she could still make out the closed bay doors, stacked shipping pallets, and darkened windows at this hour.

  She waved her badge over the sensor at the back door, flipping it over when the light stubbornly stayed red and then smearing it violently against the sensor pad, first one direction and then the other. “Come on, you bastard,” she growled. It beeped finally and turned green. She jerked the door open just as she heard heavy, fast steps behind her and a rustle of movement. She turned and something heavy and hard slammed into the back of her head. She staggered forward with a shout of pain and dropped to the cement floor just inside the door.

  She tried to get up. She could feel the stream of warm, thick blood cascading from the back of her head onto the floor. “Shit.”

  She got one arm under her only to have it jerked painfully away from her body as someone dragged her through the door and into the morgue by the wrist. He was strong, and despite the ever-present smell of death and chemicals, she could smell booze and body odor.

  She craned to see him but her vision blurred and something covered his face. The pain in her head was piercing as he released her. She groaned as she struggled to get her arms beneath her again.

  “Stay down,” he barked from somewhere close by.

  She heard the crash of steel onto the floor and the slamming of cabinets. Her vision grayed in and out, wavering sickeningly.
She swallowed heavily, closing her eyes against the nausea, pain, and disorientation and stayed still, unable to process what was happening and what she should be doing about it.

  “Where is it?” the voice howled. “Fuck.”

  There was a dull thump followed by the gurgle of liquid splashing onto the floor. Her head jerked toward the sound, sending streaking pain through the back of her skull and her stomach roiled at the movement.

  “No.” She gasped as he overturned the recently opened five-gallon cube of formalin and poured its contents onto the floor.

  The acrid fumes hit her immediately, her eyes tearing and a gagging cough ripping from her throat as the toxic chemicals pooled around her, seeping into her clothes on her left side. She needed to get up—now.

  “Goddamn it,” he choked, splashing through the puddle as he ran out the back door.

  Thayer put the finishing touches on her makeup in the doctor’s lounge. Corey may already be waiting for her. She hadn’t meant to be fashionably late, a trait she found obnoxious and unnecessary. She thought she had left herself enough time to clean up and get changed, but as usual, someone came along and held her up.

  She planned to ask Corey out to dinner this morning. Initially she had intended to text the invitation, but when she saw Jim Collier in the ED scribbling away in his notebook, she had a flash of brilliance. She knew Corey would appreciate the humor in a handwritten note. She realized later she had no way of knowing whether or not the invitation had been received or accepted and Corey still didn’t have her number. She could text to confirm, but that would take the fun out of it and she was all but certain Corey would be there.

  What she hadn’t thought about was where they were going to go, and now she was concerned she was overdressed. She smoothed her hands down her sapphire blue silk blouse and black, wide-legged pants. She had removed the clip from her hair and let her curls fall loosely down her back. Her heels clicked across the linoleum as she walked back out to the admitting station, paying no attention to the heads turning as she went.

  “Holy shit, Thayer.” Dana eyed her up and down. “Are you trying to kill her?”

  “That comes later.” Thayer winked.

  Dana continued to stare along with half the department. “Tell me again why we never…” She trailed off and waggled her eyebrows.

  Thayer laughed. “Um, because you’re like a negative on the Kinsey scale.”

  “Right. I don’t even want to look at my own boobs sometimes. But good lord, Thayer, if it was going to be anyone, it would be you.”

  “Well.” Thayer beamed at her. “Thank you for that. I’m holding out for someone else tonight, however.” She checked her watch with a frown. It was well after eight.

  “Don’t worry,” Dana assured her as she grabbed a stack of charts and headed off. “She’ll be here.”

  “I’m just going to run and check downstairs. Maybe she got held up.”

  Dana waved and disappeared down the hall. “Have a great time.”

  Corey groaned and coughed as she struggled to her feet, staggering and going down to one knee before she could push herself up using the autopsy table. She raised a shaky hand to the back of her head feeling a thick swelling and a lot of blood dripping down her neck and back, soaking her shirt.

  She stumbled to the formalin box and righted it with effort, streaming tears and wheezing between coughs as the harsh fumes filled the room. She couldn’t see the box’s cap so she grabbed a towel from the counter and stuffed it through the opening.

  She looked around, disoriented, at the instruments and supplies pulled out of every drawer and cabinet. They skittered across the floor with a clang of metal as she staggered toward the two big plastic containers of aldehyde neutralizing agent. It took her several tries to fumble the lids off, her hands trembling and slippery with blood. She could barely see as she dumped the granules all over the floor where the formalin had pooled, absorbing and solidifying the liquid.

  She was starting to feel the burn against her skin, her drenched shirt plastered to her left side and arm with the corrosive chemical. She knew she was going to be in trouble if she didn’t get out of her clothes.

  Thayer smelled the pungent chemical as soon as she came through the stairwell, the back of her hand going to her nose as she gave a sharp cough. “What the hell?” She looked down and saw smears of fresh blood across the floor from the outside door and her heart ratcheted up a notch.

  She pushed open the door to the morgue and the odor was overwhelming, her eyes immediately burning and tearing. “Corey!”

  “Stay back,” she choked and Thayer heard her labored breathing. “Don’t come in.”

  “Like hell.” Corey leaned heavily against the autopsy table, fumbling with the buttons on her blood-soaked, white shirt.

  Thayer’s heart went to her throat for a moment before her training took over. She moved in front of her, ripping her soaked shirt open and jerking it off her shoulders, leaving her only in her bra. Her skin was blotchy and red on the left side. “Look at me,” she demanded, hooking a finger beneath Corey’s chin and guiding her head up gently.

  Corey’s head wobbled on blood-streaked shoulders and she could barely open her red, swollen eyes.

  “Jesus. Did you ingest any of it?”

  “No,” Corey croaked. “There was someone here. We need to call the police.”

  “You first.”

  Thayer wanted to get her right to the ED, treat her eyes and breathing and find out where that blood was coming from, but she would contaminate everything. She spied the emergency shower. “Over here.” She helped her up and over to the shower. She kept one arm around Corey’s waist and pulled the chain handle with the other.

  The water was bitterly cold as it rained over them both and Corey shivered. “I know it’s cold. Turn your face into it. We need to wash out your eyes.”

  Corey did as instructed as Thayer pumped liquid soap into her hands from the dispenser on the wall and smeared it all over Corey’s left side and arm. She could now see the blood streaming from the back of her head and she could just make out the edges of a ragged wound through her short hair. “Oh, honey, who did this to you?”

  Corey’s breathing became more irregular and her coughing near constant as she shivered under the water. Thayer shut it off and snatched a lab coat from the wall hook. “Time to go.” Though the absorbent material had done its job, it was too dangerous to stay longer. She threw the coat over Corey’s shoulders and grabbed a clean green towel from the counter, folding it and pressing it to the back of Corey’s head.

  Corey groaned at the pressure, her steps faltering.

  “I know. I’m sorry.” Thayer kept a tight grip on her waist. “You have to help me. You’re bleeding a lot. Hold this here.”

  Corey’s hand jerked up to hold the towel against the back of her head as they made their way out of the morgue.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Dana, I need you.” Thayer moved as fast as possible through the department. “Is there a curtain free?”

  Dana’s eyes widened in shock. “Uh, six, all the way at the end.”

  Dana came around to Corey’s other side and guided her. “God, what is that smell? What the hell happened?”

  Thayer shook her head as they eased Corey onto the gurney and closed the curtain. “I’m not sure. Acute formalin exposure, inhaled and absorbed, head lac, possible concussion and skull fracture. Breathing is labored, chemical burns on her left flank and arm.”

  “I got it.” Dana was cutting off the rest of Corey’s clothes and covering her with a sheet. “Send Jules in and get changed.”

  “Check her pressure, and O2 sats, start an IV with normal saline, saline rinse for her eyes, supplemental oxygen and call CT—”

  “I got it, Thayer.” Dana looked at her sharply. “Get changed and then you can come back and boss me around.”

  It took Thayer mere minutes to strip out of her clothes, throw on scrubs and tie her hair back. By the time she
got back, Corey was breathing beneath an oxygen mask. The finger of her right hand was tipped with the pulse oximeter, a blood pressure cuff was wrapped around her upper arm, and an IV was running into the back of her hand. Her head was swathed in a fresh gauze bandage.

  Jules was standing by her head flushing her eyes with a bottle of saline and Dana was smearing topical antibiotic and analgesic along her arm and side.

  Thayer hit the button on the automated blood pressure monitor, inflating the cuff. She waited impatiently as the monitor cycled through before flashing the reading 97/60. “What was it before?”

  “It was 85 over 50,” Dana answered.

  “Okay, it’s heading in the right direction.” Thayer slid the stethoscope from around her neck, inserting the ear tips and placing the diaphragm on Corey’s chest beneath the sheet. “Corey, how are you feeling?”

  “Bet…better,” she rasped from behind the mask.

  “Good.” Thayer moved the diaphragm across her chest. “Deep breath.”

  Corey inhaled, shakily, eliciting a painful-sounding cough with the effort.

  Thayer moved her hand to the other side. “Again.” The result was the same. “One more time. Any pain with breathing?” Thayer listened for a while longer then moved the stethoscope back around her neck.

  “Chest is tight,” Corey managed around another cough.

  “I’ll bet.” Thayer smiled at her. “There’s no fluid in your lungs but your airways are inflamed and constricted, which is why it’s hard to breathe. It will improve quickly and clear up entirely in a day or two.”

  Corey nodded and winced at the movement.

  “I’m going to check out your head now.” She motioned for Jules to stop the saline rinse, grabbed a towel and gently wiped Corey’s face. “How’s her O2?”

  Dana glanced at the monitor. “Ninety-eight percent.”

  “Okay, we can take this off.” Thayer gently removed the oxygen mask. “Did you call CT?”

  “They’re ready whenever we are.”