Some Assembly Required: A Hemisphere Story (RECTIFIER Book 1)

by Kit Nash

  “Mr. Ridzik?”

  Ridzik turned to find a young uniformed officer standing in the lobby.

  “Yes.”

  “I’m Lieutenant Kisler,” the officer said, extending his hand. Ridzik shook it. “I can escort you to the hospital if you’re ready, sir.”

  “Okay.”

  Ridzik had seen plenty of morgues on TV, but he’d never been in one. Hemisphere Hospital and the morgue were the biggest things in the town so far. Kisler passed him off to a Medical Examiner named Anderson. Ridzik followed Anderson down a long hallway. There were windows on either side of him that looked in on faceless figures dressed in scrubs, hairnets, and masks. Armed with shiny sharp instruments they stood over bodies laid bare on flat metal tables. Never mind that they were deceased, his modesty caused him to look away from the naked bodies, especially the women. Each of the rooms were in different stages of an autopsy. The worse one was a man that had his entire torso cut open, the skin folded back to reveal all of his organs. Some of said organs were being weighed on a scale. Had they done that to Layne? He didn’t want to think about it, but it was already too late. The thought had already entered his mind. To clear his thoughts, he kept his eyes forward, on Anderson’s back. He could hear music coming from some of the autopsy rooms and he didn’t know if that made the whole affair better or worse. Finally, they arrived at the cooler where the bodies were kept. Anderson swiped his badge, and the door hissed open. A towering black man in a white lab coat sat at a desk in front of a computer. He had a shiny bald head and a white goatee.

  “Dammit Anderson! How many times have I told you not to bring the family through the lab?”

  “I—

  “Don’t deny it. I can see it all over this poor man’s face,” said the black man rising angrily to his feet. He had to be at least seven feet tall and he had a foreign accent that Ridzik couldn’t place.

  “Get out of my sight before I lose my temper.” He pointed a thick finger attached to an equally thick hand towards the door.

  Anderson lowered his head and scurried from the room. The black man watched him go, fury in his dark brown eyes.

  “My sincerest apologies, sir,” the man’s voice which moments ago had been like a raging ocean during a storm was now a calm pond on a lazy summer day. “No one in your position should have to see what we do here. I am Edmond.”

  Ridzik shook the big man’s hand and was surprised to find that his shake, like his voice was as gentle as could be.

  “Jamie Ridzik.”

  “Please come with me Mr. Ridzik to a nice comfy office. I’d like to show you some pictures.”

  “Pictures?”

  “Believe it or not, identifying a body is a task that need not be done in person.”

  Edmond opened the door and waited for Ridzik to follow.

  He didn’t. He stared at the wall of freezer doors. Layne was behind one of those doors. But which one? Like the premise of a twisted game show called Guess Who’s Dead.

  “Mr. Ridzik?”

  “Edmond. I’ve come a long way. If it’s all the same. I’d rather just get it over with.”

  “It is all the same to me. I am sorry for your loss,” Edmond said, crossing to the wall of freezer doors. He grabbed the handle of door number 8 and pulled it open. A blast of freezing air spilled out, rolling like clouds in front of Ridzik before dissipating. The form lying on the slab was hidden under a stark white sheet. It could be anyone under there. It didn’t have to be Layne. Edmond grabbed the sheet to pull it back and Ridzik almost cried out for him to stop. But he maintained his composure. Barely.

  Edmond flipped the corner down, revealing the left side of the figure’s face. The skin was pale and slightly bluish in hue. The eye was closed. It looked like Layne but it also looked like the face of a complete stranger. Was it death or time that was marring his memory of what his brother looked like?

  “Can you pull the sheet down more?” Ridzik asked.

  “I most certainly can. But I must warn you, it is not for the faint of heart. Do you still want me to proceed?”

  Ridzik nodded.

  Edmond pulled the sheet down to the body’s collar bones. Ridzik tried not to gasp and failed. The entire right side of the figure’s face was unrecognizable. The skin was black and cracked. Where there was hair covering the left side of the figure’s head, there was only a blackened skull on the right. The eye socket was empty. He stared at the body in a silence.

  “Take your time. But please identify this man as Layne Ridzik if you can,” Edmond said.

  “It looks like him. But I…. are those burns?” Ridzik choked out. Tears stinging his eyes.

  “Yes. Some kind of explosion. This individual has several tattoos. Perhaps seeing them would help you.”

  Did Layne have tattoos? Yes? No? He couldn’t remember. Looking at them couldn’t hurt. Ridzik nodded. Edmond pulled the sheet down to the figure’s waist. More blueish pale skin. More charred bone.

  “Here is one,” Edmond said pointing at a tattoo on the figure’s chest. But Ridzik wasn’t looking. He couldn’t take his eyes of the man' s right arm or what was left of it. The appendage ended where the elbow should have been. A splintered bone protruded out of charred flesh.

  “Try to concentrate on the tattoos, Mr. Ridzik,” Edmond soothed.

  Ridzik nodded. Hot tears once again assaulting his eyes. He wiped them away with the back of his hand and forced himself to look at the figure’s chest tattoo. It was the black silhouette of a dragon. It reminded Ridzik of the Mortal Kombat logo.

  “Do you recognize this?”

  Ridzik shook his head “No.” But that didn’t mean much.

  “Okay, that’s fine. Come over to my side of the table. There is another on his left shoulder.”

  Ridzik joined Edmond on the figure’s left side. He felt as if he was moving in slow motion.

  “How about this one?” Edmond asked.

  Ridzik looked at the tattoo and his heart broke. All at once, the body no longer looked like a stranger. It was the body of his older brother Layne. The Samurai Steve ink, removed all doubt.

  Ridzik lost his composure, sobbing so hard it wracked his shoulders.

  “It’s…. him,” he choked out between sobs, turning away from the body.

  Edmond nodded and covered Layne back up.

  EDMOND ASSURED HIM that Layne’s body would be taken to Hemisphere Burials and Cremations and he could make arrangements tomorrow. Ridzik was too distraught to eat, so he checked into the only lodging he could find. A bed and breakfast called Quilts and Quiche. Deidra would’ve loved the place. He tried calling her, but she didn’t answer. He knew the distance between them would cause hell with the cell coverage. Who needed cell coverage when you had the beach and bikinis? Even the thought of Dee in a bikini failed to lift his spirits. Despite being exhausted, he was too distraught to sleep either. He normally like to sketch before bed but he’d left his house in such a rush he’d forgotten to bring his drawing pad. Curiously, the bed and breakfast had given him some sort of Hemisphere Orientation Packet to read. He thumbed through it but found the first couple of pages,which recounted the history of the town, insanely boring. He sat it aside and tried to sleep. It was a futile exercise.

  Edmond had given him a plastic bag containing his brother’s belongings. He’d accepted it, but he’d refused to go through it. Sitting on the quilted bed in his boxer briefs, he stared at the plastic bag. Should he go through it now? Might as well. He wasn’t accomplishing anything else. Ridzik got up and padded barefoot across thin carpet. Switched on the table lamp and removed the items. From the bag, he pulled out a wallet, a ring of keys, a pack of cigarettes, a well-worn pair of boots, and a pair of jeans. The aroma of Layne’s effects was a mixture of cigarette smoke and laundry detergent. Layne’s musk. The smell of his brother was as foreign to him as everything else.

  Ridzik looked down at the items and thought about what wasn’t there. Specifically, the T-shirt and trench coat, that according
to Edmond had been too badly burned to warrant keeping. Ridzik decided this was the source of his unrest. Learning that your brother had died was distressing enough, but learning he died in an explosion added another layer. What had Layne been involved in? He could understand a horrible car wreck. But that’s not what Edmond said. The only type of explosion that Ridzik could come up with that made any kind of sense, was a meth lab explosion. But if Layne was a meth dealer, then the strokes of his life were even darker than the ones Ridzik had painted for him in his mind.

  What are you doing Jamie, he thought bitterly as he stood there leaning on the table. He was standing in a hotel room in his underwear fretting over the mysterious circumstances of his estranged brother’s demise. When he should be standing in a hotel room in his underwear fretting over how to get Dee out of hers. He didn’t know the first thing about how Layne lived. So what did it mattered how he died? It didn’t. His brother was gone. Tomorrow he would lay his body to rest and then fly to the Bahamas and get on with his own life. Ridzik crawled back into bed, pulled the covers up to his neck and shut his eyes. Sleep didn’t come easily, but it did come.

  Stolen

  “WHAT DO YOU MEAN you cremated my brother?” Ridzik demanded.

  The funeral director sitting across the desk from him smiled with only his mouth. He reminded Ridzik of Varys from Game of Thrones, right down the soft voice and bald head.

  “The body came in late last night so we proceeded with your brother’s wishes according to his last will and testament. I’m sorry you were not informed, Mr. Ridzik.”

  “Well, I am now,” Ridzik growled.

  “Indeed.”

  Ridzik didn’t really know why he was so upset. He had wanted to make the funeral arrangements as quick and easy as possible. He just wasn’t expecting to arrive at the Hemisphere Burials and Cremations and discover that his brother’s body had already been reduced to ashes.

  “Would you like to peruse your choices of urns for your brother’s remains?”

  “He didn’t mention one in his will and testament?”

  “I’m afraid not.”

  An Urn. What was he supposed to do with an urn? Set it on the coffee table as a conversation piece. Oh, this? That’s just my dead brother’s ashes. He tried to self cremate and the Spider helped him complete the process.

  “Did Layne say what he wanted done with his ashes?”

  “The will omitted it, sir. However, he did leave you his camper which is currently parked in the Hemisphere Haven Campground and Family Funpark. Don’t fret it has been paid off. He also left you this.”

  The funeral director handed him a black business card. It was for some place called The Lair. Ridzik flipped the card over and saw that the back side of it was white. Scrawled in blue pen were five words:

  Get Your Ass to Mars.

  The message and the handwriting had definitely come from his brother. He’d recognize his brother’s neat penmanship anywhere. He always thought it was funny that he was the writer even though Layne had superior handwriting. Ridzik recognized the message as a line from the Arnold Schwarzenegger classic, Total Recall, one of their favorite movies growing up. Layne was fond of saying that Jamie was a lot like Arnold’s character Douglas Quaid. Despite living an ordinary life with a super hot girlfriend, he desired a more exciting one. In the movie Quaid lived the alternative fantasy in his dreams where Jaime lived it in the pages of his comics. He admitted there was some strong similarities, but how it applied to his brother’s ashes was a complete mystery.

  “The Lair. What is this place?”

  “That I cannot say either. All I can tell you is that address is on Conjurer’s Row.”

  “Conjurer’s Row?”

  “If I were in your shoes, I would stay clear of that place and spread the ashes in the Fallen Souls Bay.”

  Ridzik nodded. Spreading his brother ashes in the bay sounded like a reasonable idea to him. But the mysterious Lair along with his brother’s cryptic and equally mysterious message nagged him. Why was laying his brother to rest becoming so complicated?

  HE LEFT THE funeral home thirty-five minutes later and $1500 dollars lighter. He’d bought the cheapest urn they had. It was painted a deep blue with gold banding. What was the point in paying all that money for a container that was as temporary as it was pretty? He didn’t understand why they didn’t have cheaper urns for people intending to spread the ashes. He descended the concrete steps, clutching the urn with both hands as to not jostle the contents. Briefly, he wondered if anyone had accidentally spread their loved one's ashes on the entrance steps. Did they sweep them back into the urn with a special broom designated for that very thing? Perhaps they swept them into the well manicured grass. The grass was very green. He took a deep breath, thankful to be outside in the fresh air. The aroma of death in the funeral home hadn’t come close to what he experienced in the morgue but it had been present all the same. He crossed the parking lot towards his car. It was 9:15 in the morning and the lot was empty save his rental. Staring at the lone car, it occurred to him that the vehicle was locked, and the keys were buried in his jeans pocket. He would need a hand to retrieve them. A free hand. He tested the waters of fate by gently shifting the urn to his right hand, cradling it in the crook of his arm. It felt all right. He fumbled the keys out of his pocket and unlocked the car. Mission accomplished. Feeling triumphant, he stepped forward and opened the car door. Then he froze. He stared down at the compact spacing of the interior of his car with horror. He suddenly realized that he had nowhere to place the urn while he was driving. The first turn out of the parking lot would spread his brother’s ashes in the floorboard. What would National charge him for that? Damn it. He knew he should’ve purchased one with a clasp that would keep the lid closed. Was it too late to upgrade? He started back towards the funeral home, but got as far as the front bumper. Having to haggle with Discount-Varys again, halted his feet. He looked back at the car, willing a solution to present itself. He could place the urn in between his legs, but he was fairly certain the height of the damn thing would interfere with the wheel. What about seat belting it into the passenger seat? How many miles was it to the harbor? Couldn’t be too drastic in such a small town. Surely, he could drive with one hand for such a short distance.

  Ridzik was so deep in thought, he never heard the approaching motorcycle. He was still standing motionless in front of his car, having a mental debate when the motorcycle zoomed past. The rush of air, knocked him forward into his car. He caught himself with both hands. Ridzik stared down at his ten splayed fingers in horror. He looked down at the ground, expecting to find ashes spilling out of a shattered urn. But there was no spilled ashes and there was no urn.

  He looked around, spinning comically in a circle. Where the fuck was the urn? Had it rolled under the car? He almost dropped to his knees, praying he’d find the urn resting against a tire. But a twisting in his guts urged him in another direction. He turned towards the fleeing motorcycle.

  His breath caught. He couldn’t believe what his eyes were telling him. The rider of the motorcycle was holding the urn.

  Layne’s urn.

  Ridzik watched, dumbfounded, as the thief quickly placed the urn into a black backpack, zipped it up, and zoomed out of the parking lot.

  My brother’s been kidnapped, he thought. Only that wasn’t right because Layne was dead. Ridzik knew body snatching was a crime. But was it called that when the body was ashes?

  “YOU’RE SAYING SOMEONE on a crotch rocket stole your brother’s remains?” asked Officer Porter.

  “Yes,” Ridzik said. The crime had happened nearly an hour ago. Given the speed the bike was capable of, the thief was most likely long gone. Ridzik had spent that entire time giving a statement in the parking lot of the funeral home. Discount-Varys had been dragged into the situation, to account his side of the story, although Ridzik didn’t have the slightest idea why. The parking lot was no longer empty, just the opposite in fact. According to Discount-Varys there
were five funerals. Grieving loved ones, dressed in black and salty tears climbed the stone steps.

  “You ever heard of something like this?” the patrolman asked the funeral director.

  “Never in all my years. Disgusting as it is disturbing.”

  The officer grunted, scrawled something on his note pad. “What did this thief look like?”

  “I already told you. I don’t know. The thief had a helmet on.”

  “Oh yeah right. Black helmet with a black visor,” said Officer Porter, referencing the previous pages on his pad.

  “What about the gender? Make of the bike?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe female. All I know is that someone stole my brother’s ashes. They were on a fast bike, a crotch rocket. I don’t know what kind. But it had that decal on it,” Ridzik said pointing an angry finger at the drawing he’d rendered of the flaming rose decal he saw on the thief’s bike.

  His raised voice drew the attention of some of the grieved. A man wearing a suit that looked as if it hadn’t fit in years broke away from the crowd and started towards them. He had a protruding gut from lack of exercise and an abundance of fast food and a hideous mustache to boot. Ridzik expected Officer Porter to stop him, tell him to go back to his business. But it turned out, he couldn’t have been more wrong.

  “What’s going on, Porter?” Fat Mustache asked.

  “Oh. Nothing for you to worry about, sir,” Porter said, casting a nervous glance at Ridzik. Discount-Varys was giving him the same weary look.