Basement Dwellers

by Holly Copella

  “Oh, God--”

  Nathan was amused by Hill’s reaction to the corpse and grinned teasingly at Lexx. “The sheriff is a tad squeamish.”

  “Then let’s hope he never has to shoot anyone,” Lexx announced.

  “Hey, I can handle blood,” Hill stated firmly, offended by the remark. He finally looked at them while attempting to keep from looking at the dead man on the table. “When a man’s insides are on the outside, that’s where I draw the line.”

  “Then you aren’t going to want to see this--” Nathan announced while removing the stomach from the body.

  Hill eyed the organ within the coroner’s bloodied, gloved hands and quickly left the room. Nathan chuckled and set the stomach on the counter.

  Lexx gave him a disapproving frown. “That was cruel.”

  Nathan casually leaned on the counter over the stomach and eyed Lexx. “Sheriff Burke needs to get that ugly stick out of his ass. He has no respect for people like us.”

  “People like us?”

  “Those who make their living sitting up with the dead,” he remarked curtly. “We’re the creepy basement dwellers carving up bodies then sewing them back together.”

  She stared at him a long moment then groaned softly. “God, I wish I could deny what you just said, but I work in the basement too. Even Carson gives me funny looks from time to time.”

  The coroner suddenly seemed curious. “Wasn’t he your father’s golden child?”

  “It was my father’s hope that Carson would take over the family business, but Carson is almost as squeamish as Sheriff Burke, I’m afraid,” she announced with a sigh. “I know what you mean though. I get those looks all the time. ‘You’re a mortician? You don’t look like a mortician.’ What the hell is that supposed to mean?” she suddenly demanded. “What is a mortician supposed to look like? Igor?”

  “Back when I was in high school, many, many years ago, I played football and dated cheerleaders,” he announced with reflective glee then frowned. “Now women lose interest the moment I tell them what I do for a living.”

  “Ironic, Brandon and I were having the same discussion just before the accident,” she replied with some sadness at the mention of Brandon. “He told me I needed to date more.” She frowned and folded her arms across her chest. “I couldn’t bring myself to tell him the real reason why I don’t date.”

  “The look?”

  “Exactly.”

  “You’re a what?” Nathan mocked in a high-pitched squeal.

  She laughed softly. “You’ve mastered it.”

  “We should go out sometime,” he teased while grinning. “Imagine the talk.”

  Lexx laughed softly at the comment then saw the uncomfortable way he shifted. She turned serious and studied him. “Wait--are you asking me out?”

  He seemed tense then casually shrugged. “That depends. Would you say yes?”

  “Huh, well, I never actually gave it much thought,” she replied then considered it. “I mean, I certainly wouldn’t go out on a date with Brandon lying in a hospital bed.”

  “No, of course not,” he agreed and again shifted. “How about after he’s on his way to recovery? Maybe we could have dinner some time.”

  There was an awkward silence. Lexx finally smiled and nodded. “Yes, we could do that.”

  “Then it’s a date--on some later date,” he teased.

  Lexx smiled and laughed softly with him. There was obviously a huge age gap between them, but she didn’t see the harm in going out with Nathan. She admired him, and they were compatible. Carson would obviously never approve because of the age difference, but a date didn’t mean they were getting married. Sadly, Lexx didn’t even remember the last time she’d been on a date. The prospect of having sex again before she died sounded appealing. As she watched Nathan carve open the stomach like a Thanksgiving turkey, she was reminded that admiration didn’t equal sexual attraction. There was nothing physically wrong with Nathan, and he certainly wasn’t unattractive. Despite spending long hours locked in his basement retreat, Nathan still retained some of his muscle tone from his high school football days.

  Physically, he was pleasing to the eyes, and she had to admit his skill with a scalpel was an amazing sight to behold. She just didn’t feel an overwhelming desire to rip his clothes off and have her way with him. She was aware of his attraction toward her, but she also knew that men could sexually desire just about any woman if they really put their mind to it. Nathan was in dire need of a sexual relationship. Rolan would retell dirty jokes and sexual innuendoes Nathan shared with him when he’d stop by to pick up a deceased client. Still, it had been a long time since she’d felt sexual desire for any man. She wasn’t even sure she believed in love anymore. Love, to her, was just something that came with time. It was entirely possible she could learn to love Nathan in that way.

  Chapter Seven

  Tracy stood by the nurse’s station on the fourth floor ICU and wrote a doctor’s order in one of the charts. She glanced across the unit and saw Dr. Gunther Sharp enter one of the patient’s rooms, which was highly unusual. Tracy appeared curious, set her chart aside, and headed across the floor to the room Dr. Sharp entered. She stopped just short of the door, hesitated with added suspicion, and glanced through the window into the room. She witnessed Dr. Sharp injecting something into the IV tube of one of the female crash patients. He capped the syringe, placed it in his lab coat pocket, and then turned for the door. Protocol for needles required they be disposed in the red biohazard sharps containers attached to the walls in each room. Recapping a syringe let alone placing it in one’s pocket was a gross violation of safety. It seemed unfathomable that he’d knowingly break protocol. Tracy quickly darted away from the window, pretended to approach from the opposite direction, and nearly collided with him. He jumped from their near miss and chuckled softly.

  “They really should put up stoplights,” he teased. Despite his jovial mood, he seemed oddly tense having been caught coming from that particular room.

  “Making rounds, Dr. Sharp?” she asked in an attempt to sound cheerful but failed.

  “Just checking on some of the crash victims I operated on yesterday,” he replied then indicated the critical woman in the room. “What’s the story on that one?”

  “Ava Martin?” Tracy questioned. “I’m afraid she’s not doing well. She’s still in a coma, and it appears that her brain damage is severe.” She offered a defeated sigh and folded her arms across her chest. “If she wakes, she’s going to be non-functioning. It’s a shame, really.”

  “Tragic. Her surgery went so well too,” Dr. Sharp remarked. “Keep me posted on the condition of those from the car wreck, Dr. Kirby.”

  “Certainly, Dr. Sharp.”

  Gunther walked past her and down the corridor toward the elevator. Tracy skeptically watched him leave then entered the patient’s room. She removed the patient’s clipboard from the wall and flipped through it. She shook her head with disbelief and flipped through it again. There was no documentation of the injection he gave her or even that he had visited. Tracy replaced the clipboard with disgust, approached the IV bag on the pole, and studied the contents. She looked at Ava Martin lying unconscious within her hospital bed. She had lacerations along her face and a large shaved patch on her head, which revealed the large sutured wound. The woman in her early thirties spent hours in surgery having fragments of metal removed from her head. The operation had been a success but the damage was severe. At that point, there was nothing anyone or any injection could do to save the woman. Recovery was waking from the coma in a non-functioning capacity. The brain damage was severe. What did Dr. Sharp expect an injection would do for the poor woman?

  Tracy released the IV bag and sank deep into thought. As she walked out of Ava’s room, she noticed an orderly in his late thirties, Newman, watching her. She made eye contact with him and didn’t look away. Newman immediately turned and headed down the hall. Tracy stared after him while placing her hands in her lab coat p
ockets. He’d obviously caught her attention.

  †

  It was two days later. The large, elegant viewing room at the Davenport Funeral Home was filled with flowers. White wooden folding chairs were neatly arranged before the open casket toward the far end. The young man from the prep room was dressed in an expensive suit looking peaceful within the top-of-the-line casket. Lexx arranged a boutonniere on his lapel while Rolan finished setting up the chairs. The young man looked natural and nearly lifelike. Applying make-up to the deceased was an art form, particularly when applied to men. With men, it had to look natural. Lexx would have loved taking credit for Roger’s flawless make-up, but Rolan was the true artist. He had a talent with the men in particular. With the women, not so much. He tended to go overboard, particularly with the lipstick. He had a fondness for bright red, shiny lips. Lexx wasn’t sure where his obsession came from, but every year at Christmas, he’d buy her a tube of bright red lipstick. She had eight brand new tubes in her dresser drawer. He had to know she rarely wore make-up and certainly never bright red lipstick, but, apparently, he kept hoping she would one day.

  “It’s going to be one hell of a turnout tomorrow,” Rolan announced while raising his brow in suggestion. “I hear our boy was very popular at his college.”

  “I hope Carson remembered to contact the police for the traffic stops,” she remarked and released a defeated sigh. “The streets are going to be a disaster.” There was an odd silence between them as they worked. She suddenly turned and looked at Rolan. “I can’t believe Carson went out on a date tonight. If it isn’t disrespectful enough with Uncle Brandon lying unconscious in the hospital, it’s terrible for him to leave us here with all this prep work for a funeral of this size.”

  “Well, that’s Carson,” Rolan replied. “Brandon would be laying odds on whether or not Carson comes home tonight.”

  Lexx glanced at the clock and raised her brows. “Well, it is about that time.”

  “Yep, he’s either bagging his babe or coming home with a pouty face,” Rolan teased and held back his laugh. Betting on Carson’s scoring record was an excellent way to pass time. “I guess we should be happy he doesn’t bring them home. Nothing makes me feel like less of a man then listening to Carson screw some chick’s brains out.”

  “His dates tend to be turned off the moment they see the word ‘funeral home’ outside,” she replied.

  The front door was heard opening. Lexx and Rolan exchanged looks and snickered softly.

  “Oh, he struck out,” Rolan teased. “We have a long evening of his pouty face to look forward to.”

  Carson appeared in the viewing room doorway, sensed their gossiping and glared at both with disapproval. “Were you talking about me again?”

  Lexx turned and was about to joke with him when Tracy appeared alongside him. Lexx’s expression dropped as she stared with surprise. “Dr. Kirby?”

  Rolan suddenly looked up and stared with disbelief. The young doctor looked even more radiant dressed up for her date. Lexx suddenly felt like a rag doll dressed in her finest t-shirt and worn jeans. Perhaps if she hadn’t been wearing her pink, fuzzy slippers she could have retained some of her dignity. How was it possible for a woman to be that attractive?

  “You remember my sister, Lexx,” Carson announced then indicated Rolan. “And this is her assistant, Rolan.”

  “Yes, I’ve seen you around the hospital,” Tracy said politely to Rolan.

  He appeared unable to speak and instead stared at the gorgeous woman with his mouth hanging open, possibly hung up on her ruby red lips. Tracy noticed the young man in the casket, and her expression dropped to that of surprise.

  “Oh, I remember him,” Tracy announced. “I operated on him after his car accident.”

  “Blood alcohol through the roof,” Rolan informed her.

  “Rolan--” Lexx scolded softly.

  “It’s okay. I sort of suspected that myself,” Tracy replied then approached the casket. She looked over the young man then back at Lexx. “He looks good.”

  “Most of his injuries were from the neck down,” Lexx informed her.

  “Lexx is very talented,” Carson announced proudly. “She can restore bodies in almost any condition.”

  “It’s not a talent worth bragging about,” Lexx muttered.

  Carson placed his arm around Tracy and forced a smile. “Before this conversation turns gross, Tracy and I are going to have drinks in the lounge.”

  Tracy offered a smile and waved as Carson guided her away. Rolan watched her backside as she left the room, while Lexx wondered how the woman could walk in those stiletto heal shoes. She hoped she wasn’t expected to wear high heels on her date with Nathan. Lexx and Rolan exchanged looks.

  “Dr. Kirby?” Lexx nearly gasped while raising a brow. “Seriously?”

  Rolan sneered and appeared irritated. “He brought her home just to rub it in,” he scoffed. “I can’t believe she’d go out with him.”

  “Had you asked her out?” Lexx knew if he hadn’t, he most certainly had thought about it. Seeing those big, ruby red lips must have sent Rolan into spasms of sexual desire.

  “No, but I’ve seen her in passing on the way to the morgue,” Rolan informed her. “Every man who breathes has asked out Dr. Kirby at one time or another.” He raised his brows knowingly. “Her track record is very selective.”

  “Huh?”

  Lexx looked toward the empty doorway. Her thoughts momentarily strayed to Sheriff Burke’s non-reaction to the gorgeous, young doctor. She was almost certain he would fit into her selective list. Carson on the other hand--?

  “You’re right,” she remarked. “How did he get her to go out with him let alone come back here?”

  She almost felt bad for saying that aloud. Carson was attractive in his own rights, but he certainly wasn’t in the same league as Sheriff Burke. Although, her brother could be quite charming when he wanted to be.

  “Life is filled with bitter irony,” Rolan said with a dreary sigh while keeping his eyes on the empty doorway.

  Those lips would undoubtedly be on his mind the remainder of the night. Of course, they would. Even Lexx was having a difficult time fighting off the image of the ravishing doctor. She hated to admit she was jealous, but what woman wouldn’t be?

  Chapter Eight

  It was two days later. The fourth floor ICU remained fairly quiet and without drama since the evening of the massive car wreck. Tracy approached the nurse’s station with a fast, determined walk while clutching a clipboard with a death grip. She approached a young nurse, Rose, who wrote in a chart behind the desk. Rose hadn’t even seen her approach and appeared startled as the clipboard struck the desktop.

  “Rose, am I seeing this right?” Tracy suddenly announced, causing the nurse to jump at her tone. “Four of the patients from the car wreck died last night?”

  Rose sympathetically nodded. “They took a turn for the worse shortly after midnight.”

  “Nearly all our critical patients from the car wreck have died in the last four days,” Tracy remarked and defiantly shook her head. “That’s a bit coincidental, don’t you think?” She didn’t wait for the nurse to respond and began scribbling on the physician’s order page in the chart. “I want full tox screens done on all of them. If there was a medication screw-up, I want to know about it.”

  “All of them?” Rose asked with surprise.

  “Yes, you heard me,” she snapped and grabbed another chart to write the blood work order. “Contact the coroner immediately and have him hold all the bodies.” She cast the clipboard onto the nurse’s station desk with disgust. “How many patients from the car wreck are still in ICU?”

  “Just the two,” Rose replied. “Brandon Davenport and Ava Martin.”

  “I want their medications reviewed and complete blood work done on both of them as well,” she instructed firmly. “I want to know every drug found in their systems.”

  Rose appeared slightly concerned and quickly nodded while springing
into action. “Yes, Dr. Kirby.”

  It wasn’t like the doctor to react with such vigor, and the nurse reacted accordingly. Tracy stormed away from the desk as Rose snatched the phone to call Nathan. Rose watched her leave and appeared bewildered.

  †

  Gunther walked out of his corner office on the fifth floor. The fifth floor was mostly home to doctor’s offices and outpatient specialists. The chief surgeon headed down the corridor for the elevators. He waited only a moment for the elevator to arrive, pressed the fourth floor button, and disappeared behind the closing doors. Tracy looked around the corner as the doors closed, saw that Gunther was gone, and then hurried for his office. She tried to open the door, but it was locked. As if anticipating it, she removed a skeleton key, unlocked the old door, and quickly slipped inside. Tracy hurried for the large, antique desk, flopped into the leather chair, and searched every drawer quickly and quietly. She saw an old set of keys and appeared curious. She picked up the keys and looked around. Her eyes fell upon the old secretary off to the side of the office. She approached the antique cupboard and inserted one of the keys in the lock. It unlocked the top. She opened it and appeared disappointed.

  There were decanters, a few bottles of alcohol, and several mixers within the cupboard. Why lock up his alcohol? No one had keys to his office. She tried different keys and finally found one that unlocked the first drawer. The only item within the drawer was a large, metal case. She needed a separate key to unlock the case. Something seemed wrong. What was within the case that it had to be locked so securely? She found the key to unlock the case and opened it. It contained a notebook and several viles secured in padded slots. Each vile had its own label with Dr. Sharp’s distinctive scribbled handwriting. She removed the notebook and flipped through it. Names of the patients and which injection they received were listed in detail. The word ‘deceased’ was written behind each of them. At the bottom of the page were the names Brandon Davenport and Ava Martin. Their names were the only two without deceased written behind them.