The Cool Room by Clifford Beck - HTML preview

Chapter 29

There were no other questions. Jonathan and Emily did what they were asked, saving any conversation until they were past the doors and into the hospital. Once inside, they were met by the officer who had arrived at the funeral home. Led by the officer, they walked through the bowels of the hospital’s basement, seeing what few were allowed. The floor was gray and stained with the footprints of those who walked through on their way to the place where they made their living – maintenance workers, nurses, administrators, and doctors, among others. No one gave a second thought to what was stored at the far end of the hallway near the lab. It was seen simply as a small, out-of-the-way room, few people visited, with the exception of a handful of nurses and the occasional funeral technician. Anyone going there did so for one of two reasons: to deliver or to pick up.

The officer walked in silence as the heels of his shoes tapped heavily on the corridor's concrete floor. One might think a hospital would be kept in a constant state of cleanliness, yet the basement hallways carried a musty smell that grew stronger as Jonathan and Emily neared their destination. Stopping at a large stainless steel door, they were soon met by a hospital security officer. It was during this unpleasant part of his job that he maintained a respectful silence and acknowledged the group with a simple nod. As he brought a set of keys from his pocket, Emily looked to the police officer and quietly asked for information. She was not surprised when her inquiry was met with silence. But as the security officer opened the door of the hospital’s morgue, Jonathan and Emily saw an automatic light suddenly illuminate its interior. Set off to the side was a stretcher, placed against the cold concrete wall of what could be seen as the final stop for some who passed within the hospital’s walls. With the officer and security guard waiting in the hallway, Jonathan and Emily rolled the stretcher in and, sliding their new client into the open velveteen bag, heard something fall to the floor. Standing nearest, Emily bent down and picked up a large tan envelope containing the medical records compiled about whoever was now zipped into the red velveteen bag.

“I guess these are the medical records,” she said. They knew that Frank likely wanted to get back to the funeral home as quickly as possible, but out of heightened curiosity, Emily opened the envelope and, sliding the paperwork out, briefly examined it. The cause of death was listed as compression fractures of the first, second, third and fourth cervical vertebrae. The approximate time of death had been sometime that morning, and the autopsy had been performed soon after arrival. But there was one thing that caught Emily’s eye – it was the name of the deceased. As suspicious as she was, the discovery still took her by surprise. “Jesus Christ,” she whispered.

Handing the papers to Jonathan, he looked at where her finger was pointing and then glanced up at her. Their new client was indeed Frank’s wife, Dorothy.

Having no time to read through the complete record, they applied two buckled straps over the stretcher and left the now-empty morgue. However, before leaving, the security guard requested they sign a log form stating they had been there and recording the name of the descendant they were removing. It took only moments to fill out the form but would take far more time to process what had happened, in spite of the lack of details about whatever had taken Dorothy’s life. Jonathan had known Frank for only a few years, but even with as little as he knew of him, he realized that Frank would need a great deal of space. With this in mind, he stopped their procession somewhere away from the morgue door, surprising Emily. “Why are we stopping?” she asked. He believed both of them were thinking the same thing but felt it was important to be certain. “Look,” he said. “We need to give Frank his space. If he wants to talk about it, then fine. But he’s going to need some alone time to figure this out.” Emily was momentarily stunned at the idea that she needed to be reminded of the need for sensitivity during such a terrible event, and responded with a reminder of her own.

“I don’t think I need to be told to be sensitive,” she said. “Sensitivity is part of the job, you know.” With tensions running high, Jonathan had forgotten this and apologized for his thoughtlessness. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I just…”

“I know,” Emily interrupted. “But we can’t think straight if we don’t relax. Now, let’s get going.” Completing their journey down the hallway, they rolled the stretcher out through the door and onto the loading dock. With Frank still sitting on the concrete steps, they wheeled the stretcher down the ramp and to the back of the hearse. Emily glanced back towards Frank, who sat motionless, his hands still covering his face. Opening the hearse’s rear door, they pushed the end of the stretcher in and secured it in place with a large clamp bolted to the floor. As with ambulances, this mechanism prevented the stretcher from rolling around and possibly breaking through the back door. Should this unfortunate instance occur, anyone unlucky enough to be driving behind them would have to deal with the experience of pulling a corpse out from under their front wheels. There is likely no amount of therapy that could heal a mind injured by such an incident, and God, in all probability, would not intervene. Perhaps there is some divine lesson to be learned in the experience of trauma. But avoiding it is what the clamps are for.