The Cool Room by Clifford Beck - HTML preview

Chapter 34

With the effects of cocaine swirling around his brain, he walked to the cool room and, sliding Dorothy’s body out from the cooler, donned the usual protective garb and gloves. Standing over her lifeless form, Frank bent down and whispered to her.

“I told you I’d take good care of you, didn’t I?” he said.

Turning on the water, he grabbed a washcloth and some mild soap. It was common that before any work commenced, the deceased needed to be washed. Frank performed this while in a state of emotional disconnectedness. The cocaine was doing its job, adequately blunting his emotions, putting him in a place where no pain existed. He would call his children in the morning after the drug wore off. But for now, there was work to be done. After a quick washing, Frank spent the next hour massaging the stiffness from her muscles. He needed her body straight but would only soften those limbs that should be properly positioned for her viewing: arms, hands, fingers and shoulders. As long as her back was straight, he saw no need to work on her legs. Her neck had been broken in several places and would also require massaging in order to maintain an acceptable position. The cocaine he had sampled was doing its job, allowing him to do his, but as he would soon discover, Frank would need more.

His next task was embalming. Not knowing exactly when his children would arrive, Dorothy would require embalming so as to slow the rate of decomposition. But as Frank made the first incision on the inside of her leg, he began to feel the effects of the cocaine begin to wane. His mood fell from its drug-induced heavenly euphoria to the miserable pit of anguish as his eyes filled with tears and his breathing became short-winded and rapid. The pain had returned, and Frank, needing to finish preparing his wife’s body, returned to his for another dose. He dared not use any more than what he had already consumed, but the work had to be finished.

By midnight, it was done. For the final touch, Frank ventured upstairs and, retrieving what he thought was appropriate, dressed Dorothy in something that effectively concealed the sutures left behind by the medical examiner. During her preparation, he found the sutures were both numerous and tight. Leading him to think there was no reason to open her body and that it was unlikely that any gases or fluids would leak through. Although they would never be seen, Frank slipped her black dress shoes on her. Standing back, he once again began to feel the drug's impact wearing off as grief began to climb to the surface of his mind. With tears streaming down his face, he bent down, speaking to her for what he believed was the last time.

“See,” he began. “I told you I’d take care of you.” Picking up a stainless steel tray, Frank held it in front of her closed eyes as if to demonstrate his skill.

“Do you see that?” he continued. “You look beautiful – just like you always do. It’s a shame I have to share you with everyone else, but I suppose there has to be a service.”

Setting the tray aside, Frank returned to what was now a vivid, lifelike appearance.

“And the kids are going to want to see you too, so we have to make you pretty for them too.” Having become breathless with emotion, Frank left the cool room and, walking back to his office, retrieved the small vial from the locked drawer of his desk. Sitting down, he wondered if he should continue with another dose. Its effects were all but gone, and Frank was rapidly becoming exhausted. “No,” he said. “No more. Not tonight.” Thinking he might need it again, he placed it back into the drawer of his desk and locked it. At this point, he couldn’t afford to be without it, but he couldn’t afford to be discovered with it either. This was his secret.

Getting up from his desk, Frank slowly made his way upstairs, and opening the door of what was now ‘his’ bedroom, turned on the light. Surveying the room, he felt a different energy had filled its space. Removing his clothes, he placed them on a nearby chair, and sitting on the edge of the bed began crying. He had given his wife one final gift, but he knew his previous life was now over and whatever lay ahead would be far from what he wanted. He wanted his wife back, but instead of sleeping at his side, she lay on a stainless steel tray in a cooler downstairs. The days of long drives and dinner out were gone. But he had the band-aid locked in his office desk for use only when needed. What Frank didn’t know was how often it would be needed.