A Morgue Love Story

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Romance  |  House: Booksie Classic


Shane work as a forensics, and unfortunately he is stuck working shifts for his friend at the morgue, during Christmas. What Shane didn't know is that this Christmas night is going to get much more
interesting and bizarre that he had ever thought.

Submitted: December 27, 2017

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Submitted: December 27, 2017

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There is a saying that he had once heard, and it now crossed his mind, “Only the most miserable of people worked on Christmas.” Darn right that is.

 

Shane sighed and drew yet another doodle on the sketchpad app of his tablet. Only halfway through, he stopped to rub his hands together, exhaling a puff of air to warm them. The morgue was frigidly cold, and despite his lab gown he was close to freezing.

 

Shane got up from his stool and started pacing around in a circle, rubbing his hands all the white. That bastard Hans, going off to Paris while Im bogged down here. And damn me for taking up his offer.

His friend Hans, who was a coroner he knew from work, had abruptly pulled him away after work on Christmas eve. The man was rambling all over about promising his girlfriend a romantic trip to Paris during the holidays, and how he couldn’t be working his shift then.

Shame on me for pitying him. After a pause, he added, and for being lured in my such a small amount of cash.

After his friend’s plea, combined with the fact that he needed extra cash for the new apartment, Shane ended up here. Working extra shifts, in a morgue, during the busiest, most joyous holiday season of the year.

This is horribly boring Shane sat back down, picking up a pair of chopsticks to finish the last of his Chinese takeout. Anddd I’m stuck here for the next he glanced down at his watch… four hours.  

Once the shift was done, he could finally get back home and have a nice, warm bath, and fell asleep until midday tomorrow.

There, at least not everything is so terrible. Shane hummed the tune for ‘Last Christmas’ softly as he approached the work table. Upon the metal surface was a medium-sized body bag.

Last body for the day, Shane mused. A dark thought jokingly crept into his mind,

Maybe I can just stow the bag away and pretended I had already inspect it? That would be damn unprofessional though, so he pushed the thought away.

 Shane smiled weakly, but that faded away as he unzipped the bag.

Laid out before him was the body of a woman in her mid-twenties. She was beautiful, with lush curls od glossy black hair pooling beneath her on the worktable. Her perfect lips were still smeared with lipstick, and mascara were dappled on her eyelids. And oh body was she shapely…

Shane felt his face reddened a little, and had to slap himself out of the reverie. Man, this is bloody corpse. Just stop having funny thoughts about it. Kay? Shifting back into an air of professionalism, he reached out for the woman’s identification tag.

The card was blank. No name. A Jane Doe, huh? Shane mused, his eyes never leaving the still figure before him. There were no obvious signs of trauma on her body. Was it a heart attack? Inhalation suicide? Or something even more macabre?

He wondered what kind of life had this woman led, before her untimely departure. She is still so young, so full of life and vigor. Its a real shame. Shane gazed at pale body before him. His hazel eyes glinted with a profound sadness. There is so much more to the life that is in front of her. Now she will no longer have the opportunity to explore it fully

A realization struck him, and Shane almost laughed out loud. Well damn me, but I didn’t know that I am capable of feeling this kind of cheesy melodramatic sorrow. Blame it on all those snotty dramas I’ve been watching.

That besides… And here I am, working in a morgue during Christmas and practically talking to a corpse. Who the hell am I to be talking about living life?

Shane went back to resume his work, and moved the cart full of Jane Doe’s belongings to the end of the room.

That was when he heard it. Muted susurrations that seemed to have come up from everywhere around him. Shane whipped his head around… but no one was there.

What Of course, no one else is down here other than him. Am I getting so tired that Im hearing things?

He stood, pick up some damp cloth, and turned his attention back to work. Before him lies the pale form of Jane Doe, who is definitely, most certainly dead. As she should be, since she came in dead, right?

Damn right that is, there is no way that there would be ghosts or ghouls or zombies down here. What stupid superstitions

While gently wiping off cosmetics on the Jane Doe’s face, Shane muttered to himself, repeatedly,

“I’m a man of science. I’m a man of science. I’m a man of...”

Is that a puncture wound? The forensics crouched down besides the body, straining his eyes in the morgue’s dim light. Upon Jane Doe’s neck, just beside the curve of her muscle and the external carotid artery, lies a neat puncture wound.

A needle. Of standard hospital size, too. Drug abuse? But even the worst junkies wouldn’t stab a needle into their own necks intentionally. Besides… Shane lifted the woman’s eyelids and shine his pen torch into it. Her pupils are normal, and there’s no other signs of drug abuse. This is getting rather interesting.

Then he heard it again, a faint whisper that made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. His eyes scanned the entire room, frantically searching for the source of the noise.

What the f? Where did it came from? Just then, Shane felt a light tugging from the side of his gown. He turned back…

… to see the pale hand of Miss Jane Doe clutching on his sleeve.

“Ahhh!” Shane cried out and attempted to yank the hand off him. Her grip was much stronger than he had anticipated, and it took a while before the forensics could get it loose. Shane heard the mysterious whisper again, this time coming from Jane Doe’s trembling lips.

“Purse. Inner compartment. Syringe. Hurry…” 

Holy hell, shes alive? Shane realized in a shock. There were so many questions in his mind right now, but they could wait for later. What was that she said again? Purse?

His eyes instantly went to Jane Doe’s black purse, which sits on a cart with all of her other belongings. Before long, Shane was rummaging through the bag, his fingers scraping its inner lining for any openings.

“There!” He slipped his hand into a deeper compartment, and withdrew a long, thin syringe.

What on earth am I supposed to do with this, anyhow? Shane wondered, having finally snapped out of his shock.

“Bring it… closer…” Jane Doe whispered with increased vigor, and Shane tentatively stepped forward to her. Once he was near enough, her hand shot forward and closer over the syringe. She removed its plastic cap with one finger to reveal a thin needle. Without hesitation, Jane Doe rammed it into the puncture wound on her neck.

“Christ almighty!” There was a humongous intake of breath, and Jane Doe sprang right up, swearing like a pissed-off truck driver. “Jesus Christ on a motor bike! I almost f#ckin’ died!”

 “I should have been the one who said that!” Shane cried, his voice slightly frantic, “You’re alive?!”

“Damn ‘course I am, do you think I’m a zombie or something?" She was about to say something more, but instead suddenly bent over to cough a nasty glob of phlegm onto the mortuary’s floor. As she coughed non-stop, Shane removed his lab coat and wrapped it around her shoulders.

“Here. Breathe…. breathe deeply. Again.” He soothed the woman as he held her until the bout of coughing ceased.

As she sat back down, the lab coat wrapped around her nakedness, Shane gave in to his burning curiosity.

“So what happened to you?”

She swore to herself, as if he hadn’t started saying anything, “Screw that bastard Hans. We will damn well have a lengthy conversation after this.”

At this mentioning, Shane jerked up instantly, “Wait, you knew Hans?”

“Yes.” The woman stared at him with wide eyes. “What, you know him too?”
 

A sudden recognition struck him, and Shane slapped a fist into his palm. He had a feeling as if he had recognized Jane Doe from somewhere, but couldn’t exactly place it until now. “You are Mira’s sister, aren’t you? Han’s fiancé? I think I briefly saw you at their wedding ceremony!”

“Yes. Yes!” Jane Doe sighed in plain relief, “Finally someone I knew around here. You don’t know how terrifying it is to be bagged like a corpse and stowed away without anyone knowing where you are.” She almost broke down at that and put up a hand to cover her face.

“Could you tell me what happened?” Shane continued from where he left off, albeit more gently now, “How did you end up in a body bag, mistaken for being dead?”

“I was just coming back after going out to drink with my friends.” She started, her voice still croaky from all the coughing, “My sister, Mira, suddenly called and ask me to pick up the purse she had forgotten at Han’s house.” Shane sat down on another one of the metallic worktable, intently listening as the story unfolds before him.

 At this point Jane Doe cursed, seemingly as pissed as ever, “If that bitch would go and get her own bag things wouldn’t have turned out this horribly.” After some time she continued,

“I went by Han’s house around midnight, and that guy was doing some sort of experimenting. Flasks and beakers and what not.” She cleared her throat slightly.

“I had picked up the purse, but was feeling pretty thirsty so I asked Hans for a cup of water. He didn’t even looked up and gesture for one of his beakers, saying that he normally puts his drinks in there, and that there’s a coke in there somewhere.”

Shane gulped. He thought he might know now what had happened next. “You actually drank something from one of his beakers, didn’t you?” He asked with a sinking feeling.

“Damn well I did. I was so thirsty.” Jane Doe admitted meekly, her eyes turning away from him. “That wasn’t wise, was it?”

Gosh holy hell. Shane thought. As Han’s best friend, even he wouldn’t drink from one of his experimental beakers. Who knows what that manic is brewing up in his laboratory. As shady as he is, he could be cooking up some crystal meth, for all I know.

“I was driving back to my sister’s place when this massive headache started hitting me. I lost control of the car, and it swerved right into a tree. Next thing I know, I was lying on a bed in an ambulance.”

“But I can’t move, can’t blink, can’t even say a word as the doctors announced me as dead and bagged me up. I can feel everything, and try to scream at them while as they transported me to the mortuary. No one heard anything, though.”

She stared right at him, her large eyes brimming with tears, “Not until I met you.” Suddenly and to Shane’s utter shock, Jane Doe bent over and hugged him. “Thank you.”

He could felt her breast pressed up against him through the thin fabric of the lab coat, and Shane had to disengage himself before his body responded indecently.

“No worries there, you are alright now.” After a pause, he asked, “What is in the needle, though? Why do you carry it around?”

“It’s Epinephrine. I have massive allergies against countless substances, so I always had to carry it around with me. Not long before this, my sister made me a peanut butter cake, having forgotten that I was allergic to peanuts. Good thing to always keep the syringe around.”

That cleared up one thing. Shane thought, but an issue still bothered him. How did Hans and Mira went on their honeymoon without even noticing that her sister went missing?

Wait…. A sinking feeling came over Shane. “Your name isn’t Alisha, is it?”

“How did you know?” Jane Doe looked up at him, her eyes full of puzzlement.

Shittt… As he was sending the couple off at the airport, he remembered hearing them converse about a certain ‘Alisha’.

Hans: “But will Alisha be alright, honey? She hadn’t answered any of our calls since last night.”

Mira: “Let her be, that girl always go out and didn’t call back for days on a normal basis. She’ll probably return in a few days.” Then the couple went off laughing at one another’s jokes and honeymoon plans.

I probably shouldn’t tell Alisha about this. Shane thought while paling a little. He stole a glance at Jane Doe, no, Alisha, who still seemed to be silently fuming. Both Hans and Mira will probably be dead enough once they returned from their honeymoon…

 

Suddenly, a cockroach sprang out and scampered across the floor of the mortuary. Alisha screamed and leaped into Shane’s arms. As it disappeared under the cabinets, Shane joked,

“I thought that after being dead, cockroaches should be fine for you now?”

There was not a single slice of humor within Alisha’s eyes.

“Alright, jokes not funny. Sorry…” Shane looked at his wrist watch and tried to change the topic.

“My shift is over. Since no one knew that you are here…” He glanced at the near-naked form of Alisha, and looked away trying not to blush. “I could perhaps drive you home?”

 

After a while, they arrived before the house Mira shared with her sister.

“Well, I guess that’s a story you could tell to the grandchildren, eh?” Shane remarked as he rolled the car to a stop. Before he could stop himself, Shane blurted out,

“Do you have a boyfriend?”

“If I have one, why do you think I’ll be living with my sister in the first place?” Alisha averted his gaze and all of a sudden seemed overly interested in the carpet.  

“Well, it is a Christmas night,” Shane said airily. He gazed out the car’s window, where the festive lights and decorations of nearby homes danced merrily against the starry sky.

He turned to Alisha, “Tomorrow. Whenever you are ready. Would you like to go on a date?”

He wasn’t sure if he could believe his ears, but at that moment Shane thought he could hear a faint…

“Yes.”



© Copyright 2020 S. K. Inkslinger. All rights reserved.

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