Sunday Scribbles! (Ha that's right! I'm doing it on Sunday this time!

Okay if you missed the first part of Route 4 you can check it out Here.

Without further ado...

Route 4: Part Two

My jaw was gaping as John Doe looked around.  He seemed more curious than frightened.  My heart was pounding in my chest.  His gaze settled on me, eyes grayish and waxy.  “Is this the morgue?”

Unsure what to say or do, I simply nodded.  Was there protocol for when the dead sat up and started talking to you?  If there was I must have missed that seminar at the last convention.  This was a first for me.  I was very much a deer caught in the headlights.

“So I’m dead…” He lifted his hands looking at them closely. “It would explain why I feel no heartbeat in my chest.”

“I suppose it would.” My voice was quiet, filled with disbelief.  It was one thing to work with the dead all night.   It’s not like I haven’t talked to a dead body before.  Most often was something was eluding me to how they died.  They had never spoken back before.  It was a little unnerving that John Doe was.

He adjusted the sheet to cover him more comfortable and then rested his hands on the cold, metal table.  It was a bit late for modesty.  I had already performed an autopsy on him.  His chest and belly were sewed up in the stand ‘Y’ shape.  My eyes and hands had scoured every inch of his body searching for anything that would not only help the police find his killer, but maybe help identify John Doe as well.

“How did I…?”

I pointed to his forehead.  “You were um…”  Shot in the head?  Had your brains blown out? Murdered? For some reason it seemed rude to say it in any of those ways.  Where ever the spirits went after death, it was the greeter’s job on that side to tell them what happened if they didn’t remember.  At least I would assume.  My job was figuring out the last message they left behind.

He reached his hand up, fingers grazing over the bullet hole.  He opened his mouth slightly as realization hit.  “Oh dear, this is quiet embarrassing.”

I shrugged.  “Not really.  I’ve seen deaths a lot less dignified than yours.”

He raised a bushy eyebrow.  “Really?  Anyone you can think of in particular?”

Realization hit that I was having a conversation with a dead man.  Since he wasn’t overly scary and apparently hadn’t risen as a flesh eating zombie, I started to feel the same annoyance I got when around the living.  I hated chatty Kathy’s and gossip mongers.

“Look, I’ve still got work to do.”  I tried to keep my voice as neutral as possible.  “So maybe you can help me out by telling me your name?”

“I didn’t come here to tell you that.”  He suddenly looked confused.  “Not sure how I know that.”  His gray eyes settled on me again.  “This is an odd predicament isn’t it?”

I held my thumb and index finger about an inch apart.  “Little bit, yeah.” I shrugged.  “I’ve spent a lot of time speaking for the dead, but this is the first time the dead actually verbally spoke back.  I gotta tell you pal, it’s a unnerving.”

“Pal.”  It rolled over his tongue.  He seemed to ponder the word for a moment before nodding.  “Yes, Pal will do.  You may call me Pal if you wish.”

My eyes widened ever so slightly.  “Right.” I lengthened the word.  It was slow, drawn out.  A soft word of sarcasm and surprise.  “Somehow I don’t think the name Pal is going to help the police find your next of kin.”

Pal gave a small smile.  “Ahh yes, that’s why I’m here.  I remember now.”  Reaching up he absently scratched the bullet hole.  Admittedly it was a little bit sickening to watch. 

Said the medical examiner talking to the dead guy.

I was beginning to think I was losing my mind.  I was, after all, sitting here having a conversation. 

Pal had been sitting in silence for a few moments.  He had trailed off and was now staring at the morgue body coolers.  “Oh my, I’m a bit claustrophobic. I won’t be put in one of those drawers will I?”

Usually by the time the dead were put in there they didn’t care.  Pal would be the first to even have an opinion on the subject.  Somehow though, I didn’t think that’s why he was here.  I snapped my fingers to draw his attention back.

“Hey, concentrate.  What are you here for?”

He blinked and brought his gaze back to me.  “Forgive my rudeness.”  Pal nodded. “I’m here because you are indeed a friend to the dead.  You often say for us what we can no longer say ourselves.”

I supposed some people could see what I do as noble.  In reality, the dead were a lot easier to get along with than the living.  I shrugged.  “It’s my job.”

“So it is, but what you do is still a favor towards those no longer living.” He held up a pale finger.  “Thus the dead wish to return the favor.”

My eyebrows rose.  “You’re here to kill me?

He scoffed.  “Goodness me no.” He almost looked offended by the notion.  “However would you be able to continue helping the dead if you died yourself?”  He waved the thought away.  “No my dear girl, I am here to warn you.”

“If you say I’m going to be visited by three ghosts I’m going to check myself into the psych ward.”

He smiled then.  “No ghosts.  Just me.”  He adjusted the sheet again.

“Well then could cut to the chase, Pal?  I’ve got work to do.” Leaning back in my chair, I crossed my arms over my chest.  Maybe I had come off as rude, but I wasn’t a people person.  Not even a talking dead people person.  Besides I was still debating on whether or not I’d fallen asleep at my desk or knocked my head on my something.  This could also be one very intense, very vivid hallucination.

“Very well,” Pal said.  “If you insist.”

“I do.”

“No need to get your knickers in a twist.”

I cringed.  “You’re dead.  Please don’t think about my knickers.  It’s really creepy.”

“Just a phrase my dear, just a phrase.”

“Can we get on with this?”

Pal made a movement that very much made me think he wanted to sigh.  Then he straightened and looked at me with those dead, gray eyes.

“Your normal route.  The one you drive every day to and from work?”

I raised a brow again when he phrased it as more of a question.  “What about it?”

“Take a detour.”  Pal’s gaze was piercing into me.  “We don’t wish you among the dead so soon.”

A chill slithered down my spine. Pal had been vague, but his point came across crystal clear. 

Something was going to happen my way home.  It obviously wasn’t anything good.  In fact it would most likely result in my death.   Then again I still wasn’t sure this was actually happening.

“If I avoid my usual route, will it stop whatever it is that’s going to happen?  Or will someone else take my place?”

Pal raised and dropped one shoulder.  A half hearted shrug.  “It isn’t for me to say.  Only for you to decide.”

“No pressure.”

He smiled. “Life is not easy, nor is death.  Every decision has consequences.”  Pal looked off into the distance as if seeing something that I couldn’t. Something that was only meant for the eyes of the dead.

Sunday Scribbles!

Happy Sunday everyone!  I hope you all had a peaceful and relaxing weekend. I wish I could say that mine was, but it really wasn't.  The hubby's been sick all weekend and we had to take a trip to the airport.  We had to pick up my ninety-two year old grandfather and his car since his buddy was getting on a plane.  It wouldn't have been so bad if they hadn't arrived way to early and not told us that they parked the car instead of waiting at the terminal.  The airport became my own personal merry-go-round.  We drove in a circle three or four times waiting on them. 

I also think I'm getting whatever stomach bug the hubby had, which does not amuse me.  I would rather have a cold for a week than the stomach flu for twenty four hours.  Insane right?  I'm one of those people who can not stand throwing up. I never could.  Even as a little kid.  It's just so blech!

Anyways, moving on!

Crusader's News!
I have followed over a hundred of you!  YAY I'm getting there!  I promise!  I really can't stand putting all those codes in so I follow about twenty or so people, wait a bit and follow more.  I'll have you all followed in the end though!

I also hope to have my First Crusader's Challenge up tomorrow.  I have to do some work first, but then it's all gravy baby!  Then again I really shouldn't say that and jinx myself. >.<

I still don't know why my Crusader pic is being all stretchy.  I've tried putting it on the sidebar ten different ways and it just stretches.  I don't think it likes me very much.

Moving on to writing news.

Since it's Sunday and I like the idea of Sunday Scribbles, I'm going to put a bit of a story in this post.  Nothing spectacular or great, but hey, the more I write, the better I get.  So without further ado.

Route 4 - Part One

It started out as one of those days where despite the fact the sun was shining brightly overhead, the moon could be seen sitting across from it in the sky.  It was as if the agents of night and day were at odds.  They sat on opposite sides of the world facing off against each other.

Four in the afternoon was a late start in the day for most.  I work the graveyard shift at the city morgue.  I would be crawling into bed just as the sun was coming up to start a new day.  I had a long way to go before then.  My day was just beginning.

Standing on my front porch, a cup of coffee in my hand, I looked from the sun to the moon.  A frown settled on my lips.  My gaze kept flicking to and fro, wondering why they were once again at odds.  Somehow, whenever they were battling over the sky, something odd was bound to take place.  At least it always did for me.

The sun and the moon were feuding.  Something wasn’t right in the world.  Okay a lot wasn’t right in the world,  but whenever I saw them in the sky together odd things happened.  Goosebumps brushed over my skin, despite the warmth of the day.  Shivering, I wandered back inside.

I dumped my coffee cup into the sink and rinsed it out, peeking out the window.  After eyeing the sun and the moon for a moment again, I wandered off to the shower.  As the hot spray of water washed away the remnants of sleep I thought about the last time the two had been feuding.

It had been a quiet night at the morgue.  Only two bodies had come in.  One was from a car accident.  Cause of death was blunt force trauma.  The other was a John Doe that had taken a bullet between the eyes.  They were both pretty cut and dry.  It was up to the police to figure out who the John Doe was.  My only job was to find out how they had died and why.

I was transcribing my notes from the voice recorder to the computer.  My assistant, George had gone home early.  There was no sense in both of us staying on such a slow night.  If things picked up I could always call him back, but it seemed doubtful. 

George had a fiancé at home anyways.  They were getting down to the final details and I didn’t want the bride to be calling the morgue all night having panic attacks because of some easily fixable problem. I prefer the quiet.  It’s one of the reasons I chose to be a Medical Examiner. The dead don’t talk.  At least not out loud.

“Hello.”

I hadn’t heard anyone come in, but that wasn’t unusual.  I tended to become completely engrossed in my work, often not noticing my surroundings.

“I’m not done with the report.”  I didn’t bother to turn around.  “I told the detective I’ll have it ready for him in the morning.  It’s not morning.”

There was silence for a moment.  The sound of feet shuffling for the door didn’t come.  I really didn’t need or want a cop staring over my shoulder while I put the report together.  I’d been doing this for five years now and my work was always meticulous.  Having a shadow hovering over my shoulder was distracting and annoying.

“You can go now.” I snapped.  “No reason to stay.”

“What is this place?”

I groaned.  Apparently I’d been wrong.  It wasn’t the cops waiting on the report.  It was more than likely an Alzheimer’s patient that had snuck out from the geriatric ward and gotten lost.  It happened from time to time.  They were sneaky when they wanted to be.

Pressing pause on the voice recorder I swiveled around in my seat.  There was a fake smile on my lips.  I didn’t want to poor guy to think I was being rude.  He was old and sick, and probably lost and scared.  I may not like people much, but I wasn’t cruel about it.

I had been prepared to face an old man, confusion wide in his eyes.  What I had not been expecting was for John Doe to be sitting up.  The gaping hole that looked like a third eye in the middle of his forehead really should have prevented that.

One Man's Greed, Another Woman's Treasure. Part 1

My steps echoed off the platform, heels clacking against the cold concrete.  The yellowish neon lights reflected off the pillars with an almost eerie glare.  There was a vibration humming through the walls.  The tracks in front of me were bare, but the train would be here soon.  A relaxed hand on my leather briefcase, I waited patiently.  Hopefully the train would be on time.

I was several minutes early, but it was better to be early than to be late.  Something the subway conductors often had a hard time understanding.  As many times as I’ve taken the train, they’ve often been late, but I can’t recall a time when they were early.  I wondered what caused them to not adhere to the set schedule so often, and I couldn’t think of any good excuses.

At this late hour the subway station was mostly deserted.  There were a few stragglers, though it seemed no one else was waiting for the train.  Bums were slumped against the wall, probably just seeking a warm place to sleep so they wouldn’t freeze in the bitter cold outside.  During the day it was probably a good place to ask for ums for the poor, but right now they were off, most of them dozing against the wall. 

There were junkies as well, huddled together in the far corner. There wide dilated eyes watched the station nervously.   I wrinkled my nose as the stink of heroin and crack wafted my way.  Their blood was full of the poison.  Like the bums they were probably trying to avoid the harsh weather conditions.  Either that or they were meeting a dealer.   

Whatever they business it was none of mine.  They glanced at me every so often.  As the only one waiting for the train I looked out of sorts compared to the others.  My black pant suit was meticulous, not a wrinkle to be found.  I wore a purple shirt beneath the jacket, and simple, but comfortable black heels.  In my line of work sensible worked better than stilettos.  My blonde hair was in a neat bun at the nape of my neck and my glasses were sleek but professional.  My business often took place at night.

I was attempting to ignore the stench of old, and quite possibly not so old urine, body odor, and the occasional whiff of long dried blood when I felt the distinct feeling of a blade being pressed into my back.  The point bit through the fabric of my jacket and shirt and I could feel the cold press of steel against my skin. 

A soft sigh of frustration escaped my lips.  This was one of my favorite suits. Luckily my hair was up.  Had he cut through it, I would have been extremely sore.  I take pride in my looks, especially when going to meet with a client.  I had very high professional standards.  Showing up in a ripped suit with an uneven haircut was not to my liking.

“Give me your money!” His voice was strained, deeper than it should have been in an attempt to sound more menacing than he really was. 

“I have none,” I replied in a dry tone.  It was the truth.  Honestly not many people carried actually hard cash around anymore.  Everything had transformed into electronic funding.  Plastic was carried more often than not now.  He would have been better off asking me for my wallet, but I didn’t let him in on that tidbit.  I wasn’t going to help him rob me.

He pressed the knife deeper into my skin.  He hadn’t pierced the flesh yet, but he was attempting to intimidate me with fear.  “Your briefcase, jewelry, all of it now.”

Well someone had a brain after all.  The vibrations were getting stronger, signaling the train drawing closer.  My jewelry was trivial and easy to part with.  The briefcase on the other hand was much to important.  It had nothing the thief could use.  Oh perhaps he could sell the thing itself and make a few pennies for its fine Italian leather, but what was inside was worthless to him and priceless to me.

Not wanting to be late for my appointment I removed the necklace, bracelet, and earrings holding them over my shoulder.  He snatched them greedily and shoved them into his pocket.  “Now the briefcase.”

“No.”

He dug the knife deeper into my skin.  Warm blood oozed down my skin.  “I’m not playing around lady!”

The first slight flicker of irritation eased its way into my chest.  Removing blood stains completely from clothing was no easy feat. Especially not out of silk.  Still I wasn’t cruel.  “There’s nothing in it that will profit you.  Take the jewelry and leave.”

Grabbing me by the shoulder he jerked me around placing the cold steel against my cheek.  My deep green eyes bore into his brown ones.  The man looked and smelled like he hadn’t bathed in days.  Layers of dirt covered his skin in a thick film.  His shaggy hair literally had chunks of…things in it.  The smell itself was offensive.

“Give me the damn briefcase!”  His eyes were wide and wild.  He was in desperate need of money it seemed.

The train was almost here.  So it would be on time.  Of course it would.  I let out another sigh.  I simply couldn’t part with the briefcase.  Besides he’d gotten blood on my shirt and there was a knife pressed to my face.  Being a reasonable person I decided to give him one more chance.

“You’ve gotten my valuables.  There’s nothing in the briefcase of worth to you.  Leave now and we’ll be done with it.”

His face tightened with anger.  He wanted me to slovenly follow his orders out of his fear.  That was why he hadn’t just tried to rip the suitcase from my fingers.  He wanted me to do as he said.  He wanted to be in control.  The wild look in his eyes, menacing tone, and small blade in his hand were meant to be the catalysts to make me do as he said.  I imagine he felt quite impotent that it wasn’t working.  Men were always trying to compensate for something.

I suppose there were plenty of people who would be quite frightened in this moment.  For me though it was an annoyance.  A mosquito bite that just wouldn’t stop itching.  Irritating, but not frightening.

Pulling the knife back he balled his other fist.  He went to strike me and I stepped in, kissing him instead.  It was a light brushing of lips.  Nothing crude or unsavory.  It seemed to shock him.  It had been rather unexpected.  At least for him.  For me it was simply the opening I needed.  A stream of silver slipped from my lips and into his.  It was cool, almost minty as it moved between us.  A bit of relief from the horrid taste of him.  Blowing a light breath into him, I began to search his soul.

TBC.....

2011 Copyright © Sully's Scribbles. All rights reserved.