Stalking along the sidewalk, I head for an out-of-the-way gap between hospital buildings, where I can grab a smoke before going inside. There’s even a little ledge I can set the coffees on. The wind has picked up, and while it’s not raining yet, it soon will be. I light a cigarette and inhale a deep, satisfying lungful of smoke. There’s no way Jett could know how I’d been raised, just like there’s no way I can ignore the impulse that had been beat into me since I was about fifteen years old.
Another deep drag. One of the bands of tension in my chest loosens. Gotta hope it’ll stay that way this time. My earlier sense of dread has been replaced by grim anticipation. I can’t stand here too long or the coffee will get cold, and no matter how bad it sucks, I have to go back into the morgue and go through the motions to get through the day. And later, after everyone goes home, I’ll open the morgue cooler, unzip the body bag, the one with the scone, and I’ll say a bunch more prayers.
And then I’ll eat the scone.
The corpse will go back into the cooler, cleansed of sin, while I begin my period of penance.
After all, somebody has to pay the price for those sins, and today it’s gonna be me.
It’s the last bit of care I can offer the deceased. I was born and raised a sin eater, and I know what I have to do.
No matter what it costs.
Chapter Two
Damon
St. Luke’s. St. Nowhere, more like, though I gotta admit that very few places are as dynamic as a hospital.
Life, death, pain, laughter; I see it all. As a security guard, I get to be everywhere and talk to everyone, and while there are routines, no two days are ever alike.
The pace of change can be addictive, which is why, five years later, I’m still here.
Still here, and still wondering what the hell happens next.
Meanwhile, I have my favorites. Favorite post: front desk in the ER because you never know who’ll walk in. Favorite department: the NICU because it blows my mind that human beings can start out so small and survive.
Favorite perk: catching a glimpse of Ezra Morgue. I call him that since I don’t know his real last name. He’s got a strip of black tape covering it on his hospital ID. He’s also got this bravado thing going on, and while some guys do that to hide the emptiness inside, Ezra Morgue is different.
He’s carrying something heavy, and any time I can make him smile? Hell yes, those are good days.
Also, he smokes, and—unpopular opinion—I think guys who smoke are sexy. I know it’s supposed to be gross and all, butthere’s something about that attitude, the willingness to live dangerously, to risk so much for a momentary pleasure, that does it for me.
Guess I spent so many years keeping myself in perfect condition that anyone who does the opposite is intriguing.
Speaking of Ezra Morgue, I haven’t run across him since Monday at the Brew. It’s Friday, I’m supposed to have the weekend off—though overtime is almost always an option—and I’m taking a lap, walking through each nursing unit, making sure I’ve got any potential problems pegged. Once I’m done, I’ll grab some coffee and do it all over again. I could alter my route and cruise through the morgue. I won’t.
I like leaving some things to chance.
“Hey, D-Clem.” The cancer ward’s charge nurse calls me by an old nickname, one only hardcore UW baseball fans remember. She’s short, stocky, and sharp, and while it’s a little embarrassing—D-Clem had a future in the Majors, Damon does not—there’s no way I want to get on her bad side, so I smile and nod.
“Wassup, Lindy?” We’re standing just outside the double doors to the unit. Each door has a Do Not Enter sign on it, and there’s a telephone on the wall so visitors can get buzzed in.
“Glad I caught you.” She shifts her paper coffee cup—one bearing a Brew on the Hill logo—from her right hand to her left. “Did they tell you Ms. Barillo is back?”
I pull out my phone and open the shift report on our confidential app. “Yeah, says she’s in the system as Jane Doe and she’ll be here till Thursday.”
“That’s right. Do y’all still have the picture of her ex?”
“Nah. I should remember him from last time.”
“Here.” She hands me a copy of a photocopy of a photo. The image is blurry, but it’s the guy I remember.
“I’ll know him if I see him.”
Her smirk has a hint of doubt. “Just don’t let him get anywhere near here. We’ve got enough going on.”
“Yes, ma’am.” I mock-salute her, earning an eye roll. With a swipe of her badge, the double doors swing open and I laugh her on her way.