Wounds of a corpse
Wounds of a corpse
“Does it hurt?”
Of course, it does. She never liked syringes.
“Well. There’s not much that I can do about that.”
Silence. She’s bored, clearly.
“The docs are good, right?”
Still nothing. Still boring. Gotta add some excitement.
“Shame, they don’t have a TV in this room. You heard about the last match? Some game it was! De Grandhomme clobbered Stokes for 25 in the last over! And then…”
That should work, right? Talking about stuff that she loves that she hasn’t been able to watch. It works, doesn’t it?
God, I’m stupid.
“Luke Combs released a new single. It's good, heard it on my way over. Here, listen.”
No response. The song didn’t hit her like a hurricane.
Her lips are grimaced. Must be the injection. Never works, does it?
No. Enough with this charade. I pull her sheets back.
They haven’t looked after her well. Most of her gashes are blood-clotted, still healing. Blame is on me, too, I’m lousy with knives.
There! That’s a good one on her stomach, all healed. That’ll work. I pry it open with my knife. Fresh blood gushes out.
Wonderful. I grab the pouch.
“Tada!”
Is that a smile on her face? Well, she should be happy. I’ve had trouble finding her stuff.
“Told ya, I’d work something up. I know, it’s late. I’m sorry, babe. But you know. It’s not easy to find healthy, universal good ol’ O-negative juice in this market.”
Her laceration chugs it down in one gulp. I’m forgiven, I think.
“Hey, listen, I think- “
The slamming of the door breaks our privacy. A nurse.
“Ah, good, I’ve been meaning to speak with the staff. Why haven’t my wife’s wounds been cleansed?”
She looks frightened. “Who are you? What are you doing near Mrs. Sullivan’s body?”
“She’s my wife, alright! And from what I’ve seen, I’m the only one here who’s committed towards her recovery. Now- “
“Why is there blood on your hands? Where did you-”
“Oh, don’t you try bossing me, miss. It’s disgusting, really, your policy towards patients. I swear, the second I’m out of here, I’m gonna drag your sorry asses to court- “
“What patient? Mrs. Sullivan died from a road-accident three-months ago!”
My heart drops.
“What?”
“Internal hemorrhage. A suitable O-negative donor couldn’t be arranged on time. She died. That’s why she’s here- in the morgue.”
Stacy was dead?
Her finger is at the door. “You need to leave. Now.”
This couldn’t be…
“She… didn’t live?”
“I’ve already disclosed too much. Please leave.”
“Three- three months?”
“Yes.”
Wait…
“You’re saying my wife’s been dead for three months? That’s outrageous! I don’t believe you!”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Sullivan, but- what are you- “
I yank the sheets off Stacy’s body.
“Are you calling this a corpse?”
“I’m gonna have to call- “
“Answer me, god damn it! That- is a dead body to you?”
Pause. “Yes.”
A grin creeps on my face. “Tell me then, miss nurse. I carved this gash on my Stacy three weeks back. To fill her with blood. I was late, I know. But I had to try.”
Her eyes are wide open.
“I would’ve stopped after my pathetic, first try. But then I realized something. Those gashes I made- they were healing.”
My cold voice has the edge of an ice shard. “So I ask you, nurse. If my wife is a corpse. How did the wounds of a corpse heal?”