James Smith - Hybrid

Dieter stood with his back and damp palms flat against the wall.

Josh continued his slow-motion walk and Dieter followed. An antique lamp on a mahogany credenza lit one wall of the foyer, casting a hue of dingy yellow over the area. A three-tiered chandelier hung from the ceiling. Heavy draperies of depressing burgundy covered the windows and thick upholstered chairs with high backs lined the walls. Two more hallways split off the foyer. Josh pointed for Dieter to take the left and he headed for the right.

Totally asinine!

Dieter inched down his hallway until out of sight of the front door. Everything around him was pitch-black. He stood and stuck his hand into his pocket, fumbling for his keys. When he pulled out the key ring, a stash of coins fell to the floor.

Slow down !

He didn’t move while he switched on the penlight attached to the ring and searched the carpet around his feet, gathering the change. He continued down the hall with the narrow shaft of light leading the way. When he came to a door, he pulled it slightly open and examined the room through the crack with the penlight. Boxes and assorted supplies were piled high on shelves.

He closed the door and moved farther along, shifting the beam over the walls and floor until he found another door. He held the light up to it and read the sign: PREP ROOM. When he opened the door, the raw odor of embalming fluid drifted out. The light beam revealed white cabinets and cluttered counter tops. A long bulge under a lime green sheet appeared on a stainless steel table that tilted toward a sink.

Is that the Madison River victim? An electric chill crept over him and he stiffened.

He took a few deep breaths. Something about the scene didn’t make sense. If that was the body of the victim, shouldn’t it be refrigerated? On the other hand, if the medical examiner were coming early the next morning, the body could’ve been brought out for an overnight warming.

Someone came jogging down the corridor.

He snapped off his penlight and pressed his shoulder blades back against the wall.

Josh barged into the room. “Doc, where are you?”

Dieter turned the penlight back on and shined it toward him.

“Get that light out of my eyes!”

“Sorry.”

“A patrol car just pulled up in front. We gotta get out of here.”

Holy Crap!

DeputyPreston Cody was making his rounds as he drove down South Myrtle Street when he received the call. They had never called him from home before. His boss said he just received intel from someone claiming two suspicious characters were hanging around the Winslow funeral home. Preston was on top of it. He’d been working the night shift the last two years alone. That was when he was in charge and that was a big deal. “At night this town is mine,” he’d often tell friends.

He arrived at the front of Winslow’s with his headlights off and jumped out, careful to close the car door without slamming. The walkway was clear in both directions. The area around the funeral home too dark to get a good look. He walked cautiously to the pillared front entrance. With his flashlight in one hand, he fumbled with a fat ring of assorted keys with the other until he found the one marked Winslow N/Alm.

Edna Turley had left a lamp on, a routine of hers. He’d been told many times the need to have Winslow’s checked during the night shift. Edna had blabbed that plenty of weirdoes were out looking for bodies, a fact that shocked Preston at first, but he wondered if that was on account of too many movies that had come and gone about body snatchers. Then he heard that Edna told the sheriff’s office about what had circulated in funeral home newsletters over the years—all about freaks breaking in and messing with bodies, especially young women’s bodies, doing things about as disgusting as you can think of with a female body. Edna damn well didn’t want that going on at Winslow Memorial. Dirty neckro-maniac freaks was the term she used.

Those stories were more reasons that Preston never liked funeral homes. He was never comfortable being in one, what with all the smells of a corpse mingling with those of flower arrangements and the gawks of depressing people. But he especially didn’t like being alone in a funeral home after dark. It just wasn’t an inviting atmosphere, that was all.

After closing the massive front door behind him, he walked through the parlor with his flashlight beaming.

“There’s no exit down the hall?” Dieter asked after Josh rushed into the room and gently closed the door.

“No, and we can’t get out the back door without running through the foyer. Shine your light down here.” Josh stooped to open the cabinet doors under the counter.

“What the heck are you doing?” Dieter whispered, dumbfounded.

“We gotta hide.”

Hide?

This stupid game had to end. They’d both be arrested, booked and charged with breaking and entering. Mug shots would show up in the Weekly Reporter. One thing was certain, in this part of the country it would be the end of his career. He’d practiced veterinary medicine long enough to know the rules of the game. Animal docs were no different from people docs. They were expected to be upright citizens in the community.

But even worse, how would he explain it all to Michael and Megan?

Josh pushed the cabinet doors back in. “No room here.”

Dieter shined the light into a corner where there was a narrow door. Josh rushed to it and discovered a broom closet.

“Only one of us can squeeze in here,” Josh said.

Dieter shined the light back around the room.

“Wait a minute,” Josh whispered. He tiptoed to a cold storage bin for cadavers against the wall and turned around with a determined look and a nod toward it.

“Okay, Josh. Let’s walk out of here right—”

“We’re not giving up that quick.” Josh pulled open the long upper drawer of the bin where bodies awaiting embalming were stored. “Come on, Doc. Hurry. I sure can’t fit in there.”

They both heard the front door of the funeral home creak open, then quickly shut. Dieter held onto the countertop and slid his legs one at a time down the steel surface that felt like an iceberg. Josh pushed the drawer to within an inch of closing.

The door of the broom closet closed.

Footsteps were creeping down the hallway.

Dieter’s teeth chattered. He didn’t know which was worse, the numbing cold or the nauseating reek of embalming fluid. One arm was already asleep from being pinned against frozen steel. The finger bitten by King Tut throbbed.

What was he going to do if somebody came in the room and pulled out the slab? Play dead? Say “Sorry, sir” and trigger a heart attack?

The footsteps stopped outside the door. A voice shouted something unintelligible. The voice had strained to be a command, but there was a more tentative edge to it.

The door opened and a spasm erupted from Dieter’s gut. Bile burned the back of his throat and gushed upward. God, of all times . He turned his head to the side and panted. It was too loud. He took deep breaths through his nose. If he began to puke, he could choke to death.

Preston Cody searched the parlor with his flashlight. He assumed the damn light switch would be near the front door. Maybe it would be better to go outside and search the perimeter. He should’ve done that first anyway. As he headed for the front, he wondered why he was walking so quietly. A hushed clamor arose in the back.

He stopped and turned around, not certain that he’d actually heard anything. He held his breath to sharpen his hearing while he shined his flashlight along the walls. Choosing the hallway on the left, he walked toward it as he swung his light from side to side. The doors to each room he passed were closed, but he recognized the stench coming from the next room and assumed it had recently been opened. With one hand on his flashlight and one on his holstered Glock, he yelled. “Anybody in there?”