Disrobed for Death (2 page)

“How long will that be?” A. K.’s remark seemed to startle the lady behind the desk.

“I…uh…really can’t say. I’m sure it won’t be too long.”

An hour later, she still hadn’t heard any news, and that scared her. What if the injury was more serious than expected? What if she died? “Dang it,” she grumbled. “Don’t even think that way.”

“Did you say something?” the woman asked.

“Just muttering to myself.”

After picking the last of the nail polish off her thumb nail, A. K. decided she had waited long enough. Her plan was to hit the chrome plate on the wall and find Susan before Nurse Ratched could stop her. As she pushed up from her chair, the volunteer behind the desk called her name, and a man in green scrubs motioned for her to join him in the hall.

“How is she?” she asked, anxious for news and unable to read the doctor’s face.

“Ms. Griffin is disoriented and having trouble focusing, but that’s not uncommon with a head injury. I doubt she’ll remember me or our conversation, but I managed to get her consent to remove a small clot at the base of her skull.”

“You mean she has to have surgery?”

“The sooner, the better. Ms. Griffin came to and was lucid enough to sign a consent form. All the while she kept saying she wanted out of here as soon as possible.”

“That’s my Susan. What exactly will the surgery entail?”

“I’ll make a small opening at the base of the skull, just large enough to evacuate the clot. Afterwards, I’ll insert a catheter to drain off excess fluid and help us monitor pressure. She’ll remain sedated and in ICU until the swelling goes down, probably a day or two.”

“Then what?”

“We’ll move her to a step-down unit. I don’t anticipate any problems, and if her recovery is uneventful, it’s possible she can go home in couple of days.”

“You make it sound so simple.”

Blue eyes smiled down at her. “I don’t suppose it’ll do any good to tell you not to worry, but this is a fairly routine procedure. The anesthesiologist is administering something to relax Ms. Griffin. She’ll be coming this way shortly.”

Another set of doors opened, and A. K. followed the doctor’s gaze to a bed being wheeled out of the emergency room.

“You’ll have time to give her a hug. I’ll see you when it’s over.”

Before she could say anything, the doctor opened the door beneath an exit sign and scooted up the stairs.

“But...I didn’t get your name.” Her sentence tailed off as he disappeared. A. K. walked alongside the bed and squeezed Susan’s arm. “How are you, sweetie?”

“Never felt better.” Susan slurred her words, obviously feeling the effects of the medication.

“Doc said you’re going to be just fine.”

“Zat right?”

“Dang straight! And I’ll be right here when you wake up.”

Susan squinted. “Is it foggy in here?”

“You’re groggy from the medicine. Try and relax.”

A. K. tucked a strand of Susan’s silky blonde hair under her surgical cap and gave her a kiss on the forehead.

Once again, Susan disappeared behind double doors.

A. K. took a seat in the surgical waiting room and swallowed the lump in her throat. She wasn’t alone. The room was crowded with people, anxiously awaiting news of their loved ones. Some propped against pillows, their clothes rumpled like their faces. Those were the family members and friends who had spent the night, obviously afraid they wouldn’t be there to say goodbye.

It was then that A. K. realized she hadn’t contacted Susan’s family. She pulled her cell from her purse and located her father’s number. No one answered. After thinking it through, she decided to wait. All she could tell them right now was that she hit her head and was in surgery. They were elderly and getting such news might cause them to have a heart attack. Telling them Susan had minor surgery and came through with flying colors might be best. That is, if the doctor was right. If he was wrong, he’d better have his insurance paid up.

Still unsure of her decision, she held the phone in her hand, debating whether to call Susan’s parents or wait. The lady behind the desk made the decision for her.

“Ms. Williams, if you’ll stand over there in the hall, the doctor will be out shortly.”

Like an actor on stage, A. K. took her place. She stared at the doors to the operating room like she had x-ray vision. A few minutes later, the doctor came out with a smile on his lips.

“Everything went well, and she’s in ICU. Come on. I’ll let you have a peek.”

She followed the doctor into the unit. The patient’s rooms surrounded the nurse’s station like the spokes on a wheel.

“Here we are,” he said, pointing to one specific room.

A. K. hurried to Susan’s bedside. “Doc said you did great, and you’re going to be out of here before you know it.”

Susan’s mouth twitched as if she was going to say something but didn’t.

“She’s sedated,” he said.

“Looks to me like she’s agitated.”

“I got the impression she’s rather head strong.”

A. K. cringed. No telling what Susan had said under anesthesia. While she was sweet as could be, Susan was a no-nonsense business woman. If she was hallucinating about her shop, it was anyone’s guess what she’d said.

“We’d better get out of the way and let the nurses do their thing,” he said as a young woman in scrubs entered the room. “Leave your number at the nurse’s station. If there’s any change, someone will call you.”

“Better not be any change. You said she was going to be just fine, and I’m going to hold you to that.”

Susan’s eyelids fluttered, and she squinted at her surroundings. The last thing she remembered was drawing her bath. Slowly, the memory of what happened began to come back—the water on the floor, her fall, the terrible sound when her head cracked against the tiles. To her surprise, the pain was gone and a quick check revealed no evidence of the lump. How? And where was she? This was definitely not her bathroom.

The long corridor with its gilded pier mirrors struck a familiar cord, and recognition seeped in. Many times before, she’d stood in this very place, and it wasn’t under good conditions. This was Roselawn, the local funeral home.

“What the hell am I doing here?”

There was no one to answer her. She stepped closer to the guest register outside Parlor A and stared in horror at the name on the tiny marquee—Susan Griffin.

“I’m dead?” She held out her arms which looked very much alive. Then she looked down, and her voice screeched to a high, shrill note. “And I’m naked?”

So she had escaped her worse fear of dying on the crapper, but dead is dead, and she wasn’t ready to accept her fate.

“It’s not fair. I can’t be dead. It was just a simple fall. I must be dreaming. Besides, if I’m dead why isn’t someone here to help me cross over? Isn’t that what’s supposed to happen?” She looked down the long hall and into the parlor. And wasn’t she supposed to see a bright light, or did that just happen in movies? All of a sudden she wondered if….

“Hey, wait a minute. I wasn’t perfect, but I lived a decent life, always tried to do the right thing.”

“Hello,” she shouted, but no one answered. Frustration turned to anger, and she took a swing at the guest book, determined to knock the book from the stand. Instead, her hand passed through it. “Not good,” she said. “Not good at all.” She reared back to try again when she heard something.

A woman pushing a vacuum cleaner entered at the other end of the corridor. Yes, she wanted answers, but ghost or not, Susan had no intention of facing anyone in her birthday suit. With one arm covering her breasts and the other shielding her private part, she looked for a hiding place. The best she could find was a wimpy palm plant.

Holding her breath, she wiggled behind the arrangement. About the only thing it covered was her face. Peeking through the foliage, she watched the cleaning lady pass without so much as a glance in her direction.

Then it hit her. “Of course, she can’t see me if I’m dead. And if she can’t see me, then she can’t hear me, either.”

Confusion roiled in her gut. She had tons of questions, no answers, and no one to help her.

The clock in the foyer indicated it was five a.m. No wonder there were no visitors. Roselawn had long gone the way of the modern world. No one sat up with the dead anymore. The doors opened at eight a.m. and closed at eight p.m., but surely she wasn’t the only deceased person in the place. A light over the register in front of Parlor B and Parlor C indicated she had company.

While she was curious about the other occupants, she was more concerned with her own predicament. Maybe if she saw her body laid out, it would convince her that this was not a bad dream, and life as she knew it really was over. Gathering all her courage, she eased into her parlor.

Flowers lined the back wall, and arrangements on easels surrounded the casket. The outpouring suggested a big turnout. Family and friends were to be expected, but she also knew there would be those she hadn’t seen in years. Aside from her family, there was only one who really mattered—Wesley.

“Why now?” she asked. “I never had the chance to see him again, and he was the real reason I moved back home. I was so hoping we could recapture what we once had.”

Susan pictured her family grieving for her. That was sure to hurt more than she could imagine. Oh, and she could count on her high school classmates. Most would come out of loyalty to their friendship, but there were those who would come out of curiosity, to see if they had held up better than she had. After a look-see at her remains, that little clique she detested would mosey to the kitchen for coffee and to munch on whatever goodies church members had provided. There, they would rehash old times. What the heck, it was tradition to catch up on gossip at funerals, weddings, or family reunions.

Nevertheless, Susan hated the idea of them ogling her remains. She could hear them now, expressing their regrets in overdone southern drawls. “My, she looks beautiful, just like she’s sleeping.”

“Liars! Stiff and waxy never looked good. Dead was dead. Well, before they rub their grimy little fingers over the lining of my casket, I might as well take a look.”

Gathering as much composure as she could, she tossed her hair, sucked in her gut, and sashayed past the empty pews with as much dignity as a naked person could muster. The bare-ass trek down the aisle proved tortuous. With every step, a cold draft goosed her in places she’d rather not mention, and she cringed at the possibility of a departed one scrutinizing her, especially eying those parts in need of a major overhaul. Then the irony of the situation hit her—even in death, the Grim Reaper took a back seat to vanity.

She arrived at the foot of the casket with her head held high. Taking a deep breath, she lowered her eyes. To her surprise, she discovered that she looked lovely. Someone had thought to bring her favorite blue outfit, the one she was going to wear to work that day. A smile crossed her lips. The dress and matching accessories had to be A. K.’s doing.

She didn’t know what to expect, but seeing her body didn’t affect her like she thought it would. Sure, it looked like her, but it wasn’t her. It was only a shell of who she used to be. Was it normal to feel so detached?

“The real Susan is who I am now,” she said. “I look the same, only I’m not…I exist in some weird, invisible form.”

She looked with envy at the beautiful blue dress and imagined the silky sheath sliding over her head and down her body. When her hand brushed against her thigh, her breath caught in her throat, and she discovered herself clothed in the same dress.

“So that’s how it’s done?” she murmured.

“Exactly, and may I say you look stunning.”

Startled, Susan turned toward the voice. A tall man strode down the aisle; his black, neatly groomed hair glistened under the lights.

“You can see me?” Then a picture of her marching naked down the aisle popped into her mind, and she added, “Uh, you saw me?”

“Every inch, and I thought being dead was going to be dull.”

If ever a ghost blushed, she did.

“You must be Susan Griffin. Allow me to introduce myself. I’m Jack Evans, Parlor B.”

She accepted his extended hand.

“I can touch you.” She pressed her other hand against his chest then reached up and patted his cheek. “You’re real, uh, I mean, it’s like you’re real.”

“I know what you mean. You must have passed through a solid object.”

She nodded.

“First time I did that, it freaked me out, too. Seems we’re real to each other, but not to any living person or surrounding objects. Unless…well, I’ll explain about that later. I don’t know exactly how it works, but we can handle some things.”

“I’m so glad I can finally talk with someone.” It didn’t bother her that he was dead. Guess that came with being a spirit. Maybe he could supply answers about this afterlife, what she could and couldn’t do, and what was going to happen after the wake.

She took a good look at her ghostly friend—dark hair and blue eyes, nice build. Someone was definitely going to miss him. Too bad she wasn’t in the market. All she could think of was Wesley. What she wouldn’t give to have one more chance with him. She pictured his sandy hair and hazel eyes that always left her breathless. Why, oh why, did she have to die now?

“Is there any way we can undo our death?” she asked, doubting they could reverse the process.

“I wish.”

“Okay, Mr. Evans, I have a million questions, and I’m counting on you for answers. I know how to dress myself, but what else can I do?”

“Give me your hand.” In an instant, they were in the kitchen. “Beats the heck out of walking, doesn’t it? You have only to think where you want to go.”

“Can we go anywhere, or are we confined to the funeral home? How long are we earthbound? Did you find out anything about a bright light? What happens after we’re buried?”

“Whoa, slow down. I only arrived a few days ago myself. I have out-of-town relatives coming for the funeral, so they put my body in cold storage. Watching my corpse on a steel slab was a real downer, so I made the rounds of the parlors, met a few of the deceased residents.

“Randy Mumford in Parlor C shared some of what he had learned about our new existence. After his wake, he asked to be left alone. He was only 20 years old and dropped dead cutting his grass. Too young…way too young.