Disconnected (33 page)

immensely weary and slumped into a seat near the door.

“Hey...” Morty soothed. “Your brother’s probably still out there, boozing it up like the rest of us.” I glanced up, already forming a disapproving frown as he hoisted his coffee cup like a beer tankard then quaffed a mouthful of the scalding liquid. Drops of steaming coffee soaked into his white coat as he grimaced at his own recklessness.

“That makes me feel
so
much better. Thanks.” I had tried to sound stern, but Morty’s clowning had put paid to that.

“Of course,” Morty peered into his steaming mug as he nursed his scorched tongue. “There’s always the chance that he might not
want
to be found.”

“But why would he hide from us?  What would make a nine-year old boy run away from his own family?” Even as I asked the question, I already knew the answer.

Didn’t I get myself the hell away from that place the moment I was old enough?

“Maybe it’s just time you let him go - it’s been what, ten years?”

“Nearly eleven,” I heard myself mutter.

“Then let him go, Sara.”

“Let him go...” I echoed numbly.
If only it was that easy...

“Seriously, you should talk to someone about all this - if not me then someone who can really help you.” Morty held out a box of tissues. I threw him a tight smile as I dragged out one, then another.

“I don’t need to talk about it.” I blew my nose with as much dignity as I could muster.

“Grief counselling can help, even for a missing person,” he persisted. “Just having a friendly ear...”

“Have you been talking to Doctor Ed again?” I peered at him with gritty eyes.

“Nooo...” Morty shifted nervously as he absently scratched the back of his neck. “But you know that Ed would be happy to give you some time - off the record - .”

“You
have
been talking to him,” I fixed him with what I hoped was a hard stare. “I wish you’d stop trying to organise my life for me.”

“Well, then, if you won’t speak to him, take me up on
my
offer.”

“Morty...I’m
not
going to date you.”
I’m not fit to date anyone.

“It wouldn’t be a date...not really,” he said. “Just think of it as two colleagues having a quiet drink after work.”

“We’ve been through this before. I’m too busy with work.” As I trotted out the old excuse, I wondered who I was trying to convince - me or Morty.

“I can’t go out with you.”
Why not?
a mischievous thought countered.
What harm would it do?
  I sighed as the notion of socialising with Morty confronted me once again.
It might just do you some good. Take your mind off work, get you back into the real world.

All right!
I snapped at the nagging voice.
Back off, will you?

Then at least be nice to him.

“It’s good of you to offer, Morty, and...” I began somewhat hesitantly.

Say it!  ‘And I think it might be nice to go out for once’!

“And?” he asked, hope rising in his voice.

Say it!  Spit it out!
 

“I think...it...um...
might
be...nice...” I cringed at my own words.
Is ‘nice’ really the best word?

“Nice?  Nice to..?” A smile tugged at his lips. I knew I had painted myself into a corner. I had to say something.

He’s going to think I’ m such a bloody fool!
“To...to go - .”

Oh, how old are you?  You’re acting like a teenager!

“What I mean is...”

“Are you saying yes?” Morty smiled.

“Well, I think - .” My gut twisted as I stared over the precipice of commitment. Had I finally run out of plausible excuses?  What had happened to my ‘poisonous harpy’ stance?

Aw hell. Maybe I shouldn’t - .
Despite the coolness of the building, I realised that I had broken into a sweat. I stared down at my shining palms in disbelief.

Is he really making me that nervous?  Can’t I even agree to a quiet drink without getting the shakes?
My feet seemed to be buzzing. A tinnitus whine was filling my ears. I shook my head to clear it, but the whine was growing louder, becoming a whistle. It sounded like someone was guiding a jet aircraft into the corridor behind me. “What
is
that noise?” I frowned as a sudden pain stabbed at my temples.
And why is the floor vibrating?
  The overhead fluorescent lights buzzed loudly, then darkened with a pop. Around the office, pens, trays and folders danced a brief, insane Pogo before hurling

themselves to the floor. The whine rippled through the office like a physical sensation, shattering Morty’s coffee mug into tiny fragments. Mine, still untouched, toppled to the floor and rolled beneath my chair. As I moved to retrieve it, a percussive thump punched my feet, knocking me completely off-balance. My breath exploded outwards as I crashed backwards into the darkened corridor. A distant shriek that may or may not have been my own scream filled my ears. I was dimly aware of Morty’s legs flashing past as I fought to regain my breath. A moment later, the mortuary doors swung open, spilling an aurora of dazzling light across my prone body. Brilliant patterns played across the ceiling, throwing cavorting shadows down the corridor. Then the door clattered shut, leaving me to blink away scores of after-images.

What the hell’s happening?
  I struggled to my feet and stumbled down the corridor, pushing open the heavy doors to stare in awe at the scene before me. Brilliant white light danced along the mortuary walls, rippling across the white-painted brickwork like sunlight reflected from the surface of a pond. But it left no shadows, flowing instead into every nook and cranny of the mortuary like a living entity. I knew that I ought to have been dazzled. But the opposite was true. My eyes were drinking in the light as if they were thirsty for it.

But Morty seemed less concerned with the medicinal qualities of the rippling light than with his row of fridges. I followed his gaze - and stared at the damage, aghast. The centre of one of the tall fridge doors had blown outwards, tearing its substantial upper hinge out of the wall. The surface of the stainless steel door had been battered into crumpled tinfoil. White vapour whistled past the edges of the buckled door like escaping steam. The heavy chrome-plated handle and the lower hinge were still holding the door closed, but as the vapour jetted into the mortuary, the tall door shuddered and rattled as if it was frantically trying to escape from whatever lay within. The other eleven doors, I realised, were completely undamaged.

Only one door had suffered.

The door that I had closed less than five minutes ago.

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