The saliva ran dry in my mouth as my eyes came upon my wife’s body being prodded by the lifeguard. The compressions into her chest were far more violent than in the TV shows. I just sat there, not moving, not crying, just still, as I watched them try to save her.
By the time the ambulance arrived, I had finally psyched myself up enough to move. A part of me still certain this was nothing more than a horrific dream. I got into the ambulance and answered the questions the EMTs had. I’m not sure exactly what they asked because, at that point, I think I was still running on autopilot.
The doctors told me she had stabilized, but the fluid buildup in her brain and the lack of oxygen were concerning. She was in a coma, and they would have to wait until things got under control before they could do more extensive tests. The next couple of days, they let me pretty much live in the ICU with her; nothing much changed. By Friday, the nurses had talked me into taking a break to go home and get some real rest. I didn’t want to at first, but I finally relented after the doctor came in and pushed it further. I only saw him once a day, if that, and he said he wouldn’t be coming by on the weekend anyway. He also made sure to assure me that there would be an on-call physician, but it wouldn’t be him.
The hot water hitting my face knocked me back out of my haze. My life was forever changed, even if Stacy made it out. I called her parents, and they assured me they would contact everyone else so I could watch over their baby. They said they would be here on Monday, but that couldn’t come quick enough. After the shower, I decided to get a good night’s sleep in my bed for a change.
Sleep didn’t come. Why the hell would it? I couldn’t stop thinking about her, so I grabbed my charger and a book to read and headed back to the hospital. The main entrance was locked, so I had to go up through the emergency room doors and maze my way through the halls until I reached the main hospital.
It was clear from the signs I was not supposed to be doing this. It seemed to be an unwritten rule that you could stay in the ICU after hours as long as you stayed put, but coming in the middle of the night like this seemed to be frowned upon. The orderlies didn’t outright stop me, but their looks were not pleasant. Right before I reached the intercom button to buzz myself into the ICU, I saw a pair of nurses exit the room. Wheeling a gurney accompanied by a myriad of medical devices, I could see Stacy’s tattooed arm through the space between their bodies. At first, I thought it nothing more than tests and waited for them to leave before buzzing myself in.
The head night nurse, Sally, came to greet me with a worried look on her face and said, “Oh, Mr. Sharp, we were about to call…”
I stood there, not exactly knowing what she meant, and waited for her to explain.
“Mrs. Sharp,” she said hesitantly, as if trying to find the words. “Your wife’s condition worsened while you were gone, and our attempts to resuscitate her were unsuccessful. I’m so sorry!” She said as tears welled in her eyes.
Her tears almost felt real, even though I had just seen my wife’s seemingly still-living body moments before. Before she could say another word, I numbly said, “Thank you,” in a breathy tone, and walked in the direction the cart had gone.
She yelled after me, but I had drowned out any and all sound other than my own heartbeat, which was growing by the minute. As soon as I turned the corner, I broke into a sprint, willing myself to find where they had taken my wife. It was no good, though the wasted minutes with that woman had given them ample time to get away. If I wasn’t so goddamn stupid, I would have confronted them immediately, but how was I to know? They could be on any floor at this point, but every Tv show had taught me the morgue is in the basement.
As the doors opened, a familiar face was at the end of the hall. The same doctor who had told me he would be off for the weekend was standing there thumbing through paperwork outside of a maintenance exit. I sat still, terrified he would notice me, but this was a doctor, there really should be no reason. Maybe he could help, but my gut told me to stay as silent as possible. Finally, he exited, the door closing behind him, and I ran as fast as I could to see where he was going.
The door led out into a service ramp heading toward a side street next to the hospital, and there he was, walking briskly toward a building next door. I was too deep at this point, and could they really blame me? My wife had just been suddenly pronounced dead. So I walked behind him until he entered another side door in the adjacent building.
The walls of this new building were tiled a milky green. With a black and white checkered pattern running the floor. I had entered just after him, but he was nowhere to be seen. Hallway after hallway, no one, empty room after empty room Then I saw a door marked operation room one with a piece of paper covering the viewing window.
This was the moment. I was criminally trespassing either way, but I was already here. I needed to find my wife. My palm was sticky with sweat as I turned the knob and entered.
There was no one at first sight. Then my eyes focused on what lay on the metal table in the center of the room. Similar machines to the ones that accompanied my wife were hooked up to something small and round that I couldn’t comprehend at first.
This couldn’t be real…This wasn’t how medical science worked…What sat on the table was a head with no body attached, blood flowing in and out of the tubes, machines pumping rhythmically in the background.
I stumbled over a metal trashcan as it clanged over sideways, almost completely losing my footing, and just as quickly ran out the door. I ducked into the next room and listened as a pair of feet came stomping forward.
Just barely, I could hear a voice mutter, “What the hell was that?”
Then I heard a second voice over a walkie say, “Jensen, how is Mrs. McNally? We are prepping the body now. Should be ready for transfer in about fifteen minutes, give or take.”
The voice in the next room responded with what felt like joy in his voice, “Sounds good; I’m just gonna keep an eye in here until it’s time. Must have been a rat or something.”
The lifeless face burned into my retinas as I clutched my chest, trying to catch myself. I felt like I needed to gasp for air, but knew if I did, he would hear me. So I slumped down, trying to calm myself. I knew I needed to find my wife, and I needed to find her now.
Before I could doubt myself, I busted back out the doors and ran downward, not exactly knowing where. Instead of hiding from the voices like before, I ran toward them. Straight into a room where the doctor stood. As soon as I entered, all of the reckless courage drained from me as I saw my wife’s tattooed arm once again lying there, headless. Those same machines pumping in a similar fashion as the ones before.
“Mr. Sharp, please…You can’t be here.”
My breath escaped as I sucked in shallow bits. My eyes transfixed on nothing other than my wife’s severed head, neatly placed in the back of the room. She was dead. There was no coming back from that. These monsters had killed her. What the fuck was this? What kind of sick fucking lab experiments were they doing down there? Before I could steal another moment to look at her, a man in blue scrubs barreled toward me, and I did the only thing that I could. Run.
It seemed the others had been alerted to my presence and tried to corral me, but I had to escape to tell someone. I must have been lucky solely based on their skeleton crew staff because I got out and drove as quickly as I could to the police station.
It took what felt like hours for someone to finally take my statement, and then they did nothing more than threaten me for being crazy. They finally saw the terror in my eyes, because they sent someone to check. I shook involuntarily as we headed back toward the ICU, not knowing what would happen if the doctor saw me again.
He wasn’t there, though, and the nurse assured the officer that the doctor was off duty for the weekend. She made sure to be very passive and understanding, explaining to him that the trauma of losing a loved one can make us go crazy. I felt sick. She had to be in on it also, but she assured us the body would be available in the morning to prove no foul play.
That was enough for the officer; he walked me back to my car and tried to be sympathetic to my predicament, even though he dismissed every rebuttal I threw at him. Then the morning came. I sat in a nearby parking lot all night. Afraid that the nurse in the blue scrubs would find me.
In the safety of the daylight, I walked back into the hospital and was led by a completely new nurse to see my wife’s body and sign paperwork. What lay on that table was not Stacy; it was her head and her tattoos, but it wasn’t her. They tried to explain it away with how the body breaks down when a person dies, and how the body bloats, but I saw the truth. I saw it in all their eyes. They are doing something horrific down in the lab, and no one knows but me. The officer promised he would ask to check it out when he could, but I knew that wouldn’t go anywhere. So now I have to bury a body that isn’t my wife’s and live forever with the fact that she was stolen from me.