Jack Beale 00 - Killer Run

them. “Mrs. Christian, thank you for coming down today. I know this must be terribly difficult,” he began.
    Polly took his hand and nodded her head, “Yes, thank you.”
    Together they walked through what seemed like endless corridors, finally coming to a stop in front of a pair of windowless swinging doors. The two men looked at Polly. “Ready?” asked Lieutenant Malloy. His tone was soft.
    She nodded, straightened, squared her shoulders and said in a barely audible voice, “Yes.”
    Malloy nodded at the coroner, who pushed the doors open and stepped inside the room, still holding one of the doors. Malloy caught the other and held it open for Polly. She stepped into the room. The fluorescent lighting was most unflattering and bright. In the room were several stainless steel autopsy tables. All but one were empty, and that one had a sheet-covered form on it. The room was cool and smelled of disinfectant. Polly paused as the doors were closed. Jamieson Flannigan walked toward the occupied table.
    After stepping into the room, Polly stopped. Malloy stood next to her. She was pale, her was breathing shallow, and he could see her swallow several times. Her eyes began to close, so he reached out and gently touched her elbow. If she was going to faint, he wanted to be ready. At his touch, her eyes opened. She took a deep breath, turned her head toward him, and said, “I’m okay.”
    He gave her his best reassuring smile and applied a little pressure to her elbow, nudging her forward. Together they walked toward the table where Jamieson awaited them.
    She looked down at the sheet. The emotional roller coaster that she had been on since Malcom hadn’t returned home had completely exhausted her. She felt empty, spent, devoid of any emotions and feelings, a mere shell of a person. Jamieson looked at her and she returned his look with hollow eyes. Then she nodded that she was ready.
    His movements were slow and reverent as he first lifted and then gently peeled back the sheet. Time slowed as she stared down at the form on the table. She could feel her heart pounding in her chest and could hear that pounding along with the air rushing in and out of her lungs. She looked, but saw nothing. She wished that he would hurry so that she could get it over with, but he was moving so slowly. She could hear the cloth as it folded back on itself, but she still saw nothing as darkness began to overwhelm her. Then, as all movement stopped and everything became silent, she heard, “Mrs. Christian.”
    “Mrs. Christian,” the words echoed in her brain and in that briefest of moments, the emotional dam burst. The darkness that had been swallowing her up was vanquished. The room’s bright lights seared her eyes. All at once, she could hear, she could feel, she could smell. She could see again. And what she saw, staring up at her, was Malcom’s face, pale, peaceful, and unmoving.
    In that moment, the rush of emotions was overwhelming. All her fears came true. All her previous questions were answered, only to be replaced by a single question: Why? One hand pressed to her mouth as if it could suppress the scream that was welling up from deep inside. Her other hand reached out for the table as her legs began to lose their strength. Inside her head, she heard the scream. It was a deep, guttural scream that built until it emerged as a piercing, primal sound that came from the earliest moments of human history. A sound that could never be mistaken for anything other than what it was: grief, of the deepest kind.
    Flannigan pulled the sheet back over Malcom while Malloy put his arm around Polly to steady her. The two men looked at each other, and slowly Lieutenant Malloy guided her out of the room. It was never easy.
    “I’m sorry for your loss, Mrs. Christian,” Malloy said as he guided her down the hall away from her husband.
    She held onto his arm for support as they walked. Then suddenly she stopped and looked at him. “What happened? How did he die?”
    “We’re not sure exactly what happened, but he was found at the bottom of a hill, in the woods, on the race course. Presumably he fell.”
    “He was always so careful. I don’t understand.”
    “Come.” Malloy guided her further down the hall to a small room where she could sit and they could talk privately, even though the morgue was officially closed and they were the only ones there.
    As she sat down at a small table in a sparse room he asked, “Water? Soda?