The winds carried the faint wisps of pollen over the lands. The hospital's air filters strained to remove it from the atmospheric intakes, but; the finest grains of pollen, however, managed to flit through into the ductwork of the building. Moving on flow of air-conditioning, the light pollen settled throughout the structure. It was caught up in fabric, in hair, on boot heels, on smooth surfaces. It waited, dormant, to move from it's launching point, to go elsewhere and once again take flight on a breeze.
A particle of pollen rode the top of a machine tens of millions of times it's size. The hum of that selfsame machine, the elevator in New Rydynn Hospital, could be heard vibrating in it's shaft as it slowly descended.
Dr. Rictor Mortis appreciated the sensation of a free falling elevator. He secretly wished the cable would snap. As he watched from inside, the lights above the door flashed from 5 to 4 to 3.
Freemen Commander Garth Lowinn leaned against the wall, waiting for the elevator. He looked a bit like a corpse even though he’d had a shower earlier. He blinked as the 3 lit up above the door.
The stainless steel doors slipped open and the slight swish of air blew from the vacuum. Dr. Rictor Mortis peered with thoughts of potential at the man revealed by the door’s opening. Reaching out an arm clothed in a white coat, he held the door back from closing.
"Good evening, sir." Greasy words matched Mortis’ greasy hair. The man’s stethoscope dangled loosely from his pencil thin neck.
Garth looked up as the doors open, wishing it had been someone other than the hospital's mortician. Still, he flashed a weak, resigned, smile at the man inside. He moved toward the elevator, using the wall for support, and said, "I wouldn't call it good, friend."
The empty eyes of the Doctor in the lift reflected the man before him but nothing more. "Let me aide you there." The clasp of his slender fingers on Garth's arm was quite insistent.
Something about this doctor made the Freemen wish he had worn his weapons. He managed to say, "I would appreciate that," even though the last thing he wanted was for this doctor to touch him.
"You seem a bit under the weather. Would you care to have dinner with me?" There was a small blemish just under the doctor's nose to the right of his upper lip. It drew the attention of the eye like a magnet. The lip below the blemish twitched with an uncontrolled excitement. "A good meal can do wonders for a man's constitution." He "aided" Garth into the space in the elevator.
Garth swallowed against an already churning stomach. "That's OK ... I'm not hungry, sir." But he entered the elevator despite the inner voice that screamed at him not to do so. The doors soundlessly closed and the elevator continued it's trip to the basement. Garth said, "I need to go to One," and indicated the floor he desired with the point of a finger.
Rictor Mortis smiled rather blandly at Garth with his hands clasped behind his back. "Oh?"
Garth reached out a belated hand to press the "One" button. "Yeah..." he said, unwilling to be immediately defeated.
Floor One passed by just as Rictor looked up. An odd sort of chuckle emerged from the wan mortician as he reached out and grasped Garth's extended hand before the soldier could withdraw it from the depressed button. "Please," Mortis solicited, "be my guest. My Grand Ma-Ma is visiting." This close, Garth noticed that a spot of something dark and oily marred the man’s coat lapel. The first floor completely passed by as the "B" lit up. The lift slowed.
Garth’s soldier’s instincts told him to break the guy’s arm, but his body told him he wasn't up for it especially after an incident the night before which had left him drained. Unwilling yet to concede the battle, though his traitorous voice sounded resigned, Garth said, "She is, huh?" And looked Rictor in the eye.
"Here we are!" The lift doors slipped open and a slight smell of formaldehyde wafted on the air.
Garth grimaced at the smell. "You live down here?"
"After you, sir! She will be so pleased!" Rictor held the door and canted his head at that last remark. "Yes, ‘we’ live here in the morgue."
He raised a brow. "The morgue?" He was just a bit curious at this situation presented to him and chose to investigate further.
"But I prefer to call it Home." The mortician waited for Garth to exit while holding the door.
With one hand on the wall for continued support, the Commander exited the elevator. "You know what they say? Home is where the ‘heart’ is?" Rictor’s lips spread in wide grin and he follows after Garth into the hallway.
"That's a good one," Garth forced a chuckle.
Rictor waved an ash pale hand as he walked, slowly, past Garth toward a closed door. "I would have a wheelchair for you, but Limer is no where to be found."
The Freemen followed as slowly, though he could feel the strength in his legs returning. That was good. One never knew when it might be necessary to run like hell. "That's all right, thanks."
Abruptly, the man stopped at the door and turned to Garth, as if he expected him to be quite excited. He reached his hand to turn the door knob, a grand gesture in the action. The bright lights of the Morgue seem to burn through the opening crack. "It isn't much," Rictor announced as he opened the door, "but we like it." He stood there by the door, arm outstretched to usher Garth into the facility.
"Whatever works for you, I guess."
Rictor watched Garth shrug and sensed the man's reluctance even though he permitted himself to be led inside. The mortician laughed under his bad breath. He walked in, paused at the stainless steel doors of the refrigerated units and reached up a hand to straighten his hair in that morbid reflection.
Garth looked around, slightly disgusted, though silently he hoped he would get out of this alive. He could see five gurneys laden with fresh cadavers shrouded in white linen repose and he recoiled at the smell; but, kept his mouth shut.
Raising his voice, Rictor called out. "We have a guest!"
Garth looked around seriously wondering who Rictor was talking to when St. John Homebody appeared out of nowhere. The man was literally tittering as he darted forward in his best Kimono, complete with red heels, black hose and makeup. He clapped his hands and cried in a paroxysm of ecstasy, "A guest!"
The urge to laugh clutched at the Freemen, but he controlled it like the superior soldier that he was and looked at the man. Homebody was holding out his hand to Garth as if he expected the Freemen to kiss it affectionately and he was beaming. "You may call me John." Glancing down, Garth could see that the hair on the man’s legs was quite visible beneath the hose and was a bit disturbed by the whole thing.
Abruptly looking up, as if being caught looking at Homebody's legs would be a fate worse than death – for surely Garth had no idea what fate might await him here – the Freemen said, "Umm ... hi .... John."
Rictor glared at Homebody. "John ... get the door." Homebody blinked his mascara'd confusion and clicked his heels off toward the door. Rictor tugged at his lab coat sleeves. "Excuse John, sir. He gets a bit … anticipatory when we have company." He moved them on to another room off of the main one where John had come to meet them.
"Yeah ... I noticed."
"I believe Grand Ma-Ma is waiting in the Family Room," Rictor said. He walked into an area made square by a large overstuffed chair, a couch, an old fashioned television set, and an oval hooked rug. The soldier followed Rictor cautiously, looking at everything. He winced inwardly at the overall sad attempt to make the morgue a ‘home’ then they passed by a television. There was a program playing in black and white. The screen flickered occasionally as the video played out the woman in the kitchen.
"Nice television," Garth commented, meaning it. " ... its working?" He paused in surprise.
A voice cried out from the box: "LUCY!!!!????" The audience laughter filled the surreal scene in the morgue room where Garth stood. Rictor told him, "Yes. I worked on it myself. Of course, it isn't a live broadcast. Disc, you know."
"Ah..." Garth said, and then, as if he were a pal over to watch the ball game: "wow, you got the TV and the disc player to work?"
Rictor walked over to the set and cut it off. The back of a woman's head was visible over the chair. "Yes," he said, proud of himself and smiling broadly now.
"That's pretty impressive," Garth complimented.
Then to the woman in the chair Rictor said, "Grand Ma-Ma, we have a visitor." With one hand he beckoned conspiratorially to Garth to move around to meet the woman. He leaned in to whisper close to the woman's ear, "Now, don't be shy. He's a soldier."
Slowly, his legs feeling the effort of standing upright for so long, he walked around the chair.
Rictor glanced at him apologetically. "She's a little hesitant of strangers." The Commander nodded and looked to the woman in the chair. He felt the blood leave his head in a rush as he looked at her, for there, in the chair, was a clearly rigor-mortised woman. The illusion was complete as she reclined there stiffly in period house-dress that was covered in flowers. Her blue hair and thick dark makeup gave Garth the willies but nothing more so than the smile frozen on her face, and the vacant stare from glassy marble eyes.
Garth clamped his jaw tight, trying to hold back the vomit. Knowing why Dr. Mortis made him uncomfortable was small consolation as he stood deep beneath the hospital in the morgue with little chance of immediate escape. Rictor was speaking to him and he tried to clear his head. Play it cool, Garth, he told himself. "Uhm…?" he said.
"I don't even know your name," Rictor told him as he leaned down to pat the dead woman's hand. "He's one of those brave men who protect the city, Effie." He turned and winked to Garth. "That's her name, Effie." The woman’s hand lay stiffly in Rictor’s.
"I'm … Commander Garth Lowinn of the Legion of Freemen, Special Ops Freemen division."
And somehow a voice was thrown toward the woman, but clearly her lips didn’t move. "Blessed be! The Freemen?" It was high pitched and old sounding, just as it ought to be and Garth raised a brow a the voice. Weirder by the second, the Freemen thought. "You boys are grand ... yes ... grand!"
"Umm ... Thanks ma'am."
Abruptly Rictor leaned into the woman, shaking her slightly. "Effie? Effie?" Then he patted her arm and looked to Garth. "I believe she's sleeping. She doesn't stay awake much these days."
Garth offered a weak smile. "Yeah ... old people will do that." Silently, he prayed to Sabatt for deliverance, but either the Goddess of Joy wasn't listening or she was dreadfully slow to answer a man of violence.
Rictor took up a nearby shawl and draped it over the woman. "Will you stay for dinner?" He asked as he nodded his head toward what seemed to be a fully set table. Garth looked and each of the five chairs were filled with stiffs. There was a woman and around her there were four children. The head chair was empty, and there was no other for a guest.
Garth seized upon that as a way out. Maybe Sabatt was listening after all. "I uh … I ate," he had to swallow hard to keep the bile down. "B-before I left my room." Disappointed, Rictor knit his thick brows that met in the center of his forehead. "Yeah," Garth confirmed for him in case he hadn't heard the first time. "I ate earlier."
An odd misshapen being appeared from the dining area and took Garth's hand. "Limer take home." He looked to Rictor, his eyes pleading. Limer tugged on his arm. "Take home now," he said and pulled him to the door.
Rictor, irritated, followed after, in his own beggary way. "Perhaps another time, then."
Garth could just about get out, "Umm..." as he looked down at the … interruption. Then he let Limer lead him, and found himself very thankful for this strange little man. Sabatt was listening.
Limer reached the door, opened it and actually pushed Garth out. The click of the door latch announced his exit in the morgue and Limer planted his small body against the fake wooden door.
Garth stumbled a bit upon exit, but managed to keep his feet. He looked back at the door, then as fast as his weakened legs would carry him, he went goes to the elevator. Thank Sabatt, joyous Sabatt, glorious Sabatt, it was still down at the basement level. Garth pushed the button repeatedly until the doors opened and boarded the lift as fast as huumunnly possible. Once inside, he pushed the button for the lobby. Up, up it went and when the doors opened on level one, the Freemen stumbled out of the lift and thanked Sabatt audibly, over and over. He made his way to a chair and slumped down, holding his head in his hands.
Pausing beside where Garth sat in the chair on her own way toward the elevator, Ash asked him, "Hey, now. You okay?"
"Limer not hungry," the little man told Rictor as he held the door shut behind Garth’s exit.
Rictor glared at the misshapen Limer-child and pursed his sparse lips. "Take care, boy, or else I will send you to the home."
Limer blinked at that. "Limer want to go home!" He of course had no idea what "the Home" actually was.
Rictor matter-of-factly and tainted with mirth said, "And who would care where you go, Limer?" The Coroner turned his back on the little man with malformed legs and feet and walked past the Family Room, through the door to a back exit.
Talking to anyone, and to noone, Limer said after him, "Limer have Elliott. Elliott give Limer candy." His sad voice was almost tearful and thankful all at once.
"Greetings, Limer," the computer's ever-friendly voice chimed into the morgue.
Hearing "The Voice," the boy opened the door and walked toward the computer room. "Limer come home, Elliott ... Limer come home."
"Home?" The supercomputer said, "I was unaware you had a home. If that status has changed, Limer, this is pleasant news for you."
Limer entered the room, and lumbered up to the monitor. He believed it to be alive. He placed his hand on the monitor screen and smiled at the warmth as he sucked his thumb.
Elliott spoke directly to Limer in the adjoining office room over just those speakers. "Is there something in particular you'd like to view, Limer?"
"Elliott is Limer's home," he smiled and patted the screen. The screen came to life with a camera view of the Computer Ops center in the basement annex of the hospital. Armed guards could be seen standing around in wait protecting Elliott Seven from Sidd Neverr’s forces.
Limer saw his pet cockroach skittering over the floor. It was about 5 inches long with a tiny leash dragging behind it. Limer pointed to the bug and smiled. Again E7's voice was limited to the speakers in that adjoining office. "It would seem that not enough insecticide has been laid out."
Having no idea what insecticide was, Limer ignored the comment. He curled up on the floor at the foot of the terminal and said sleepily, "Night, night, Elliott."
"Good night, Limer."
Limer sucked his thumb, and slept.
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