made a sickening crack. Repeating the process lower down, Ben wrenched the screwdriver again, and this time the skull popped off in his hand. He removed the skull cap and bent close.
All she could see over the top of the mask was his eyes going wide. “Dr. Moore, you better take a look at this!” he cried.
The brain had exploded. As in the eyes, the water in the brain must have expanded in the skull until the tissue burst, leaving a mess inside resembling hamburger.
“My God,” Dr. Moore said, his voice grim. “This is sci-fi. This isn’t medicine as I know it.”
They stood, staring numbly, as the music pounded in the background. “Could you turn that down, Ben? It’s giving me a headache!” Moore told him.
“Sure thing. But wait—here’s the line I wanted you all to hear.”
A rocker’s raspy voice filled the autopsy suite in a sad melody with words that drilled into Cameryn. The man sang: “To conquer death you only have to die—you only have to die.”
Chapter Eight
THE SMELL OF cigarette smoke wafted up to where Cameryn sat, making her eyes water, while Adam, head back and nostrils flared, drank it in like nectar. On the main floor where Cameryn and Adam and Lyric sat, Durango’s family-friendly restaurant called Scoot ’n Blues boasted a smoke-free environment. It was a meaningless claim. In the netherworld below, Scoot ’n Blues’s sister organization, The Sidecar Jazz Lounge, pulsed with energy and gave off the effluence of adult vices, which in turn drifted up the open stairwell separating the two floors. And although she’d never before wished it, tonight Cameryn longed to be downstairs in the Jazz Lounge, drinking and blotting out the day in blissful oblivion.
She knew she was lousy company tonight, but after all, she hadn’t wanted to come here. Back at the medical examiner’s building while she was still scrubbing up after the autopsy, Lyric had phoned with an offer for dinner, which Cameryn’s father, hovering nearby, overheard.
“I want us to have a personal tribute for Mr. Oakes,” Lyric had said. “Adam and I are already at S&B’s and we have a table, so no excuses. We’ll wait for you. I really think we need to do this. The three of us should honor him.”
Cameryn had been in the middle of refusing when her father intervened. “It’ll do you good, Cammie,” he’d insisted. “Your friends have made a trip all the way down to Durango just for you. I’ll drop you off at the S&B. Come on, it’s Saturday night. You’ve been at it all day. Go! Eat! Try to get death out of your head.”
But she couldn’t. Sitting here in the over-plumped vinyl booth, she could only visualize images of her teacher’s empty skull and of the Hefty bag sewn back into his gutted torso. And with all that cutting, there were still no answers. The line on the death certificate stating cause of death contained one word: unknown.
So far, the conversation had come in fits and starts, with Cameryn barely contributing more than a monosyllabic reply. She almost felt sorry for Lyric and Adam as they tried to draw her out, but then again, she felt too tired to help them.
“This is a cool place,” Adam said, craning his neck.
“Retro, with a touch of the modern. Service is painfully slow, though. Not like how it is at the Grand.”
“Thanks. But this place is really busy and it’s a Saturday night,” Cameryn replied.
Adam’s fingers drummed along the edge of the tabletop. “I just wish they’d let me light up.” He pulled a pack of Marlboros from his shirt pocket and held it under his nose, sniffing deeply. “I could really use a smoke right now. It makes no sense to designate one room nonsmoking when they’re going at it like chimneys ten feet below us and we’re sitting next to an open stairwell.”
“You’re right,” Lyric agreed.
“I mean, do they think the sign itself has some magical powers? Like the air wouldn’t dare blow past it?”
Rousing
All she could see over the top of the mask was his eyes going wide. “Dr. Moore, you better take a look at this!” he cried.
The brain had exploded. As in the eyes, the water in the brain must have expanded in the skull until the tissue burst, leaving a mess inside resembling hamburger.
“My God,” Dr. Moore said, his voice grim. “This is sci-fi. This isn’t medicine as I know it.”
They stood, staring numbly, as the music pounded in the background. “Could you turn that down, Ben? It’s giving me a headache!” Moore told him.
“Sure thing. But wait—here’s the line I wanted you all to hear.”
A rocker’s raspy voice filled the autopsy suite in a sad melody with words that drilled into Cameryn. The man sang: “To conquer death you only have to die—you only have to die.”
Chapter Eight
THE SMELL OF cigarette smoke wafted up to where Cameryn sat, making her eyes water, while Adam, head back and nostrils flared, drank it in like nectar. On the main floor where Cameryn and Adam and Lyric sat, Durango’s family-friendly restaurant called Scoot ’n Blues boasted a smoke-free environment. It was a meaningless claim. In the netherworld below, Scoot ’n Blues’s sister organization, The Sidecar Jazz Lounge, pulsed with energy and gave off the effluence of adult vices, which in turn drifted up the open stairwell separating the two floors. And although she’d never before wished it, tonight Cameryn longed to be downstairs in the Jazz Lounge, drinking and blotting out the day in blissful oblivion.
She knew she was lousy company tonight, but after all, she hadn’t wanted to come here. Back at the medical examiner’s building while she was still scrubbing up after the autopsy, Lyric had phoned with an offer for dinner, which Cameryn’s father, hovering nearby, overheard.
“I want us to have a personal tribute for Mr. Oakes,” Lyric had said. “Adam and I are already at S&B’s and we have a table, so no excuses. We’ll wait for you. I really think we need to do this. The three of us should honor him.”
Cameryn had been in the middle of refusing when her father intervened. “It’ll do you good, Cammie,” he’d insisted. “Your friends have made a trip all the way down to Durango just for you. I’ll drop you off at the S&B. Come on, it’s Saturday night. You’ve been at it all day. Go! Eat! Try to get death out of your head.”
But she couldn’t. Sitting here in the over-plumped vinyl booth, she could only visualize images of her teacher’s empty skull and of the Hefty bag sewn back into his gutted torso. And with all that cutting, there were still no answers. The line on the death certificate stating cause of death contained one word: unknown.
So far, the conversation had come in fits and starts, with Cameryn barely contributing more than a monosyllabic reply. She almost felt sorry for Lyric and Adam as they tried to draw her out, but then again, she felt too tired to help them.
“This is a cool place,” Adam said, craning his neck.
“Retro, with a touch of the modern. Service is painfully slow, though. Not like how it is at the Grand.”
“Thanks. But this place is really busy and it’s a Saturday night,” Cameryn replied.
Adam’s fingers drummed along the edge of the tabletop. “I just wish they’d let me light up.” He pulled a pack of Marlboros from his shirt pocket and held it under his nose, sniffing deeply. “I could really use a smoke right now. It makes no sense to designate one room nonsmoking when they’re going at it like chimneys ten feet below us and we’re sitting next to an open stairwell.”
“You’re right,” Lyric agreed.
“I mean, do they think the sign itself has some magical powers? Like the air wouldn’t dare blow past it?”
Rousing
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