“Ladies,” he said curtly, before heading towards the elevator.
Brie and Sherry looked at each other and ducked inside the morgue.
There were no visible signs of carnage. No disciplinary notifications or committee censures strewn across the floor. There was just one overtired, overworked pathologist, staring at her computer like she was trying to translate the Code of Hammurabi.
“Hey there,” said Brie tentatively. “We brought sandwiches.”
Rashida didn’t move for a second, still in her trance, but finally slowly turned her head to look at them. “Oh, hi,” she said in a beleaguered tone. “Thanks.” She accepted a veggie sub and set it down without unwrapping it, obviously on autopilot, staring into space but seeing nothing.
Sherry caught Brie’s eye and tilted her head towards the door.
Brie nodded slightly but hesitated to leave. “Ida, if this is a bad time, we can always—”
“No, no, you’re fine. I’m sorry you had to hear that. I just…” She trailed off hopelessly. “It keeps happening. I don’t know why it isn’t making the news at this point. At first, it was just a few cases every once in a while, but now? Two or three times a week, someone lies on my table who should not be there. And I don’t know how to diagnose what happened to them, so I don’t know how to help.”
She pushed the sandwich away, defeated. “I don’t usually let cases get to me. No point, you know? It’s already happened; there’s nothing I can do but bring closure to the families. But now, not only can I not do that, but every day that goes by, this happens to more and more people. Maybe if I could get to them earlier, I could help, but by the time they get to me, whatever evidence exists inside these poor people is gone. Or if it’s there, it’s beyond my skill to find.” She hung her head in dismay.
Brie had no idea what to say, but luckily, Sherry did.
She crossed over to Rashida’s side of the table and took her firmly by the shoulders. “Would you like to watch a bunch of hot guys play soccer with us this weekend?”
? ? ?
That night, Brie brought home a pizza.
Perhaps her body was craving an infusion of burnt cheese and grease. Perhaps she wanted a momentary distraction, watching her angel delight in the newest “culinary masterpiece” for the first time. She waited until he’d stopped making his rapturous noises before telling him about the incident in the morgue.
He listened intently and considered his words carefully before answering. “I understand your concern and that of your friend. I’m sorry for it. But isn’t it likely this is simply a new drug that the police and medical community are not yet aware of?”
She grabbed another piece of pizza and absentmindedly picked off the olives. “I guess so, but the way she was talking about it? The frequency and intensity of it? It didn’t sound natural to me. And with all the other supernatural stuff going on, I guess I was just wondering if you’d heard anything. You know, on your end. From your people. It’s kind of their area, isn’t it?”
He nodded thoughtfully. “I suppose it might be, though I’m sure I would have heard something already. I can put the word out in the morning, just to make sure.”
She remained quiet for a moment, then said, “She made it sound like it was some kind of plague.”
The pizza halted on the way to his lips. “Say that again?” he asked sharply.
“Rashida made it sound like it was some kind of plague.”
His eyes went dark, and he put down his slice. “If that’s what you’re worried about, don’t. I’ve seen plagues, Brianna, and that can’t be what’s happening here. For one thing, during a plague, there are particular, powerful players involved who most certainly aren’t here. For another, that’s the kind of thing you can’t keep quiet. Not in your world, nor in mine.”
She regarded him thoughtfully. “So, you’ve seen real plagues, is what you mean.”
“I have.”
“Is it bad form if I ask you about it?”
He drew in a deep breath and let it out. “It’s panic, isolation, fear. The suffering is enormous. A war raging in another realm causes immeasurable collateral suffering in this one. By the end, everyone has lost someone. Some people have lost everyone.” He glanced at her. “It isn’t like that now, is it?”
She shook her head and looked out the window at the rising moon. “You’re right. I guess the way she phrased it just threw me is all.”
He nodded his head slightly. “Olive juice.”
She whirled around, eyes bright and wide. “Excuse me?”
“Olive juice. It’s dripping off your plate.”
She stared a moment, then snatched up a napkin. “Right — yes. Thanks.”