Terminal

“I hate the dark,” the voice cried out suddenly amid weeping. “Someone help me!”

Sean didn’t know what to do. From the direction of the wailing came the sounds of frenzied commotion. Gurneys were bumping into each other, spilling their bodies onto the concrete floor.

“Help me!” the voice screamed.

Sean thought about calling out to try to calm the anguished individual, but he couldn’t decide if that was a good idea or not. Unable to decide, he stayed quiet.

After the sound of more gurneys clanking against each other, there was a low-pitched thump as if someone had hit up against the insulated door. That was followed by a mechanical click.

For a moment a small amount of light fingered its way around the concrete pier. Sean caught sight of Janet with her hands pressed against her mouth. She was only about twenty feet from him. Then the darkness descended again like a heavy blanket. This time it was accompanied by silence.

“Janet?” Sean called softly. “You okay?”

“Yes,” she answered. “What in God’s name was that?”

“Move toward me,” Sean said. “I’m coming toward you.”

“All right,” Janet said.

“This place is nuts,” Sean said, wanting to keep talking as they groped toward each other. “I thought Forbes was weird, but this place takes the prize hands down. Remind me not to match here for my internship.”

At last their groping hands met. Holding onto each other, they weaved their way through the gurneys in the direction of the door. Sean’s foot nudged a body on the floor. He warned Janet she’d have to step over it.

“I’ll have nightmares about this the rest of my life,” Janet said.

“This is worse than Stephen King,” Sean said.

Sean collided with the wall. Then, moving laterally, he felt the door. He pushed it open, and they both stumbled into the deserted corridor, blinking in the light.

Sean cupped Janet’s face in his hands. “I’m sorry,” he said.

“Life is never boring with you,” Janet said. “But it wasn’t your fault. Besides, we made it. Let’s get out of here.”

Sean kissed the end of her nose. “My feelings exactly.”

Mild concern they would have trouble finding their way to the elevators proved unwarranted. In minutes the two were climbing into Sean’s 4 × 4 and heading out of the parking lot.

“What a relief,” Janet said. “Do you have any idea what happened in there?”

“I don’t,” Sean said. “It was so weird. It was like it was staged to scare us to death. Maybe there’s some troll living in the basement who does that to everyone.”

As they were about to exit the parking area, Sean put on the brake suddenly, enough to make Janet reach out to support herself against the dash.

“What now?” she asked.

Sean pointed. “Look what we have here. How convenient,” he said. “That brick building is the medical examiner’s office. I had no idea it was so close. It must be fate telling us that Helen’s body is over there. What do you say?”

“I’m not wild about the idea,” Janet admitted. “But as long as we’re here . . .”

“That’s the ticket,” Sean said.

Sean parked in visitor parking, and they entered the modern building. Inside they approached an information desk. A cordial black woman asked if she could be of assistance.

Sean told her that he was a medical student and Janet was a nurse. He asked to speak with one of the medical examiners.

“Which one?” the receptionist asked.

“How about the director?” Sean suggested.

“The chief is out of town,” the receptionist said. “How about the deputy chief?”

“Perfect,” Sean said.

After a short wait they were buzzed through an inner glass door and directed to a corner office. The deputy chief was Dr. John Stasin. He was about Sean’s height but of slight build. He seemed genuinely pleased that Sean and Janet had stopped by.

“Teaching is one of our major functions,” he said proudly. “We encourage the professional community to take an active interest in our work.”

“We’re interested in a specific patient,” Sean said. “Her name is Helen Cabot. She died this afternoon in the Miami General emergency room.”

“Name doesn’t ring a bell,” Dr. Stasin said. “Just a minute. Let me call downstairs.” He picked up the phone, mentioned Helen’s name, nodded, and said “yeah” a few times, then hung up. It all happened extremely rapidly. It was apparent that grass did not grow under Dr. Stasin’s feet.

“She arrived a few hours ago,” Dr. Stasin said. “But we won’t be posting her.”

“Why not?” Sean asked.

“Two reasons,” Dr. Stasin said. “First, she had documented brain cancer which her attending physician is willing to aver as the cause of death. Second, her family has expressed strong feelings against our posting her. In this kind of circumstance we feel it is better not to do it. Contrary to popular opinion, we’re receptive to the family’s wishes unless, of course, there is evidence of foul play or a strong suggestion that the public weal would be served by an autopsy.”

“Is there a chance of getting any tissue samples?” Sean asked.