MY LATEST YELP REVIEW MORPHS INTO A CYBERPUNK SERIAL
Continued From Here
We had arrived. At the place. Where the Re-Animator… well, where he Re-Animated.
Whatever. I was so not into this. I didn’t want to go through with it. I’d had enough of this trying to put me back together, into something deplorable, hideous and certainly less than human. Arrgh.
Jacek unloaded my gurney (including the butt-buzzing i-Phone) and was wheeling me across a large parking lot where there were a lot of spots but few cars. A sign above the entrance read Very Advanced Cryogenics. There seemed to be no one around.
“Well, now,” he exclaimed. “You are here! It is going to be a joy and pleasure to be bringing you back to life!” He smiled. Then he winked.
I was a more than a little suspicious but owing to the fact I still remained, you know- dead, I could do little more than take in the sights.
He slowly backed me through a side gate and carefully maneuvered the gurney into the building. There was no one in the drab reception area and he didn’t stop there; he wheeled me down a long corridor and into Prep Room C.
If the morgue at St. John’s had been considered ‘nice’ and ‘well-appointed’, well, then… this lab was the bomb! A lavish freezer, all the needed instruments, vats of revitalizers, a humungous overhead light, a somewhat intrusive display of phials and emollients, a multi-level level table that folded the patient (me) into to any number of positions; it had it all.
There were ten or so attendants awaiting me. A woman in a lavender lab coat stepped forward and began a cursory inspection.
“So. What have we here? A little bit of cheese and meat? A crumpet? Or… a dumpling, I dare say?’
She was a Brit of the Oxford or Cambridge (University of Edinburgh?) variety. She had her hair pulled back away from her face. She was wearing an over-sized turtleneck sweater. And no make-up. In her late 30′s. She was pretty, in a dire and distancing way.
She removed my sheet and began probing and prodding about my person. She found the cell phone almost immediately, examining it cursorily, then handed it over to one the techs standing by who hurried out to given it a much more thorough inspection. She continued on, working in silence for a minute or so. Then, removing her gloves, she straightened up and stepped back to consider.
After a moment she nodded to Jacek and turned to face me.
“I am Dierdre. Dierdre Allison McCaffrey. Doctor Dierdre Allison McCaffrey, Medical Examiner and Chief Pathologist here at the… well, clinic. And you? You are most definitely… dead! Kerput! Finished!”
The staff of attendants laughed heartily.
“But…” She gave me an appraising look and squinted, then ran her hands over me again. “But… someone has taken great pains to keep you fresh as a daisy. Very great pains. Who, I wonder?”
She pondered for a moment, then continued.
“Be that as it may. Welcome to Very Advanced Cryogenics, where we will finish the job in entirety. Con Gusto”
She smiled at me.
“Do you have any questions?”
Yes! Where the fuck am I?
She considered the question for a moment.
“You are at the most advanced re-juvenation clinic in the entire world. Under the guidance of The Re-Animator. We will work wonders on you. We will undo the pernicious effects of the autopsy. We will heal your organs. We will… in a word… bring you back to life. Better! We will bring you to a state of being and consciousness that you would never have believed possible.”
She leaned in close.
“Does that answer your question?”
No. Not really. I mean, where do you get off? And why did you take me away from Steph?
I looked at Jacek but he was stone-faced, staring straight ahead. Ignoring me.
“Where? Do we get off?”
Her tone had turned cold, frightful.
She leaned in and grabbed me by the- well, by the crotch- giving me a truly agonizing squeeze.
“Right here, buster. That is precisely where. And you are powerless to stop us. We will rip you a new asshole. We will tear your organs away, one by one. We will eviscerate and root you out. We will finish the job. And you? You have little or no say in the debate. In fact… there is no debate. ”
She let go. If I could have sweat, I would have. She was a bit much. I said, or thought… nothing.
Except for Get Me The Hell OUT of Here.
But I kept that thought to myself.
She turned to the staff and said, “Well, then. Why don’t we get started?”
She started to leave the room but paused when she came to Jacek. She stared hard at him until he began to twitch. Jacek was visibly shaken. It was like she somehow knew he was up to something…. and somehow in cahoots with me.
Then she returned her attention to the staff.
“Well?” A tapping of the foot was implied. “Let’s get started. Chop, chop. Then turned away and she was gone. Out the door and down the corridor.
The techs got busy hooking up tubes and hoses, attaching sensors, spreading my arms and legs, pulling my head back until I thought my neck would snap, laying out scalpels and other vile instruments. They pinned my eye-lids back in my head, pried open my mouth, and arrayed me in spread eagle fashion.
Help Oh Help, I cried in a silent scream. Oh damnation.
The techs worked their horrific ministrations. And I just lay there… and watched.
Detective Mary Gregory was driving home on the Santa Monica Freeway. And thinking really hard.
There was something more than a little strange about this whole business: the missing techs, a man in his late twenties absconding with body in a van, the cell phone that couldn’t be traced. And weird chemicals not usually provided in a morgue setting. Not to mention Dr Avery Clarke, III. That guy was way past his ‘sell by’ date. He would warrant a much more thorough questioning. Definitely.
She’d just gotten off the phone with Dr. Armen Ghookasian who informed her that he had determined I had been murdered; this, strangely enough, hadn’t shown up in the post mortem. Cause of Death had been stipulated as Acute Myocardial Infarction and Respiratory Failure- not poisoning by means of a microscopic injection. He was furious that it wasn’t noted in any of the paperwork. He agreed to meet the Detective first thing in the a.m.
A few minutes ago the cell phone and digital communications expert had called with somewhat distressing news: Stephanie Roberts had no cell phone. At least not one registered in her name. They were checking pseudonyms. And she had no address. ALL the information she had given to the hospital was bogus. Max too. It was like neither of them existed.
Worse yet, Forensics had turned up two very distinct prints- one, on the underside of a freezer tray, the other from lab bench favored by the oh! so elusive “Max”. They were- small wonder- matchable only to cadavers that had been used as medical specimens- three fucking years ago!
These two mysterious Lab Technicians/Dieners were a study in obfuscation. It was like… well, like they just weren’t there. And may have never have been.
She considered this for a while as she tooled down the 10 Fwy, then made an abrupt decision and exited on Lincoln Blvd.
She needed a drink.
NEXT: A WHOLE BUNCH MORE HAPPENS IN RAPID SUCCESSION!