Morning at the morgue- part two (Short Story)

     The thin silver key held between six fingers pressed into the keyhole of Gene’s car and turned obediently as Gene locked it. The metal trinkets jingled as he slipped them into the pocket of his leather coat. The brown one from Ramsey with the scent of tobacco soaked into the fabric.

     He let out a slow sigh, his lungs feeling emptier than they usually did. His eyes burned as he closed them, the dry orbs watering as he kept them shut. Despite the hours he had laid in bed, he was not well rested.

     “Hurry up.” Jobie demanded from a few steps away, his cold hands stuffed into the pockets of his jeans. “Gene, come on, let's go. Come now. Gene.” He continued shortly, shivering in the cold. He had refused to bring a sweater.

     Despite Jobie’s demands, Gene stayed facing the car, slipping a cigarette from his pack and placing it between his chapped lips. He breathed deep and slow through his nose, the flame from his lighter hovering under the bud.

     Rory’s footsteps came around the car, rubbing his eyes tiredly with his palm as he passed Gene. The trail of musky skunk followed him, letting Gene know he had intoxicated himself before coming here. Gene placed a hand on Rory's shoulder as a greeting, but the shaggy haired zombie only continued to walk, in search of somewhere to sit.

     “Gene!” Jobie anxiously barked,  briefly glancing back at the building.

     Rolling his shoulder back with a pop, Gene turned and headed towards his short lover. His hands found warmth in the pockets of his coat while his shoes crunched against the asphalt. The soft patters ahead let Gene know Jobie had begun jogging towards the building, leaving Rory and Gene dragging themselves behind. Once Jobie arrived just beside the front doors, he turned to the others impatiently, shoulders shivering.

     “Hurry up!” He yipped again. “Please.”
He was just as eager as he was the first time they took him to a club. It had been night back then, and just as bitterly cold. The sting at the tip of Gene’s nose was familiar to that night, and Jobie had refused to bring warm clothing during that event as well. Even the way he stood shivering at the curb was reminiscent of how he shivered eagerly in front of the club’s side doors.

     Of course, back then Ace had been giggling beside Gene, watching Jobie with his sparkly eyes. The bliss of Aiden’s bright laughter echoed faintly beside Gene as he stepped up onto the curb.

      “I’ll probably come out on the side.” He grumbled, reaching for the handle of the front door.

     “What!” Jobie started, “We both will come out on the-”

     “Wait with Rory.”

     “What! No!” Jobie reached out for Gene’s arm, gripping it firmly. “I have to go in.”

     “No you dont.”

     “You- It’s not something you would understand Gene, I have to go in. It’s important- I have to make sure he isn't replaced or- he has to be real.” He rambled, muttering briefly before speaking again, “You wouldn't be able to tell. It’s my job.”

     “Lay off.” Gene blandly mumbled, giving Jobie a soft shove with his arm to get him off. “Wait with Rory.”

     Gene reached out, pressing his warm rough palm against Jobie’s soft cheek. The skin was cold against his hand, and the harsh glare from Jobie was even
colder. Jobie said nothing more, though Gene could see the frustration in his breathing. Short and hitched, tears pricking at Jobie’s water line again.

     Despite the faint guilt that beat in Gene’s chest, he knew this would be better for Jobie. This was something that only Gene should have to experience.

     The door shut slowly behind Gene as he was engulfed into the waiting room. A long nosed woman sniffled, the little boy beside her bounced up and down in his seat, an old man with grayed hair signed his paperwork with shaky hands, and a young woman watched the light in the ceiling flicker.

     “Hello,” Came the soft voice of the woman working at the front desk. She was leaned forward, shyly waving at Gene. “Come on in sweetheart, we have everything all set up for you.” She stood, walking around the front desk with her heels clicking against the floor before muffling on the waiting room carpet.

     Gene’s brows raised just slightly. Already set up? He’d expected to sit with a paper and pen for a moment, filling out his information and such.

     Rather than joining the fellow grievers surrounding him, he instead felt the eyes of the them raise to look at him. The curiosity radiating from the population of the waiting room filled Gene’s chest with shame as he pressed forward, feeling their realization. Gene Ramsey, one of those nancy polygamist boys.

     “Oh! Please put that out sir.” She paused, looking to Gene’s lips where his cigarette hung.

     “I’ll tell you what, you dont look how I thought you would!” Cackled the doctor leading Gene through a white hallway with glossed greasy flooring. The deeper in they went, the more the scent of alcohol burned Gene’s nostrils. “You look uh… Heh- well I wouldn't take you for a queer.”

     “Mm.” Gene hummed.

     His heart was pounding in his ears. He could feel the soft pulsing pressing with each beat in his skull while the clacking of shoes echoed through the hallway. What would Aiden look like? would Gene manage to recognize him? Despite the painful sting of slowly forgetting Ace’s features, he felt fear for the reality in which he would not recognize Ace. If the others were to see Ace’s face sunken in and pale then it would change their memory forever. That would be what they saw when they thought of Ace, and that was cruel to do to them. Better to just have Gene in here alone.

     “Are the red tips for something?”

     “Hmm?”

     “Is that a code? You guys pierce your ears sometimes so.. Yknow haha.”

     The doctor probably thought himself to be rather friendly. Infact, he likely thought himself to be very accepting, attempting to find humor with Gene to dim the dark event ahead. Gene did not find the doctor humorous.

     “No.” Gene responded.

     “Oh okay, y'know I can't help but be a bit curious.” The doctor shrugged, “Alright well here we are. Would you like to go in first?”

     Gene did not respond.

     Ace was just behind the door, laying on a table. Dead.

     The doctor cleared his throat and pressed the door open, stepping within and standing against it to allow Gene inside. The white room was gaping, empty. Just as Gene stared into the room, the room stared back at him. Bright lights, hand sanitizer, latex gloves, and a body. A hooked nose pressed up against the sheet laying over it, creating a noticeable point.

     There he is.

     Gene cautiously stepped inside, swallowing thickly. Though his mind was loose and tired, his hands began to shake weakly in his coat pockets.

     “Y'know what, I was surprised when they brought him in. He was so beautiful, infact, I thought he was a woman!” The doctor chuckled, elastic squeaking before snapping over his wrist. “The family didn't say if they wanted a cremation or a burial. Do you and uhm… the others have a preference?”

     “Cremation.” Gene muttered, though his glossy eyes stayed forward.

     “Alright. Well- We’ll be sending that to his actual family. They’ve just said they didn't have a preference, so I thought it would be good for you to choose. Haha.”

     The doctor stepped past Gene, going around the table and placing his hands on the edge while gazing down to the face of the body under the sheet.

     “Okay,” The doctor sighed, “You don't have to say anything, you can just nod as a verbal confirmation that this is indeed Aiden Figley. Yea?”

     “Mhm.”

     The doctor stayed silent as he leaned forward, his gloves nearing the top of the fabric.. The light gently buzzed above them as Gene watched blue covered hands hook around the hem of the thin sheet, fingers gently pinching and beginning to pull.

     Gene almost wanted it to stop. With each curl that was revealed, with each smooth inch of skin, he wanted to close his eyes and yank himself away. He did not want to taint the image in his head of his darling boy, his boy. He did not want to remember him as a corpse. He did not want to recall the smell of alcohol, the buzzing of a light, and the sunken milky eyes of his lover. When he thought of his childhood best friend, his lover, and his soulmate, he did not want to see his death staring back at him.

     Yet as the fabric was pulled past Ace’s chin, Gene was not looking at a dead man. Rather, Ace was asleep. His eye lids rested calmly, his lashes curled up towards the ceiling, and his soft lips looked warm. Warm enough to comfortably kiss awake.

     He was not dead, he was sleeping. He was resting peacefully on the table, and Gene could almost feel the breath rising and pressing from Ace’s lungs. His long curls layed on the table like a mane crowning around his face. Gene could smell the coffee beans he would grind to give Ace a warm cup of caffeine to wake up to.

     Wake up.

     “Can you confirm that this is Aiden Figley?”

     Gene nodded, and the cloth began to move again. Gene flinched forward, his mind slapping him with the desire to grab the hands of the doctor. Don’t cover him yet. He wasn’t done looking.

     But Gene stood still, staying many steps away from the table where Ace rested.

     “I’m glad you came out to do this, we wouldn't have gotten an official statement! Haha. His mom seemed too upset to come in.” The doctor said, springing to life again as he now held a clipboard and pen.

     The doctor approached Gene, aiding him out of the room. Gene could feel the gloved hand hovering over his shoulder, but the doctor dared not press it against Gene as to not soak in and catch anything.