SUMMATION (12 page)

           His directness stunned her for a moment. "I,
uh, I see." She struggled with her keys a moment, balancing her load on
one arm while fumbling with the lock with the other. He stood by, silently,
neither offering to help nor commenting further. Finally, she pulled the door
open.

           "Won't you come in, Mr., ahh, Richter was
it? Please, come to my office. Let me see what I can do. I believe I'm aware of
your son. I - I just wasn't expecting you. Not so quickly."

           She held the door, and he walked past her,
obviously someone accustomed to having doors held.

           "Can I get you some coffee?" she
asked. "Here, have a seat." She offered him the old, but reasonably
well maintained loveseat across from her desk. Most people weren't paying
attention to the furniture when they came to see her.

           "
Danke
, Thank you, no. I am here to
see my son. I
need
to see my son. Do you understand?"

           "Of course, of course I do. But I need to,
well, prepare him for you. You understand we have to, uh, protect his remains,
and I will need to, well, bring him out to view."

           "Very well, I will give you a few moments."

           She turned, and walked quickly down the hall,
then down the steps into the actual morgue. Fortunately, Tim, the tech that
often took care of the preparations, was already in. After working during much
of the night, he had only had time to go home, snatch a quick shower, quick
nap, maybe a half hours' worth, and come back.  He had only been gone about three
hours altogether. In fact, the same was true of the others who were already in.

           Looking around the room, she saw the back of Tim's
head, disappearing around the corner. She followed him, quickly catching up.

           "Tim, would you prepare Hans Richter, the
German citizen, to be viewed by his father? He's upstairs waiting. Just flew in
from overseas, apparently. I'll try to delay him as long as I can, but he's
very insistent. Some kind of big shot. Last thing we need on top of all else is
an upset parent from overseas, probably with the State Department right behind,
and television cameras behind them."

           "No problem. Do you want him down here, or
set up in the regular viewing room? I can have him ready down here in about
three or four minutes. It will take me about ten more to get him upstairs."

           "Well, let's just do it here. I don't think
location is important to him. He doesn't seem like the type that needs a
curtain and a chair. I'll bring him down in five. And
thanks."

           "No prob."

           She started back upstairs, but before she
reached the top, she met Mr. Richter starting down. "Mr. Richter, please.
I was on my way back. We are preparing him now. We just need a couple of
minutes. It's better if you wait here."

           "Nonsense. I will wait by my son. You do
not need to worry about me."

           She tried to block him, diplomatically. She knew
how difficult this was for parents, and the shock of an unprepared body could,
would
,
be traumatic.

           "Mr. Richter, we need to talk. Your son was
severely crushed in that accident. He, well, he is going to - he's not going to
look - there is a lot of damage. His face and head are relatively undamaged,
but, well, we really need to keep him covered." She paused. "I'm very
sorry for your loss. I understand how difficult this has to be for you."

           She pursed her lips, trying to think of what
else to say, but there wasn't anything.

           "I just wanted to try to prepare you."

           "Thank you. Now, may we go?" His
thank-you was more dismissive than appreciative. He stepped down and to the
side, as if walking around her.

           She sighed, turned, and led the way.

           Hans Richter had been
cleaned up well. Tim had worked fast, and Hans was already pulled out. Tim had
unwrapped the corpse to about the neck, and left the sheet laying loosely to
that point. He had placed a towel over the face itself. With the sheet
separately wrapping the body, Mr. Richter could view the face without
accidentally seeing the unbelievable crush damage below. She'd been informed
the night before, and knew how badly the body had been mutilated and crushed.

           Tim stood aside, then quietly stepped out of the
room. Besides, he had his regular work to do, and the last thing he needed was
to stand there gawking at a parent with a dead child.

           Nancy looked back at Gerhard Richter. "Are
you sure, Mr. Richter?" Richter nodded. She walked over with him to the
covered body, and removed the towel, folding it back and leaving it on the boy's
covered, crumpled chest. His face had a few minor abrasions, but was remarkably
untouched considering the devastating damage to the rest of his body. "I'll
leave you now. When you are ready to leave, Tim is outside, and he will help
you." Richter never looked up or responded. She stepped back, turned, and
left.

           Mr. Richter had heard her. He was not ignoring
her, nor was he overtaken with grief. He was concentrating. He pulled a stool
over to the head of the gurney, sat down, and reaching out, held his son's head
with both hands, slowly bringing his head closer, closer, until both foreheads
made contact. His concentration was total as he pressed his forehead tightly
against his son's; perspiration formed on his brow despite the cool room. The
coldness of his son's forehead did not affect him. The pressure of contact
began to warm the front of the dead boy's forehead.

           The lights flickered briefly throughout the
building. Both Tim, downstairs, and Nancy, back in her office, looked up at the
lights, as if there was something to be seen, and, seeing nothing, ignored it
and returned to work.

           The temperature began to drop in the already
cool basement room; first slowly, unnoticeably, then more quickly. Tim didn't
notice, as it was kept cool anyway, but he did reach behind him to grab his lab
coat, hanging on the back of the chair. Nancy, upstairs, went over to her
closet, and pulled out a sweater she kept on hand for cooler evenings in the
spring and fall, hung it over her shoulders, and sat down.

           Then
it dropped quickly. Tim saw it first - his breath. He stood up, and looked
around. A mist had formed, the air was so cold. Something had obviously
happened to the air conditioning. He sat down, and began to look up the number
of the building engineer, before Nancy asked him to, which he knew would be
soon.

           It
only took another couple minutes to hit the upstairs. Nancy noticed it getting
colder, and when she looked up, there was condensation on the outside of the
window! When she stood up and went to the door to her office, she also could
see her breath. She went back to her desk to dial Tim, and have him take a look
around or get ahold of the building manager. This was amazing, she thought. She
never dreamed the air conditioner could put out this much cold air.

           Slowly, father and son separated.

           The room had cooled, far cooler than the rest of
the building. Ice had formed on the drawer, and frost could be seen on the
gurneys. The room was filled with the cold mist of freezing air.

           The son's eyes opened.

          
"YES"
Still gripping his head, the
father kept repeating, "YES, YES, YES, YES..."

          
To listen
to it though, it was not a cry of jubilation, or relief, or joy, but of
accomplishment. He kept repeating it, tightly gripping the boys head, still. He
could feel warmth begin to spread throughout the boy's head. If he had looked
down, he would have seen motion in the sheets, where the broken body was
beginning to fill out. "YES, YES, YES, YES..."

           He was almost shouting it, now.

           Finally, hearing Mr. Gerhard's voice, Tim came
around the corner. "Are you alright, sir?
SIR?
SIR?" Tim
thought the man was overwrought, and came over to separate him from his son's
corpse. He grabbed the arms of the elder Richter, and jumped, startled, when he
saw the open eyes of the younger. Of course, he had seen open eyes on corpses
before, but it was startling, just the same.

           "Leave my father
ALONE!"

           Tim jumped back. It couldn't have been, but-

           The head on the table turned, and looked
directly at him.

           "Get me out of here, NOW!"

           Tim shuddered. His knees went weak, and he
grabbed a gurney to stay up.

           "I said, get me out of here, NOW!"

           Tim opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He
tried to step forward, but couldn't move. He finally slid to the ground, mouth
still open.
This just couldn't be, it can't be, it can't be, I'm dreaming, I'm
dreaming...

           Richter began unwrapping the boy, removing the
cover sheet, then peeling back the plastic wrap, and removing the inner sheet.
The naked boy climbed off the drawer. "I have no clothes. Get me some."

           Looking around, there was a lab coat hanging
just outside the room. He grabbed it and handed to his son, now standing naked
by the table. There were scrubs somewhere, but they didn't take time to look.

           "Let's go," said the elder.

           Mr. Richter walked ahead, leading the way to the
steps, now ice covered, with frozen condensation on the railings, with Hans
following. Tim couldn't move, and just sat there, staring at the door. Mike
came around the corner, and seeing Tim on the floor, rushed over, nearly
falling as he slipped on the icy floor. He saw a man and someone in scrubs
heading up the steps, but turned his attention back to Tim.

           "Tim? Tim? You alright?" He felt for
his pulse, and it was fine. He just sat there, staring.

           Richter looked back to see if they were being
followed, then reached into his pocket and pulled out his cell. Pressing one
number on speed dial, he only waited a moment before it was answered, as they
climbed the steps. "Bring the car around to the where I entered, NOW. We're
coming out. Be ready to move out
fast."
They turned down the hall.

           Nancy looked up as Mr. Richter walked quickly
by, and stood up to see him out, though he was passed her door before she could
get up. She then saw someone in a lab coat quickly following. She ran out from
the office as they headed out the door. She saw someone, barefoot, no pants, in
a lab coat, run out the door. She followed, slipping and almost falling in the
hallway on something slippery, ice?
Was that ice?
She made it to the
entrance, pushing the door open and following onto the sidewalk by the entrance
just in time to see the two of them jump in the back seat of a Jeep, or Bronco.
Some kind of dark SUV.

           Then the second person, the one in the lab coat,
turned, and looked right at her, right
through
her, and she immediately
recognized him. No question. None. She fell back against the door, steadying
herself, as the vehicle squealed off.

           Heart pounding, knees of rubber, she walked back
in, stepping carefully so as not to slip on icy patches, blood pounding in her
ears, mist billowing at every exhale. She turned in the hall at the top of the
stairway, gripping the rail tightly, and walked down the steps, one step, then
another, each step slowing, dreading what she would find, but knowing that she
couldn't possibly be right. She finally arrived at the bottom. She walked ahead
the dozen feet or so to the door of the actual body storage room, and pushed it
open.

           Tim was still on the floor, staring at her with
blank eyes. Mike looked up at her, questioningly. She glanced left, and saw the
drawer, empty, a pile of sheets and plastic on the floor beside it.

           There was no handle to hang onto on this door -
it was meant to be pushed open by hand or gurney, so nothing slowed her as she
slid slow down to the ground.

* * *

           The room began to warm again.

           As soon as Hans closed the door, the charcoal
colored Dodge Ram pulled away, turning quickly right, around the building, so
anyone following would not be able to get a good description of the car. Right
behind, a two-year old, unobtrusive minivan that no one would notice, followed
closely behind. It provided masking from any following vehicle. If anyone
followed, the minivan could unobtrusively slow the traffic, allowing Simon to
get the Ram to safety. If necessary, Brother Gerhard would cause an accident or
run into the following vehicle to stop any pursuit. None was expected, however,
and none occurred. Besides, as far as anyone knew, including the police who
were called to the morgue, no law was broken by a man getting up from a table
and leaving of his own will.

           Gerhard Richter had counted on the confusion
slowing any progress, and he was right. First, the responding units had to be
convinced that this was not some practical joke by other officers, and that the
coroner was serious. Then, the fact that the dispatcher had given the call over
the air meant every local news agency knew of the story, and immediately had
all their people on location, with vehicles, cameras, and reporters. Finally,
the locals themselves, first those with scanners, then those they called, and
finally, those that heard it on the news, were all arriving to see first-hand
what was going on.