Raising the Dead [1.5] by Mara Purnhagen

Author:Mara Purnhagen [Purnhagen, Mara]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Juvenile Fiction, Fantasy & Magic
ISBN: 9781426888786
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2011-02-01T06:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eight

Most people can count on one hand the number of times they’ve visited a morgue. I can’t, not even with both hands and both feet and whatever else people use to count things. I stopped keeping track after I hit the double digits.

To be fair, the majority of those morgues had long been empty. They were usually located in the bowels of a deserted hospital and the room held few reminders of what its purpose once was. This would be different. This was an actual working morgue, occupied by coroners and the recently deceased.

And also the not-so-recently deceased.

“I really don’t want to be here,” I muttered to Noah. We were walking down the long white corridor that led to the morgue. Shane had met us at the entrance, and now he and Trisha were absorbed in conversation in front of us.

“I’m not too thrilled, either,” Noah said. “Why couldn’t we have been dropped off at your house?”

“Because my parents found something and they want me to see it. I think it’s their way of trying to include me in the family business.”

As we got closer to the double doors at the end of the corridor, I could hear the distinctively horrifying sound of a saw. I stopped. “No way. I’m not walking in on an autopsy.”

Shane turned around. “It’s not what you think,” he said. “Trust me. None of this is what you think.”

I wouldn’t budge. “Cryptic messages will not get me to move from this spot.”

“It’s okay, Charlotte.” Shane motioned towards the doors. “This is the area they’re letting us use. There’s no bodies there.”

“Really?”

“There are some bones, of course.”

I could handle bones. I’d seen those before. “Okay. I’ll go. Noah?”

“Yeah. I’m in.”

Shane pushed open the doors. The smell was the first thing I noticed. It hit me hard, a hurricane-force wind of the sour odor of embalming fluid. I knew it would be stuck in my nose for weeks. Mom and Dad were standing over a table. A slender lead coffin sat on it. They both wore white lab coats and little white nose masks. Dad held a saw in his hands. Before he could start cutting, Shane announced that we had arrived.

“Good!” Dad pulled the mask from his face and set down the saw.

“What are you doing?” I asked, unwilling to move from the door. I recognized the silver doors of walk-in refrigerators used to store bodies, and the rolling exam tables which were slightly tilted so that fluids could be drained. Against one was a row of white cabinets and counters that looked like they belonged inside a modest kitchen. But the countertops were covered with dozens of pairs of scissors, rolls of gauze, and shallow plastic trays. It was a working morgue, and I doubted Shane’s assurance that it was not currently in use.

“We are discovering the truth,” Dad proclaimed. He seemed genuinely excited. Mom read the apprehension on my face.

“We’re the only ones using this room,” she said. “They have another room next door they’re using for bodies.

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