The October Music, Stanza 2 - Day 3

Missing Limbs

            Dr. West frowned as he read the latest report from the security team. For the third time this month, someone had reported bodies in the morgue being, for lack of a better term, defiled. Not in a sexual sense, thank the Good Lord, but in the sense that when one of the guards went to check on noises, he had found that all four of the bodies no longer had a left arm or right leg. Accidents do happen, of course, and not everyone leaves this mortal plane with all their appendages intact, but it is more than a little concerning when the recently-deceased had done so and yet had passed on with everything in place.

            He shook his head. One report was bad. Two reports was catastrophic. Three reports was ‘if this gets to the press, the hospital gets shut down’-level concerning. Even the security chief himself had talked to Dr. West and said he would need to report the incidents to the police. Fortunately, he was not quite scrupulous enough that a few hundred extra dollars in his pocket wouldn’t sway him. Anything for the hospital, right?

            Regardless, this was something that could not continue. Too many people would start talking if it wasn’t resolved internally and that would be a problem for everyone. Dr. West had chosen to work at this specific hospital because the ethical standards were more flexible and open to interpretation. If a nurse took an extra dose of hydrocodone home, she just had to pay cost to replace it. If an entire operating team was found in the janitor’s closet literally ‘playing doctor’, they just had to switch a few shifts around to let the hormones settle. If one doctor was a complete jackass to patients but still got the job done, he would get a talking-to but that’s it. The message was simple. If the standard of care didn’t drop, the misbehaviors of those employed would be brushed aside.

            This, though, had to be addressed and was up to him to do so. That night, he waited in his office until the night crew came on duty. Some excuse about needing to get paperwork done was enough to dispel suspicion. Once everyone had fallen into their routine, he crept out of his office and down to the morgue. On the slab, a woman in her early thirties lay there, life dissipated from her body. She had been beautiful once and Dr. West fought back the urge that came too easily to him. Instead, he shut the door and spoke quietly.

            “Sweetheart, come on out. We need to talk.”

            From one of the lockers nearby, a small girl of about seven years old slid out, her face embarrassed and sticky.

            “Yes, Dad?” she asked.

            “We talked about this. You need to be more careful with them.”

            “I just get so hungry,” she whined.

            “I know, but we talked about restraint.”

            “Yes, Papa.”
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            “Good girl. Now, who do we have on the menu tonight?”