CHAPTER ONE

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My chair toppled backwards with a thud onto the carpet on my office floor as I surged to my feet. I hardly noticed.

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“Henry can’t be dead!”

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A wave of heat left a sticky residue on my skin as I planted my palms on my desk and stared at my desktop screen, hoping against hope the words in the email would change, but they remained obstinately the same.

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Henry Davis. Aged eighty-two. Time of death 2am. Cardiac arrest. George Campbell, the doctor in charge last night had signed Henry’s time of death.

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Henry was officially my patient. He had heart problems, but nothing that had hinted at anything life threatening. He’d been healthy. Well, as healthy as an elderly gentleman could be. So much so, that I’d signed his release papers yesterday afternoon before I’d left for home.

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There was no reason to keep him here. Indigestion was not a heart condition, but I’d admitted him in for observation two nights ago because he said he liked hospital food. Things must have been pretty grim for him at home for him to say something like that. He was a widower and probably didn’t do much in the way of cooking for himself, so I’d let him stay.

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I’d popped my head into his room to tell him there was no good reason for me to keep him here before I left. He’d waved goodbye to me after thanking me for his treatment, and the food.

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The last thing I’d expected to see was his death certificate topping my morning emails. As his treating doctor, I should have been notified right away, not at eight the next morning. George Campbell knew the procedure. Henry was my patient and until he left the hospital, I was officially responsible for him. Anger built behind my breastbone, swirling with angry sparks. I would give that doctor a piece of my mind. Good looks could only take you so far, and George was a man who relied on them. He knew better than to leave a non-urgent email as notification for something of this magnitude.

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Unless I’d missed something. My stomach churned with sick dread. Surely I would have found something if there was an issue. To keep Henry here, I’d subjected him to multiple tests. All were within reasonable limits for a man his age; yet my doubt lingered. The morgue. I had to get to the morgue to see the body. To see Henry. I couldn’t have got it this wrong, could I?

 

I rounded a corner, bounced off a man coming in the opposite direction, slammed headfirst into a trolley and everything flashed with a pure, glimmering light that washed away all sense of myself before sinking into darkness.

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“Doctor Hunter? Cassie?”

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I forced my eyelids open to see people crouching over my prone form on the floor.

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“Are you all right? You looked like you hit that trolley pretty hard.” Julie Cartwright, one of the ward nurses frowned down at me.

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I brushed a warm trickle from my hairline, my fingers coming away red and bloodied. My forehead pulsed as pain radiated down my face and through my skull. My vision wavered as I pushed myself to my feet, ignoring the people milling around me. I pushed away strands f hair that had come loose from my bun. If this wasn’t embarrassing enough, I was now bleeding out on my hospital floor. Great.

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“I’ll take you to a room. George Campbell is still on duty. He can take a look at you,” Julie said. I ignored the dreamy look in her eyes when she mentioned George’s name.

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“No!” I reared back. The last thing I wanted was Campbell touching me. I took a steeling breath, willing my double vision to clear. Shock and concern washed across Julie’s face, so I continued, “I can see to it myself. Thanks Julie.”

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“Are you sure?” she asked.

 

Blood dripped down the side of my face and I wiped it away with my sleeve, hiding it from her view. Legally, I would need to go off duty with an open wound like this. Working at The Alfred Hospital in Melbourne meant that rules were strict, and being a cardiac surgeon meant I needed to be pedantic about them. Cross contamination being the first and foremost priority. I wouldn’t be able to step foot anywhere near a patient, let alone the morgue, but I had to see Henry’s body. The urge to get to the morgue rode me hard.

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“Yeah. Head wounds. They look worse than they really are. Thanks, Julie. I’ll get someone to help me now,” I said, brushing past her without waiting for her reply.

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My head throbbed with each heartbeat but no amount of willing it away would make it stop. Thankfully, I made it around the corner and stumbled to the lifts. I slammed a finger on the lift button and put a hand to my stomach, resisting the urge to throw up. I should have let Julie help me. Walking away with an open wound was not only against regulations, but it also wasn’t a great idea. It horrified the doctor in me that I was doing this, while another, less-rational side wasn’t listening at all. A less-rational side I never knew I had.

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The doors opened and I stepped inside, sinking against the wall. I sucked in air through my nose, trying to clear my head. I must have hit my head pretty hard, but I’d get myself checked out. I wasn’t stupid and wouldn’t risk myself like this with patients.

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After I’d seen Henry. Even my deep-seated dread of setting foot down here wasn’t enough to stop me.

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I wiped the blood as best I could, keeping a steady pressure on the wound as I stepped out of the lifts. Cool air swirled about my ankles, the relative coldness leaching through my white coat and clothing. Luckily no one was about as I walked unhindered towards the morgue. I usually took consolation that there were warm, conscious bodies here with me when I visited. I took more comfort from them being here than I should. Each step I took was a forced one, yet I still took them and one by one, my feet led me to the morgue doors.

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A shudder crept up my spine and I forced it not to take over my body. A bead of sweat tickled down my spine as my breathing came in short, sharp bursts that I tried and failed to even out.

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I hated the morgue.

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It drew the dead to it.

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Some in shock. Some in denial. Some in grief. Or so my mother always said. She would know.

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I thanked God I didn’t.

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A thousand ants scratched under my skin as I forced myself to push the button that would open the doors. They swung back silently revealing a covered body laid out on the table in the middle of the room covered by a white sheet, striking me as a sacrificial offering. An invisible band tightened about my chest and my vision swam.

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I wasn’t sure if the body would be Henry. He could be in any of the drawers lining the far wall, but there was only one way to find out. I formed a fist, but it did nothing to alleviate my shaking hand. Come on. You’re a doctor. Just do it. I’d seen bodies before. It was part of my training. I pulled up my big girl panties, ignored the fact I was alone in a morgue and gently pulled the sheet from the face.

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My breath hissed out between my teeth and my vision wavered again. I wasn’t sure if it was because the body was in fact Henry, or because my head wound kicked up a notch. My heart lurched as my gut tumbled. My belly cramped and I clamped a hand over my mouth. I spun on the balls of my feet, looking for a place to hurl when I came face to face with Henry.

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His face lit up, “Doctor Hunter. Thank goodness you’ve come. It’s my will, you see. I need help with my will.”

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My knees buckled. I hit the floor and a wave of darkness swept me away.

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