A Fishy End

Chapter 4

"I'm stepping out for a second," Michael Crighton said to his charge nurse. She barely looked up as she nodded. The ER was quiet. They had two patients, neither acutely ill enough to really warrant ER care. It was like that, working ER. You were either swamped with critical cases or dead slow.

A vague odor tickled Michael's nostrils as he stepped into the ambulance garage. Through the open door he could taste the night air, fresh and clean. James and Brandon were standing behind one of the ambulances, a matching smirk on both men's faces. They wore blue blazers with EMT patches on the arms. Their belts and pants pockets bulged with medical supplies.

"Whatchya got?"

"A neighbour of yours, actually," James said. "We drove right past your house."

He accepted the paperwork. The address was indeed on his street, but he didn't recognise the name, not that he knew many people on the street. Martha Trumball.

Brandon opened the back of the ambulance.

"Oh God," Michael groaned. "That is rank. How long?"

Brandon shrugged, closing the door on the corpse again. "Several days. Weeks, maybe. She's ripe all right."

"Eighty-seven, lived alone. Welfare check. Found dead," Michael read. "So? She was eighty-seven. Is it a suspicious death? Either way, take her around to the morgue and have Vicky inform the medical examiner."

"That's not what we called you about," James said. "We were thinking, there's a new doc in town."

"Yeah, Dr. West or something. Toured today. Starting orientation on nights tonight. I've not met him yet, but still."

"Still we thought maybe a little initiation was in order, check out his diagnostic skills. Park old Martha in one of the trauma rooms and send him in to see what's wrong?" Brandon was smiling and wagging his brows.

Michael groaned. "You guys really do have a sick sense of humor." Most medical personnel, as far as Michael knew, were no better. Living with life and death daily, it bred a certain type of dark humor.

They'd done the exact opposite to the last doctor. Brandon had lain on one of the cots, covered in a sheet. Michael had sent the unsuspecting doctor in to declare the body. Brandon had rose up behind the doctor when he wasn't looking and scared the shit out of him.

"I don't know guys," Michael said. It is, he thought, a fairly good joke. But the odor would permeate the entire ER if they so much as wheeled the body through the halls, and he hated the stench of death. It was his enemy.

"Besides," a new voice joined the conversation, "I can smell from here she's dead." The voice was female and cold.

They all turned. She was tall and slender with blond hair pulled back into a neat bun. Michael's face fell at the sight of her. His heart pounded. Oh shit.

"Dr. Melissa West," she said in a tone that didn't invite any rejoinder. "And as much as I can appreciate a macabre initiation rite, I suggest we skip it tonight." She snatched the paperwork out of Michael's hand and scribbled her name across the bottom. "Instead, drive this thing around back and unload the body into the morgue. I will take care of notifying the examiner."

Michael was still staring at her. Her face was more lined than the last time he'd seen her, but she was still the most beautiful woman Michael had ever seen. She carried herself with a stiff poise, even in scrubs and a lab coat. She had a strong face, pale—paler than he remembered but with sharp features and eyes that were alive with intelligence and wit. Her lips were incredible to Michael, the way they could purse to a narrow line when she was mad, pout with the best when she wanted to entice him. And she could always entice him.

"Is there a problem?" she demanded and froze. She hadn't recognized him until that moment. She rocked back on her heels, regarding him coldly.

James and Brandon were looking back and forth between the two of them. They could tell something was going on, but not what exactly.

"I believe you have a body to deliver to the morgue?" She remarked pointedly, and they fled. Moments later the ambulance had started up and pulled out.

"Michael," she said when they were alone.

"Melissa," he said. He licked his lips. "Doctor Harvey-West, sorry. I mean Doctor West?"

She turned even more pale. She pulled her lab coat across her chest protectively. "Dr. West again."

He stared at her, digesting this information.

"I didn't know you were here," she continued. "I just wanted a new start." She shook her head. "What brings you to Des Moines? Have you lived here long?"

"Twelve years. Moved here shortly after school." He paused and did not add, after you broke my heart. "Jessica has family here."

Dr. West stared at him for a moment. Then she threw her head back and laughed, a high, cold laugh. "Jessica Hartford? The mouse got you on the rebound, did she?"

Michael clenched his jaws. "We've been married eleven years. We have a son, Jacob."

"Michael Crighton, family man," she said. "Interesting development. Well, I must talk to this medical examiner, I suppose." She turned and strode off across the ambulance garage and disappeared back into the ER.

Michael turned and went to the open bay doors, staring out into the night. Melissa, here? She'd broken his heart years ago, choosing the pretentious bastard Dr. Harvey over him. It was the past, long buried, or so he'd thought. Until now. He wasn't so sure now.