Corina- A Short Story

It was dark and quiet. It didn't last, but for that moment there was nothing. Even the cicadas had stopped buzzing, leaving only silence and blackness like the calm before the storm. My slow breathing was the only thing piercing the stillness of the bedroom, until that was ceased too.

It had been quick- so quick I didn't even scream. The knife had been in and out like lightning, and then I was gone. Everything was gone.

Then everything was back. The cicadas resumed their chorus and a sliver of moonlight fell across my pale, lifeless face. I blinked, but my eyelids didn't move. That's when realization crashed into me like a tidal wave. I was dead. I could feel dread creeping into my translucent body as I watched myself intently, searching frantically for some sign of consciousness. Finally the soft moonlight was replaced by timid fingers of morning sunlight. I leaned over my body, cautiously pulling the sheet off my torso. I recoiled in disgust; my skin was milky white and cold and my torn t-shirt was plastered to my stomach with dried blood. Panicked, I lifted my own wispy, translucent shirt to reveal my pale, see-through, but thankfully uninjured skin. I sighed and looked back at my corpse, trapped in perpetual sleep. At least I look peaceful. I glanced at the clock beside my bed which read 6:37 AM. Then I remembered Chris, my husband. His plane had probably already landed, and he would be home any minute. He would be the one to find me like this. I felt my eyes start to sting, but no tears came. I heard the front door slam, and I looked down at myself sadly. Chris would find me any moment now, but I couldn't bear to see the look on his face when he did. I glided effortlessly through the locked window just as the doorknob twisted.

I floated away from home as fast as I could. I needed a safe place to go. I needed to distract myself somehow. My brain kept suggesting the cemetery, but I didn't want to go there. It felt like that would mean accepting my death and moving on, and I couldn't do that. I still had work to do.

The crisp morning sunlight passed straight through me, making me almost completely invisible as I glided toward the hospital. I saw an ambulance roar past me, on its way to my house, no doubt. I swallowed back my tears and continued walking, ignoring the sirens and the chattering as people came out on their porches to see what the matter was. Soon I had reached the parking lot of St. Bartholomew's hospital. I passed my assigned parking spot, now vacant, and continued on to enter the building. All the familiarity of my old workplace filled me with a certain nostalgia. I walked down the halls, passing my friends and coworkers without their noticing my presence. I sat dejectedly in my old desk chair in my old office. Everything was exactly how I had left it the day before. I sighed and tried to calm myself down. From outside my office, I heard my cue to start investigating- some nurses pushing my dead body down the hall to the morgue. I followed the nurses through the doors to the large sterile room, careful not to run into anyone.

The coroner flitted around my body, examining my wound and taking notes on a clipboard. He compared my notes to some other reports on his clipboard while I read over his shoulder. There had been two other recent murders: Simon Abrams and Anabelle Cartwright, and all three of us had been killed in the same way. I sighed. I had known Simon. He was my patient, and it was my job as his nurse to talk to him. He had been in an accident which had severely damaged his brain, and although most of our conversations had just been him babbling, I had actually enjoyed his company. I remembered hearing the rumors surrounding his death in the week preceding mine. There had been whispers throughout the hospital that Simon had been stabbed, but I hadn't been willing to believe it. I found it absurd that anyone would want to kill someone as harmless as Simon. I guess the rumors had been true.

After a while, the coroner slid my body into a freezer drawer and left the morgue. I took the opportunity to have a look at the other two bodies. Maybe if I saw the evidence, I would be able to find something connecting the murders. I located the drawer for Anabelle first and rolled her out. Her face was familiar. I think she had been one of Simon's nurses too. I remember seeing her go in to check on him when I was on breaks. That was one connection, we were both nurses. That didn't seem like a viable link for a murderer, but maybe I was overestimating his creativity.