A doctor set his stethoscope on her, searching for a pulse but she knew her daughter had taken flight. She left her alone in this world. The last moments of Emma’s life meant everything to her and she was glad they got to spend it together.
Her memories flew back through the last few days, Emma smiling as she went through her old photographs. “I was such a dandy little baby! Oh mom, look at those huge baby rolls!” she jumped in delight which bursted into her mom’s own heart.
Now there she lay, cold as ice and almost too silent. She still looked real, with a smile lurching at the corners of her mouth. Her baby didn’t suffer to death and that alone seemed like a consolation.
“She’s gone!” the baldy doctor announced.
“You fool, I already knew that,” she muttered under her breath, staring at the floors she suddenly realized were marbled.
She stared at his face. It was all too swollen and ugly. ‘Whoever made him a Doctor?’ she wondered.
There was this air of arrogance and finality to him. He didn’t seem to care whether Emma was alive or not as if to just get it on with. She read his collar—Dr. Chuks.
He rolled away his eyes and scowled secretly, turning his hands to have a glimpse of his wristwatch. “Time of death, 12:27am,” nodding to a nurse who quickly wrote down something on a file she fondled with.
With that, he pulled her white sheet over her face.
“Are there no known relatives?” Mr. Dele was rhythmically beating his pen on his frangipani table.
It was a chilly midnight, but he could have sworn it was quite warm hours ago.
It was as if he-who-should-not-be-named had cast a dark shadow on the hospital upon his death.
“Everyone knew Dr. Jason was an orphan who had brought himself to where he was. Well, er… that was until today,” Dr. David stood over the table looking at Mr. Dele perch on his chair.
He was a small man and this office was never his size. Everything was obviously too large for him.
“Has the cause of death been determined? Why are they not allowing anyone to see his corpse?”
“Too many questions, David. Too many questions.” He pretended to be busy arranging his unkempt table. “When the post-mortem results are out, I guess we would all know.”
Someone knocked on the door. “Come in,” Mr. Dele said.
“The results are ready,” a slim man announced. He was the Chief Coroner of Saving Hope Hospital.
“Can you excuse us?”Mr. Dele told Dr. David.
“Correct me if I’m wrong sir? No doctor had confirmed his death before he was taken to the morgue, now why is that, sir?”
Mr. Dele sighed and closed his eyes for a minute. “Do you want to save the hospital? I’m willing to pay you any amount, only if you’re in?”
David looked at Mr. Steven and back at Mr. Dele and slowly nodded. With that, Mr. Dele asked him to sit down. He related the story as to how he had found Jason’s corpse.
“Dr. Jason was killed. Stabbed seven times. Now if this gets out, we’ll lose our patients and this hospital would plummet into financial doom. We faked his death certificate to show he died of natural causes. And you would be the doctor who confirmed this fact, and this nightmare would be swept under the carpet. We all go home happy and our pockets enriched.”
David shifted uneasily, “He was murdered you say? By whom? Sir, don’t you think the this could be what the killer wants—to trap us all in one big pod of lie and murder?”
“I’ve hired a private investigator to look into his murder. We will get who had done this, that I promise you.”
She had watched her daughter being shoved into one of the morgue’s freezers. She could picture Emma crying “Mom! It’s too cold here.”
She sat outside the coroner’s office, waiting for Emma’s Certificate of Death. She had already arranged with a funeral home to come pick her up at first light. She wanted her buried and laid to rest immediately.
The coroner handed her the certificate as she tried to decipher his scrawny scribbles—
Name of Deceased: Emma George
Age: 21 years
Date of Death as stated to me: 22/04/2018
Primary Cause of Death: Pancreatic Cancer
Secondary Cause of Death: Emphysema
She wept flood of tears, clutching the certificate like her life depended on it. This was a lethal shot of reality. Her daughter was gone truly. She peered into her watch 3:20a.m.
“Are you Mrs. Annie George? Ma’am please come with me, there’s a problem,” a tiny nurse suddenly announced jilting her off her grief.
The nurse hurried away and she followed behind her. What could be wrong? Had her daughter’s corpse been stolen?
She led her into the morgue room where a group of morgue workers surrounded a cause of attraction.
A doctor pushed his way through and with that she saw a familiar figure looking bewildered.
Emma whose skin was pale, sat apparently cold and crying. What in God’s name was happening? How could she be alive? She saw her die and shoved into one of the cold trays. What was she doing alive?
She fainted in disbelief.