I figured I would share another glimpse
into how my mind works. During my last quarter, prior to completing my BS
degree, I elected to take an Intro to Writing Fiction course (darn Liberal Arts…who
knew psychologists had to be so well rounded?), which scared the living daylights
out of me, as I do not consider myself to be creative nor did I make it a habit
of reading fiction. For pleasure reading, I would opt for books written by
psychologists or neuroscientist…yes, for fun.
In this course, we had to read short
stories, analyze what the author was trying to convey, and then eventually
write one of our own. I have never been one to read a sentence, “The sky was
blue,” and read a whole lot into it, other than just that…The. Sky. Was. Blue.
I blame my analytical mind, which had led me to a near panic attack (see
previous blog post regarding how fun those can be to experience) whilst in a
paint-your-own-pottery place. I completely froze, rows of blank pottery
seemingly mocking me.
But, I digress. The story below is what
came to fruition when we were given a task of writing a short fiction story on
any topic we wanted. What did I choose? The thing I am most intrigued with and am
constantly in pursuit of studying in some way. I had been mulling over this
idea for years, so I was glad that I was finally able to put it into writing
and share it with others. Oh yeah, we had to do peer review as well…that was
interesting. Anyways, without further ado…
Secrets Within
The
snowflakes, with their pure white appearance, fell steadily on the streets of
Baltimore. The contrast against the
darkness of a nearly moonless night made their brightness even more
pronounced. The windshield wipers were
of no use against the quickly accumulating snow, which was at times became
blinding with the headlights of oncoming vehicles. The newly fallen snow had given the city the
allure of pristine conditions, of which Eleanor knew better than to believe.
As
the Chief Medical Examiner for Baltimore, Eleanor was privy to the dark side of
human nature; what the “civilized” are capable of doing to one another. The reports on the evening news, with their
light montage of music accompanying the events of the day, do not come close to
the reality found in the cooler of the medical examiner’s building. The six story mammoth structure that houses
the medical examiner’s office also contains the 134th police
precinct as well as a small court house.
Keeping with tradition, the medical examiner’s office and morgue is
relegated to the basement. She found it ironic
that the same place you can report a crime, you can also apply for a marriage
license and may be your temporary resting place enroute to the cemetery.
Years
ago, Eleanor considered not accepting the position with the City of Baltimore
based on the fact that the building was located on Roosevelt Street. She even joked about the coincidence of the
names when she interviewed for the position while still completing her
internship with the coroner’s office. As
she pulled into the parking spot identified with a bright green placard which
indicated “Reserved for Medical Examiner,” Eleanor smiled and the hesitation
that she had felt all those years ago were distant memories, faded and nearly
invisible. As Eleanor readied herself to
get out of her car, a 2011 deep blue Volkswagen Touareg, one of the few
luxuries she treated herself to, she gathered up her shoulder-length brown hair
into a pony tail, a few new grays popping up near her temples. Besides, it was 3:00 A.M. and only the dead
were waiting her arrival, and it’s not like they would complain or notice.
The
warmth she had enjoyed provided by her heated seats was quickly replaced by the
frigid wind that was whipping up the snow into a hurricane-like frenzy. One would think that the city of Baltimore
would invest in a parking structure, at least for their employees, since it was
known for its harsh winters. The snow
crunched under Eleanor’s snow boots, which completed her early morning
ensemble. If one would have told her
years ago that she would leave the house on a regular basis in black snow
boots, jeans, and her unruly curls, haphazardly contained by a pony tail,
without a stitch of makeup, she would not have believed it. But this was her life and there was little
she would change.
The
basement entrance to the medical examiner’s wing, marked with a red neon
“Authorized Personnel Only” sign, served as a beacon in the flurry of
snowflakes. One swipe of her security
badge and she was inside, welcomed by the warmth. The dim lighting and empty corridors with
their walls painted a muted green were reminiscent of a horror movie, yet they provided
a sense of comfort to Eleanor. The
entire basement was void of people; at least those with a heartbeat
anyway. The quietness and stillness
always helped to clear away the mental cobwebs that just prove to be a
hindrance to the task at hand.
The
Body Collection Point Recovery Team had been busy these past couple of hours,
as the queue contained six new case numbers.
In the stainless steel cooler, the first body of the day awaited. A youthful looking, clean shaven young
Caucasian male, who still looked full of life and vigor, except for the
multitude of bullet wounds to his chest; another young life cut down way too
soon. There is no question as to the
cause of death, but the information that can be gleaned from a body can speak
volumes. This is the reason Eleanor
became a medical examiner, while most of her classmates chose more lucrative
and alluring careers, such as oncology or pediatric specialties.
Fresh
scrubs donned, the treasure hunt process begins; seeking out the secrets that
lay silently before Eleanor. There
doesn’t appear to be anything too remarkable about the body, but as in life,
there is more than meets the eye.
Pulling out the skill saw and lowering the clear facial mask, the
internal examination began. While some
may prefer to start with the familiar Y-incision, which consists of using a
scalpel to cut lines from each clavicle to the chest where they meet and
continue together to the pelvic bone, her starting point was usually the brain. The brain is the hub of all that happens
inside the body, and that is where the secrets are stored.
The
sound of the skill saw filled the tiled autopsy suite, its high-pitched squeal
bounced off the ceramic enclosure. Upon
making the C-incision and peeling back the scalp to expose the grey gelatinous
mass that is the brain, there doesn’t appear to be any significant
abnormalities; no lesions, no evidence of blunt force trauma, and no
swelling. Eleanor switched out the skill
saw for a scalpel and starts to separate the sections of the brain. Like peeling the leaves of an artichoke, the
brain is an intricate pattern of overlaying and interlacing components, each
with their own special purpose.
As
the twisting matter was separated, Eleanor noticed something that doesn’t belong,
something completely foreign not just to the brain, but to the body as a whole. There appeared to be a small mass, about the
size of a thumb nail, which was connected to both the optic nerves and auditory
nerves, like a spider’s web with an unusual looking prey caught in the
spindles. Alarmed at this finding,
Eleanor glanced at the clock on the wall which now displayed 7:35 A.M., and pressed
the intercom button located on the wall behind her, which connected her to
Craig, the assistant medical examiner.
“Craig,
its Eleanor, can you come here for a minute?” She said, masking the twinge of
urgency in her voice. “I have something
I would like you to take a look at.”
“Sure,
be right there.”
Within
less than a minute, her assistant Craig was in the autopsy suite. He was quite tall and thin, gangly really,
with the pallor that would make the snow outside look tan. They started working together about two years
ago. He reminded Eleanor of herself when
she started all those years ago, eager and ready to dig right in.
“Do
you see this small black mass, here in the brain?” Eleanor indicated the unknown object with the
once shiny but now blood splattered scalpel.
“Have you ever seen anything like it?”
“Hmmmm,
I don’t seem to recall seeing anything like that in the past. Can I see that scalpel?”
Eleanor
watched as Craig used the scalpel to gently separate the small unknown black
mass from the surrounding brain tissue.
As the object was freed from the intertwining nerves and tissue, its
shape became more identifiable.
“Is
that what I think it is?” whispered Eleanor.
“That
all depends on what you think it is. It
appears to be a combination of plastic and metal. I will know more when we clean it off.”
They
cleaned the foreign object with the care and gentleness one would use when
bathing a newborn baby. Holding the
small object between the tines of gleaming forceps, Eleanor shifted her gaze
from Craig to the body of the young man from which this object was removed,
back to the small piece newly cleaned in front of her.
“This
looks like a universal serial bus drive Craig.
But what would it be doing in this young man’s brain, connected to his
optic and auditory nerves? It doesn’t
make any sense. We have found numerous foreign
objects in the bodies here, from drug mules with balloons of heroin burst
inside their intestines, to over $10 in pennies in the stomach of that old
woman last year. Finding something
foreign embedded in the brain, complete with neural attachment, well, that’s a
first for me.”
“Well,
if it is a USB drive, we could try to see if there is something on it.”
“If
that is the plan, we need to document the whole process. Can you set up the video and audio over
here?”
“Consider
it done.”
“Well,
let’s not get ahead of ourselves, Craig.
There could be a logical explanation that we haven’t realized yet.”
As
Craig set up the video recorder and angled the ceiling mounted microphone,
Eleanor brought the laptop over to the center staging table in the autopsy
suite. She could feel her pulse quicken
while beads of sweat collected on her forehead and upper lip. Her hands had started to quiver in
anticipation of the potential discovery.
She powered up the laptop, directly in line with the video recorder, as
Craig brought the USB drive-type device over to the table.
“Ready,
Eleanor?” Craig said, holding the device in the palm of his hand.
“Are
we rolling?”
“Locked
and loaded.”
“Ok,
let’s do this.”
Craig
handed the device over to Eleanor, who inserted it into the port on the
laptop. Audible gasps bounced off the
ceramic walls of the autopsy suite as the computer registered the USB
drive. A file was located on the drive
titled, “Subject 173264: Meyers, Jacob.”
Eleanor navigated the laptop’s mouse to open the file. A video file with a date stamp of the day
before was the only thing located in the main file.
“Well,
that is certainly odd. Why would the
only thing on this USB drive be date stamped yesterday? There doesn’t appear to be any file backup, modification
or creation dates either.” Eleanor said.
“I
don’t think that odd even begins to describe the present situation.”
They
both stood speechless as the video played on the laptop screen. The picture seemed to be in a first-person
point of view, as they go about their daily business, casually taking in their
surroundings. It is early evening, the
snow level not nearly as high as it is presently. The sound of the snow and ice crunching
underfoot was captured on the video recording, adding an all too realistic
touch to the picture on the screen. The
back and forth movement on the screen as the subject walked down the sidewalk
began to make Eleanor a little queasy.
Suddenly, a white, mid-size, late model car filled the view of the
screen, the sound of tires squealing echoed in the autopsy suite. The sound of a multitude of gunshots
emanating from the speakers of the laptop caused both Eleanor and Craig to
jump. Rooftops and the horizon of the
winter sky fill the screen, as the sound of gurgling and sputtering filled the
room. The video turned blurry, as if
Vaseline had been smeared on the lens of a camera, everything in soft focus.
Eleanor
and Craig turned to each other, both in disbelief of what they just witnessed
before them, mouths agape. Suddenly, the
doors to the medical examiner’s suite bust open, jarring Eleanor and Craig from
their transfixed amazement. Several men
in black SWAT-type uniforms, weapons drawn forced their way into the
enclosure.
“Show
me your hands!” bellowed a voice from the intruders.
“Mmmay
I help you?” Eleanor’s voice quivered.
“Hands! Now!”
“Sure,
anything. Can someone tell me what is
going on here? Who are you?”
“That
is none of your concern lady. We know
you found the chip. Hand it over and we
will forget any of this happened.”
“I
am not handing over anything to someone who just barged into MY office. I don’t know who you are, but that is not how
I run things.”
“Lady,
I will not repeat myself again. It would
be in your best interest to hand it over right this second.”
“And
what if I don’t?”
With
that quick question, Eleanor and Craig quickly found out the answer. Before they could call out for assistance,
the intruders let loose a hail of gunfire, the sound deafening in the small
tiled enclosure. Eleanor and Craig
collapsed to the concrete floor, their vision turned blurry, just as they had
seen on the laptop display.
