Brain by Robin Cook. Chapter 5, 6, 7

“Lisa Marino?” asked Denise incredulously.

“Exactly.”

“Well I’m not going to have any part of this.” She backed up as if about to flee.

“Denise, don’t be silly. All I’m going to do is get the CAT scan and X rays I wanted. Then the body is coming right back. You don’t think I’m going to keep it, do you?”

“I don’t know what to think.”

“What an imagination,” said Philips as he grabbed the end of the gurney and pulled it into the antique walk-in refrigerator. The IV bottle clanked against its metal pole. Denise followed, her eyes rapidly exploring the interior which was completely tiled; walls, ceiling and floor. The tiles had once been white; now they were an indeterminate gray. The room was thirty feet long and twenty feet wide. Parked in rows on each side were old wooden carts with wheels the size of those on a bicycle. Down the center of the room was an open lane. Each cart supported a shrouded corpse.

Philips slowly moved down the center aisle, glancing from side to side. At the back of the room he turned around and began lifting the corner of each sheet. Denise shivered in the damp cold. She tried not to look at the bodies closest to her, which had been the gory result of one of the rush-hour traffic accidents. A foot, still wearing its shoe, stuck out at a crazy angle, advertising that the leg had been broken in mid-calf. Somewhere out of sight an old compressor chugged to life.

“Ah, here she is,” said Philips, peering under one of the sheets. Thankfully, for Denise, he left the shroud in place and motioned for her to bring the gurney down. She did it like an automaton.

“Help me lift her,” said Philips.

Denise grabbed Lisa Marino’s ankles through the sheet to avoid touching the corpse. Philips hefted the torso. On the count of three, they moved the body, noticing that it had already become stiff. Then with Denise pulling, and Martin pushing, they guided the gurney back out of the refrigerator. Philips closed and secured the door.

“What’s the IV for?” asked Sanger.

“I don’t want people to think we’re pushing around a corpse,” said Philips. “And for that effect, the IV is the maestro’s touch.” He pulled the sheet down, exposing Lisa Marino’s bloodless face. Denise looked away as Martin raised the head and shoved the pillow under it. Then he ran the blank IV line beneath the sheet. Stepping back, he checked the effect. ‘Perfect.” Then he patted the corpse’s arm, saying, “Are you comfortable now?”

“Martin, for God’s sake, do you have to be so gruesome?”

“Well, to tell you the truth, it’s a defense. I’m not sure we should be doing this.”

“Now he tells me”, moaned Denise as she helped guide the gurney through the double door.

They retraced their steps through the subterranean labyrinth and entered the patient’s elevator. To their dismay, it stopped on the first floor. Two orderlies were standing with a patient in a wheelchair. Martin and Denise stared at each other for a moment, in fear. Then Denise looked away, castigating herself for becoming involved in this ridiculous caper.

The orderlies wheeled the patient onto the elevator so that he was facing the rear, which they weren’t supposed to do. They were involved in a conversation about the upcoming baseball season, and if they had noticed Lisa Marino’s appearance, they didn’t mention it. But the patient was different. He looked over and saw the huge sutured horseshoe incision on the side of Lisa Marino’s head.

“She have an operation?” he asked.

“Yeah,” said Philips.

“She going to be alright?”

“She’s a little tired,” said Philips. “She needs some rest.”

The patient nodded as if he understood. Then the doors opened on the second floor, and Philips and Sanger got off. One of the orderlies even helped pull the gurney out.

“This is ridiculous,” said Sanger as they made their way up the empty hallway. “I feel like a criminal.”

They entered the CAT scan room. The redheaded technician saw them through the leaded window from the control room, and came in to help. Philips told him it was an emergency scan. After the technician adjusted the table, he positioned himself behind Lisa Marino’s head and put his hands under her shoulders, preparing to lift. Feeling the ice-cold, lifeless flesh, he jumped back.

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