Save Me

Calm Before the Storm

By one in the morning, Isabelle was fast asleep on the old futon. Michael, knowing he needed to get answers and quickly, quietly slipped out of the office and drove to the county morgue.

As he drove to Boyle Heights, the conversation with O'Harrah played over and over in his mind. He knew Bridgette wouldn't commit suicide. She had been with Jim for over twenty years, and throughout those abusive, drug-filled years, she never left him, she never threatened to go to the cops, she never tried to seek counseling. Though it was possible the years finally caught up to her, Michael felt something was off.

Before too long, he turned onto Mission Drive and pulled into the Los Angeles County Coroner's parking lot. The white and red-brick building always gave him the creeps at night. To him, the building looked like it was straight out of an old horror movie, though during the day, it was as harmless as any other building.

He parked his car, turned off the ignition, and walked through the front door, pleasantly surprised to see it was still unlocked. The reporting desk was empty and the lobby lights were off, but voices and music could be heard in the back. Cautiously looking around him, Michael silently walked around the desk and back toward the direction of the noise.

A young heavyset man was singing off-key to ABBA loudly blaring from a large speaker, slightly dancing as he examined the body of what looked to be an old homeless person. Michael smiled mischievously as he crept up behind the man and stood still, looking over his shoulder. The man paused, noticing a shadow looming over him. He slowly turned around and gasped loudly at Michael's presence.

"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!" he screamed. He pulled out a remote from his white coat jacket and began turning down the music. "I swear to the Goddess herself, one of these days Michael, I will throttle you!"

"Yeah, but knowing you, you'd enjoy it a little too much," Michael joked. "Besides, unfortunately for you, Craig, I'm here on business."

Craig placed his hand on his chest dramatically, still panting from the shock. "You're lucky you're cute," he replied with sass before composing himself. "So, what, or should I say who, brings you to my fabulous dungeon at oh-God-hundred in the morning?"

Michael sat down at the small desk in the corner, leaning back in the office chair. "A girl."

"It's always a girl," Craig huffed jokingly. "Name?"

"Truter, Bridgette."

"Ah, yes. The druggy who grew imaginary wings. She's in drawer 4A," Craig smiled, pointing at the one of multiple silver doors that lined the wall. Michael got up and started for the drawer when Craig stopped him. "Now honey, you know my fee," he gave Michael a longing look. Michael scoffed, shook his head, and handed Craig a couple of crumpled hundreds before walking around him to the drawer.

"Damn," Craig said disappointedly. "Oh well, payment is payment." He turned around and opened drawer 4A while Michael grabbed the pull bar and pulled the metal slab out. The white sheet that covered the body sent a shiver down Michael's spine and made his stomach lurch.

Craig pulled the sheet back to reveal Bridgette's face and shoulders. Her face was swollen and discolored from both rigor mortis and the beating she took before her death.

"Jesus," Michael breathed.

"Yeah. From what the cops said, she had the daylights beaten out of her before ODing and going for her swan dive." Craig flipped through papers on his clipboard before stopping on Bridgette's.

"With how swollen her face is, I doubt she could even see a needle, let alone the wall of the bridge," Michael said in a disgusted tone. He reached under the sheet to examine both of Bridgette's arms. On her left, a fresh and gnarly needle mark splayed on the crook of her elbow, along with a puffy bruise. The rest of her arm was heavily discolored with bruises that resembled the grip of very strong hands.