From the front door, it was a straight shot right to the hospital bed where the young man had passed. Tom could see him now, quite thin and his mouth slightly open, his eyes closed as if he was asleep. He looked peaceful.
One bottle of arterial conditioner, one bottle of water corrective, two bottles of a twenty-five index arterial fluid…
Tom was already thinking of how he would embalm the young man. He couldn’t help it. It popped into his head unconsciously, and he didn’t even know if the young man would be embalmed. Listening in to Bosco’s chat with the father hinted at cremation, but that didn’t necessarily rule out embalming.
Not that anyone had to be embalmed. It wasn’t required by law, but many families chose to embalm, have a traditional service, and then cremate afterwards.
“Time to go,” Bosco grunted suddenly, startling Tom with his presence right beside him.
“Oh, right. They’re ready?”
The man stepped away into another room, the door shut, and there were immediately sounds of a woman screaming.
“Ready,” Bosco hissed, practically pushing Tom back outside so they could get the stretcher out of the van. “Gotta move fast. He’s gonna keep the wife in there so we can go.”
“Okay,” Tom said, scrambling to grab gloves for them both as Bosco pulled the stretcher from the back. Tom quickly took hold of the foot end, and the two of them effortlessly guided it up into the house.
One step.
Two steps.
Three steps.
There was no sign of the mother or father inside, although Tom could still hear a woman crying hysterically. They were going to move fast, and their only audience was the disinterested police officers. They hadn’t said a word to them, but that wasn’t so unusual.
Generally, police stayed until the scene was cleared. That is, they stayed until the body was removed. Their presence was a formality at this point.
Tom pulled on his gloves and traded the other pair to Bosco for the identification bracelet. He gently pulled the thick blankets back from the deceased young man and placed the bracelet on his ankle.
“Hello, Brady,” he whispered. “I’m Tom. This is Bosco.”
“Dad said he just has these pajamas on,” Bosco said quietly.
“That’s all I see.”
Hospice had bathed and cleaned the boy up, and he felt so light as Tom and Bosco pulled him over onto the stretcher. Everyone felt pretty light working with Bosco, but this young man was small enough that Tom could have moved him by himself.
There didn’t appear to be any fluids leaking, his diaper was new, and they opted to wrap a sheet over him instead of using a body bag. They tucked a pillow under his head, buckled him securely into place, and then draped the cot cover over him.
Neither one of them spoke. Having done this for so long, there was a natural rhythm to it and talking got in the way.
Tom already knew he would be going backwards down the stairs. Of everything Bosco did, it was the one thing he didn’t like. Tom would get on the foot end of the stretcher because there was an extra rail there to hold onto. They only had three steps to go down, but he preferred to use the rail if he had to go backwards like this.
Bosco knew that, too, so again there was no need to discuss it. Tom went to the foot end, and Bosco took the head. They rolled their way to the front door, and Tom opened it all the way. Together, they lifted the stretcher, and Tom set the pace for descending the steps.
“One, two, three, down,” Tom whispered, nodding as he continued to back up so Bosco could keep coming. Once they were both down, they wheeled the stretcher to the van. Tom opened the back door and dropped the end of the tray down so Bosco could load the boy up.
Tom stepped off to the side while he did so, and he thought he heard the front door of the house open. He heard someone scream, right behind him, and tried to whirl around to see what was happening.
“Tom!” Bosco’s warning came too late.
It was a woman, Mrs. Dresser presumably, her face soaked in tears and bright red, snarling, “No! No! You’re not taking my baby! No! I won’t let you!” She reeled back and struck Tom right in his mouth. “You bring him back! Right now!”
Tom jerked away, grabbing his face and backing up against the side of the van. Bosco was there in an instant, putting himself in between them. He took every slap, every punch, completely unflinching.
“I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!” Mr. Dresser was out there now, trying to wrap his arms around his wife. “Come on, baby. Come on, we’ve gotta go! Please stop!”
“Not until they give me my baby back!” she wailed, her hits slowly losing steam. She started to sob, falling to her knees in a miserable heap. “I just want, I just want my baby boy back.”
