Blood Legacy: The Story of Ryan Read Free Page A

impractical idea. Just what young aspiring trainees needed, the lights in the morgue going off and on, apparently on their own.
    Mason stood for a moment while his eyes adjusted to the dim light. He scanned down the row of units. He was ready to turn away when out of the corner of his eye he saw what he was looking for.
    Another drop of water landed on the floor.
    Mason walked over and bent down to the puddle on the floor. He glanced up to the units where the condensation was coming from. He touched the lower unit and it was warm to the touch. He slid his hand up the metal surface as he stood. This unit was nearly hot. In fact, it appeared this unit was the one malfunctioning and radiating heat outward to the adjacent units.
    Mason lifted the handle on the middle unit and pulled the drawer outward. He felt a pang when he saw the golden hair; he was hoping it had not been her unit, but apparently it was. He would have to let Susan know her research subject probably wouldn’t keep much longer. He leaned forward, though, puzzled. He was surprised the stench had not overwhelmed him. It appeared the smell was coming from the adjacent units.
    Mason was just about to shut the drawer when he stopped and pulled it out a little further. Something seemed strange about the body he had put in here days ago. He pushed the plastic closer to the face so he could get a better look, but the plastic was still blurry. He reached in with both hands and unzipped the top portion of the bag so the woman’s face was exposed.
    He stared at the face, trying to figure out what was bothering him. He was surprised at the lack of stench when he opened the bag. He shrugged his shoulders; so this body was not decomposing as rapidly as the others were. Hell, she looked better now than she had three days ago.
    Mason stopped. Maybe that was what was bothering him. Maybe she did look better than she had three days ago.
    Mason shook his head. Or maybe he had just mentally exaggerated her injuries. He didn’t know why he was so infatuated with this particular body; he was beginning to worry about himself. If he started having necrophilic fantasies, he was definitely going to find another job.
    “Okay Mason. Enough of this. Time to go find out what’s wrong with those computers.”
    He reached down and began to zip the bag. The zipper caught and he briefly struggled with it.
    And then Mason’s heart stopped.
    The woman’s face was framed between his suddenly nerveless fingers. The side that was crushed inward had left the orbit intact, as well as, presumably, the eyeball itself. This presumption was proved suddenly and emphatically correct.
    Because the eyeball was looking at him.
     
     
    Susan poured herself the first cup of coffee from her freshly brewed pot. She laced it with a touch of honey and a touch of cream, and was just preparing to savor her first sip when the phone rang. She pressed “speaker” and mumbled a hello.
    “Uh, Dr. Ryerson?” came Mason’s uncertain voice.
    Susan stretched her neck from side-to-side, still trying to wake up. “Yes Mason?”
    “Uh, doctor, do you think you could come down here and check something out?”
    Susan tried to press her chin to her chest to get the rest of the kinks out. “I was going to come down later anyway. Can it wait?”
    “Ummm,” he said uncertainly, “I really don’t think so. I really wish you’d come down here now.”
    Susan stood upright, finally sensing the agitation in his voice. “Is everything all right? What’s wrong?”
    For once it was Mason who did not wish to disclose over the phone. “I really think you should come down here.”
     
     
     
    Susan stepped off the elevator to find Mason waiting for her in the hallway. He seemed shaken. Susan touched his elbow, intending to guide him down the hallway, but he stopped, almost afraid to continue.
    Susan looked at him curiously. “Mason, what’s wrong with you? Why are you acting like this?”
    Mason was not sure where to