No Surrender | Eddie Munson

Chapter Five: The Body

CHAPTER FIVE: THE BODY

LIFE ON MARS? — DAVID BOWIE

But her friend is nowhere to be seen
Now she walks through her sunken dream
To the seat with the clearest view
And she's hooked to the silver screen

TW// Corpse, mentions of v*mit

——————

I wake to the sound of ringing. My head aches but I force myself up, snatching the phone up before it can wake my mother. "Hello?"

"Beth? Hey, it's Jonathan."

Glancing over to the clock on the wall, I frown. "Can't sleep?"

A voice sounds from the other end, almost too muffled to hear. "No. Look, we're heading up to the morgue for eight. This is a really big ask and I'm really sorry, I was just wondering if you'd be there for support. Mom really likes you and I think it could do her some good right now. You don't have to see the body, just be there. I-If you want."

"Of course. I'll meet you there."

——————

They are already waiting when I enter. Rushing over, I greet both Jonathan and his mother with hugs and awkward condolences.

Joyce says nothing. Not even when we come through to the viewing room. She stares through the glass, right at the sheet-covered gurney, with a burning determination.

The coroner pulls the cover back.

It's his face, definitely. His eyes are closed, his bare chest completely still. I can see the veins through his skin. Never before has he looked quite so small, or quite so young. Too young for this.

Something is wrong, though. I can feel it.

Rather, it's what I can't feel. There's a distinct emptiness in the room. Everything is so quiet. It's not cold, just absent of heat.

A choked gasp comes from beside me. Jonathan runs for the door.

I look to Joyce but she doesn't seem to notice. "I'll check on him," I hurriedly say, following him into the bathroom. His retches echo off the tiled walls as I cautiously near the open stall. There he kneels, steadying himself against the walls of the cubicle as he throws up.

Fetching a cup of water from the waiting room outside, I quickly return. My movements are followed and I glance over to see Hopper sat by the window. He nods slowly, a respectful greeting that I reciprocate before returning to my friend.

"Hey," I sigh, sinking to the floor beside him.

He accepts the plastic cup with a quiet mutter of thanks, using half of the contents to rinse his mouth out before spitting it back into the toilet. He gulps down the rest. His whole body trembles as he leans back against the wall. "I thought I could handle it."

Shaking my head, I offer a hand out to him. He takes hold of it. "You just lost your little brother. Nobody's ever prepared for that kind of thing. There's no right way to deal with this, no right way to handle it. I'm proud of you for even being here and I'm proud that you asked me to come, 'cause this is terrifying. You shouldn't have to go through this alone."

A quiet sob escapes him. My arms outstretch, inviting him into my embrace. I smile sadly as his head rests against my shoulder, already wet from tears. "Thank you," he breathes.

"Anytime."

When he is ready, we head back through to the waiting room. Joyce hasn't come out yet so we take a seat, side by side. Our hands are connected in a firm grip.