Chapter 2: Melissa and the Morgue 1-3

"Good morning, Melissa," Mr. Herbert smiled with his toothless, gummy, mouth.
"Good morning to you too, Mr. Herbert! How was your night?" Melissa Joyner replied.

"It," Mr. Herbert paused, "was fine."
"Why the hesitation?"
"It's just," he chuckled, "well, I just had a bad dream, that's all."

"In all honesty, Mr. Herbert, it was probably just your pet rabbit banging on the cage," Melissa joked.

"Speak for yourself, with your goldfish."
"Hey…goldfish are awesome," she smiled.

While the conversation continued, Melissa rolled Mr. Herbert's wheelchair to the edge of his hospital-bed, and helped him sit in it as comfortably as he could.

"What's for breakfast today?" He whispered as Melissa rolled him across the crowded main hallways of Metropolitan Hospital.
"Burritos."
"Again?" He asked in disappointment.
She nodded with a frown.

Melissa wasn't some ordinary caretaker who just came in and did her job for a paycheck. She knew these patients were sick and dying, and that she must be a happy face in the crowd for them.

Melissa has met many Mr. Herberts before, and she will meet many more. For Mr. Herbert is a crippled, old, man whose remaining days will be spent in this hospital, being served death-food and given care.

As she gazes at the elderly people in the lobby area (either watching TV, playing puzzles, or talking to one another), she stresses over her own life and if it will end this way, as well. But in her case it would be her delivering her own food and caring for herself. In other words, she'd be a caretaker her whole life, which isn't necessarily a bad thing, but is somewhat lame compared to the actual doctors and nurses that work here. Colleges weren't so accepting of her average grades and whatnot, so the next best thing in helping people was a caretaker...which wouldn't be a bad thing if it weren't for the low pay. Nonetheless, Melissa enjoyed helping people.

But what really sets in the mood of "I'm going to be here forever and never going to advance" is Melissa's group of young-adult coworkers.

"Yea, I'm gaining experience for my college applications," Albert told the group whilst sipping coffee.
"Me too," Megan replied. "What about you, Melissa?"

She gulped with shyness. "I…uh…I like my job right now."
"Aren't you like 30 ("28, actually," Melissa quietly interjects) years old? Shouldn't you still be trying to get a better job...no offense," Albert says.
"I'm just not ready."

That's how you could describe Melissa's whole life in one phrase: "I'm just not ready."
For she is not a risk-taker…or a courageous person in general.

The other adults just sorta looked at each other privately in an awkward facial expression, making Melissa feel left out.

While walking to the kitchen to collect the "special" morning-juice (medicine) for newly-diagnosed patient, Gary Winston, a suicide survivor with 3rd degree burns, she walks past an unused hallway bordered off with yellow, crime, tape.

It was recently taped off when, just a month ago, during a rainy day, a sudden electrical outburst had electrified 10 patients. All bodies were immediately taken to the...Morgue.

Melissa's palms had begun to sweat at the thought of the "Morgue." It carried such boldness. A place where the dead are taken. Just the word itself induced fear in her. Yet she's never been there, nor has ever pushed the elevator button that reads "Floor 00", plus she doesn't even have permission to go down there.

Her only job that includes the Morgue in any way, is to immediately call the Doctors, nurses, or staff when she's discovered a dead patient in their hospital bed. Those few minutes of her in the same room alone with the dead body are hell. A soulless sack of flesh and bone either staring at her with wide-open waterless eyes or closed ones she must pry open herself to make sure the human is dead; she doesn't know which one is worse.

And as she walked past this dark abandoned hallway, she felt a burst of cold air cool her sweaty palms. The Morgue must be this cold, she thought.

Ironically, the Morgue is located in the basement, which happens to be just below this taped off hallway; better known as "Hallway 10".

After receiving the medicine-juice, she took the elevator to the 4th floor and walked to Gary Winston's room, which was at the very end of his hallway.

Gary was laying in his bed, staring out the window located to his right. His head was bandaged completely, only revealing his nose, eyes, and mouth. He resembled a mummy.

"Hey, Gary," Melissa cheered, but no response was given.

"I got your juice…"

Gary sat up straight and stared at her…more so her face specifically.
"Such a pretty young thing," he murmured to her.
"Thank you, Mr. Winston. Right back at you, sir," she responded with a smile while placing his juice and breakfast-tray on his desk to his left.

"Don't kid yourself. I'm a mess. If you think I look bad now, you should've seen me without the cast?" He giggled.
"I think you look lovely," she replied trying to make good conversation. But based on his quiet voice and slouched posture, she knew something was "off".

"I, uh, wanna tell you something."
"What is it?" She asked with soft eyes.
"I wanna tell you how I got these burns."
"Oh, no, no. It's ok. You don't have to. I already know you were in an accident," she replied kindly.

"I wanna tell you what caused it."
She stood quiet as to say "Alrighty, go ahead."

"I had gotten a call from my brother, and one thing lead to another, I was on my way to New York, my home. But see, when I moved to Indiana, I was around 22, I had somehow forgotten some memories; as we all do. But these memories were too dark to just forget. And I had definitely 100% forgotten them, surprisingly."

Melissa continuously nodded throughout the conversation. She was really intrigued and curious to where this was all leading.

"As soon as I entered New York, I felt It. I knew It was back. For the 3rd time...It awakens every 27 years." Gary paused, tearing up, "Henry had figured it all out."

Melissa had felt sympathy for this man. Obviously something had happened to him multiple times. But she had no idea what he was talking about...yet.

"And I tell you all this because my crash was no accident. What did they tell you caused the accident?"
"Uh," Melissa thought for a few seconds, "it was raining and a flat tire caused you to swerve off-road into a tree, catching the car on fire."

"All that was true. But I saw something. You won't believe me if I told you."
"You can tell me," Melissa added, curious as ever.
"I saw...Henry in the middle of the road. He died exactly 27 years ago. Do you understand?"

She shook her head.

"Melissa, It's back. It's been 27 years."
"What's It?"
"It is the manifestation of evil and fear, Melissa."

He stopped to cry, urging her to enter the bathroom of his room and get toilet paper for his tears. He wiped the tears that flowed down his cast, which dropped to his lips.
"Do you need anything else? You don't have to continue what you were saying."

"No!" He whimpered. This shook her, making her step back in fear. "I need to tell you this."
"I don't want you to feel sad," she said in pure sorrow for his tear, old, man eyes.

"Look. It's back. And It's here. In this hospital. Right now. It caused the accident. It knows I'm back. And It wants me," he spoke with a raised and rushed voice.

He dropped to the floor in pain. Hollering and gurgling saliva.
"Oh my gosh! I'll go get a nurse!" Melissa shrieked, thinking he was having a seizure, while turning her back to run.

She yelled out the hallway for assistance, and a Doctor immediately responded, running in her direction.

"A Doctor's coming," she said, feeling panicked.
"Oh my gosh," Gary mumbled through his saliva.
"What?! What is it?"
"It knows. It knows I've told you everything."
"Who's It?!" She asked in fear.
"Melissa, don't trust anyone or anything. It won't hurt you if you're not scared. Don't be scared."

The Doctor had arrived into the room, followed by a few nurses. They commanded Melissa to leave, which she obeyed. She would have left anyways. This was, to say the least, a confusing and creepy experience.

She rushed her way back into the elevator and to the ground floor. Not knowing how to process everything that happened, she went to the bathroom to "clean up".

As she washed her terrified face, she thought of the things he said. How Gary had put such emphasis on the word "It". Reminding her of the word "Morgue," and how she thought of it with such boldness and power.

She straightened her blue, hospital, scrubs and left the bathroom to continue her job of delivering terrible hospital food to people in need.

The day ended with Melissa rolling back Mr. Herbert in his wheelchair to his room, which caused her to pass that wretched hallway, giving her goosebumps. Although Mr. Herbert spoke to her along the entire roll, she was more focused on Gary Winston and everything he had said.

I saw...Henry in the middle of the road. He died exactly 27 years ago. It is the manifestation of evil and fear, Melissa. It's back. And It's here. In this hospital. Right now. It wants me. It knows I've told you everything. Melissa, don't trust anyone or anything. It won't hurt you if you're not scared. Don't be scared.

"Ms. Joyner, can you please leave the light on of the room," Mr. Herbert asks, bringing her out of her thoughts.
"Of course. Have a good night. I'll see you tomorrow," she replied politely, closing his hospital room door.

Mr. Herbert turns on the TV of the room and drinks the glass of water that sits on his nightstand beside his hospital bed. While giving a deep, worried, sigh, he whispers to himself "It was just a dream…it wasn't real."

Melissa takes the night bus to her townhouse on Vice Street. Her townhouse is an ugly-looking, brick red, two-story that shares the wall of two constantly arguing parents of a five-year-old, little, boy.

The bus ride was, as usual, nothing special. Just a few minutes of sitting on the public green bench, sharing it sometimes with a few strangers/bus-users. Most of the time, however, she is alone in the bus because of the inconsistent, late, hours she leaves work; she works over-time serving food and caring for as many patients as possible. Right now, the time reads 8:13pm.

She does this because of the fact that she needs the money. If she ever wants to buy a car, or a better house, then she must make/save as much money as possible from this low-paying job. After all, this is New York City…very expensive.

She did see something out of the ordinary that you do not see much of in New York City these days. A clown.

Just as the bus stopped at a corner red-light, she noticed a clown waving at her in the midst of the orange street-light. A pleasant thing; nothing too unusual. The way he smiled looked as if he was off to live his dream of being a performer, or something of that sort. As if he arrived in New York to pursue his dreams of running a circus. His outfit was a throwback to the victorian ages, and, what intrigued her the most, was the red marks down its eyes that eventually connected to the large, red-painted, "Ronald Mcdonald-like" smile. Furthermore, his tuffs of orange hair surrounding the white, bald, head brought a shy giggle along with her smile.

Little did Melissa know that this "clown" was not here in New York City to pursue his "dreams of running a circus".