MicroHorror

“Blood bank, Bill.” The lab tech answered the phone.

“Sure, I’ll get it ready”..

“I have 350… maybe 400 milliliters ready to expire.”

“Okay, give me about an hour to throw it through the cell washer.”

***

The midnight silence of the hospital hallway was broken with the sound of footsteps as a tall, slender man approached the blood bank. Bill put down his paperback, walked out of the lab office and stood by one of the glass door refrigerators. The darkly complected man in a black suit and tie stepped into the lab with a white box labeled “Biohazard–Human Blood Products.”

Bill opened the refrigerator without a greeting and grabbed three bags of blood off of the quarantined shelf. He placed the units of blood on a tabletop scale and read the digital number result.

“352 mL, two O-negatives and a B-positive, packed cells, washed free of all preservatives, ready to go. Lets round it to 350 and make the math easy. It’s late and I hate doing math after midnight. 700 bucks.” Bill politely thanked the mid-thirties-looking gentlemen for the business and added: “Do you own anything else but that suit? It’s kinda creepy, dude. Looks like you just came from a funeral.”

“Never been to a funeral and don’t plan on going to any.”

“You know, one of these days, a security guard at the front desk is going to want to see some kind of identification from you to prove you actually work for the community blood bank.”

“Don’t worry about the guards. They’re all used to seeing me come around here by now. Believe me, I’m an old pro at this. I’ll be in contact with you in a few days.”

“Boy, you’re picking up the pace with these deliveries. This is the third one this week”.

“Is there a problem?”

“No, not at all. No problems here. I throw expired blood away almost every night. And anyhow, I can use the money. I’ve got three teenage boys eating me out of house and home.”

“Well… I also have soon-to-be-teenage twin boys at home and have the same problem going on.”

***

One week went by and no midnight phone calls were made to the blood bank for a special delivery. Bill wondered if his cash flow was going to be shut off without notice. He found out on his way to work that night.

The lab tech was barely two blocks from his house when he noticed he was not alone in the car. Two identical faces stared back at him in the rear view mirror. Bill cursed and slammed hard on the brakes. The car came to a screeching halt and then forced him backwards. The two teenage boys laughed loudly from the backseat.

Before Bill could move, one of the boys grabbed the back of his hair and easily lifted him a couple of inches off of his seat. The other said:

“You know what’s so funny back here, Blood Bank Bill?”

Bill’s heart was pounding so hard he could not catch his breath enough to speak. His head was bent back over the seat and his throat burned from the stretch.

“We’re both off of baby food!”

• Copyright: © 2009 Charles Skorzewski

“Don’t look back!… Don’t turn around… Do not turn around. Nobody saw anything. Nobody was around. It was dark. Not my fault. Don’t even look back there in the damn mirror! Concentrate… Concentrate on the road. Slow down… big breaths, watch the road, 35 miles per hour good.”

***

Tom left early from the company picnic. He always dreaded the first Saturday in June. But he was the boss and was expected to go. The men and ladies that worked for Tom really let loose at the annual event. Free beer, free food, awards and prizes, Tom’s thank you to everyone who had made Twinn Shipping successful. It was nothing but a “drunk fest” to Tom after he stopped drinking abruptly a few years earlier.

He called his wife on the cell phone to find out about Tommy Jr. His wife assured him that his son was all right, but having some problems with teething. They truly were his life.

Tom came up on the worst stretch of his yearly commute home. He wished there was another way to the interstate. Tom drove his BMW slightly over the posted speed limit in an attempt to get out of the area more quickly. The corner that haunted his dreams and thoughts was almost in his sights. 7th and Taylor. He told himself to just concentrate on the road and it will be over shortly. But Tom did not take his advice this year, as his vision unintentionally traveled over to the right side of the road.

A red Cardinals hat sat on the concrete curb as his car approached. Tom felt his heart beating and took note of his breathing. He tried to calm himself down when he saw the beat-up, weathered hat. Impossible, he thought to himself, and looked first in his mirror and then physically looked back to make sure it was there.

He stopped. Without thought he got out of his car and walked to the hat for a closer look. It was the hat he saw a million times in his mind. The only piece of clothing he could remember.

The Cardinals hat waited on the curb for Tom to pick it up. On one knee he looked long and hard at the hat and begun to cry. He finally mustered up the guts to pick up the hat. It felt very heavy in his hands as he looked through tears at the inside of the cap.

“J. M.” was written on the bill of the hat in black marker. The J and M were obviously written by a child.

Tom was violently hit by a car.

He lay face-up many feet away from the curb. Pain hammered through his body that was bleeding from every orifice. Tom tried to breathe but could not get air into his body which desperately needed it. He could see light but could not focus. Sounds were oddly clear.

“I’ll make sure the son of a bitch dies here on the side of the road.”

Pressure and pain exploded into his ribs. The same feeling started on the other side of his body. Many words fell on Tom as he concentrated on the sounds. He finally heard what he needed to hear. The forceful pain never left his ribs but started on the side of his head and face.

“Someone get Joey’s hat…”

• Copyright: © 2007 Charles Skorzewski