MeatLocker

Chapter Nine-1

Chapter Nine

Just before Nurse Emily dropped to the floor, her body racked with gut-wrenching seizures, she had stopped by her locker to change out of her uniform.

She was counting the days. In two weeks, the uniform would be history. Just two more weeks and she would be gone. Jenny, having completed her probation, would be ready to step into her shoes; take over the responsibilities and leave her free to move to Arizona. And Jenny was more than welcome to take over her sleazy job.

For her part, Emily planned to leave for Arizona straight from Rosedale, the afternoon of her last day of employment. She couldn’t wait: pick up her final paycheck, empty her locker and hit the interstate. It was a long drive and she planned to use the time organizing her thoughts and writing her story for the medical journal. Her revelations were bound to send shock-waves throughout the medical profession. It would destroy careers and the indictments were sure to follow.

Emily was just closing the buttons of her blouse when she chanced to run her eyes along the upper shelf of her locker. The laptop was leaning against several medical books; ones she liked to keep on hand. The lid of the laptop hung open. She knew the hinge was loose and that’s why she always stood the laptop on end. That way, the lid would hang closed. But there it was, sitting on its hinges, the lid askew! The bare-bones of her story were saved on her laptop.

She felt a cold dread. Someone had been into her things. But before she could clearly focus on the dilemma, an unexpected wave of nausea rolled up into her throat. She turned, cold and sweaty, and found her knees had gone to pudding.

Ceiling tiles. They rippled above her head. Like the surface of a pond.

The tiles, with hundreds of little holes drilled in them, came drifting into focus. But they were undulating; the pattern of holes, like hundreds of tiny jelly fish, expanding... contracting... breathing. Like they were floating in water. But no, that can’t be right... is it me who is floating in water?

Nurse Emily was slowly rising through misty layers of conscientiousness. Clawing upwards like someone caught in a riptide; drifting up, but still beneath the surface... just below!

And, not being able to quite break through, she found herself drowning, suffocating... all that life-giving oxygen, just inches away.

Then a face.

Emily couldn’t make out the details... pink uniform, auburn hair, pale skin, a look of concern... then gone; drifting back into the night-shadows. I am dying. I must be.

Darkness... who knows for how long. And then, hardening against that darkness, the same pink uniform... and garbled voices…

But that high-pitched whine? What was it? The sound, like a cleaver splitting her forehead; opening up a slice that cut down through her sinuses and deep into her brain.

She knew the sound; knew it so well. It reminded her of the buzz of the cicadas in her grandma’s willow tree, back on the farm. She had been a little girl, then. “The sound of summer,” her father had told her.

She knew that sound, damn it; she struggled to assemble her thoughts, place the pitch and timber of the shrieking whine that was so insistent; so insistent that it demanded immediate attention.

Then, like a cloud passing from the face of the moon, all was made clear to her and she was jolted into full consciousness. By the gut-wrenching fear! The sound came from the heart monitor positioned on the wall just above her head. The leads were wired to her chest and the machine was flat-lining: Emergency. Code Blue. Cardiac arrest!

She struggled to get up, but her limbs were unresponsive. She caught the movement from the corner of her eye. The cardiac needle passed in front of her eyes. “Nooo!” she cried out and tried to raise an arm to ward off the jab and thrust. It was only then she realized that she was in restraints. Leather belts held her wrists and her ankles.

Her hospital gown was torn from her left shoulder, exposing her breast and rib cage. She screamed as she felt the prick of the needle; tried to pull aside. But hands held her. “No!” she cried again. “I can feel my heart. There’s no pain. I’m fine. Oh please... please!”

The needle slipped through her flesh on its long uninterrupted passage, up into her heart. There was a slight tug in her chest and the syringe wavered as the plunger was depressed. Emily felt no pain, more like a balloon expanding behind her ribs.

There was a spurt of blood as the syringe was pulled free and a puddle formed, pooling in the hollow between her breasts. Someone leaned forward and dabbed at it with a cotton swab.

Emily felt a lump rising toward her neck, like when you swallow the wrong way. It rose up and up. Then there was a terrific burst inside her skull. Bright lights. “No,” she cried. But nothing came out.

She was jostled awake.

So she did have sensation. Emily’s eyes opened and she saw the overhead light in the elevator. The wheel of the gurney had caught on the uneven floor as she was being loaded up and the two orderlies had to struggle to lift her over. The abrupt movement had brought her back from the brink.

She tried to raise a hand, but that was too much for her. What had been a subconscious movement several hours ago, was now a hopeless task.

Or was that yesterday?

Or last week?

What day was it? Emily tried desperately to overcome the despair she felt uncurling in her chest. It was time to take stock of what was left of her motor reflexes. The analytical nature of the exercise calmed her a little.

She could flutter her eyelids, even rotate her eyes. They worked, at least. She could see. And hear. But when she tried to speak, there was only a low groan in her throat; her lips were unresponsive. Moving arms or legs was an impossibility, though she could feel the sheet against the tips of her toes when she wiggled them. And the little finger of her left hand was dancing rhythmically.

She was aware of her heartbeat; pulsating softly in her neck. And her lungs were pulling shallow breaths in through her nostrils.

The two orderlies finally forced the end of the gurney around and the elevator doors closed. She had seen the two of them about the building, but didn’t know either; didn’t know their names. The hospital employed a dozen low-paid grunts to do the heavy lifting; they had no medical credentials. But now Emily had the overwhelming desire to communicate. Human contact was her only bridge to the outside world. She blinked furiously at the shorter man, trying to get his attention; let him know she was conscience and alert. He was about twenty-five, but hadn’t outgrown his problem skin. A straggly goatee hung from his chin.

“I think she likes you,” the taller man smirked.

Emily rolled her eyes over. He was smiling at her; a gold stud in his lip.

“The feeling is mutual,” the goatee waggled. “She’s a nice looking piece of tail. A super caboose. I’ve been watching that wiggle for months.”

The guy with the stud lowered his eyes. “Nice t**s too.” He leered at Emily’s chest and she realized, in stunned horror, that her left breast was still exposed and there wasn’t a damned thing she could do about it. “I hear she has a boyfriend,” stud-lip continued, still enjoying the view of her brown n****e, and her obvious discomfort.

“With that body? You surprised?”

“Naw. Just thinkin’ it’s too bad the guy isn’t here to watch.”

The goatee laughed. “Yeah. He’s gonna miss all the fun.”

The elevator bumped to a stop and the doors slowly opened. Emily looked up at the floor indicator strip above the door. They were in the basement! Oh god! There was nothing in the basement except... except...

They f****d her. In the morgue.

The scumbags rolled Emily’s gurney through the large stainless steel door and parked her in the center of the room. They locked the wheels. The guys went back to the door and slid the bolt across, then taped a sheet of paper across the narrow window. Their privacy assured, they quickly went to work on Emily.

They pounced like predators on roadkill; ripping the hospital gown from about her shoulders and exposing her tangerine-sized breasts. “Look at those uppity n*****s,” stud-lip exclaimed excitedly. “And you thought it was all about her ass!”

The guys teased themselves, slowly dragging the cotton gown lower; down across the slim muscular torso. They paused a moment, each taking a turn at slipping a hand beneath the fabric to grab her between the legs. “She feels good,” goatee beamed. “Nice p***y; nice and hairy.”

“And tight, too.”

“You think she’s natural?”

Stud-lip laughed. “Who cares. But let’s find out, shall we?”

As days went, Emily’s couldn’t get much worse: her locker had been broken into; she had suffered, what she thought was a mild stroke; and the heart monitor had malfunctioned. To complicate matters further, someone in her hospital room had panicked and injected a dose of adrenaline directly into her heart without first checking the syringe. There had been an air bubble and it was sent coursing through her bloodstream until it lodged in her brain: an air embolism. It blocked the flow of blood resulting in paralysis. And now, these two bastards were about to take advantage of her incapacitated state. And she was helpless to stop them. They were going to strip her and take turns between her legs.

She was natural. They tore the gown aside and giggled like adolescent girls at the sight of her thick rich pelt; the color of chestnuts. And the heavy lips nestled within the curls.

“She’s perfect,” goatee breathed, dropping the hospital gown to the tiles. They heard the staggered groan trying to force its way from Emily’s throat and laughed. “Perfect!”

It took them a moment to contemplate their prize. She was long and slim and her smooth skin seemed to glow; like it was translucent. Her breasts were small but solid, with long erect n*****s. With the combination of narrow hips and slim legs, she seemed much younger now they had stripped her. They gloated over her like they were half-starved, and she was the Thanksgiving spread.

“I heard she was getting married,” stud-lip boasted his inside information.

“You’re shittin’ me!”

“What? Look at the bitchin’ chick for f**k sakes. Someone was going to latch onto it. Guaranteed.”

“Some rich ass, I’ll bet. Doctor, or a lawyer maybe; some fucker in a fancy car. He’d take care of her, alright. All she’d have to do is look after herself; dress nice and watch her weight. Sit around and look fuckable to impress his friends.

“Uh-huh. Too bad the dude’s not here. Bet he’d love to watch his girlfriend get reamed.”

“A-1 bro. We’d give him a show.” The boys laughed; shot each other a high-five.

Emily turned her head away. She heard all what was being said, but there wasn’t a thing she could do to save herself.

Stud-lip laughed. “Hey, I’ll tell you what. I’ll flip you for her. Winner gets first dibs. What da yuh say?”

“You’re on buddy. But either way, I get her ass. I spotted it first.”

“What would your mamma say if she heard you talkin’ like that?”

“She’d laugh. Say, ‘go to it, boy! Show the uppity rich b***h a thing or two.’ Mamma had to put her backdoor out ‘nough times. Nothing like a good ass-stretch to take the sass outta a girl. ‘Do her good,’ tis what mamma would say.”

“Don’t think there’s much sass left in her,” stud-lip said, rolling his eyes from Emily’s pale resolute face to the peaks and valleys of her nakedness.

It was true. Her body was heavy and lifeless. But her mind was on full alert! And Emily took that as a positive sign; that the paralysis would prove to be temporary. And even as she prayed it might be so, she was abruptly aware of the cold penetrating her left hand. She forced her eyes over to look and saw her fingers resting on the steel framework of the gurney. She concentrated hard. Yes. Sensations were slowly returning. She was sure of it. They were concentrated in her most sensitive extremities: her fingertips, the soles of her feet, her face and, oh god! Her genitalia!

The muscles supporting her v****a pinched and a dribble of urine escaped the urethra and trickled down through the crease.

By god, yes, she could feel it!

Emily watched as stud-lip dug in the pocket of his jeans.

It was the most humiliating experience ever, for Emily: to watch two guys flip a coin to see who got to f**k her first.

“Call it,” he shouted.

“Tails.”

“Ha!” Stud-lip plucked the coin from the air. “You lose! Help me get her to the edge of the table.

“Son of a b***h,” goatee muttered, but bent over Emily without complaint.

Emily wanted to fight; wanted to kick and scratch as they grabbed a hold of her naked thighs and, half lifting and half dragging, they pulled her to the end of the gurney. She tried to scream, long and loud, but her frozen voice-box responded with an exhausted low-pitched croak that sounded like a toad being squeezed into submission.

They got her bum positioned where they wanted, at the edge of the table with her feet dangling down.

“Hold her leg up,” stud-lip instructed as he pulled his cell phone from the pouch on his belt. “Let’s get some pictures first.”

Goatee got a hand beneath Emily’s knee and, lifting her leg, he pulled back, separating her thighs. It made quite a display of the gaping v****a, but as an added bonus, he stuck his fingers in, separating the rubbery folds so his friend could capture her pink inner lips and the weeping cavity.

“Hold her there,” stud-lip gleefully shouted and he got a number of souvenir photographs before they changed places. Stud-lip lay his face on her belly and mugged for the camera, arched his tongue, curled his fingers in deep.

After they had reviewed their handiwork on the small viewing screen, they got down to it: the business of raping her.