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I shook my head, laughing at the thought. “No, don’t worry. It just means that when you go on maternity leave or whatever, I’ll be able to hold down the fort,” I reassured her.
Imogen shrugged on her white overcoat, a sense of purpose in her movements. “Let’s head up. I’m sure the ambulance is here.”
We made our way to the elevator and rode it up to the main floor. When the doors opened, we were surprised to find a woman paramedic waiting with a gurney.
“Oh,” Imogen laughed, her surprise apparent. “We were just coming to meet you.”
We stepped back to make room, and the paramedic pushed the gurney into the elevator. “Rocco told me to just come down,” she explained, her voice friendly and professional.
We both nodded as the elevator doors slid shut. Imogen and I were used to meeting the gurney at the ambulance, but with Rocco here now, things were going to be a little different.
“I don’t think we’ve ever met before,” Imogen called out, breaking the silence.
The paramedic smiled, her expression warm and welcoming. “Oh, that’s because I’ve only been working at Jackson Memorial for a month or so.”
“I’m Imogen and this is Dorothy. We’ll probably be seeing each other a few times a month,” Imogen called.
“I’m Becky,” the woman answered.
As the elevator doors opened, Becky wheeled the gurney into the morgue, and Imogen and I followed closely behind. We worked together seamlessly, positioning the gurney with practiced ease.
“Why don’t you take care of the paperwork?” Imogen suggested, gesturing towards the desk where the necessary forms were.
I gathered the needed paperwork and started filling it out.
Imogen’s surprised gasp pulled me from the forms. “What’s wrong?” I asked. I looked up, but my smile faltered and my heart plummeted when I came face to face with a gun pointed directly at me.
Time seemed to freeze as fear gripped me, paralyzing my movements and stealing the breath from my lungs. My mind raced as I tried to comprehend what the hell was happening.
“There’s a squirrel on the—” Imogen’s words faltered when she turned and saw Becky pointing the gun at me. “Oh god,” she whispered.
The air in the room felt heavy as Becky held us at gunpoint, her grip on the weapon steady. My mind raced with a thousand questions, but all I could focus on was the cold, hard reality of the gun pointed directly at me.
“If either one of you moves an inch without me telling you to, I’ll shoot you,” Becky declared, her voice laced with a deadly seriousness.
Imogen and I exchanged a fearful glance, the situation sinking in with chilling clarity. We were completely at Becky’s mercy, powerless to do anything but comply with her demands.
“Please don’t hurt us,” Imogen whispered, her voice trembling with fear.
“We’ll do whatever you want,” I added, desperation creeping into my tone.
Becky’s glare bore into me, her eyes flashing with anger. “Call Rocco,” she ordered, her voice sharp and commanding. “Tell him you need him down here. And remember, if you so much as hint that I’m here, I will shoot you both.”
Imogen and I remained frozen in place, the weight of Becky’s threat hung heavy in the air. But when she screamed at us to act, I knew we had no choice but to comply.
“I, I need to move toward the phone,” I stammered, my voice barely above a whisper.
“Slow,” Becky commanded, her voice firm and unwavering.
With trembling hands, I sidestepped toward the phone, acutely aware of the gun trained on me every step of the way. Carefully, I lifted the receiver, my heart pounding in my chest.
“Put it on speaker,” Becky ordered, her tone left no room for argument.
I complied, my hands shook as I dialed Rocco’s extension. With each ring, my heart raced faster, the fear gripping me like a vice.
“Hello?” Rocco’s voice echoed through the speaker.
“Uh, hey,” I replied, struggling to keep my voice steady. “Do you think you could come down to the basement? Imogen and I can’t seem to get the lid off the new barrel of formaldehyde.”
