Late for Rest

This story centers around death.

“I’m late,” she thought as she ran for the bus. Her friends would say that was her life’s motto. Amelia scrambled on the bus, trying not to jostle anyone. She had been given a final warning about not getting to work on time and knew her boss was serious. She was good at her job, but this city had over two million people. She could be replaced. In fact, she was one of many autopsy technicians who were employed at her job. She enjoyed working with her colleagues and liked working under her supervisor.

The problem was, on top of being a natural procrastinator, she was in school full-time while working full-time, but this was her last semester. Her goal was to become an ME. She had always been interested in true crime as a kid and spent her free time watching the ID channel. Her first interest was in forensic science because she wanted to investigate crime scenes, but death and dead bodies never bothered her, and she started working in the morgue as an undergrad, which spurred her interest in forensic pathology.

It was then that she learned she was gifted in reading corpses. All those years of hearing about petechiae, cynosis, and lividity became useful. She could read bodies like a book. That, combined with her proclivity for stockpiling information about diseases and murder, made her a veritable glossary of forensic pathology. Amelia was well-liked at work because she was knowledgeable and friendly, plus she had a great work ethic while at work. It was outside of work that she struggled with procrastination. 

She just struggled to stay focused. If she had an assignment to do that required research, she’d end up going down rabbit holes on a side topic that caught her eye. She would know it’s time to stop, but if a deadline wasn’t impending, she knew she could get away with pushing something off in favor of exploring her current interest. This habit is what created such a wealth of knowledge for her. Unfortunately, it also made her have to do everything last minute or even late. Since becoming an adult and responsible for her own finances, she has never filed her taxes on time. Two years in a row, she forgot altogether. 

To compensate, Amelia didn’t get much sleep and often slept through her alarms. It was probably her body and brain’s way to ensure she got enough sleep. Her boss didn’t care how good of a worker she was if she continuously showed up late. She understood that, yet she still struggled to alter her habits. On top of that, she couldn’t stay late because of her grad research. She had a thesis to finish and defend. Amelia lived in a state of guilt and shame over not being better at time management but figured she’d have time to learn how to get better at it later. 

Today it was important to not be late. There was still a possibility of making it on time. She missed her first bus but ran full speed six blocks to catch a different one. She had a chance to rest before her stop, and then she’d have to sprint again for the light rail. It was a tight plan requiring more physical exertion than she was used to, especially outside in Houston in the summer, but it was better to turn up drenched in sweat than late.

For once, Amelia made it to work on time, and surprisingly, she wasn’t sweating or even tired. 

Smiling to herself, she walked into the lab, expecting a few comments razzing her for unusual timeliness. However, everyone looked stern. This wasn’t unusual in a morgue where many unfortunate events cause bodies to end up here. It was especially hard when it was a child or a victim of a violent assault. Or worse–a child who was a victim of a violent assault. Occasionally, a friend or relative of one of her colleagues came through. Everyone was very professional, but an underlying awkwardness was always present.

Amelia approached the body they were centered around. She looked down at herself. 

Shock doesn’t begin to describe what she felt. Confusion, of course, was also a dominant reaction. Was this a prank? The level of cruelty involved in doing something like this as a prank was beyond her comprehension. 

“What the fuck?” she yelled. For once, she was not late, and this is how they treat her! No one turned ot look at her or even responded. 

“How the fuck did you do this?” Doubt started to flood in. She grew up in the foster system. Did she have a sister she didn’t know about? Did she have a twin? 

“Who is this?” she yelled as her frustration and fear grew. Still, no one met her eye or replied. 

“When did she arrive?” her colleague Nate asked.

“Half an hour ago,” Mike, her supervisor, replied. “For once, she was early.”

“What the actual fuck guys?” You are going too far!” She screamed. She liked these people. How could they be so cruel? Was this supposed to be some kind of lesson for her extreme tardiness? Like an extreme example of what could happen if she continued living her life always running late.

“Ironically, I believe she was hit by a bus while she was running for a different one,” Mike suggested.

“Wow, death by bus,” Angela quipped.

“This is sick; it’s not funny! Who is this?” she cried. Mike stepped back right into her. Literally into her. It was slowly dawning on Amelia that this wasn’t a prank. She looked down at the corpse that was obviously hers. 

She was dead. She was hit by a bus. It was unfathomable.

But she still had a lot to do.

“I don’t think there is a need for an autopsy,” Mike announced. Slowly, everyone turned away, and Amelia took the chance to step closer to her body.

“Wait,” she exclaimed. No one listened. 

Amelia remembered her last moments. She had gotten in an argument with a man near the bus stop. His attempt at catcalling was graphic and disturbing, and she told him, “Shut the fuck up, Creep!” He retorted with a comment suggesting she needed to be raped. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Amelia demanded.

“You’re an uptight bitch who needs a good dicking down whether you want one or not,” he replied. 

“I don’t have time for this,” she mumbled to herself while looking around for help. She saw a cop car across the street and started to head that way. She had to pause because a bus was rapidly approaching her stop. The last thing she remembers is being pushed. 

“This was not an accident,” she yelled at her colleagues. Desperation set in as she realized this would be recorded as an accident instead of the murder it was. Legally, it was probably manslaughter, but when you’re the one killed, you feel murdered, not manslaughtered. Her colleagues continued to go about their business as Mike filled out the paperwork.

“Please look again, Mike, she said as she peered over his shoulder. She watched him type the details or her death, which she found the most surreal event of the day.

“Please,” she whispered again before going to look at her body for evidence that she had been pushed. She needed someone to turn herself over. She even reached out herself, but in her noncorporeal state, there was nothing she could do. She cried tearlessly as she lost hope. 

“I feel we should do something more for Amelia,” Angela said.

“Like plan her funeral?” Mike suggested. “She had no family.”

“I was thinking more along the lines of an autopsy,” she offered. “Amelia would have wanted one.” It’s true. Even if she hadn’t suspected an attack, she still would want an autopsy. She had already planned for her body to be donated to the body farm when she died. She had lived a life of science and wanted to continue in death. 

“You’re right,” Mike said. Before getting up, he changed the paperwork to justify an autopsy. Amelia waited as patiently as she could until it happened. Her body was finally rolled over, and there were marks indicating that she wasn’t just pushed but punched in the back with two fists. 

“Holy shit,” Angela remarked. Stunned, the whole team began discussing possibilities as Amelia felt herself being pulled away.

“No, I don’t want to go!” she cried. This would be the final rabbit hole she’d ever go down and the most important one to her. She fought against this invisible force tugging her away because her interest was piqued. She had to know that they solved this crime. The cops needed to know to look at security cameras so they could find this guy. She physically felt like she was in a game of tug-of-war, with her soul being the middle of the rope. Finally, one last tug pulled her away. There’s at least one place she could not be late for.