Dead!

that an arthritic old man would have done more quickly than I could manage. My back popped unpleasantly as I forced myself upright. The loud cracks reminded me unpleasantly of the sound of that idiot’s gun and I suppressed a shudder at the memory. The room was quite small, with a deep red carpet, a few idyllic paintings were on the walls and a large floral display occupied one corner. I really was sitting in a coffin that had been placed in the centre of the room on some kind of table. The first order of business was to get out and find someone to explain what was going on to me so I lifted the lid covering my legs and climbed out of the coffin.

  I hit the floor hard and lay there for a while wondering why my body was refusing to work properly. I was probably medicated or something; that would explain the fuzzy feeling in my head and the lethargy in my limbs. I rolled over, slowly picked myself up and stood, swaying for a long moment. There was an uncomfortable itching sensation in my chest and I scratched at it absently with one hand. I realised that I wasn’t wearing hospital scrubs; I was fully dressed, but the suit wasn’t the one I had been wearing to work. That puzzled me as much as my surroundings.

  The room had a single dark wood panelled door that could have been oak and I headed for it. Whatever drugs they’d pumped me with were making it tricky to walk and I seemed to be lurching like a drunken bum as I staggered towards my goal. Maybe I was hungover? What if I’d had more to drink than I thought last night and just dreamed the shooting? That seemed to make sense to me and it would explain the way my head felt and my body’s complete lack of being able to function properly. Yeah, I’d gotten loaded and dreamed the whole meteorites and mugger thing. Of course that still didn’t explain why I was wearing different clothes or the whole waking up in a coffin thing.

  The mild itching from my chest was a persistent nag as I staggered across the little room. I paused and scratched at it again and then pulled at my shirt to see what was irritating it. The buttons seemed too tiny and my fingers didn’t want to work properly as I struggled with the shirt. I tugged at it and one of the buttons popped off; this certainly wasn’t one of my shirts and I didn’t recognise the tie either. The material parted and I looked down at my itching chest only to get another unpleasant shock. There was a slightly jagged Y-shaped incision carved into my skin; I could see the point where the three arms met. Thick black stitched held the ugly wound together and I knew instantly where I had seen that sort of thing before; it was what happened during an autopsy!

  That was stupid. No way was it an autopsy scar; they only did those on dead people and I certainly wasn’t dead. Corpses don’t walk around, they don’t breathe and they certainly don’t crave a cigarette the way that I was. It had to be one of those fake things made of rubber that they use in the movies; a prosthetic. That was it exactly and it was the glue that was making my chest itch! I patted my pockets searching for a cigarette and lighter but they were empty. That frustrated me but it crystallised my plan of action. First I was gonna find someone to explain what the hell had happened to me (Barry was still my prime suspect) then I was going to bum a smoke, find a coffee and figure out how to get home.

  I lurched towards the door again, weaving like a drunken sailor – how much beer had I had last night? The door had a large ornately decorated brass knob and I reached for it with fingers that felt like someone else’s. I had just as much trouble with the door knob as I had with my shirt. My hand persisted in not working properly and it took me an age to grasp and turn the knob. The door finally swung open and I staggered into the corridor behind it. There was more of the same décor that the room had contained and any other time I’m sure I would have found it comforting and relaxing. There was a sign on one wall, but my eyes swam at the words and refused to focus properly.

  Whatever; I turned right and made my way along the carpeted corridor in what I hoped was the right direction. I needed to be in the office by seven and I was worrying about the time. My watch was missing though and I had no idea of how long I had been passed out. I couldn’t be late for work, it was unthinkable. In all the years I’d been with the company I’d always been on time and I wasn’t going to start letting them down because of a hangover. There seemed to be just one thing that I was certain about right at that moment; Barry was a dead man when I got my hands on him.

  After what seemed like an eternity of walking I found myself in a warmly lit reception area. There were more flowers here and sitting behind the reception desk was a middle aged Hispanic guy in a security uniform. He turned to look at me as I staggered into the reception and his eyes widened. I raised my hand in a friendly greeting and smiled.

  “Hey buddy, where am I?” I said.

  Or at least that’s what I tried to say. It came out as mush that sounded more like a moan than proper words. The security guard almost fell off his chair as he scrambled to his feet and crossed himself in an overly dramatic gesture. Who does that when they see someone with a hangover? The guy was in a panic and I realised that I could actually smell his sweat mingled in with the aroma of the flowers and his deodorant; yuk! As I approached him the guard scrambled back, placing the reception desk between us.

  The guard’s hand scrambled at his belt and I realised with a start that he was going for I gun. I put my arms up, trying to reassure him but that somehow made him panic even more.

  He kept repeating the same thing over and over under his breath, “Los muertos! Jesús!”

  I had no idea what that meant and I tried to tell him that it was okay but my mouth still refused to form words properly. The guard finally released the clip on his holster and he tore the stubby black gun from his hip. His hands shook as he levelled it at me and I tried to beg him to stop. The guard closed his eyes, pulled the trigger and that was when I got shot in the chest for the second time.

  It tickled. I’m not really sure how many volts a taser is meant to produce but I was damn grateful that this one seemed to be faulty. The guard opened his eyes and stared at me in what I could only describe as horror. What was his problem? I was the one that should be horrified after the fool had tried to electrocute me! He screamed a curse and actually threw the taser at me. Then he turned and bolted for the big double doors that lead to the street. His keys were out and the guards had opened the door in seconds. Thenhe was running down the sidewalk screaming as if all the hounds in Hell were hot on his heels. Some people eh?

  I pushed my way through the doors that the guard had just opened and carefully navigated down the short flight of steps onto the sidewalk. It was dark outside; the soft, grey endless twilight of pre-dawn. Off to my right the guard was still running down the street and I figured that the guy must have been a running back in college. I looked back at the building I had just left and although I couldn’t make out the sign above the door I recognised the place. It was a funeral parlour a couple of blocks over from my law firm. There was a nice Italian coffee shop somewhere around here that I had meetings in from time to time. Barry the prankster had really pulled out all the stops on this one. I wondered who he’d bribed to get me smuggled into that casket?

  The thought of coffee led me onto food and reminded me of the soft growl in my stomach. I could smell bagels cooking somewhere on the early morning air. Normally the idea of a warm bagel from a deli would have been an ideal breakfast but I fancied something else. I wanted bacon or possibly burgers. The idea of all that warm juicy meat had me licking my lips in anticipation. I was pretty sure that right about now I’d murder a nice steak, rare and sweet and so damn tasty. That got me thinking about my Mom’s cooking as I weaved along the sidewalk. My parents lived in a small apartment in Queens; maybe I should pay them a visit later? Today was a short day at work, so I’d have the afternoon free and I’m sure they’d love a visit from me.

  I reached for my cell to call them and then remembered that my damn pockets were empty. That screwed things up royally and I wondered where my cell and wallet were. Damn I hated this! Barry was going to pay for this one big-time, and not just for the inconvenience but for
the sheer stupidity of it all. I couldn’t even hail a cab to get me to the office; then again I hadn’t seen any cabs since I’d left the funeral parlour. That was weird because New York never slept and the famous yellow cabs were always on the streets. Somewhere in the distance I could hear sirens so I guess someone was having a worse night than me. I didn’t find that particularly reassuring as I shuffled and staggered along.

  The sky brightened above me while I was walking and became the dull orange of dawn. The clouds were shot with red and faint green like something out of a trippy psychedelic cartoon. The slow burning pangs of hunger were getting stronger and I found myself thinking more and more about food. I really wanted to eat. Something, anything as long as it was a warm and juicy chunk of meat. My plan of action formulated in my head; Barry first, coffee and a cigarette second, followed by food. Lots of food. Actually forget the coffee and nicotine fix, I just wanted to sort out Barry and eat something.

  The city was coming to life around me but there was something off about it that it took me a while to figure out. Everything seemed so subdued, so quiet. There