Inhospitable

Author's Note: This was written for the contest "Evil is Elegance". The main character must be evil, and the prompt words "carpe diem" must be used. Writing an evil hero was rather hard to do, and I won't do it again!

There are unusual acts alluded to in this story which aren’t for those who are easily offended.

Inhospitable
(Word count: 2300)

Dr. Rick Morton was shaken from a naughty dream (featuring riding crops and lace bustiers) by a hysterical night-nurse who had burst into the room.  He uncoiled his slim frame from the cot and slipped through dimly lit hospital halls after her.  She hesitated outside a patient's door and stretched a trembling arm toward the horror that lay inside the room.  The patient, her face frozen in a grinning rictus of death, lay on a feces and urine soaked bed.  Foamy spittle mixed with blood masked the lower half of her face where her hands had clawed at her mouth and throat.  Her staring eyes had dried a marbled gray.  Vomit had sprayed across rumpled sheets, turning them bile-yellow.

Ignoring the putrid stench, Rick poked and prodded the body with dispassion, but could find no obvious signs of foul play.

"Doctor?  Is it another one?" The nurse’s voice trembled along with the rest of her.

Rick glared. "Has Doctor Pratt been here tonight?"

"No, no, I didn't see him." She faltered under his black gaze.  "I haven't seen him since he was suspended yesterday."

"Let me know if you do.  Call the morgue and have them pick up the body," he ordered as he strode toward the door.

"Doctor, there's a woman in the waiting room.  She wants to speak to you."

He growled acknowledgement and shouldered past her.

Breathless, she watched him walk down the hall and raised a hand to her fluttering heart.  He was so good-looking, although he had a filthy temper.  But who could blame him?  This was the fourth suspicious death in six weeks.

Rick wanted to go back to his dream until he saw the beautiful woman in the waiting room. She was sinfully well-built and looked much more athletic than the willing-but-boring nurses on staff.  His smile exuded sex-appeal, and she rose with one of her own.

The dark goddess introduced herself, "I'm Jean Granger. I want to talk to you about the recent deaths." 

He clasped her hand a moment too long, then cocked an eye-brow.  "Deaths?" he asked.  "This is a hospital.  There are always deaths." 

Rick's silky voice caressed Jean's sensitive ears.  She questioned him about the unusual deaths she was investigating, while she inhaled his aroma.  He smelled of ambition.  And ruthlessness.  The heady combination aroused her suspicions, and more, as he parried her questions with evasive answers. 

Jean jabbed questions at him, but he danced lithely away from the subject.  She pushed him to answer, and he pulled her in with intoxicating eye-contact.  Before she knew what had happened, she had agreed to go to dinner with the debonair doctor the following evening.

As Rick saw her out, she said, "I'll be back tomorrow for a look at those coroner's reports."

"Is that all you want to look at?" He got in the last jibe while studying her swaying rear end as she left.

Jean hurried through the unlit parking lot, thinking about playing doctor, when a large hand shot out and grabbed her arm.  A sweaty face thrust itself into her vision.

"Are you Jean Granger?"

“Yes.” Jean disengaged her arm and eyed the peculiar stranger.  He was short and muscled like an orangutan.  His wiry red hair curled around his face, bounded across his upper lip and down to the end of his chin.  A little tuft of auburn hair peeked out from his collar.  Even his knuckles boasted the hirsute gift.  He smelled of desperation and anger.

"I recognized you from the advertisement,” he said.  “I'm Doug Pratt. I'm the one who hired you."

Her brow contracted. "You're Dr. Pratt?"

He nodded impatiently. "Did you find out anything?"

"About the deaths?"

"Yes!” His voice rose “What am I paying you for?"

Jean didn't bother to comment that he hadn't paid her anything yet; he'd hired her over the phone.  She'd agreed to take the case after she checked his credit report.  The man was loaded.  He'd been a successful doctor at this hospital before his patients started dying of poisoning.  Now, he'd been suspended and was the subject of an inquiry.  "I have to get the relative's permission to get copies of the coroner's reports.  I've interviewed two nurses, and I'll interview Dr. Morton again tomorrow."  She crossed her arms over her chest. "Is that good enough for one night's work?"

Dr. Pratt heaved an exhausted sigh, and Jean could almost taste his last meal of fried chicken.  He ran his hand through his outrageous hair, and then gave her an appealing, boyish look. "I'm sorry.  Please don't take offense.  It's just that I'm – " he broke off and shifted around with frustrated energy.  His muscles rippled as he balled his hands into fists.  "I don't know what to do.  I didn't have anything to do with my patients' deaths."  His bright eyes locked onto hers with animal magnetism.  He shook his head and his copper-colored locks whirled around him like a lion's mane. 

Jean felt his radiant heat.  He reached out and took her hand; the riotous freckles on his skin made her skin seem pale and dead in comparison. 

"Please,” he said.  Find out who is doing this.  I'll do anything – give you anything – if you can get me out of this mess."

Jean found his intensity attractive.  He burned with the feral energy of a jungle-cat.  Her mouth started to water, but years of experience helped her control herself.  This was not the time or the place.  Besides, there was something strange about this man – a deep darkness within him.  Dr. Morton's darkness was all on the surface; he was easy to read.  Dr. Pratt was a mystery.  Jean loved to solve mysteries. 

"I'll do the best I can."  Jean took back her hand, then took her leave.  This case was proving to be very interesting, she thought as she drove away.

* * *

The next day, Rick examined the coroner's reports for all the victims.  The cause of death was the same – formaldehyde poisoning. 

It wasn't looking good for Doug, Rick thought.  Good old Dr. Pratt was gonna get his hiney booted for sure. 

The morning wore on in its usual tedium.  Rick saw patients and filed paperwork.  As he made his rounds, the nurses followed him with adoring doe-eyes.  He'd noticed the more gruffly he treated them, the more they seemed to fall in love with him.  He laughed at the absurdity, then made sure to give the nurses a good scowl as he passed the reception desk.  They giggled like school-girls.

Rick escaped the hospital at midday.  He needed to go home, catch up on his sleep, and freshen up before his date with Jean that night.

* * *

Dr. Doug Pratt arrived at the hospital just after sunset.  He lurked in the shadows, hoping no one would notice, and waited for the time Jean said she would come.  She was late.  He stared at the ground and pouted.  He was impulsive and hated to wait for anything, but his mother had taught him patience was a virtue.  She'd taught him many things, but not how to get out of a murder investigation.

Jean appeared out of the shadows, wearing a sexy black cocktail dress with a strand of pearls clasped around her white throat.  A rush of desire heated his blood. The woman looked hot.  Good enough to eat.  When he met her last night, he hadn't noticed how lovely she was.  "Hi.  I've been waiting.  You…uh…you look great.  Going on a date?" Doug asked.

"Maybe."

"Did you get the permission from the relatives?"

"Yes, and I've had the papers notarized.  The hospital has to give me copies of the coroner's reports."

Doug bared his teeth in a grin and his eyes sparked.  "Good.  There may be hope for me, yet."

"I'm going to the Records office."  Jean turned, but Doug caught her elbow.

"Once you get the reports, I have to see them.  I'll meet you tonight for dinner.  OK?"

"I don't know. I like to eat late," Jean said. 

"That's fine with me.  You can come to my house.  I'll make you dinner."  Doug fished a card out of his pocket and presented it.  "Here's my address."

Jean didn't promise, but she didn't say no, either.  She liked to keep her options open.  She disappeared into the hospital.

Doug snuck around the corner of the building.  At the back of the hospital was a special door.  A door that Doug was very familiar with because he'd used it often for clandestine appointments.  He opened the door and crept inside.

* * *

After Rick pulled his blood-red Jaguar into his reserved space, the hatchet-faced receptionist cautioned him that Jean was in the Records office with legal papers and was causing trouble. 

So the pretty kitty has claws, he thought. Well, first thing's first.  The cause of the mysterious deaths had been formaldehyde.  Rick knew that syringes loaded with formaldehyde could be found in the hospital's morgue. 

Rick slipped out of the main hospital floor and descended to the basement.  No one ever went down there at night.  He prowled through deserted hallways, and in the shadowy depths of the hospital, he gripped the morgue's icy door-handle. But paused. A faint rustling came from inside.  He opened the door, snapped on the morgue's main lights and blinked in surprise at the tableau before him.

Doug was up to his elbows in gore, surrounded by sharp instruments and open bodies.  When Doug recovered from the shock of being discovered, he appealed to his friend, "You're not going to tell anybody that you found me here, are you?"

"You're suspended.  You have no right to be in the morgue," Rick said between clenched teeth.

"But I'm doing autopsies.  I'm investigating the deaths."

"What do you think will happen when I swear that I found you doing bizarre, kinky things with the bodies down here?  Who do you think they'll believe?  What will they do to you?"

"What – but – I'll be fired.  I'll never be allowed back in this hospital.  Maybe they'll arrest me!" Doug sputtered.

"Then I suggest you get out of here before I call Security."

"I would have been Chief of Surgery.  The Board would have picked me.  You wouldn't have even gotten the job at this hospital, if it wasn't for me!"

"Carpe diem,

Latin for 'seize the day'

my friend. You're the one who taught me that, remember?" Rick smirked as Doug scurried out the back door.  He would inform the hospital Board that they had a necrophile on their staff.  Then, their suspicions about the murders would focus solely on Doug.  With Doug out of the way, Chief of Surgery was in the bag and Chief of Staff was just a heartbeat away.  Dr. Swinton's heartbeat.  Rick would have to see what he could do about that.

Now all Rick had to do was get rid of that little investigator woman. 

Piece of cake. 

* * *

Jean walked out the hospital's main doors, and her eyes adjusted quickly to the dark.  The wind whipped the ends of her coat around her, like giant flapping wings.  The October air was biting, but she didn't feel the cold.  She was tired of pondering who the murderer might be, so she thought about whether she'd have dinner with Doug or Rick.  Doug was sexy in a bestial way, but Rick was elegant and dangerously smart.  She licked her lips and thought about how deliciously the night might end. 

* * *

Later that night, Doug lay in a bedroom on the top floor of his house.  He had company.  Doug slid his hand across the bed sheets and smiled in the darkness.  She made him feel warm, and her presence chased away the loneliness.  He turned toward her and reached out a hand to touch her raven hair.  He petted her hair gently, unconcerned as several locks came away from her scalp.  He rolled onto his side and touched her cheekbone.  She was so quiet and peaceful.  And sexy.  He ran his tongue over her jawbone.  She didn't stir.  He stroked her in all the places he knew she loved.  As his excitement mounted, he gasped at the pleasure she aroused in him. 

When it was over, he curled up contentedly, and sighed, "Mama." 

The desiccated body next to him made no reply, but he could tell by her frozen rictus that she was happy.  He'd always known how to make his mama happy; death could not break the bond of true love between mother and son.

* * *

On the other side of town, Jean licked her lips as she finished dinner.  It had been better than usual.  She was glad that she'd decided on Rick and not Doug. 

The moonlit walk with Rick by her side made her feel young and alive.  The path wove through the trees into a deserted clearing.  Under the crescent moon, she'd allowed him to kiss her.  She had been somewhat surprised when he lunged at her with a syringe.  But his little syringe had been no match for her deadly fangs and inhuman strength. 

Jean wiped the crimson stains from her face and neck with a corner of his jacket.  Then she tossed the jacket on top of Rick's bloodless body and kicked them into a nearby ditch like so much trash.  She walked back along the desolate path and smiled as she thought about the syringe.  She could easily smell the formaldehyde in it.  Who could've known that Rick was the hospital's "Angel of Death?"  He'd seemed so normal.

Well, you never could tell about people.