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By Matt Shaner
So Charley says to me, “Wait until you see my results.” A month back our
Chemistry professor gave us a final project for the semester that would be the
majority of our grades. Charley was a science major. I hated it. We made a
good pair.
We were sitting in the café on the winter morning of the finals presentations,
drinking strong coffee and forcing down rubbery eggs. Snow fell and recoated a
covered ground from last night’s fall. Students were reading papers, staring
dead eyed into space. Some slept on their benches.
We had the lab in the afternoon. The presentations were booked as 4 per
class. I had gone in the first group to get my chance over and half assed a
report on cloning with my hand-drawn kindergarten level graphs. Two people
clapped when I finished. The next class, the professor handed me a paper
informing me of my final C grade.
Charley and I split to attend our morning classes.
The walk across campus was only made worse by the non-clear sidewalks. The
grounds workers were gathered inside a bus stop drinking coffee and talking
while we fought our way to the classrooms. They were in no hurry to give us any
help. The normal morning crowd thinned in the weather and I knew that anyone
with the ability to miss their early classes would still be asleep in their warm
beds. I cursed my choice to end my absences for a winter vacation to Florida.
After three classes and a hurried lunch from the vendor on the street, I rushed to
the lecture hall five minutes late.
The first presentation was a girl wasting twenty minutes with an overly detailed
explanation of atomic particles. She played a power point slide too fast for any
of us to care. Three people were asleep, from my count, and I was ready to join
them by the time she ended. Even the professor lacked enthusiasm and leaned
against the wall next to the stage.
“Thank you Martha,” he said. “Next.” He didn’t even make eye contact with us. I
leaned my head back against the wall and tried to sleep. I always took the back
row of the lecture hall since they kept the wall padded. Many hours of droning
lecture turned themselves into valuable rest.
The next two presentations were on weather. The guys were teammates in
football and decided to partner up for their work. Theories went around that they
were partners in their romantic lives also but no one had the guts to make the
charge to their faces. They played a video of the snow from the night before.
They went fifteen minutes overtime and I caught the professor nodding off. The
heat in the hall overcompensated for the weather and created a sauna
atmosphere. Finally, it was time for Charley.
He walked up on the stage and over to the light switch. He dimmed the
overheads and lifted the spotlights. He walked off to the side and we heard him
rolling something onto the stage. It was a stretcher with a sheet overtop of its
contents. He stopped the stretcher and walked in front of it.
“As some of you know, my father works for the county coroner here in the city.
With some of his help, sorry professor, I was able to obtain a test subject to
examine the effects of freezing and reheating on the human body. This
gentleman was found last night covered with three inches of snow.” He turned
and removed the cover with the flare of a Vegas magician. A girl screamed.
Gasps rose from the crowd. The professor was staring, in the shadows, with
wide eyes.
Charley had covered the body in a hospital patient’s smock. It was a man, arms
covered in dirt and hair grown out in all directions. He wore a thick beard and,
around his jaw shown the remains of ice breath or alcohol. I stood. The higher
rows of students condensed to the stage level. I heard the door open and
someone ran out. Charley continued after the noise died down.
“Do not worry. He was homeless; a vagrant. I’ll be returning the body after the
presentation. What I have here,” he walked to another area in the shadows and
returned with a large syringe that he held to the light, “is a formula of my own
invention. It is a mixture of blood thinner, superheated chemical reactionary
elements, and electrified saline. Now to prove death, I will hook him up to this
heart monitor.” He walked to the shadows again and rolled out a paramedic’s
heart monitor. He flipped it on and displayed the “flat line” screen. He hooked
the cuff onto the man’s arm and waited for two minutes. The screen did not
change.
“Stop. Seriously, let’s stop this,” the professor said from the shadows. Charley
cast him a glare.
“Give me a minute,” he said. He raised the syringe and plunged it into the chest
above the man’s heart. He injected the fluid.
Initially nothing happened. Charley stared at the body. Someone fainted at the
front. The temperature in the room was now stifling. In the silence, I heard feet
in the hallway above the room. They were running. The back doors of the hall
were thrown open and the lights came on. Everyone turned. Three security
officers were making their way down the stairs. Charley did not move. The
syringe still stood in the chest of the body, empty.
“Wait,” he said. The heart monitor beeped and the electrical V ran across the
display showing movement. The guards jumped onto the stage and grabbed
Charley. “Wait. It’s working.” He fought the guards. They fell to the floor. The
heart monitor was steadily beeping. The man moved and I decided this was
enough. I turned to run for the door. Before I could make it, I heard a groan and
turned around.
The body stood in his hospital gown and threw the stretcher down onto the
audience. He eyed Charley and ran in his direction. The guard turned and
raised his gun. The body looked at the guard. He shook in fear. The body
grabbed his neck and, before he could squeeze, his head jerked to the side.
The other guard had fired his gun and it thundered in the room. Charley
screamed. I saw the red cloud of blood and ran for the street.
The snow fell around me. An ambulance sounded in the distance. A worker ran
a salt spreader over the cleared sidewalks. Cars drove by looking for parking
spots. I started for the dorms and my bed. It would be a good day to rest. The
low grade did not even enter my mind. I was just glad to pass and never step
foot into that hall again.
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