The Transporter

As Adrian got dressed in his black and white suit, he thought he would never be liberated from the clutches of these corpses. Five years had passed and he was still in the human remains removal business, or as civilians call it, cadaver transport. He had been called from the county’s Medical Examiner’s office to pick up a fresh one: William Stone, Caucasian male, early 40’s, 207 pounds, self-inflicted gunshot wound to the head. He’d been hoping for a smooth night. No such luck. “It’s always the ones with the mid-life crisis,” Adrian thought to himself as he pulled into the parking area of the morgue.

He wipes his long brown locks from his face, puts on his black latex gloves and heads to the back of the van for the stretcher. Walking in the sliding doors of the Medical Examiner’s morgue always smells like a butcher’s shop, part of the reason Adrian is now a pescatarian. It was specially designed to scan decedents, take fingerprints, photographs, and of course, massive storage coolers with rows and rows of trays as far as the eye could see. A refrigerated graveyard for the dead. “Well, well, if it isn’t Adrian Sternum. I knew I saw something tall, dark and handsome roaming these halls.” The forensic techs were always nice to Adrian, Katherine especially. “Already brought ‘em out for you,” she says while she stood in an awkward angle, typing away on her computer. She unzips the body bag to scan the ID number on Mr. Stone’s toe tag. She also scans the medical examiner’s bag inside: a large, brown paper bag full of the decedent’s belongings slightly doused in his blood. Adrian always braced himself when they opened those heavy duty black bags. Sometimes, they were full “decomps” rotting to the core, complete with maggots. Sometimes, they smelled of old blood with a pinch of bleach.

At 2:22 am, he arrives at the funeral home with Mr. Stone, moves him from the stretcher to a dressing table, and begins the log in process. He opens the bag to log the belongings and cannot resist to look at Mr. Stone’s face. Adrian cocks his head to the side and is surprised to see that even with his skull shattered, Mr. Stone is almost smiling, as though relieved to be released from his gaunt shell. “Creepy,” Adrian says out loud as he zips the bag back up only allowing Mr. Stone’s feet and the brown paper bag to show. “Alright, what do we have here…” he inquires as he snaps his black gloves into place and begins to remove the items. “Car keys, gold wedding band, blood stained clothes and a little black book,” he states passively. As he is logging in the information, he looks back at the little black book beckoning out to him. He suddenly turns, narrows his hazel eyes, and takes off his dirty gloves to hold the book. Adrian is a strong believer in privacy but screw it. Just one peep won’t hurt anyone. The book automatically unfolds to page 25. He quickly skims the rest of the book ending back on page 25 utterly confused. Coordinates written in large numbers fill every single page and they all happen to be crossed off besides one: 41.6002162,-87.3383069 written in blood red. Adrian refers back to the log book and whites out “little black book.” The drive home is a rather silent. He can’t shake of the feeling kismet. This book. This little black book. He was meant to find it. It was fate.

Adrian arrives home but cannot fathom walking inside his lonely apartment. Staring at his third floor florescent window, he stoically sits in his van as rain begins to trickle down his windshield. He is wide awake and the book continues to beckon out to him. He finally gives up, grabs his phone from the center console and begins looking up crossed off coordinates in sporadic order. Every single one turns up to be an abandoned building of some sort: schools, hospitals, warehouses. He looks up the last one: an abandoned church and it is close by.

Nearing the church, there is a beautiful path where the crowns of the trees meet and create a tunnel. Adrian would normally find the sight nostalgic and familiar but not tonight. As he parks the van next to the church, he looks slightly down at the digital clock marking in red: 3:33 am. The church resembled a small gothic cathedral with mostly missing glass and a flimsy wire gate surrounding the property allowing for easy access.

Adrian steps out of his van and yonderly stares at the daunting building. He walks back to the car and looks at the coordinates once more for reassurance. He walks to the fence and begins to climb the 7 foot wire gate. Immediately upon landing, he notices there are red spray painted arrows that lead to the side of building. Adrian takes a big sigh and looks around him, hating himself for not bringing a weapon or at least his phone. The small arrows lead to the cellar of the church, spaced by only 3 feet. His own personal yellow brick road. Pulling open one side of the cellar door, florescent lights begin to flicker, guiding his path down. Adrian reaches the bottom of steps and yells “Hello?!” No answer. Still following the arrows, the path doesn’t last very long before he realizes why he was led here. On a wooden Victorian table just several feet from him is a neat stack of cash. He looks around for reassurance once more. Is this some sort of arcane joke? He carefully walks over and slowly begins to count. Twenty thousand dollars in one hundred dollar bills, unbound. “Incredible,” Adrian whispers. He takes off his shirt, stacks the money within it and ties it at the top.

Adrian has never felt such a rush in his life. He feels powerful, alive and capable. He arrives back at his apartment, shirt full of money and book in hand. Pacing back and forth, he can’t shake the feeling of discomfort. What was once a high, is now such a low. He looks in the book once more. The coordinates of the church have been crossed out. “What the fuck? I don’t remember doing that.” He sits down on his couch, places the black book on one end of the table and the money on the other. He finally moves over to the bedroom, sits on his bed and thinks about spending the twenty thousand. Will he travel? Pay debts? Start a college fund for his daughter Helena? Adrian hears a loud bang and suddenly everything is dark. He slouches over with a permanent smile on his face, blood surrounding his head like an ever growing halo. Footsteps approach Adrian and their delicate hand writes new coordinates in the book, taking the cash as they exit.

Laura, Adrian’s next door neighbor hears the bang and she rushes out of her apartment to see what the commotion is. She barely knew Adrian. She knew he was handsome and well-spoken. She’d sometimes watch him from her window as he left for work at all hours of the night, yearning for his tan skin to touch hers. She hesitantly pushes open his door, an aching feeling in the pit of her stomach. Watching him lay there with a smile on his face and a gun in his hand almost made her feel peaceful about the sequence of events. “I never even knew his name,” She whispered.

As Laura turn to leave, she looks to the nightstand. A little black book, beckoning her. She looks inside: coordinates all marked off besides one. The time is 5:55 am.