Hardbingers

10

The morgue attendant was a kind-looking old gent. He checked the pass that Ms. Dry den had arranged for Jack, then led the way toward a row of drawers. Jack felt his feet dragging of their own accord. He didn't want to do this, but he had to. He owed it to Emma… to Gia… to himself.

"Terrible thing for a baby to die before it gets a chance to take even a single breath," he said. "My condolences, mister."

Jack said nothing.

They stopped before a drawer. The gent slid it out to reveal a black, zip-pered body bag. A little lump pushed up the center of the plastic.

Emma.

Jack stared but could not move.

The gent said, "Do… do you want me to open it?"

Jack could only nod.

The zipper was pulled down, the edges were parted, and there she was, lying on her side.

Emma was a tiny thing, maybe the size of a kitten, and pale, almost blue white. About a foot of the umbilical cord was still attached. Her eyes were closed but her mouth was open; her knees were drawn up and her tiny fists were clenched under her chin… as if she'd died in pain.

Jack leaned over and touched her. He ran a fingertip across the eyelids, down past her lips and along one of her arms. Her skin felt nothing like a baby's—cold, thick, almost hard. He wanted to say something, something as simple as Hi, Emma, but he was incapable of speech.

He saw a drop of water on her shoulder. He touched it. It felt warm. Then another appeared. And another.

He realized they were tears.