What A Crappy Job

For years, the planning committee exerted blood, sweat, and tears on the fundraising for the Charles Best Memorial Hospital's $60 million renovations. It took nineteen months to erect the new wing, focusing on imaging: MRI, Ultrasound, CT, and X-ray. It was the grandest technological/medical marvel in the state, and it opened to rave reviews.

If only they hadn't built it atop an ancient burial site.

It took less than a week before the powerful new machines awoke the native hoodoo curse buried deep beneath the bricks and steel of the hospital.

Seventeen year-old Brendan Metcalf knew none of this, of course. He was simply pleased that the frenzy of the press and financial well-wishers had subsided so he could get back to his job. He volunteered three days a week after school, delivering clean linen to the various nursing stations around the building. It was a fast-paced job, but essentially mindless, which allowed him time to let his mind wander on more important things.

Her name was Riley, and she was an MRI technician. She looked no older than he, but Brendan had never asked her age. She must have been a recent graduate.

He pushed his linen cart up to the front desk and peeked over the secretary. Riley was in the back, looking at a file.

'Hey Riley,' he smiled and waived.

She looked up and caught his eye, smiled back. Brendan decided that Riley's smile could melt solid chocolate at fifty paces.

Melt his heart, too.

'Whatcha doin'?' she asked.

'Emergency Room called down for thirty johnnies to get them through the night. Can't have a bunch of naked folks running around the E.R. you know.'

Then the building shook from somewhere beneath the basement.