Mated in the Morgue
A Romance of Near Death
Not really dead, not really alive. That’s how Debbie finds herself one fine day in a hospital morgue when the man of her dreams walks in to do an autopsy on her perfectly wonderful body. He thinks she is totally dead. Then things get really weird when he starts talking about dating her. Was her prince charming nothing more than a pervert? Could he find out the truth about her in time?
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Published by WMG Publishing
Mated from the Morgue
Dee W. Schofield
Copyright © 2011 Dee W. Schofield
Published by WMG Publishing
Cover photo copyright © Flexflex/Dreamtime
I’m on one damn cold metal table, bright lights shining on my naked body, my brand new, enhanced breasts aiming at the ceiling tile of this stupid hospital morgue like they were supposed to. And what do I feel? Annoyed. Just annoyed. Not cold, not embarrassed, just annoyed.
And just a little scared.
Sure. That was in the mix as well.
I’m about to be very, very dead if someone doesn’t catch a clue real quick that I am still inside this stupid body of mine and very much alive, even though it doesn’t look like I am.
Some pimply-faced kid set up a tray of sharp knives and bone spreaders beside my table, looked at my breasts, then my crotch, and left.
This felt like sitting in a dentist’s chair getting ready for the dentist to use all the nasty-looking instruments. Well, that tray of stuff was sitting there just waiting for some lowlife mortician to come in and cut me open like a stupid trout.
While I’m still alive and can feel it! Okay, maybe panic was a little closer to the surface than I thought.
Can’t any of the idiots out there see that I’m still alive, that some blood was pumping? Otherwise how could I be on this damn cold metal table thinking that if I ever did get out of this I was going to kill someone.
From across the embalming room I heard a door open. I sure and hell wanted to turn my head and smile at the person just to give them a shock. I tried.
Not even a muscle twitch.
Suddenly, a hunk of a good-looking guy in a rubber apron and a hairnet appeared over me like an angel. He had flashing dark eyes, dark brown longish hair under the net, and a smile that just wouldn’t stop.
And he was looking right in to my eyes.
“You are far too good-looking to be here on this table,” he said.
I tried to shout, No Shit, Sherlock!
My mouth wouldn’t move. Not even a grunt came out.
He walked slowly down along the table, clearly taking in all my naked assets.
Now I was starting to feel embarrassed. This was not really the way I wanted a hunk of a guy to see me. He looked at the toe tag on my foot, then came back up and checked off something on a clipboard.
“Debbie,” he said, smiling at me again. “My name is Mathew. I’m the doctor here to try to find out why you just keeled over dead in your tuna salad.”
I’m not dead! I tried to scream.
I was faced with a young hunk of a doctor who talked to the bodies. Even with that bad habit I still wanted to jump his bones.
I wanted to jump anything, actually. Getting cut open on a morgue table was not my idea of a good way to leave the planet.
(Continued at DeeWSchofield.com)