Chapter 3
Isaac awoke the next day, startled. While there were no new script pages by his bedside to spook him this morning, Seth provided the fear factor, filling in admirably for Isaac’s ghost-writer. From a chair he dragged in from the living room, Seth greeted Isaac with a too-cheerful smile for somebody who hadn’t slept. It creeped Isaac out, but he tried to keep a straight face. He knew *this* would take some getting used to, so he would try his best, dutifully. This was a chance for him to take Dr. Rousseau’s improv-related advice to heart and just say “yes.”
Saying “yes” to Seth’s suggestions in the morning led Isaac toward the Los Angeles County Medical Examiner-Coroner that afternoon. It made perfect sense to Isaac. If you’re looking for a dead body, there’s nowhere better in LA to find one than the county morgue, with the exception of Ed Buck’s bungalow. Isaac had never seen a corpse before, which was a problem. According to Seth, who learned the lesson from watching a Stephen King adaptation, finding a dead body was one of life’s sure-fire ways to mature, to become less Slytherin-like. Because when faced with the prospect of the existential void, Seth reasoned, it would help Isaac clarify his Earthly priorities.
But there was more to the plan than that. Isaac would try to use this opportunity of seeing a dead body not only to mature but also to do some good. He would save the proverbial cat and renounce his Slytherin ways by reuniting an unidentified body with their respective family. If Isaac were lucky, they would chance upon an unsolved murder victim and have the chance to solve a cold case too, but Seth didn’t want to get Isaac’s hopes up. That only happened once or twice in Seth's years in the Slytherin department.
Isaac was excited by the idea. He had listened to his fair share of true crime podcasts, so solving a murder would be elementary. Closing his eyes, Isaac imagined a parade thrown in his honor after fingering the culprit. Ticker tape, bras, and tacos would rain down from buildings to celebrate him. He could afford to daydream because Seth was driving Isaac’s car, an anodyne sedan, as they drove eastbound on the 10, pushed along by the sea breeze at their backs.
Despite traveling far enough away from the beach to escape the June Gloom, their view did not improve as the smog from the Los Angeles basin met the receding fog to form a seamless blanket of bleakness. The smog obscured downtown and smudged the shapes of the highrises, but that didn’t stop Seth and Isaac from wearing their sunglasses anyway. Watching the store windows as they sat in traffic was the only thing that darkened Isaac's mood. Isaac had never really noticed it before, but a lot of storefronts held signs that read ‘Slytherins Unwelcome,” “Help wanted: Slytherins need not apply,” and the far less subtle, “Snakes suck.” Isaac was losing faith in their plan. Forget going for the glory of solving a cold case. Instead, he should keep his head down, his nose clean, and #RiseandGrind. “Aren’t I supposed to be getting a job as part of the Slytherin program?” he wondered aloud.
“You’ll get a job,” Seth promised, “I’ll get you a job.”
“You will?”
“Of course. Consider this trip today as part of my job interview. If you perform well, you will have done your part to secure me as a character reference. No one spins a yarn to the Slytherin board quite like me. Trust me. I’ll go all ‘To Whom it May Concern’ on their asses.”
“Okay then,” Isaac set his jaw, determined to see a dead body.
While navigating the maze of one-way streets in downtown LA, Seth reassured Isaac that he was on Isaac’s side. Believe it or not, Seth was not a true believer or student of the Hogwarts school of therapy. Before he received care from Dr. Rousseau, Seth had never read a Harry Potter book nor seen a Harry Potter movie, preferring the adaptations of the aforementioned Stephen King. (However, Seth did drink a butterbeer at Universal Studies once though the taste did not do it for him.) Seth was placed in Dr. Rousseau’s care in the same manner that most of his patients were referred: by the court system. After graduating from the program, Seth decided to stay in Dr. Rousseau’s service, but this time as an employee. The perks were good, understood? Free housing was free housing, even if you were rooming with strangers and Slytherins at that.
When Seth and Isaac arrived at the Los Angeles County Medical Examiner-Coroner's office, Isaac was surprised. It was a smaller building than he had been expecting. You’d think you’d need more than two stories to deal with all the dead from the most populous county in the country, but you’d be wrong. Instead, there were more stories to the adjacent parking structure. Perhaps there were crypts buried underneath the building, Seth suggested for his explanation of where all the extra real estate (and bodies) could be hiding, but Isaac’s eyes searched the roof for chimneys instead.
Despite the morgue’s 4-star Yelp score, Seth and Isaac didn’t get the warmest welcome from the front desk receptionist. “We’re here to collect case #1955-08235,” Isaac told the man with confidence, having looked through the LA coroner’s database of unclaimed corpses via their website on the drive over. “Her name’s Jane. Last name Doe.”
There had been plenty of unidentified bodies to choose from, but Isaac wanted to maximize his karma, and, in his mind, this meant selecting the woman with the oldest intake date, following the FIFO principle of inventory management. He chose a woman for two reasons: for feminism and because a damsel in distress makes for a good save the cat story. Seth endorsed Isaac’s pick because the report listed three gold rings as the deceased’s identifying jewelry.
The receptionist, a disinterested man with a thin nose and thinner hair, refused to release the body to Isaac. Isaac wanted to argue with him but knew he was not this man’s intellectual equal, stymied by the sight of a Ministry of Magic-issued Ravenclaw House badge proudly fastened to the receptionist's cardigan lapel. At the height of Dr. Rousseau and the Ministry of Magic’s popularity, house badges were a common sight, displayed on clothes, bookbags, etc., but had since fallen out of fashion favor, victim of J.K. Rowlings’ unpopular Twitter musings and the rise of Super Jesus, whose symbol of the “middle school S” was now all the rage.
The receptionist's reason for not handing the dead body over to Isaac was simple. There was no body to release, confirming Isaac’s suspicions of an overworked morgue oven. Per company policy, if a body lay unclaimed for a month, then the body would be cremated. If those ashes were unclaimed for three years, then they disposed of them, but the thin man did not tell Isaac where. Seth then accused the man of selling the ashes to the beauty salons in Beverly Hills as a key ingredient in their activated-charcoal facial masks.
“Is case #2020-30222 still in stock?” Isaac asked after perusing the selection of corpses offered by the LA coroner’s online database (https://mec.lacounty.gov/). If Jane Doe was dust, then Isaac would settle for another body, one less than a month old. He was intrigued by #2020-30222’s rousing description (batwing tattoos on the back and a mole above the left breast). Nevertheless, the thin man remained unhelpful, shuddering while thinking of all the reasons why someone would require a random dead body. Isaac threatened to leave a subpar yelp score, but even under this duress, the man did not budge on his position. Isaac would not be getting a dead body today.
Isaac’s shoulders slumped. His hero’s journey to save the cat faced its first potential dead-end. He looked to Seth for guidance forward, but he was missing, having slipped away to someplace mid-conversation. Isaac had no choice but to retreat and wander the halls looking for Seth. Isaac wasn’t comfortable alone. Already, he had come to rely on Seth’s burly presence. Without him, Isaac feared what he might find around every ill-lit corner, his mind assigning a zombie to each shadow he passed. Finally, Isaac found Seth in the morgue’s gift shop, the aptly named “Skeletons in the Closet.” It was time to go.
As he exited the building, Seth munched on a bag of novelty gummies shaped like toes and toe tags. He didn’t offer any to Isaac, but Isaac didn’t mind. He was too busy apologizing to Seth for failing to secure the (body) bag. Seth wouldn’t hear of it. Instead, he told Isaac he was proud of him between mouthfuls of his gummy toes. He had done what Seth expected and what Seth needed. Isaac didn’t understand.
Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.
They took Sunset back to Santa Monica. Seth, driving again, wanted to take the scenic route. Isaac asked why and Seth reached into his pants and took out a small amber bottle. Treating it with tender love and care, he unscrewed the dropper top and squeezed the rubber nipple.
“What’s that?”
“A souvenir.” Seth flashed a smile that neared a sneer.
“I didn’t see that bottle in the gift shop.”
“We weren’t there to view a dead body, Isaac.”
“We weren’t?”
“If we wanted to see a dead body, we could have saved ourselves a little time and dropped by Skid Row. It’s closer.”
“Is there still time?”
“Forget the dead body. It was a ruse for a heist! You were a distraction for the receptionist. Don’t you get it? Forget Stephen King. Fuck Harry Potter. Do you think I’m about any of those things? Do you think I read?”
“No?”
“Fuck no. Why would you or I read? None of that stuff is real. Those are fucking bedtime stories. How is that therapy? Normal people don’t follow any of that. They have friends. They have families. They have fulfillment through work. Those can move mountains. Those can change a person. But what to do for the person who has none of those things? People like yourself?”
“Harry Potter-themed therapy?”
“Maybe. If you’re a nerd. Now, open your glove box.”
“So it’s drugs?” Isaac asked after finding a giant joint inside it, not where it was supposed to be.
“Drugs,” Seth agreed. “Your problem is you need a fresh perspective. You got to look at life differently, and the inspiration to change your life is in the palm of your hands.” Seth took the joint from Isaac. Instead of using the bottle’s dropper to wet the joint, he dunked the whole thing inside the bottle. Seth smiled while twisting the joint around and around. When he pulled it out, the joint’s white paper turned a sticky brown color. Seth licked the viscous liquid clean from his fingers.
“Is this some sort of trap?” Isaac eyed Seth with suspicion. “It’s entrapment. That’s the term, right? So I’ll smoke this, and you’ll turn me in to the cops for Slytherin behavior.”
“No. This is real. Dr. Rousseau has his medicine, and I have mine. Are you ready?” He watched Isaac for his reaction.
“I’m ready,” Isaac said, grabbing the joint and recanting the chant from Dr. Rousseau.
“Are you steady?”
“I’m steady,” Isaac mumbled, bracing himself to fly away. He guessed that this foreign substance from the morgue must be PCP, having heard before that embalming fluid was a key ingredient in making angel dust.
“Not for long, you won’t be.” When Seth lit it, the flame first burned the oil with a bright green flash before settling into a soft, glowing orange ember. “Blast off!” Seth cheered. The stoplight turned green, and Isaac inhaled as Seth accelerated the vehicle forward, causing both Isaac and the car to leave a small cloud of exhaust behind them.
“¡Dios Mio!” Isaac cried out, coughing.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The drug’s effects were immediate and immaculate, an explosive sunburst of love and ecstasy.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The sleeper had awakened. When Isaac regained consciousness, he found himself down and out in Beverly Hills. He could tell by the clues: the serif font of the street signs, the silver fire hydrants, and palm-lined streets that were as wide as the 405. Check. Check. Check. There was even a restaurant advertising market-price avocado toast.
He looked down at his bare feet as he walked the spacious sidewalks.
Left foot first. Right foot next.
Left foot first. Right foot next.
Left foot first. Right foot next.
Is that how humans walk? Isaac felt unnatural and was afraid that he was causing a scene. He was. A maintenance man in the area had stopped pulling a yellow flier off a telephone pole so he could stare at Isaac.
Isaac looked back to his feet. He had to figure this out fast. Should the right foot sometimes precede the left? Should they alternate? Isaac couldn’t remember. He experimented.
Right foot first. Left foot next.
Left foot first. Right foot next.
Right foot first. Left foot next.
Left foot first. Right foot next, but that didn’t feel quite right either. He glanced back to the maintenance man and was relieved to see that he had moved down the street to the next telephone pole with the next yellow flier. He had gotten lucky.
On Isaac’s next step, he stumbled and fell. He shook his head to try and straighten out his consciousness. It didn’t work, so he laid flat on his back and took a moment to compose himself. He breathed deep and watched the blue sky darken to dusk. There would be no sunset tonight, not with the June Gloom staking its claim on the western horizon for the summer, but it didn’t matter. The sky above this little pocket of paradise was unblemished by clouds. You get what you pay for.
Four passenger jets sailed silently above him. The sight gave Isaac a small semblance of peace. He had always found comfort in the constant crisscrossing of planes that occupied the sky above LA. He especially loved the planes inbound to LAX at night and how they hung above the 605 freeway like a fallen constellation. To Isaac, that sight was one of the wonders of the world. Some people hated all the air traffic, but those who did were LA's homesick transplants who hated the reminder of their little lives. Not Isaac. He loved the planes for their ubiquitousness. He could count on them, literally and figuratively. They were why, despite being alone, Isaac had never felt lonely in the City of Angels. There was always someone looking down on him.
Today, it was a middle-aged woman of Latina descent who stood above him, invading his view. Then, whomp! Isaac felt the business end of a Swifter mop slap his backside. “Sir.” Isaac didn’t want to make any assumptions, but he assumed she was a housekeeper.
“You can’t be here anymore.” She pointed to the nearest house. “You’re going to give Reginald Jr. an anxiety attack, and he has already had to go to his therapist twice this week.”
Isaac tried to speak but couldn’t. He could only coax out some sort of bubbling, gurgling babble. He clutched his throat.
The housekeeper turned back to the house, afraid. “You’ve done it. You’ve disturbed Reginald Jr.” Isaac followed her gaze and saw a dog compulsively bouncing on its back legs. He had to admit that Reginald Jr. did appear deranged. “You must go.”
Isaac struggled to move, but the time for talking was over. The housekeeper started to scream in Spanish, brandishing the swifter at him again. She was loud. Isaac could see the maintenance man at the street’s far corner, definitely within earshot of the housekeeper’s shriek, turn towards them. Panicked, Isaac got all fours and began to scramble away. He couldn’t walk, but he could crawl. It felt more natural.
Isaac’s fears were well-founded. The maintenance man started to walk over to them while pulling out a cell phone. But before the man could dial 9-1-1, he was interrupted by an angry buzzing tone from his phone, which wasn’t limited to only his personal device. The same angry sound was also coming from the housekeeper’s phone and his own. All three of them looked at their respective devices in a synchronized motion.
It was an Amber Alert. A small girl was missing, and her abductor was last seen in the Hollywood area driving a red minivan, traveling west. Isaac opened the message. A short video embedded into the text showed the car in question. Isaac shivered with unease. In the back windshield was a baby on board sticker.
“Isaac! Destiny has called.”
Isaac whirled around and saw Seth skid Isaac’s car to a stop at the curb. The smell of burned rubber singed the air. Isaac grinned. He crawled over to the car and then into the car.
“I’ve been looking all over for you. This time let’s fasten our seatbelts and keep all hands and arms inside the vehicle while it’s moving.” Isaac followed Seth’s instructions while Seth sped the car away from Beverly Hills. Even if Isaac could talk, he didn’t have to ask Seth where they were going. The hills ahead of them read “Hollywood.” This was great. An Amber alert was a win-win situation. He would either save the cat by rescuing a damsel in distress or he’d get the chance to view a dead body.
Relief flooded Isaac, knowing the end of his hero’s journey was at hand and his story was coming to a close. This would be his final chapter. Before hitting Hollywood, he powered the window down to breathe in the last of the clean Beverly Hills air. But, as soon as the window opened, one of those yellow fliers from around the neighborhood smacked Isaac in the face. He peeled it off and screamed. It was a notice for a missing cat, one that Isaac recognized. He couldn’t say why but instantly knew this was the cat featured in his Super Jesus dream script.