Rumors of the Dead

It had taken Eleanor sixteen years to bear the sight of a dead man. Yet, as she stood before the lifeless body of Dr. James, a chill ran through her. The sight made her stomach twist, her body frozen in place. She couldn't move, couldn't scream. She stood there, staring at the body in front of her, a wave of nausea creeping over her. She knew the man, she had worked with him, trusted him. Now he was dead, lying there on the cold floor. The reality of it struck her harder than any other death she had seen. 

... 

"Where were you that night when Dr. James was allegedly murdered?" Detective Silas Crowe's voice was steady, his piercing eyes trained on Eleanor as she sat nervously across from him. She shifted in her seat, wiggling her hands in her lap. 

"I... I was with a patient. On my shift," Eleanor replied, the hesitation in her voice making the detective pause. 

Crowe narrowed his eyes. "Would you mind telling me the patient's name and what you were doing there?" 

Eleanor bit her lip, her gaze dropping to the floor before she answered, "Ms. Mclean. I was replacing her IV..." 

Detective Crowe studied her for a long moment. The shift in her tone didn't go unnoticed. She was hiding something; he could feel it. But he didn't press her further, for now. He needed more to go on. 

"Very well then," he said, jotting something down in his notes, making Eleanor flinch. Another unusual action..... 

The light of the hospital room flickered overhead as Eleanor adjusted the IV drip in Ms. Mclean's arm. Mclean, propped up against the pillows and gave her a smile. 

"He didn't really think you didn't know, no way," Mclean said, a mischievous glint in her eyes as she sat up a bit in bed. 

Eleanor laughed softly, shaking her head. "Unbelievable. I swear I was so close to punching him," she said, exasperation coloring her voice. 

Mclean, ever the teasing patient, crossed her arms and pouted. Her signature pose now... "Well, you should've. He totally deserved it." 

Eleanor chuckled, pulling the covers over Mclean's body and adjusting her IV again. "Now I need you to lie down and relax. I'm going to replace your IV and put some painkillers in, okay?" 

Mclean closed her eyes, nodding. "Let's hang out when I get discharged," she murmured, clearly already slipping into a peaceful, drugged slumber. 

Eleanor smiled softly as she worked, pulling the blanket up just a little further. "We'll see," she replied, her voice quieter now. 

She finished up the task, making sure Mclean was comfortable, and checked the time. Her shift was almost over, but something lingered in the back of her mind. There was an uneasy feeling, one that hadn't quite settled even though her work was done for the day. 

After her shift ended, Eleanor walked through the hallways, her thoughts swirling. Dr. James had been acting strangely that night, more so than usual. She passed the nurse's station, barely acknowledging the other staff members as they bustled around. When she reached his office, she paused. It was strange to see the door ajar, and even stranger that Dr. James wasn't there. 

She stepped inside quietly, scanning the room. His desk was neatly arranged, but there was no sign of him. She had expected to see him here, reviewing files or preparing for the surgeries scheduled the next day. Yet, the office was unusually empty, as though he had disappeared into thin air. She tried to not give it much thought, she already stayed late enough. 

Eleanor sighed, glancing at the clock on the wall. The odd feeling in her chest grew heavier, but she pushed it aside for the moment. She set the shift-signing form down on his desk and quickly scribbled her signature. 

As she turned to leave, a nagging suspicion tugged at her. Where could he have gone? She walked slowly toward the surgery prep room, planning to begin her preparations for the following day's surgeries. But as she reached the door, she froze. 

The room was quiet, too quiet. Surely somebody had to be in there...? 

Eleanor slowly pushed the door open, the harsh fluorescent lights humming above her. The usual sterile smell of the prep room filled her nostrils, but something was off. Her eyes darted around, landing on a dark shape in the middle of the floor. 

Her blood ran cold. 

There, lying motionless, was Dr. James. 

Eleanor stumbled back in shock, her heart pounding. No. This can't be real right? 

She rushed to him, but it was already too late. He was dead, his body sprawled unnaturally on the cold, white tiles. Blood pooled beneath him, staining the floor as his eyes stared into nothingness. 

Eleanor could barely breathe as she knelt beside him, her hands shaking. She had no idea how this had happened, how he'd ended up here, but she knew one thing for sure. Something had gone horribly wrong, and now, she was caught in the middle of it. She could barely move as she stared at the body, unable to scream, unable to leave. Until her co-workers found her crying on the floor that night... 

... 

When she'd entered the room and found Dr. James's body sprawled across the floor, her heart had almost stopped. She didn't know how long she stood frozen in place, staring at the blood pooling around him. He had been killed, of that, she was certain. His body bore no signs of struggle, no evidence that he had tried to defend himself. 

But the odd thing was the way he had died. His clothes were neatly in place, almost as though he had been caught off guard. The blood was pooling beneath him, but there was no sign of a weapon nearby. The more she stared at the scene, the more it felt staged. Who would kill Dr. James this way, and why? 

Detective Crowe's expression was unreadable as he watched Eleanor. He could see the tension in her posture, the tightness around her eyes. There was something she was holding back, but what? And why? 

"I told you what happened," Eleanor said, her voice steady but with an edge of frustration. "You'll need to investigate further. But the truth? The truth is someone close to Dr. James did this. Someone he trusted." 

Crowe raised an eyebrow, his interest piqued. "Someone he trusted? You're implying that this wasn't a random act of violence?" 

Eleanor hesitated, weighing her words. "Dr. James wasn't liked by everyone, but he had his connections. He helped a lot of people, especially in the medical field. But some of the people he helped weren't entirely honest about their intentions." 

Crowe leaned forward, his eyes narrowing. "So, you're suggesting one of these people had a motive to kill him? And they somehow managed to make it look like an accident?" 

Eleanor nodded slowly. "I think... Dr. James was aware of some things he shouldn't have known. He made some enemies. Not all of them were obvious, but they were there. They wanted something from him, maybe even something he didn't realize he had to give. Not everyone is perfect I guess..." 

Crowe stayed quiet for a moment, then asked, "And you don't know who did it, but you have a theory? Sounds a bit-" 

Eleanor's eyes flicked toward the door, almost as if she were looking for a way out. "I know more than I'm saying. But the person who killed him had to make it look like an accident. They had to make sure no one would ever find out what Dr. James knew." 

Crowe sat back, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "You're not making any sense, Eleanor. If you have information, now would be the time to give it to me." 

Eleanor's expression hardened. "I'm telling you everything I know. The rest is up to you." 

Detective Crowe could only watch her in silence as he pulled his chair back, standing up "I don't know what you're up to but what you're saying won't let you off the hook. I hope you know what you're doing, murderer or not..." 

..... 

The following morning, Eleanor was still shaken by the discovery of Dr. James's body. The scene was unsettling, too clean, too perfect. It didn't feel like the work of a random killer. She couldn't shake the feeling that whoever had done it had been planning for some time. There was no way Dr. James just happened to fall backwards, hit the surgical tray, make the syringe fall and puncture his lungs, no absolute way the police would let this slide. Somebody killed him. But who? 

She had taken the long route to work that morning, walking through the hospital's back corridors to avoid the prying eyes of her coworkers. As she passed the office where Dr. James had spent so much of his time, she felt a pang of guilt twist inside her. She knew something had been off about him lately, something more than his usual arrogance. 

As she entered the break room, one of the nurses gave her a knowing look. "You heard, right? About Dr. James." 

Eleanor nodded silently, her thoughts elsewhere. "Yeah. It's hard to believe." 

"Rumor has it," the nurse continued, lowering her voice, "he was about to blow the whistle on something. Something big." 

Eleanor stopped in her tracks. Blow the whistle? What could Dr. James have been involved in that was so important? 

The conversation with the nurse from the morning of Dr. James's death nagged at Eleanor as she sat in the sterile room with Detective Crowe. The idea that Dr. James had been on the brink of exposing something, something so dangerous that it could have gotten him killed, kept circling back in her mind. It was starting to make sense, but who had the most to lose? 

"Let me ask you again, Eleanor," Crowe said, his voice becoming more insistent. "What was Dr. James involved in? What did he know that got him killed?" 

Eleanor clenched her fists, her mind racing. She needed to be careful. Too many people could be implicated if she said the wrong thing. But then again, it didn't matter anymore. Dr. James was dead. The truth had to come out. 

"Dr. James was working with someone," she said quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. "A project. But it wasn't just medical research. There were people who were using his work for other purposes, purposes that had nothing to do with saving lives." 

Crowe leaned in, finally sensing a breakthrough. "What kind of purposes?" 

Eleanor met his eyes, the weight of her words heavy in the air. "He had to be blackmailing somebody or had a fallout about something. And that person, in the end, decided they had to silence him." 

Silence hung between them for a long moment. Eleanor's heart pounded in her chest. Crowe remained still; his face unreadable. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he spoke. 

"Don't mess with me. Who was it, Eleanor?"