Here Comes the Corpse Read Online Free Page B

was in a wheelchair.
    The crowd did a lot of good old-fashioned whooping and hollering as everybody whirled and twirled, twisted and shook, throughout the ballroom.
    Through the chaos and the fun, I saw Ethan only twice, at a distance. No opportunity presented itself for a tête-à-tête with the negatively remembered. I didn’t seek him out.

3
     
    An hour later the band had swung into its second set of wild rock and roll from the late fifties and early sixties, and I needed a break. I eased out to stop in the washroom. The closest one was jammed. We’d made sure there was another, more private one for the use of the bridal party. It was behind the dais, up several sets of stairs, and down a hallway. This bathroom had only one urinal and one stall. The place was crammed with multisized, ornate, bronze sculptures. It had blue-green tile walls and was topped off with the odd flourish of a lavender porcelain urinal. Standing there pissing, I was just barely able to hear the sound of the band. As I zipped up, I heard a soft moan. I looked around. Nothing. Another soft moan. I looked under the stall partition. I saw a foot resting at an odd angle. For the foot to be in that position the person sitting on the commode would have to be a contortionist. This wasn’t good. The trickle of blood I noticed next was alarming.
    The stall door wouldn’t open. I called out. No answer. Blood was rapidly spreading. I knelt down to get a better view under the partition. I saw the back of whoever it was, leaning against the door. I couldn’t fit under the stall walls. I took the fortuitously rectangular trash can, toppled it on its side, stood on it, and looked into the stall from above.
    I recognized Ethan. He reached up a hand and whispered, “Help me.”
    I whipped out my cell phone, dialed 911, and then hotel security.
    I gripped the top of the partition with both hands and pulled myself up. The bottom of my dress shoes, bought for the occasion, were slippery, so I had to scramble for a foothold. As I looked down from above, I could see even more blood, but no specific damage or wound. Ethan’s eyes followed my every movement. With one leg over the top, I sort of hopped/fell over. I heard my pants rip. I ignored them. As quickly and carefully as I could, I eased myself down the other side of the partition. I slipped the last few feet. I teetered for a moment and almost fell on Ethan. My left leg rested for a few seconds on the rim of the toilet and then began to slide off. I slipped and landed with one hand on Ethan’s knee and the other on the floor. My face was near his.
    I repositioned myself on my knees next to the top half of his body. Even though the stall was wheelchair accessible, the space was still cramped. He was bent nearly double. “Help me,” he gasped again. This time his voice was weaker. He raised his hand. I held it.
    I said, “Help is on the way. Who did this?”
    Ethan tried to lift his head. This movement showed me the results of what must have been one massive impact or numerous vicious blows. The entire right, rear side of Ethan’s skull had been shattered. Bits of bone mixed with hair and blood as I cradled him in my arms.
    I didn’t even think about the blood soaking into my tux as I held him. All the hurt and pain he had brought into my life were out of my waking memory. I was holding the boy I’d loved those many years ago. Ethan breathed deeply several times, then said, “I love you, Mike.” His eyes lost their focus. Seconds later he closed them. He stopped breathing.
    He never answered my question.
    I moved the body so I could open the stall door and laid him flat. Hotel security arrived just as I began CPR. The paramedics appeared before I had time to wonder where they were, but nothing anyone could do helped. Ethan was dead.
    I had no notion who Mike might be. Whatever Ethan had wanted to talk to me about earlier would remain unsaid forever.
    As the paramedics tried desperate measures, I stood