ArchivedLogs:Vignette - The Sacrifices of Matthew Lopez

Vignette - The Sacrifices of Matthew Lopez
Dramatis Personae Iolaus
In Absentia	Wednesday, December 18th, 2019 Part of the Future Past TP.
Location <?> - Morgue
There is some ineffable quality about morgues that can be unsettling to many people, even if they are absolutely pristine. Something about the chromed metal lines of long drawers, or the metal tables with built in drainage. Maybe it is the smell - a vague scent of rotting that the bleach never quite cleans up. Or, perhaps it is merely it is the reminder to us that we, too, will die. With the unease, though, they can also be a place of quiet respect and reflection, a place where lives lived are looked back on. A place where people are prepared for their final rest. Iolaus' head is bowed, eyes closed, standing respectfully over the head of one of these tables. His voice is soft and gentle, words murmured almost under his breath as he recites, as if not to wake the man on the table underneath him. "{Almighty Father, eternal God, hear my prayers for Your son Matthew Lopez, whom You have called from this life to Yourself.}" The doctor's hands clasp gently together in front of him, causing blood to smudge from the gore-soaked gloves onto the plastic apron hung over his chest. The man on the table doesn't seem to mind the splatter that drops onto him, chest held open by metal clamps that expose his organs and the faint lines of gills along the sides of his pale chest. "{Grant him light, happiness, and peace. Let him pass in safety through the gates of death, and live forever with all Your saints in the light You promised to Abraham and all his descendants in faith.}" The prayer continues in a lightly accented Spanish for almost a minute before the doctor's eyes open and he strips the gloves off of his hands. "Damn." Iolaus' lips purse and he shakes his head, stepping over to the sink to remove the apron and begin to scrub down his hands and arms. "It's still too aggressive. Damn, damn, damn." The motion of Iolaus' hands as he scrubs down his hands with a brush is well-practiced and seems to be almost unconscious. "Ah, Matthew. I'm sorry." He murmurs, shaking his head sadly, though he doesn't glance back at the table behind him. The doctor is silent for several seconds, though whether in reverence or contemplation it is impossible to tell. "It is different, though. It feels different. I'm missing something, here. Something is staring me in the face, I can see it!" Iolaus' eyes flick up to eye himself suspiciously in the mirror. He goes so far as to waggle a finger at his reflection, though not without a small smile on his face. Iolaus shakes his hands dry over the sink, then he turns to step out into the hallway. His eyes are fixed on the floor, gazing into space, as he walks along the long, winding corridor, past rows of thick doors with only a number to mark them apart. The walk back to his lab is a long one - up a few flights of stairs, past a few steel doors that only unlock after he inserts an ID and scans his thumbprint - but it might as well have been a foot away, for all that Iolaus noticed it. People walk past him, even brushing against him in the narrow corridors - guards in crisp white uniforms, people in business clothes and lab coats - and Iolaus pays no more heed than he does to the doors that he passes. He does stop, though, coming to an abrupt halt as if hitting an invisible wall. He stares at a sign on one of the offices, eyes widening. The sign itself is not very interesting - Associate Director of Program Performance and Evaluation - but Iolaus stares at it as if it was the Rosetta Stone itself. "That's it. That's /it/. I have it all backwards. It's not too harsh - it's taking too /long/. It needs to be /more/ aggressive, not less." Iolaus snaps his fingers and does an about-face so fast, Jane would have been proud. His feet patter quickly back the way he came, back down into the bowels of the building. He does not see the warm sunlight or innumerable coke machines again for almost a day.