"Who do we have here?" Amy asked. She dropped her pen against a thick stack of paperwork sitting atop her desk and leaned over to peer at the gurney before her.

"A John Doe," the man from transport said, unzipping the crinkling body bag. Glazed over blue eyes stared blankly at the ceiling above, coupled with the standard paleness associated with death.

"Routine hospital trans?"

"Nope," the man grabbed for the clipboard he kept tucked under the body bag and began flipping through the pages,"we picked him up just outside of town. Looks like the doc has to get a full autopsy done."

     Amy reached for her pen and a single form sitting beneath it, "Just a sec," she scribbled at the sheet, checking boxes and writing her initials, "sign at the bottom." The man complied, finishing his signature with a dash of a 't' and a small grin in Amy's direction.

     "Oh, I almost forgot," he reached beneath the body bag one last time and pulled out a standard brown envelope, "these are the items he was found with." Amy looked closely at the scribble on the front of the envelope.

     Doe, John 13

     "What's the number for?" She looked up, waiting for an answer.

     "It's how many John Doe's we've had in these parts. He's lucky 13."

     Amy shrugged and gently placed the large envelope on her desk, next to a half eaten donut and a thermos full of now cold coffee.

     "Which box?"

     The assignment for coolers was never hard to decide, judging from the lack of dead in such a small town; only one remained in use, containing the decaying body of an elderly woman awaiting family pick up. Amy tapped her pen against the paper with small numbered boxes, all blank, save for the one holding the not so fresh woman the past week.

    "Let's keep things lucky and go for 13."

     "Got it," he said, rolling the gurney to the back room. Amy stood from her desk and brushed off the crumbs from a chocolate glazed donut that laid sprinkled all over her jeans. Looking down, she noticed that her last cup of coffee had found its way to the front of her white shirt.

"Crap," she muttered to herself. Papers and office supplies fell all over while she looked around for a tissue on the desk. After successfully finding one crammed between a couple stacks of Post-it's, Amy put the wad of paper in her mouth before rubbing it frantically at the small stain near her chest.

"Uh, ma'am?" The man yelled from the other side of the wall, "I can't get in until you buzz me--"

"Just a second!" Realizing that the tissue was no more than a means of spreading small bits of paper on her stain, she quickly stuck the shirt in her mouth and licked at it roughly.

"Ma'am, please? I have another pick up with the corpse carriage two counties over."

Finally giving up on the lost cause, she groaned to herself and walked over to meet the man waiting patiently at the door. He raised an eyebrow at her now frazzled brown hair and freshly wrinkled shirt.

He snickered, "Are you going to be alright, ma'am?"

"Fine," she stated with an eye roll. The box located beside the door required a key for entrance, along with a firm twist to the right--firm enough to nearly crack Amy's wrist in two. The man watched as she struggled.

"Would you like some help?"

Amy paused mid twist and tilted her head in the man's direction; a quick glance at his badge revealed his name--Thomas.

"I got it--just takes a second," sweat dripped from her brow. Finally, the red light that shone above them flickered to a bright green with a loud hum, followed by a click of the steel door.

The sound of the four small wheels squeaking against the concrete floor made Amy shudder. She followed behind Thomas who had paused in front of the metal rack that wrapped around the entirety of the room. Two empty metal slabs sat in the middle, smelling of heavy disinfectant that was enough to burn the nose hairs out of anyone who inhaled for too long.

"Do you need me to help you do that?" Amy asked.

Thomas went for the cooler marked 13 and opened the hatch, "I should be ok. I do this enough, but thanks," he turned to smile at Amy and dragged out the metal resting place for John Doe. A large grunt escaped his mouth as he lifted the stiff corpse and dropped it with a small thud against the solid pan. The rolling mechanism squealed from the weight of the man until it slid within the cooler entirely and was latched shut behind a generic metal square.

     "All set," Thomas folded up the gurney and began wheeling it out the door he and Amy came through. He paused and turned to look at her standing there awkwardly with what looked like chocolate on the side of her face, "maybe I'll get to see you soon."

     "Well I," she brought her hand up to her hair and began twirling the first strand she came in contact with around her finger, "yea I hope so," she grinned.

***
     The ticking of the clock behind Amy nearly drove her insane. Working in a place where the only company was a couple of stiffs behind a sealed door and a pad to doodle on made the shift drag on for what seemed like weeks. Amy checked the time (3:23 pm). Her roommate Caitlyn, who worked as a nurse in the local hospital, was already on her break. She reached for her phone and found her number.

"How's work?"

"Oh you really don't wanna know."

The doughnuts had tasted stale, but helped with her sweet tooth; and the fact that Amy had skipped breakfast and lunch, due to oversleeping followed by lack of funds didn't help.

Amy took a bite of the sweet pastry, dropping sprinkles all over the top of her desk, "can't be as bad as my day."

"Remember that old guy I told you about that was admitted?"

"Oh yeah!" She snapped her fingers trying to remember his name, "Mr. Henderson!"

      "Yup, that's the one," her friend sighed.

     "What happened?"

     "He had a war flashback today.."

     "And?"

     "He put his bedpan on his head then proceeded to throw his own feces, claiming it was a grenade."

     "What's the problem? Not like you have to clean it up."

     "Except he was trying to blow me up," Caitlyn nearly cried reliving the moment.

     "Oh god, that's disgusting! Please burn those scrubs and don't bring them back to the house."

     "Already done."

The entrance to Felton Morgue opened suddenly, revealing Dr. Waldt, a tall leggy woman who was approaching her 50s with no apparent physical flaws.