Gloves

Gerard pushed the doors to the autopsy room open, letting Frank duck under his arm and listening for the nameless officer to walk away before he let them swing closed. Frank recognized the sterile room from the many crime shows on day time and prime time television; slabs full of stiffs (only two), walls full of refrigerated sliding slabs, a stout, balding man with kind green eyes and a dull blue apron around his waist.
"Morning, Gerard," greeted the autopsy specialist. "Who's your friend?"
Gerard nudged Frank forward with his elbow. "Oh, um, I'm Frank," he stammered, smiling sheepishly and rubbing his -- admittedly greasy -- hair. "I'm Gerard's...childe." It felt weird coming off of his tongue; it was best to leave that to Gerard.
"We had a mishap with my glove," Gerard explained, tugging at his left. "Childe, this is Dr.Louis Wick."
"Nice to meet you, Gerard's childe," the old man laughed, grinning cheekily at the tallest boy, who consequently rolled his eyes. "He doesn't resurrect just anyone, you know."
Frank snorted. "So I've heard."
Louis cleared his throat and shuffled towards the closest slab. "Now, down to business." He pulled the sheet back, revealing the corpse's face and chest. "Richard Green, 67. Cause of Death: stab wounds to the chest, punctured the lungs. Murder weapon appears to be a serrated blade, 14 to 16 inches long."
A whistle sounded from the door, making Frank snap his head to look behind him. Gerard stayed stationary, his infamous glare forming on his face. The man coming through the swinging double doors was tall and red-haired, with a cocky grin on his face. "One hell of a long bla-- why is there a civilian in the autopsy if he's not dead?" He slid up to the opposite side of the table and scowled at the two boys.
"Calm down, Truman; Gerard had a small problem with his glove," Louis scolded, frowning at the taller man.
This elicited a loud bark of a laugh from who Frank assume was the detective. "Poor kid! You're stuck with the world's biggest dick for the rest of you life!"
"Don't start," Gerard snapped, pulling off his left glove and handing it to Frank, who clutched it to his chest and glared at Detective Truman. He touched the dead man's forehead and nodded to Louis, who started a stopwatch.
The pasty eyelids flickered open, blinking rapidly before he sat up. "Why am I not dead? I thought I died," wondered Richard, looking from face to face. The short boy with the brown hair looked comically shocked. He cracked a smile at said boy, who hid behind a taller one with only one glove on.
"Hello, Richard," a tall man in a suit said, smiling. "I'm sorry we had to interrupt your death, but we would like to ask you a few questions."
"Uh, yeah, sure," he mumbled, looking down at his chest. It was hairless with a stitched Y running all the way down. "So you already did the autopsy? Cool." The gloved boy snorted rather loudly at that.
"Yes, well," stuttered the tall man, "Do you remember who killed you?"
Richard thought for a moment. "Yeah, the hardware store owner's nephew. He had a beef with me about my daughter; wanted to marry her, but he was no good. Clearly," he gestured to himself, wiggling his stiff fingers. Rigor mortis was starting to set in, it appeared.
"You have a name?" the boy with the glove asked, raising a black eyebrow.
The dead man grinned at him. There was just something about him that Richard liked. "Why yes I do, young man. Bert Hartman. He's a very nasty man."
The dark-haired boy nodded, his weird red eyes glinting in the manufactured light. "Thank you. You may go back to death now." And then he reached out and brushed his left hand against the man's forehead, bringing black to his vision.
Gerard took the glove from Frank, thanking him with a nod. He tugged it back on and smirked at Detective Martin Truman. "My work here is done," he said, turning and walking out the door. Frank followed without question, waving goodbye to the friendly mortician.
"What odd boys," he chuckled, putting the sheet back over the body and snapping off his latex gloves.
"That little one won't last a week," Truman grumbled disapprovingly, shaking his head.

Notes

I found out about Fake Your Death this morning. Too good.
Enjoy the chapter, friends.
Comment and subscribe and shit.
-Stitches