Time to go (Five minutes freewrite)

'Sorry to have kept you waiting!'
Lucille tried to put a name to the face of the man that had just entered her room. She was sure she'd seen that bony face before and yet... She smiled, pretending everything was alright - that's what she'd been doing for the last couple of years. Her memory was failing her - not like forgetting where she put her eyeglasses, that was nothing - more important stuff. One day she forgot to dress up in the morning and found herself at the bakery in her nightie. 'Thank God, Robert didn't find out about that.' Her son kept pressing her to move into a home, but she feared that more than death.
The man cleared his throat to catch her attention politely - 'We should be going now!'
Yes, she remembers now - it was Evan's birthday, of course, her precious little darling was turning ten and Robert had promised he'd send a company car to pick her up. Phew!
As the black car hit the freeway, Lucille picked up the faint sounds of a rap song or something equally annoying. Probably the radio. The middle-aged formally-dressed driver didn't look like the kind of guy that would listen to that horrible music. She didn't say anything, after all, the poor man was working on a Sunday ferrying an old woman around and it was barely audible...

She must have dozed off for it was dark outside and she couldn't make out where they were. Strange, her son lived sixty miles away, they should have been there by now. Lucille sat staring out the window with her 'it's-all-good' air she put on when she felt confused.
She must have driven this road hundreds off times until Robert took her car keys five years ago, yet it seemed so strange now. So flat and boring and why were there no lights?
The car pulled to a stop in front of a building, that was equally unfamiliar. When she got off, she realized the pain in her hip was gone and there was a spring in her step like in the old days. The driver took her hand gently and led her to the entrance.
'Don't you worry about a thing, dear. Everything will be fine now'.
He kissed her hand and she giggled like a schoolgirl.

James caught a slight movement with the corner of the eye and shuddered. He didn't look up, he knew it must have been the old lady laid out on the trolley, waiting for an autopsy. He hated this job, especially the fresh stiffs. The professor had told him it was nonsense, but he knew. That's why he always kept the radio on all night. He tried to picture what they were going through before that last spasm when the soul left the body for good. Those muffled sounds, like they were pleading with some unseen devils. Sometimes they gave out a cry. Sometimes they giggled.

Story written for @mariannewest's freewrite challenge. Today's prompt was: trolley. Check out her blog and join our freewrite community.

Image: Pixabay