Unserious

Chapter 1

Quinnly

Iswear, the morgue is the place to be—and the dead, I’ve found, are the fucking shit. Seriously. They never give me the judgy eye rolls I’ve come to expect from the general public. My Paps, Cicero, always told me, “People are far too boring to understand someone as bright as you.”

Hell, I don’t understand myself most days. It’s like living in a world where everyone speaks another language and I’m just supposed to know it.

I sent a text to my sister, Naomi, like ten minutes ago about our lunch date, and welp, she hasn’t arrived in time to curb the appeal of visiting the morgue.

Luck’s on my side today though, since I spot the autopsy technician leaving just as I round the corner of one of the many long hallways in this hospital.

It helps that their security systems could use an update, because the door to the morgue doesn’t lock as fast as the others, so I slip right in, no one the wiser.

“Hello, Stannnley,” I sing, drawing out the dead person’s name on the nameplate of one of the cold lockers. Sliding the piece of paper out of the holder with all of his information on it, I replace it with another.

Snickering, I look around. Most of the sharps are neatly put away in locked cabinets.

Bummer.

I could use a new scalpel.

Shrugging, I grip the handle of one of the lockers with a blank tag and yank it open.

Stanley’s body lays prone on the rolly slab beside it.

He looks lonely inside the cold silver box with only a thin, white sheet covering his body.

Climbing into the locker, and laying down on my side I find a comfortable position on my own rolly metal slab.

My skin practically glows in the dark in the chiller. I’m so pale, it’s kind of my super power.

“Come here often?” I ask Stanley. Of course, he doesn’t answer. I didn’t think he would, I’m not insane… Though, the many therapists I’ve seen would object.

His chest hasn’t been cleaved open yet, which means he’s fairly fresh.

His dark hair looks dry and, well, lifeless.

Deciding my new friend can’t look like this when they cut him open, I reach across the space and shift his head to the side, so I can grab all of his hair.

He’s a little stiff, so I have to get creative with my elbows against the cold metal interior.

His hair’s long, so long that I have to heave him onto his side to get it all. I know how hard he must have worked to keep his hair healthy and long. It’s a lot like mine, except where mine is split down the middle and recently dyed one side maroon and the other emerald, his hair is plain brown.

“Wow, so shiny,” I remark, combing my fingers through his locks. “I hope this is okay, Naomi always says I should ask for consent.”

I laugh and roll my eyes, “But of course you want your hair done! Gotta look your best for the tech!”

Braiding his hair is easy, my fingers fly over the dry strands until I’m almost done. The door to my locker clicks and I catch a glimpse of sharp hazel eyes.

Naomi opens the door wide and sighs.

I know–if I could see more than just her annoyed face–she probably has her hands on her hips, one cocked up higher than the other. “You don’t happen to have a hair tie, do ya?”

“Ugh, I knew I’d find you here,” she shakes her head, but her smile doesn’t fade. “No, I don’t have a damn scrunchie for your new friend, but I am hungry. Let’s go, lady.”

“Only if I get to pick!” I shout in the otherwise silent place as I climb out and follow her to the door. Remembering I didn’t say goodbye to my new friend, I rush back to his door. Placing my hands on the edge of his metal bed like a puppy at the pound, I whisper, “Bye, Stanley, I’ll miss you.”

It’s always chilly in the morgue, but I don’t mind it. Not when I get to see so many people, and sometimes I make stories up in my head about their deaths.

Naomi lets out a little chuckle, making my hands fall to my sides. She shakes her head as I make my way back to where she stands at the door. “You’re kind of a nut case, you know that?”

“A fun one,” I scoff. She’s lucky she has me, who else would plot murder with her for fun? I’ve gotten pretty good at the gross stuff, coagulated blood currently sticking to my undershirt notwithstanding.

She wraps her arm in mine, setting the pace toward her car.

Wordlessly, we slide into her Mercedes and she presses the button to start the engine.

The cream leather seats have seen more blood than any regular person, so I like to think of the Mercedes as our partner in crime.

Plus, Mi has a guy that cleans her car, no questions asked.

“So, Q, where to?” Her eyes slide my way, and her smirk tells me exactly what she thinks. She knows where I want to go, she just wants me to say it. Because I eat ‘like a child’, her words, not mine. I have a refined palate, thank you very much.

“La Comio, you wench,” I laugh and she joins in, backing out of the spot marked for employees of the hospital, and driving out of the concrete structure. She handles the curves of the parking deck with precision. Her professional capabilities often carry over to her everyday life.

General surgeon.

She’s always been smart, way smarter than me. When she showed up at our house, she was a scrawny little ten year old. Someone incredibly sad, and I remember hearing her cry through her comforter every night until her breaths evened out and her eyes softened in dreams.

I watched her sleep many of those nights, wondering what could possibly make such a pretty girl cry like that. Even so, I’ve never understood emotions in the same capacity as others. It’s what set me apart from the other kids growing up.

Her emotions were so out in the open, it shocked me, and intrigued me. I wanted to crack her open and sift through her brain. I think that’s why we became sisters in every sense of the word. She saw the fucked up parts of me and didn’t cower in fear.

“I have something I have to tell you,” I blurt, unable to hold my news in for a minute longer. Naomi shifts in her seat to face me fully. “I’m going on an adventure!”

“What do you mean Q?” Her face subtly changes into her ‘I hate bad news face’, she doesn’t even know she does it most times.

“I’m gonna travel across the entire United States!”

Her eyes widen a fraction before squinting in laser focus, “You don’t mean…”

I smile and look to the side, making sure no cars have parked beside us. I don’t think the general population would be happy to know about a serial killer running amok. The thought makes me giggle though.

“I want to see how far my new friend will chase me, and I think Pap’s will like it. Plus you have your plans…” lifting my shoulders, I purse my lips.

Paps always talked about other places like they were magical, and some part of me wants to be closer to him. To see what he’s seen, and I think it’s finally time to test how far I can push the big bad shadow I’ve come to enjoy.

Naomi flops back into the driver’s seat and runs a hand down her face, “You’re serious?”

I scoff, “When am I ever unserious?”

One brow lifts, along with the corner of her mouth. “So you’re doing what, like a ‘scratch-off kill board, USA edition?’” She laughs and my mouth pops open, eyes splaying wide because that is genius.

“Oh. My. God. Naomi! We have to go to the craft store, right now.” Pulling my seat belt back over my shoulder, clicking it into place, and vibrating in my seat I wait. My thoughts run wild with images of how I’m going to make this scratch-off kill board a reality.

She stares at me, and with a weird chuckle she shakes her head before looking longingly back at the restaurant. “But we didn’t get to eat.”

“Who cares about food right now? Craft night, baby!” I scream in her car. Kicking my feet up as high as they’ll go, she licks her lips, and rolls her eyes. She can pick something up at the canteen in the hospital. Right now we need to get supplies.

“You better cook me a damn good meal when I get home.”

“Deal!” I shout and pump my fists in the air.