Chapter 26
HARPER-RAYN
Fuck, Mondays come around way too quickly.
One minute I was on my back, spending my weekend ignoring the fact that I shouldn’t have been in Knight’s bed, and the next, I’m here, swiping my access card over the security point at the doors of the dreaded morgue.
I don’t know when I started dreading coming to work.
Maybe it was right at the beginning when I first realized I was being watched, or maybe it was when the two men I was dancing with showed up on my table.
All I know is that this is slowly killing me.
I’ve always loved my work. I love the challenge of pulling the body apart and scouring every inch of it.
I love learning exactly what went wrong to cause a perfectly healthy person’s heart to spontaneously give out, and bringing justice to victims by collecting the evidence that helps capture their killers.
But lately, I’ve been scared to walk through the door.
When I’m not at work, I can focus my attention on Knight and pretend like none of the bullshit is happening, but the minute I walk through these doors, it always comes right back.
With a heavy sigh, I push through the door, wondering what fresh hell I’ll be hit with tonight. The morgue is still buzzing with people, but it doesn’t take long to realize they’re all starting to pack up after their long shift.
“Ahhh, Dr. Madden. How are you doing tonight?” Dr. McKullan asks, looking worse for wear.
“Good,” I say. “Ready for a busy shift.”
“Oh, you better be,” he says, running his hand back through his hair. “It’s been a busy day, and I suspect it will be an even busier night. The criminals of Blackstone must have been out and about this past weekend.”
“Oh?” I question, striding deeper into the morgue and dropping my bag on my desk while glancing toward the bodies lined up on the tables. Shit. It really is going to be a busy night.
“Had three here waiting for us this morning. Another two came in at midday, and we’ve just had another one an hour ago.
Preliminary reports have been started on all except the last body in bay six,” Dr. McKullan tells me.
“If you could get started on that, that would be much appreciated. Then once you’re done there, I’ve organized everything into what I want prioritized.
I doubt you’ll get through too much, but any kind of dent you can make will be helpful. ”
“Sure thing,” I tell him, already feeling overwhelmed by everything on my to-do list, but that’s just the luck of the draw, right? “I’ll get straight to it.”
I don’t even bother waiting for everybody to finish filing out before I crank the music and start reviewing everything that needs to be done tonight.
I quickly get lost in my work, focusing on the preliminary report for the man in bay six.
There are signs of injury across his knuckles, looking as though he had been involved in some kind of fight, but the injuries are a few days old.
Apart from that, there are no obvious markings to determine if this was a homicide or just nature taking its course.
A thrill shoots through me. This is just the kind of case I’ve been needing. There’s nothing I love more than a challenge, but unfortunately for me, Mr. Bay Six isn’t at the top of my priority list.
I get him bagged up and deposited back into the refrigeration unit until he’s ready for a full autopsy, and I have to admit, with everything else on my list for tonight, I doubt I’ll get the chance to completely dive headfirst into this particular mystery.
One of my colleagues will probably be awarded that honor during tomorrow’s day shift.
Then come my next shift, I’ll be faced with a whole new array of bodies to challenge me. I hope.
Wanting to keep the ball rolling and smash out as much as I can, I jump straight into the first autopsy of the night. It’s a woman, and unfortunately, she looks as though her death was brutal.
My heart breaks for her as I document the finger-shaped bruises along the inside of her thighs and the scratches left across her chest. I have a good idea what happened to her, but it’s not my job to make assumption or declarations of rape. I just report on the facts.
As I complete the external portion of the autopsy, I go to reach for my scalpel when the sound of someone swiping their access key at the door sounds through the morgue. I’m too focused to worry about freaking out, and after my stalker left me alone all last week, I’m confident that it’s not him.
My gaze shifts back to the woman, and as I press the scalpel down at her shoulder, the door opens, quickly followed by the sound of the cleaning cart.
A small smile lifts the corner of my lips, and I look up to say hi to Vincent, and just as the words are about to fly out of my mouth, I find the scowling face of Vincent’s replacement.
“Just great,” I mutter under my breath.
I give him an awkward hello and keep working, knowing how uncomfortable dead bodies made him last time, but when his eyes linger on the woman’s naked body, I can’t help the protective instinct that comes over me.
I shift around the woman’s body, immediately covering her up.
“There’s nothing for you here,” I tell him, moving quickly to place her back in the body bag.
Last week, the janitor was here for almost an hour, and I’m not about to have her on display to be gawked at by the likes of this asshole, especially not for an hour.
He scowls at me, thankfully deciding to keep his mouth shut, and without skipping a beat, I pack up her file and notes and move on to the next item on my list.
Bay number two.
I sterilize everything before getting myself a new pair of gloves, and as I look over the body bag, I can already tell there’s a man inside.
My gaze shifts over the notes from Dr. McKullan’s preliminary report.
Male. Blue eyes. No significant markings in terms of tattoos or piercings. No identification.
Okay. I can work with that.
I confirm that steps have already been taken to identify the body with fingerprints, mouth and dental swabs, along with blood being drawn. The clothes have already been removed and bagged, leaving me an empty canvas to get straight to work.
With all the little boxes ticked, I ensure all my tools are prepped and ready before finally gripping the zipper and revealing the face beneath, only my heart stops, and agony shoots through my veins like poison.
“No,” I breathe, shaking my head as my eyes immediately fill with tears. “No, no, no.”
This isn’t happening. This can’t be happening.
Big, heaving sobs tear from my chest as my stomach twists with ugliness, unable to comprehend what I’m seeing right in front of me. My hands shake, and as I stare down at the body of one of my closest friends, I become crippled with pain.
Laith Mitchell, the one and only man I have been able to rely on over the past few years, lies dead on my table, his once bright eyes now lifeless and cold.
The tears stream down my cheeks in waves as it becomes almost impossible to catch my breath over the growing lump in my throat.
How could he be gone? Just like that.
We spoke almost every day, whether it be a call or just some stupid text to let him know I was thinking of him.
Even now after letting our physical relationship take a backseat, we would still talk all the time.
Just because we weren’t punching holes in his loyalty card didn’t mean that I didn’t still crave his friendship.
He was always the best to talk to, always knew how to put a smile on my face, even in the toughest circumstances.
Sure, sometimes he was a flake who would leave me high and dry, especially when he was in the middle of a case, but I like that he put his career first just as I’ve always done.
I respected that about him. But even then, if I truly needed him, he would do everything he could to try and make the time.
I just don’t understand how he would end up here on my table.
Did someone do something to him? An angry client?
A family member of someone Laith had put away?
It doesn’t make any sense. While he was well on the road to becoming one of the top lawyers this city has ever seen, he was also one of the best people I have ever known.
Who would just hurt him like this?
The tears flow faster, and seeing that I’m not about to pull my shit together anytime soon, the asshole janitor finally decides to make an exit, not bothering to finish the job he started. It doesn’t matter anyway. It’s not as though he’s capable of doing a good job.
Despite the agony tearing through my chest, I try to do my job, needing answers just as much as I need this moment to grieve. Then as the painful sobs rip through my body, I peel back the rest of Laith’s body bag and get to work.
My gaze roams over him, knowing every inch of his body better than I know my own, and the moment I find the carvings on his chest, every last piece of me shatters.
I crash on top of him, my arms thrown around his body as the overwhelming grief tears me to shreds, realizing that I’m the reason he’s gone.
I’m the reason he’s on this table. If we never knew each other, never got close and spent the last few years in each other’s beds, my stalker wouldn’t have ended his life.
He’s dead simply for being someone in my life.
The grief is too much. The self-blame and loathing are already eating me alive.
I should have said something, should have told the people in my life, but I kept it quiet in order to protect myself, to protect them, but who’s next?
Izzy? Knight? My brother? If they knew, they would have told me I was crazy.
They would have forced me to stop working just like Knight had attempted, but that’s not who I am, and now I’m the one to blame.