Chapter 19 #2
She purses her lips, trying to chase away the thoughts that start to sneak their way into her mind.
“Don’t give me too much credit. I left the techs to open her mouth.
I could have found it sooner.” She can’t help but feel a profound sense of frustration.
If she had allowed herself to fall deeper into her grief, she may have missed this connection altogether.
It’s a wake-up call, that this is where her purpose lies, and she needs to start embracing it, letting it heal her.
“Hey, don’t you dare start beating on yourself. You’re overworked, exhausted, and dealing with things you’ve never had to deal with before. Have some fucking grace with yourself or some shit.” He points a finger at her, emphasizing his point.
She can’t help but grin at his lack of tact.
His emotional pep talks are always laced with profanity and clumsy compliments, and she wouldn’t want them delivered any other way.
But soon the realization of what happened hits her again.
“I also didn’t detect anything but awkwardness from Wyatt.
If he is responsible for this in any way, I didn’t see it. ”
Her stomach knots, and another wave of regret churns inside her, souring everything it touches.
She thinks back to her interactions with Wyatt, to any stupid piece of information she may have casually let slip to him.
Fortunately, she can’t think of anything—a helpful by-product of her inability to trust anyone.
Slowly, her brain begins to battle the intrusive thoughts, and logic starts winning out over self-criticism.
There is a connection here, a connection to a former life when Wren’s instincts failed her.
This isn’t the same. This is an extension of that life, not another branch entirely.
If someone in her life did this, someone like Wyatt, then he did it with Jeremy’s help or with Jeremy in mind.
“Rose’s blood,” Leroux says, as if reading her thoughts. “I’d wager that Wyatt is the one talking to Jeremy. And that he was the one who called himself Jeremy to Melissa.”
“Some of the guards—or at least one guard—are looking the other way or even blatantly helping him. I told you there is something going on there.”
He nods, showing his agreement. “We can crack him. He doesn’t want someone else getting all the glory.”
“That’s disgusting,” Wren says, walking to the other side of the suite and grabbing the camera from Gavin, who wordlessly holds it out in front of him.
“You know what I mean. He lines up dominos just to knock them down. It’s a game for him, and when he knows the game is over, he will pivot.”
Wren brings the camera back over to where John stands, nodding at him. “Open her lips for me. I need clearer shots of her mouth,” she says, turning the camera on and positioning it to start snapping photos.
He looks at her in confusion, like she just asked him to destroy an atom.
“You have gloves on, don’t you?” she asks impatiently.
“Well, yeah, but I—”
“Use ’em,” she demands, her finger poised over the shutter. “Come on.”
John sighs, mumbling several curses under his breath. Reluctantly he reaches out to move Melissa’s lips away from her teeth, and Wren snaps the photos needed. When it’s sufficiently documented, she begins to upload the photos to the computer while John peels off his gloves.
“I’ll call Will, and we will start surveilling Wyatt. I’ll also call Dead Creek. We’ll unearth his connection to Jeremy,” he says, taking off his gown.
The doorbell interrupts them, indicating someone’s presence at the morgue entry.
“Gavin, will you take care of whoever that is?” Wren asks, hearing the doorbell and pointing at the light that glows amber by the door. “Paperwork for a couple of transports is in the office.”
“You got it.” Gavin begins to take his gown off, throwing each piece in various biohazard bins along the way to the exit.
“We won’t let him go, Muller,” John says reassuringly.
Before she can respond, the morgue phone rings, and she answers quickly.
“Wren, we have a transport here for Walden. Um, I just need you to sign one of these forms.” She can hear the anxiety in Gavin’s voice. Her own heart starts beating in double time, forcing a cough from her throat.
“Oh, yes, um, sure. I’ll be right there,” she says, trying to stay calm.
She hangs up and turns to John, pointing behind her at the door. “Holy fuck. Wyatt is here for a pickup. Now.”
John puffs his cheeks out, and she can almost see the wheels begin to turn in his head.
“Oh shit,” he says, beginning to pace. “Okay, you are going to act like nothing is different. Don’t even slightly let on that anything has changed.
He’s going to be testing you because he knows Melissa is here.
If he’s our guy, then he’s looking to see if you know yet. ”
“Okay, I can do that. How do you know he’s going to be testing me?” she asks, genuinely curious.
“Because why would he be the one to come? He could have sent anyone else. He knows Melissa is here. If he’s the killer, then he is here to see if he’s properly disrupted everything.”
She nods, knowing he’s right. She begins pulling off her gown, peeling away layer by layer until only her civilian clothes are left.
Steeling herself, she exits the suite, wringing her hands as she walks down the long hallway to the anteroom.
She quickly throws her hair into a messy bun, trying to waste enough time to get into character.
“Wyatt DuPont, as I live and breathe,” she says, entering the anteroom with a smile.
He turns around, flashing a perfectly awkward smile back at her and waiting almost a beat before speaking, like he’s studying her face for signs of devastation. She doesn’t give him anything at all, just regular Wren on a casual morgue night.
“Hey, Dr. Muller. Another clandestine run-in? We have to stop meeting like this,” he says, his cheeks flushing at his own boldness.
You little shithead.
She forces an amused smile, walking into the room completely and eyeing Gavin, who has moved the transport patient onto Wyatt’s gurney.
He looks back at her out of the corner of his eye, a look of fear washing over his face.
He didn’t come into a regular weeknight shift thinking he would be interacting with a possible serial killer.
Wren forgets that’s not everyone’s luck.
“Well, until we figure out the whole immortality thing, I fear we will continue to meet like this.” She tries not to say it through gritted teeth. Instead she makes it relaxed, like any of their conversations.
He chuckles, and on any other night, it would never register as anything besides an organic reaction.
Tonight it feels forced, like both of them can sense something has changed, something is crackling in the air.
John was right; he’s looking inside her, trying to determine how much she has found, how much she has connected.
“I heard they found those two missing girls,” he says, looking down at his paperwork and not at her eyes. “Damn shame.”
She stops for a split second, sucking in a breath and again eyeing Gavin briefly, who quickly turns around to pretend to check name tags.
Play it right, Wren.
“Just one, actually. It was too late for her.” She looks at him, seeing his eyes flick up to hers.
She locks in on them, stopping herself from wavering under the tension.
“But that’s why I love my job. The people in here will talk to me, and only me.
They will tell me what happened to them because I’ll listen.
” She grins, trying her best to make it look genuine, but she’s sure there is a little venom leaking through.
He clears his throat, jabbing a period on the end of whatever he was writing and sliding the clipboard onto the counter.
“Do you ever question if you can handle what they’ll tell you?
” he asks, his eye contact steady. Wren has never known Wyatt to hold a gaze for very long, but suddenly he’s locked in.
She shakes her head. “After what they have likely endured, handling it is the least I can do.” She opens the door to the anteroom and steps to one side, a clear indication that his time here is done.
He nods slowly and begins to wheel the gurney out the doorway. As he passes Wren, she grasps his arm gently, sending a visible shudder through his body. He looks at her with surprise at the unexpected touch.
“Don’t worry. I won’t rest until I hear what they have to say.” She allows a smile to spread across her expression, their faces so close that she can see the trembling of his bottom lip.
He forces a smile too. “Good luck, Dr. Muller.”
As he wheels down the hall and through the doors that lead to the exit, Wren watches. Gavin appears by her side, startling her from her racing thoughts.
“That was intense,” he says, puffing out a breath.
“I’m sorry you had to be put on the spot there. Are you okay?” Wren asks, turning to look at him. His face is etched with relief now, but it’s clear to her that the experience was unpleasant for both of them in different ways.
He nods, running a hand across his head. “Yeah, I’m okay. Just be careful with this guy. I can’t get a good read on him.”
Gavin walks away, leaving Wren feeling off-kilter. She thought it was just her own proximity to Wyatt that was making her struggle with this shift in his identity, but maybe he presents an encrypted appearance to everyone.
She almost runs directly into John back in the autopsy suite; he had been leaning against the sliding doors, trying his best to overhear the entire exchange down the hall.
“Damn, Muller, you really love to toe that line.” He gives her a look that conveys admiration and exasperation in equal measure.
She sighs, walking toward the changing room to suit up again. “I feel like that’s all I do, to be honest.” Crashing through the door, she grabs a new gown and two pairs of gloves, then enters the suite again. “I’m toeing a line between reality and the worst kind of nightmare I can imagine.”