On the first floor, the “security” stays in their cramped little room. Why do they even bother? As if someone would want to steal a fucking body. Then the realization hits: I am the one breaking into a mortuary. Security is necessary. But against me? It’s a joke.
As I reach the third floor, a loud mechanical hum from below vibrates through the building. That lazy motherfucker finally fixed the generator. My internal monologue is cut short as the lights flick on above me. Bright. Clinical. Unforgiving.
"Motion sensors," I mutter.
Of course. Nothing says "discretion" like a spotlight announcing my presence. I take another step, the light following me down the hallway like a hungry dog. I despise modern security. And electricity. The night just keeps getting better.
My heart beats faster,but it’s not fear. It’s adrenaline. I need to find that pathologist. It's late; so there's only one. Perfect.If the fucker is already running tests on that body, I'll smash his head until he forgets both me and the evidence.
The atmosphere here is thick enough to touch. Dark. Cold. I love this place already. Something tells me this will be fun.
I hide behind a massive pillar in the main hall, my breathing shallow and controlled.Someone is in the reception area. No. The pathologist's office. I can only see a silhouette behind the thickglass.Awoman. Interesting. The main hall is still dim; the cheap system is taking its time to reset. That's mywindow.
I slip into the autopsy room as silently as a ghost, movingto the body and coat the palm with a chemical mixture.Strong enough to compromise trace evidence without raising immediate suspicion.
But then, I hear footsteps. Shallow. Decisive. Outside the room. My head starts ringing again. That familiar, lethal hum ofadrenaline.I melt into the shadows behind a wall with a small observation window.
Suddenly, themotion sensors betray me. The hall lights up, bathing the sterile tiles in an unforgiving glare. I don’t move. I freeze, becoming part of the wall itself. I need to see if she notices. When the door opens, I duck my head beneath the window line, my heart a steady, heavy drum in my chest.
"Hello?"
A soft, feminine voice calls out. The lightsdie since I’ve remained perfectly still.Metal instruments clink. The sharp, cold song of her trade. The sound of cutting begins, then stops.
"Really smart, buddy," she says confidently.
But I can hear it. There'sa flicker of fear underneath the bravado. I canpractically taste it.
A long pause follows.
"But not smart enough."
Something in my chest tightens. Did this woman just challenge me? She found the chemical burn. She knows I'm here,or at least she suspects it. And she's terrified, yet she’s standing her ground.
A grin spreads beneath my mask. What abeautifulcoincidence. I peek slowly over the edge of the window, careful not to trigger the sensor. I need to see her.
My eyes fall on the woman examining my art. She turns her head slowly toward my direction, sensing theweight of my gaze on her back. My breath hitches. Jesus fucking Christ.
Her eyes trace the one-sided glass, trying topierce the darkness to see who’s watching. Time stops. My gaze locks with hers, though she cannot see me. Those magnificent, icy blue eyes. She looks like a fucking angel. No, not an angel. Something indescribable.
Minutes pass, and I can't look away. I haven't taken a breath inan eternity, andI don't care. If I ever end up on her table, I hope she takes her time with me. I hope she carves into me with that same clinical precision. God,I'm fucking sick.
She can't see me, but she feels me. Something fractures inside me,not loudly, just enough to let a sliver of light in.
I watch her every movement. She shakes her head, trying to convince herself she's just paranoid. But I am here. And I don't think I'll ever be able to stop watching her from now on.
She looks at the file again. No mention of chemical burns. Her pulse rises; I can see it in the frantic way she glances from the palm back to the papers. She's nervous, and I've never seen anything more beautifulthan her fear blooming under my gaze.
She doesn't report it. Not yet. She's either stupid or brave.I’m starting to bet everything I own on the second one.
Then… sheleaves the room.I slide against the wall, sinking to the floor for a moment, my own heart finally finding its rhythm again.
My head is rushing with thoughts. Dangerous, spiraling thoughts,I didn't know my fucked-up mind was capable of.
What an interesting creature. A spark to my rotting soul. I've only had one look, and I will count every goddamn one she gives me from this moment on. I will name every gaze. Every flicker. Every emotion her icy little heart dares to feel while lookingfor me in the dark.
I thought I came here to clean up a mess. I didn’t realize I was coming here to find my new religion.
Her first gaze felt like lighting. It struck me once. Twice. Again.My whole body went rigid, trembling under the electricity. And it wasn't enough. I want more. I want everything she gives me.
