The weight of him is different than it used to be. Not because the body changed. Because I know what’s inside. What he went through.
The elevator doors slide open with a dull metallic sound. I press the button for the second floor. The ride down feels longer than it should. The doors open into the quiet corridor that leads to the cold storage.
The temperature drops the moment I push through the heavy insulated doors. The air here is dry and sharp, smelling faintly of steel and disinfectant.
I stop in front of one of the empty drawers and pull the handle. The metal tray slides out with a hollow scrape. My hands resting on the edge of the gurney.
For years I imagined different endings to our story. Arguments. Distance. Eventually never seeing each other again. Not this.
I grip the zipper and pull it open just enough to see his face one last time. His expression hasn’t changed since the autopsy table. The same frozen tension in his jaw. The same empty eyes staring at nothing.
Whatever he was at the end of his life, the monster who hurt me. The man who threatened me. The cop who thought his badge made him untouchable. None of it matters anymore. Now he’s just…. A body.
I close the bag again and help guide him onto the metal tray. The cold steel groans softly under the weight. Then I push thedrawer in. The final metallic click echoes louder than it should. And just like that, Jake Sullivan disappears into the dark.
Work is done. At least the part that requires gloves. The rest…. is worse.
By the time I make it back to my office upstairs, the building feels quieter. Bryan is somewhere on the first floor like usual. My mind is too loud.
I close the door behind me and sit down at my desk. The computer screen glows softly in front of me, the autopsy report still open where I left it.
The Arbiter. The most wanted killer in the city. My fingers press against my temples. What the hell am I supposed to do? If I tell the police what I suspect, they’ll ask questions. A lot of them. About Jake. About our history. About the messages. About the night of the party. About why I was the last person seen with him alive. My head feels light.
And then there’s Lucy. I still haven’t told her the truth. Not about Jake. Not about the man who held me like he already owned me. The man who might have tortured someone for hours because of me.
I stare at the phone on my desk. One call. That’s all it would take. Detective Hargrove. Tell him everything. About the threat. About him. About the way he looked at me when he said Jake wouldn’t bother me anymore.
My hand moves almost on its own. I pick up the phone. The phone screen shows the digits as I start dialing. One more number and the call will go through.
My thumb hovers above the screen. This is the right thing to do. Isn’t it? My heart starts beating faster. Because the moment I press that button, everything changes. The investigation. My life. Everything.
I inhale slowly. Then my phone vibrates in my hand. A message notification. Unknown number. I open it. The message is short. Too short.
UNKNOWN:“Madeline, we don’t want to actually call the detective. Are we?”
The air leaves my lungs. My eyes slowly lift from the phone. And without meaning to, I look up. Straight toward the small black security camera in the corner of my office. The red indicator light glows quietly. Watching.
My fingers tighten around the phone as another message appears.
UNKNOWN:“Put the phone down, little storm.”
My breath stops completely.Little storm. The same nickname he used in the note before. It’s him. There’s no doubt anymore.
My fingers hover above the screen. For a moment I consider doing exactly what he said. Putting the phone down. Ignoring it. Pretending none of this is happening. My curiosity takes over.
ME:“Was it you?”
The message is sent before I can change my mind. The typing bubble appears almost instantly. Like he was already waiting.
UNKNOWN:“You’re asking the wrong question.”
ME:“Did you kill Jake?”
UNKNOWN:“Did he deserve to die?”
I stare at the words. My pulse stutters. That’s not an answer. And he knows it.
ME:“That’s not what I asked.”
