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I press my palms against the autopsy cart. The cool steel helps stabilize my breathing. The truth is, I set this in motion the moment I looked Sadie in the eyes and wished for my captor’s death. Once it became reality, there was no turning back. This warped and ugly reality is my reward, and once the world knows, I won’t fear for my life anymore.
Is physical death less of a punishment than the death of my career and reputation? I feel disgusting for comparing such a thing.
Death or prison? I’d rather not have to choose between either.
The double doors swing open with a loud bang and I flinch. My black thoughts are pushed aside as I prepare myself. I dust my hands off on my coat as the transfer crew wheel the body toward the center of the lab.
Doctor Paulsen rests his hand on my shoulder, and I nearly leap away from his touch. “Relax,” he says, but removes his hand. “I’m just going to reiterate my thoughts about you taking the night off, Doctor Johnson.” His light gray eyes and strikingly handsome features turn down in consideration. “You don’t have to be here for this.”
My defenses flare. I should be here for this, as this is my lab. “I appreciate your concern, Doctor Paulsen.” I pull a pair of gloves from my pocket. “But I’m sure you’d want to be present in your own lab in such a circumstance.”
His lips twist into a slight smile. “Of course. And please, you can call me Aubrey. No formalities among colleagues, all right?”
I free a strained breath, accepting with a nod. “Avery is fine, also. Thank you.”
The momentary camaraderie is soon dispelled when the second body arrives, completing today’s body count at three. Aubrey does the honors and signs off on the delivery while I take measured steps toward the second victim.
After completing my examination of the first, documenting the brutality she suffered, I feel I'm prepared to face this next challenge. I’m not, however, prepared for the thick bile that burns my throat at the noxious smell.
I unzip the white body bag and suppress a gasp.
She’s been disemboweled.
This victim still has her skin—but her insides have been eviscerated. Her sternum sliced open, right through her chest cavity down to her pelvis. Split down the middle like a sunbaked, overripe watermelon.
How long did she remain alive through the torture?
I look away, hating that I’ll soon discover the answer to that question.
Aubrey begins recording the vic’s stats, moving right along to the grotesque facts of her death. I liste
n while he details every removed organ, and lists the few remains of her intestines and entrails that spill over her stomach wall.
“Flora Porter was twenty years of age and—”
“What?”
His gaze flicks to me, his examination interrupted. With a click, he stops the recorder. “Is there an issue, Avery?”
Yes, there’s a damn issue. “How do you know her name already?”
His mouth purses into a thin line, his shoulders deflate. “The FBI have a rather rapid response to victim identification. I believe one of your officers has already been dispatched to contact the victim’s next of kin.”
I inhale a stale breath. “And the others?” Where were the FBI and their extensive, state-of-the-art databases when I was weeding through searches on the very first victim? If we’d had that information before I was taken… No. I can’t go there. Nothing would’ve stopped Mister AK Tie from getting what he wanted. The drug. This all comes back to the drug, and God—there’s an FBI medical examiner in my lab, surrounded by evidence of the drug, who will soon link all the connections.
Quinn. I need you.
And it hits me then. Connection. The connection. The initials AK on the crest of the necktie…A. King. The forum poster.
I can’t blame this oversight on exhaustion; I refused to see it. My darknet searches for ambergris did lead them to me—it is my fault. And then, somehow, this man unearthed my evil secret to use against me—to guarantee my cooperation.
“Avery?”
I snap myself out of my thoughts. I can’t do this here. I have to hold it together. “And the other victims?” I ask, concealing the tremble in my voice.
“I believe we’re on track with them, as well.” He grabs his tablet and swipes the screen. “Vita Laurent and Sidra Girard have both been identified. Laurent was reported missing by her parents in Prague, but Girard was ‘chalked up’ as a runaway. Girard’s family is still trying to be located.”
I glance around the lab, noticing eyes watching me, bodies stilled in anticipation for my reaction. Natalie clears her throat and resumes her data entry on the trace at the first scene, and the rest follow suit. The room reboots with its usual hum of activity.
