Total pages in book: 158
Estimated words: 146477 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 732(@200wpm)___ 586(@250wpm)___ 488(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 146477 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 732(@200wpm)___ 586(@250wpm)___ 488(@300wpm)
A whimper fights its way free, and just when I think it’s all over, the familiar sound of the handle twisting into place fills the inside of the refrigeration unit. My back stiffens on the cold table, realizing I’ve been locked inside. My chest heaves with terror-filled gasps. I’ve never been someone who suffers from claustrophobia, but right now, I’m almost convinced that I do. It’s one thing hiding in here and hoping he goes away, but it’s a whole new fear realizing I’ve been locked inside for him to come back and play with anytime he sees fit.
Another whimper escapes from my lips, and I clamp my freezing fingers over my mouth as my body violently shakes from the cold. I have to get out of here, but with this monster still lurking just outside, I don’t stand a chance.
Time slows, and I try to calm myself, saving every ounce of energy I possess, having no idea when I might need to call on it. I simply listen, biding my time as he continues to move around the morgue, and then finally everything goes quiet.
The heavy morgue door slams, and the only noise I hear is the manic thumping of my pulse in my ears.
I slowly sit up, my body dangerously stiff from the cold. There’s only so long somebody can survive in here. Don’t get me wrong, there are ways someone could survive, but I don’t intend on feasting on the bodies around me. At least they’re already dead, so if it came to it, I won’t have to kill anyone just to eat. Silver linings, right?
The rest of my team would be due to come in for the day shift in just a few hours, so it’s not exactly the end of the world. I can make it until then, but the truth of the matter is, I don’t want to. I want to get the fuck out of here and run as far as I can. I was an idiot to stay here tonight. I should have listened to Knight, though I’ll never tell him he was right. That just seems too easy.
He’d never get himself locked in the morgue refrigeration unit with a bunch of dead bodies. God, how little he’ll think of me when he finds out this is how I spent my night. I suppose I don’t have to tell him about this, but what benefit would that do for me? If I want this asshole caught and dealt with, then it’s in my best interest to be as forthcoming as possible, even if it means certain humiliation.
I go to start checking the door when the table creaks under my movements and I come to a screeching halt. I know I heard the door shut, but that doesn’t mean he was on the opposite side of it. Is he gone or is he waiting me out?
No. No. No. No.
Why is this happening to me?
I listen intently to the sounds from outside of the refrigeration unit, and after what I assume is ten long minutes of nothing but pure silence, I decide it’s time to take the risk.
Crawling to the end of the table, I shove against the locked door and cringe at the feel of the freezing metal against my cold fingers. Trying to rattle it free is agonizing, and there’s no use. It’s not going to budge.
“Fuck,” I mutter as more tears form in my eyes.
One by one, I move across the inside of the refrigeration unit, carefully climbing over sealed body bags and hoping like fuck I’m not disturbing the bodies inside. I try each door, cursing myself for being so meticulous in making sure the doors were locked.
I reach the locker on the very end—the one at the very top that we rarely use because of the lock that always gets jammed—and straddle the empty rolling table facing the inside of the door. If I were going to have any chance of breaking one of these locks to get out, this would be my best bet.
I pump my fingers to get the blood flowing before realizing I’m going to need something to jimmy the lock open. I feel the pocket of my scrub shirt for my trusty pen and instantly hate myself, finding my pocket empty. I took it out earlier while writing my notes and never put it back.
Fucking rookie error.
Feeling my pants pockets, I find the little metal piece off the top of my soda can, and while it isn’t exactly ideal, it’s better than nothing. Immediately getting to work, I pinch the little piece of aluminum between freezing fingers and do what I can to release the jammed lock from the inside.
I slip a few times, cutting my thumb and leaving a small pool of blood on the table between my thighs, but my desperation to get out of here doesn’t hold me back. I keep prying the old lock, bending the soda tab in the process, but as the lock finally begins to give way, my relief keeps me going.