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)
Giddiness bubbles through me, and when it gets too hard to concentrate on my work, I push my phone away and try to focus. I can think about threesomes tomorrow. Right now, I have a body who deserves a thorough report.
A soft beep sounds through the morgue, and my back instantly stiffens as my gaze snaps toward the door. I knew my last shift left me shaken, but after talking with Knight about it, I felt somewhat more at ease. I had started to convince myself that maybe it was just some sick joke played by bored kids wanting to screw with me. But up until this very moment, I hadn’t realized just how much of a chokehold it has on me.
The door begins to open, and my hand curls around the pen on my desk, expecting the worst. I’m not a cold-blooded killer by any means, but if it came down to it, I would know exactly where to stab the pen to cause the most damage. I’d be the one walking away from this, and while that snippet of information goes a long way to comfort me, that doesn’t mean that I’m not terrified right now.
The door begins to open, and I suck in a breath, preparing to scream if need be, and as I mentally war with the fear pulsing through my body, I watch as the night janitor, Vincent, strolls in without a single care in the world.
My body sags and I stare at Vincent, needing just a few seconds for my brain to comprehend that I’m not currently in mortal danger.
God. I’m an idiot.
Vincent drags his cleaning cart behind him before settling it in its usual position by the door as my fingers relax and I release my death grip on the pen.
“Oh, Miss Harper,” Vincent says, his eyes going wide as he takes me in. “Are you okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“I, ummm . . . Yeah,” I say, swallowing hard as though that can possibly ease the way my hands tremble beneath the table. “All good. How are you? Busy night?”
“Oh, you can say that,” he says, chuffed to be having a conversation. Vincent often tells me that I’m the only person who’ll speak to him during his shift. It’s heartbreaking, but I’m not surprised. The night crew at the hospital isn’t always the most welcoming. I’ve had more than my fair share of run-ins with people who want nothing to do with me. But despite how I like to work in peace, if someone were to walk into the morgue, you bet I’m going to go out of my way to make them feel comfortable.
“How’s Lila?” I ask. “Still struggling with kindergarten?”
Vincent lets out a heavy breath as he scoops up the antiseptic spray from his cart. “Yeah, unfortunately, kindergarten is really kicking our ass,” he tells me as he steps up to the autopsy table and starts to clean it, despite me already having done it barely two hours ago. “I think her teacher reminds Lila of her mother. It hasn’t been that long since she passed, but they have similar features.”
My heart grows heavy. Vincent’s wife passed a little over a year ago, leaving him as a struggling single father of three little girls. He’s barely been getting by. He works an office job during the day, then has his janitorial shift during the night while his girls are watched by his mother. It breaks my heart. He’s doing everything he can to support his children and ensure they have a good life, all while grieving the loss of his wife.
“Damn. That must be hard,” I say, unable to imagine the hell he must be going through. Not to mention, the hell his daughter would be going through as well. Starting kindergarten is a huge adjustment for any kid, but to show up every day and see your dead mother in the eyes of your teacher must be so confusing.
Vincent gives me a small smile. “It is, but we’re getting there,” he says fondly before diving into all the highlights of Lila starting school. He chats away for almost an hour, and after finishing the ins and outs of kindergarten, he tells me all about the milestones of his other daughters, talking like the proudest father in the world.
For a fleeting moment, I’m jealous. I had an absent father growing up. He couldn’t even remember to call on my birthday, and then one day, he just stopped calling altogether. I don’t even know where he lives anymore. I don’t even know if he’s still alive, but it doesn’t matter to me anymore. If he doesn’t care to know about me, then I won’t waste my time being hurt by him. Besides, it was a long time ago. I’ve more than gotten over it.