Chapter 20: “Second floor.”

Steve strode through the dimly lit corridors of the city morgue, his phone pressed to his ear, his mind a mess of fragmented memories and unanswered questions.

“Yeah, he’s here. Let me call you back,” he muttered before ending the call.

The air inside the morgue was sterile, thick with the smell of antiseptic and death, the fluorescent lights above buzzing faintly. The heavy steel doors leading to the autopsy rooms stood ominously at the far end of the hall.

Inside his office, Dr. St. John sat behind his cluttered desk, flipping through a folder with his thick fingers. The tiny reading glasses perched on his nose were absurdly small for his massive face, a strange contrast to the man’s imposing build.

He looked up as Steve entered.

“Can I help you, Steven?”

Steve hesitated before speaking.

“Doc, you remember the murder scene with the two—” He paused, suddenly unsure. His mind stuttered, as if his own thoughts had to buffer before playing. “Three. Three bodies. We pulled them out of…”

His voice faded, the name of the apartment complex evaporating from his tongue.

Dr. St. John frowned. “Steven?”

Steve inhaled sharply. “Cornice Place.” He clenched his fists. “The murders at Cornice Place. You remember, right?”

The doctor tilted his head slightly, his gaze sharp. “Yes, the murders at the apartments. What about them?”

Steve exhaled, gripping the chair across from the desk. “How many bodies did we pull out?”

St. John’s response was immediate. “Three. We just—”

“Before today, Doc.”

The doctor’s expression tightened. His broad brow furrowed as he processed the question. He turned to his computer, his fingers flying across the keyboard.

The silence between them stretched.

Then—his face darkened.

“That’s strange,” he muttered.

Steve stepped closer, feeling his pulse quicken. “What?”

Dr. St. John’s cursor circled empty cells.

“Nothing’s logged.”

A weight settled in Steve’s chest.

“Meaning what?”

The doctor stood abruptly, grabbing a clipboard from his desk. “Follow me.”

Steve didn’t hesitate. He fell in step as they moved briskly down the cold hallway.

The Elevator Doors Open

The familiar ding of the precinct’s elevator echoed as Hale stepped inside, shoving his phone into his pocket.

Debra was waiting.

She leaned against the rail, a knowing smile on her lips. “Perfect timing.”

Hale smirked, stepping forward and pulling her into his arms. “Almost like I planned it.”

The doors slid shut, sealing them inside.

“You need to hit the button,” she reminded him, nudging him playfully.

Hale reached out, accidentally tapping the second floor along with the first.

“Shit,” he muttered under his breath.

Debra arched a brow. “You seem distracted, Detective.”

He chuckled, wrapping an arm around her waist. “Just got a lot going on.”

Debra’s fingers traced the buttons on his shirt, her voice sultry. “Maybe I can help you unwind.”

She leaned in, kissing him deeply. Hale sank into it—until the ding of the elevator broke the moment.

The doors slid open onto the second floor.

Four people stood waiting.

As they stepped inside, Hale habitually scanned the faces of the three men and the woman stepping into the elevator.

Then he saw Wen.

The young Korean boy stood motionless, still dressed in bloodstained clothes.

He looked up at Hale with dark, unblinking eyes.

A strange tension gripped the air.

Hale’s stomach knotted. His instincts—honed from years of detective work—screamed at him.

“I know that kid,” he muttered.

Debra turned toward Wen, her smile fading. “What is it?”

Hale didn’t answer. His focus was locked on Wen’s empty stare.

The Lab and the Missing Records

Steve watched through the observation window as Dr. St. John barked orders at his subordinates inside the forensics lab.

On the check-in counter, a logbook sat open.

Steve’s eyes drifted to the row of scribbles replacing where proper entry records should have been.

The data was meaningless.

Everything was gone.

His phone rang. Hale.

“Yeah,” Steve answered. “It’s weird over here.”

“You don’t know the half of it,” Hale muttered. “You remember those Koreans from the apartment complex?”

Steve frowned. “The father and son?”

“Yeah. The kid was found wandering down the road in blood-covered clothes. No sign of the dad. Patrol picked him up. He’s here at the station.”

Steve’s chest tightened. “Wen’s at the station?”

“Yeah. And he’s not talking. Almost like he’s in shock.”

Steve rubbed his temple. “Okay, I’m coming back now. I’ll fill you in when I get there.”

Hale’s voice came through lower. “Second floor.”

Steve paused.

There was a weight behind those two words.

“…Alright,” he said, swallowing. “Be right there.”

He had just pocketed his phone when it rang again.

Jeff.

Steve sighed. “Jesus, what now?”

He answered. “Hey, shit’s getting weirder.”

Jeff’s voice was urgent. “You don’t know the half of it. You need to get down here. Now.”

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