Ripples in the Night -3

Jessie tightened her coat against the chill of the evening air as she and James exited the morgue. The scream they'd heard earlier still rang in her ears. It wasn't close enough to warrant immediate investigation, but it served as a grim reminder: whatever they were dealing with wasn't confined to the sterile walls of the morgue.

"We need answers," James said, his voice low as they approached his car. His movements were tense, his fingers curling and uncurling as if trying to physically wrestle his thoughts into place.

Jessie nodded. "Agreed. But charging in blind won't get us anywhere. We need to start with the basics: who the victim was, where he'd been, and who might've had reason to kill him."

James opened the driver's door, pausing before getting in. "And now we have another layer to deal with. How does someone who's supposed to be dead suddenly start moving again?"

Jessie didn't answer. She didn't have to. The unease etched on her face mirrored his own.

Zoe stared at the cracked photo frame in her hands. The picture inside showed her and her brother Liam, smiling brightly on a family trip. It felt like a lifetime ago.

She had spent the entire day pacing her apartment, consumed by a storm of emotions: anger, confusion, and grief. Liam had always been the one to protect her, to keep her grounded. And now, he was gone—killed in some senseless attack she still didn't fully understand.

A knock at the door snapped her out of her thoughts. She placed the frame on the table and hesitated, the sudden sound unsettling in the silence of her apartment.

"Who is it?" she called out, her voice shaky.

"It's Ryan. We need to talk."

Zoe's brow furrowed as she opened the door. Standing there was the young doctor she'd met only once, shortly after Liam's body was brought to the morgue. His face was pale, his expression grim.

"What do you want?" Zoe asked, crossing her arms defensively.

Ryan hesitated, glancing nervously down the hallway before speaking. "I... I think there's something you need to know. About your brother."

Her stomach churned. "What about him?"

"Something happened at the morgue," he said carefully. "I can't explain it yet, but... his body—"

Zoe's eyes widened, and her voice rose. "What are you saying? That you lost his body or something?"

"No, no," Ryan said quickly, holding up his hands. "It's not that. It's just... something strange happened. He wasn't acting like someone who's..." He trailed off, struggling to find the right words.

"Who's dead?" Zoe finished for him, her voice sharp. "Because he is dead, Ryan. You don't need to sugarcoat it."

Ryan sighed, looking defeated. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have come without more answers. But I thought you deserved to know that something's not adding up. And if there's anything you can tell me about Liam—where he's been, anyone he's been in contact with—it might help."

Zoe looked at him warily, her grief momentarily overshadowed by a flicker of suspicion. "What are you trying to say? That this is somehow my fault?"

"No, not at all," Ryan said earnestly. "I just want to help. If something unusual happened to Liam, we need to figure out what it was. Before it happens to anyone else."

Meanwhile, across town, Damien leaned against a dimly lit alley wall, his phone pressed to his ear. He wasn't one to ask questions about his jobs—it was part of what made him good at what he did. But the situation with Leonard had left a sour taste in his mouth.

"The job's done," he said curtly. "So why am I still hearing about complications?"

Leonard's smooth, clinical voice came through the line. "Because your blade wasn't clean."

Damien's brow furrowed. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Exactly what it sounds like," Leonard replied. "The knife you used—it carried... something. Something experimental."

Damien stood up straight, the weight of Leonard's words settling heavily on his shoulders. "You're saying this is on me?"

"I'm saying it's not contained," Leonard said coldly. "If anyone asks, you never heard of me or the lab. You're on your own now."

Before Damien could respond, the line went dead. He cursed under his breath, shoving the phone into his pocket. Whatever mess Leonard had dragged him into, it was bigger than he'd signed up for. And if there was one thing Damien valued above all else, it was self-preservation.

As he walked away, his hand brushed the hilt of his knife—the same blade that had ended Liam's life. The same blade that now carried something far more dangerous than he could have imagined.

Back at the station, James and Jessie were piecing together what little information they had.

"Liam was working a night shift at a local warehouse when he was killed," Jessie said, pointing to a map spread out across the desk. "The attack happened in this alley, just a few blocks away."

James leaned over the map, his brow furrowed. "Witnesses?"

"None," Jessie replied. "But there were strange markings near the body—like scratches or burns."

James frowned. "Burns? From what?"

Jessie shook her head. "That's what we need to find out."

As they pored over the details, a call came through on James's radio. The dispatcher's voice was tense.

"We've got reports of a disturbance downtown. Possible multiple casualties."

James grabbed his coat, a sense of dread washing over him. "Let's go."

Jessie was right behind him, her hand resting instinctively on the holster at her hip. Neither of them said it out loud, but they were both thinking the same thing.

Whatever was happening, it wasn't over.

Not by a long shot.

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