Total pages in book: 147
Estimated words: 136048 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 680(@200wpm)___ 544(@250wpm)___ 453(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 136048 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 680(@200wpm)___ 544(@250wpm)___ 453(@300wpm)
I quickly scrub in and get myself prepped and ready before selecting a file off the top and finding the corresponding body in the refrigeration unit. It’s a good twenty minutes before I’m finally able to get lost in my work. As I go about the autopsy, I distantly notice Dr. McKullan hovering, and I realize that he has absolutely no intention of leaving.
“I’m okay, you know,” I tell him. “You don’t need to stay to make sure I don’t spontaneously die during my shift. Go spend the night with your family.”
“Oh, uhh . . . I know that,” Dr. McKullan says, clearing his throat and looking everywhere but at me, realizing he’s been more than sprung. “I just thought I’d try and help get on top of these autopsies. Detective Gray has been hounding me for reports.”
“Gray is always hounding us for reports,” I say, giving him a hard stare. “And you know that if you were really concerned about it, I’d be happy to come in during the day shift and help. You’re hovering.”
Dr. McKullan scoffs. “I don’t hover.”
I give him another hard stare, and he lets out a heavy sigh. “Fine. I’m hovering,” he finally admits. “But can you blame me? One minute you’re having a meltdown over missing bodies, and the next, you’re bleeding out in the parking garage. I’m concerned about you, and I’m starting to wonder if the night shift isn’t in your best interest.”
“The night shift is the best thing for me,” I tell him, letting my attention fall back to the open body before me, feeling uncomfortable with the conversation. Dr. McKullan has always been my mentor. He’s much older, and any communication between us has always been professional, so those rare times where it toes the line of becoming personal, I never know how to respond. “This is where I can relax. Where I’m my best self.”
I sense him watching me, a heaviness in his eyes. “Okay, Dr. Madden. I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt, but I need you to be smart. No walking through the parking garage alone at night. I can arrange someone to walk you to your car, or if you’re not comfortable with that, I can come in early for my shift and escort you myself.”
I offer him a small smile. “You sound like my boyfriend.”
“He sounds like a smart man.”
“More like overprotective.”
Dr. McKullan chuckles. “Give me your word, Harper. I won’t feel comfortable leaving you alone here unless I know you’re being safe.”
“You have my word.”
“See to it that I do,” he says. “Because just one slip-up, and I won’t hesitate to switch you back to day shift. I can’t have my staff dropping dead and showing up on my table.”
“Switching me back to day shift won’t be necessary. Really, I’ll be alright.”
He gives me a tight smile before letting out a heavy sigh and pulling off his gloves. “Let’s hope so,” he says before tossing the gloves into the trash and striding over to the stack of untouched patient files. “Now, there’s a lot to get through tonight. Let me show you what I want to prioritize, and then I’ll get out of your hair and let you work in peace.”
Eight hours later, I’m exhausted.
It’s been a long, but rewarding shift. I was able to get through three full autopsies, and it was more than a nice change of pace to be working on a body that wasn’t covered in markings and secret messages. Well, I suppose no bodies ever were covered in markings, but that’s not what my head was telling me at the time.
I’ve been on my meds for almost two months, and so far, they’ve made a world of difference. My mind is clear, and I feel at peace knowing that I won’t walk around a corner only to find a masked stalker hidden in Knight’s closet with a bloodied black rose dangling from his fingers.
At least, I won’t imagine that happening anymore. There’s a very real possibility that it could actually happen with my brand-new stalker. That asshole! What kind of man gets off on stalking women, dressing up as their worst nightmares, and stabbing them in parking garages? It’s fifty shades of fucked up.
I still can’t wrap my head around how messed up this is. This guy isn’t like anybody I’ve ever encountered. He meticulously planned his attack. He targeted me, studied the notes and drawings I left for the hospital psychologist, and put together his plan based on my mental health failings.
He’s got me right where he wants me, terrified and unwilling to come clean. I’m the perfect little victim, and there’s not a damn thing I can do about it.
Who’s going to believe you now?
His words have circled my mind on a constant loop, every day for the past four weeks, and I hate how fucking weak they have made me. I shouldn’t believe him, shouldn’t be so easily manipulated, but there’s no doubting it. He’s right.