I find myself standing in the middle of the alley. There, I see Sarah dancing in a strange and inhuman manner. I am frozen, unable to move as she smiles at me and motions for me to follow her. I watch as she runs off into the darkness, blood dripping from her ripped throat. Despite the horror of the situation, I feel compelled to follow her, as if drawn to her by a string of fate.
I follow the dancing girl, her body moving in an eerie, disjointed way, like a marionette on strings. Despite the fear creeping up my spine, I can't help but rush after her, delving into the darkness myself.
I quickly catch up to her and reach out to grab her shoulder, but she spins around with a wild look in her eyes and slashes at me with a knife. I freeze, watching in terror as she slashes at my throat. The blade connects with my skin, and I feel the searing pain of the wound. My hand flies to my neck, grasping for something, anything to stop the blood from spilling out. Her eyes, empty and lifeless, meet mine for a brief moment before Sarah turns and disappears into the darkness once more, leaving me to bleed out alone in the alley.
I wake up in a cold sweat, gasping for air as I realize it was only a dream. Or was it? The memory of that knife slicing through my flesh is still fresh in my mind, and my heart continues to race with fear. Something wasn't right about that dream.
The details of the dream from the night before started flooding my mind, and as soon as I tried to focus on anything, my body ached from last night's partying. I quickly checked the time on my phone and leaped out of bed, trying to shake off the cobwebs from my mind. There was no time to dwell on the dream now. I had slept in and was already late for my first day at the coroner's office. As I rushed to get ready, the dream started to fade into the background, replaced by the urgency of the moment. I threw on some clothes, grabbed a juice box and string cheese from the fridge, and rushed out the door, hoping I wouldn't be too late to make a good first impression.
I rush to work, my heart pounding in my chest as I enter the cold, sterile building. My eyes immediately land on a young woman with thick blocky glasses speaking to my new boss, a tall, stern-looking woman with a no-nonsense attitude. The young woman turns to glance at me, her sharp eyes sizing me up before she scribbles something in a notepad and quickly turns away.
As I approach my boss, Miss Amelia, she doesn't even spare me a glance before launching into a tirade about my tardiness. I can feel the heat rising to my cheeks as I stammer out an apology, struggling to keep up with her rapid-fire speech.
Eventually, she takes a breath, and her gaze softens slightly. "I understand you were on the scene last night," she says, gesturing towards the autopsy room. "Why don't you help with Sarah's case."
I nod, relieved that she isn't going to fire me on my first day, and follow her into the autopsy room. The stark, white walls seem to close in around me as we approach the table where Sarah's body lies, her skin pale and lifeless. Sitting in the corner of the room drinking some coffee is a quiet, middle-aged man with kind eyes who nods in greeting.
As Miss Amelia left the room, the middle-aged man got up from his seat and introduced himself.
"Good morning, I'm Dr. Patel. You must be our new assistant, the one who was on the scene last night." He was a tall man with a thin frame, but his voice had a deep and reassuring tone to it.
"Yes, that's me," I replied, shaking his hand.
"I looked at your resume, quite impressive for someone as young as you. It's good to have you on board. Let's get started," he said, guiding me through the process of how we handle bodies.
As we began the autopsy, my eyes are immediately drawn to the deep, jagged wound across her throat. It's clear that this is what caused her death. Dr. Patel confirms my suspicion, "The incision is deep and jagged, likely caused by a sharp object such as a knife."
I closely examine Sarah's neck, looking for any clues that could help us determine exactly what weapon may have been used. As my eyes scan over the area, I can't help but think of the nightmare I had the night before. Where Sarah was dancing strangely in an alley and motioning for me to follow.
"It looks like the wound was made with a lot of force," I comment to Dr. Patel.
"Yes, the attacker was likely trying to sever her carotid artery," he responds. "This would have caused her to quickly lose consciousness and ultimately bleed out."
I then began to carefully examine the scratches on Sarah's body, running my gloved fingers over them noticing that they seem to follow a distinct pattern. They're not just random marks, but deliberate slashes that seem to have been made with some kind of tool. The pattern looks almost like some kind of symbol, but I can't quite make it out. The serious bruising makes it difficult to discern the details, but I can tell that the scratches are too precise to have been made by accident.
"What do you make of those?" Dr. Patel asks.
"It's hard to say. They don't look like normal scratches, and they seem to be arranged strangely."
Dr. Patel nods. "She probably got them from falling on some gravel or tripping during the struggle."
I wasn't convinced. "It's possible, but they seem too deliberate for that."
Dr. Patel gives me a stern look. "Don't get ahead of yourself. We need to focus on the cause of death first. Which, by the way, is clear." He points to the gaping wound on Sarah's neck.
I nod, knowing he's right. "Of course. But it doesn't hurt to look for other clues."
Dr. Patel sighs but doesn't argue. "Fine. Just don't get sidetracked. Let's keep working."
We continue with the autopsy, examining Sarah's injuries in detail. Despite Dr. Patel's dismissal of the scratches, I can't shake the feeling that they're important. I make a mental note to look into them further on my own time.
As we continue the examination, we find other potential clues. A piece of checkered cloth is found clenched in her hand, possibly torn from her attacker's clothing. A few stray hairs found on her clothing could be a potential source of DNA. Every little detail is carefully noted and analyzed, with the hope that it will lead us closer to solving the mystery of Sarah's death.
Detective Johnson and Jess enter the autopsy room as Dr. Patel and I are finishing up. Detective Johnson is a tall, burly man with a gruff voice and was quite the contrast to Jess, a petite woman with sharp features and piercing blue eyes. Dr. Patel greets them and we all exchange pleasantries before getting down to business.
Dr. Patel begins to explain what we found during the autopsy, detailing Sarah's cause of death, the piece of cloth, and the hairs we discovered. Jess listens intently, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. Detective Johnson nods along, occasionally interjecting with a question or clarification.
After the doctor finishes, Jess speaks up, her voice sharp with suspicion. "Are you sure you didn't miss anything? This is a homicide, after all."
Dr. Patel bristles at her words. "I assure you, we conducted a thorough examination. The cause of death was clear, and we found no other signs of foul play."
Jess stepped forward towards the body, examining the scratches, her brow furrowed in thought. Suddenly, she looks up and meets my gaze, her eyes narrowed.
"What about those scratches?" she asks, her tone accusatory. "Do they mean anything?"
I nod, my eyes glued to the marks. "Actually, they seem to follow a pattern. It's hard to tell for sure without closer examination, but it could be a clue."
Jess scoffs, clearly unconvinced. Detective Johnson, however, seems interested. "What kind of pattern?" he asks.
I hesitate, feeling a sense of unease. I know that whatever I say could have an impact on the investigation. Dr. Patel, however, gives me a nod of encouragement.
"Well, it's hard to describe," I say finally. "But it almost looks like they were made intentionally. As for what they mean, I can't say."
Jess rolls her eyes, clearly annoyed with me. Detective Johnson nods thoughtfully though, and I can tell he is taking my words seriously.
"Thanks for the information," he says, before turning to leave the room. "We'll be in touch if we need anything else."
Jess quickly follows her boss, but not before shooting a glare back toward me.
As they leave, Dr. Patel turns to me with a small smile. "Looks like you're already making an impression with the police," he says.
I can't help but grin at the thought, "I've known Detective Johnson for most of my life, he looked out for me after my parents died. As for Jess, I must have done something to her in a previous life. I have no idea why she keeps drilling me like that."
Dr. Patel and I continue our conversation, reminiscing about our similar experiences in medical school. I can't help but feel a little more at ease around him, his easy-going nature making me feel less like an outsider.
"So, how did you end up getting this job?" he asks, a hint of curiosity in his voice.
"I just applied, and I guess they liked what they saw," I respond with a shrug.
Dr. Patel nods thoughtfully. "Well, you're lucky to be working here. I've been doing this for over 20 years and it never gets boring."
We both chuckle as he continues, "It may get gruesome sometimes, but knowing that we're helping put criminals behind bars makes this all worth it."
Eventually, our conversation comes to an end, and I head to my new desk to start compiling my notes from the autopsy. I can't help but let my thoughts wander back to the strange scratches, and the odd organization they seem to follow. Lost in my thoughts Dr. Patel eventually lets me know that the day is over and that I can head home for the evening.
As I step out of the coroner's office, I'm greeted by the cool evening air, a refreshing change from the sterile environment of the autopsy room. The sun has already set, casting a dim orange glow over the street. But my peace is quickly interrupted by the presence of the journalist, the same one who had been pestering Miss Amelia earlier in the day, who approaches me with a notebook in hand and a determined look on her face.
"Excuse me, you are the new coroner, right?" she asks, holding out her hand.
I shake her hand reluctantly. "Yes, that's me. Can I help you with something?"
"I'm Lilly, an independent journalist. I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions about the case you're working on."
I hesitate for a moment, not wanting to give away any confidential information. "I'm sorry, but I can't discuss an ongoing investigation."
"I understand that, but could you at least tell me if you found anything suspicious?" she continues, pressing her pen to her notepad in eager anticipation.
"I really can't say anything. You'll have to wait for an official statement from the police department," I reply, trying to move past her.
But she isn't easily deterred. "Can you at least tell me about the victim? Who was she? What was she like?"
I take a deep breath wanting to get her out of my hair while not wanting to reveal too much. "Her name was Sarah, she was a young woman. I didn't know her personally, I'm only working on her case."
"Did you find anything interesting during the autopsy?" she asks eagerly, hoping to get even more out of me.
I shake my head. "I can't say anything more than what will be in the official report. I'm sorry."
Sarah huffs in frustration, clearly not satisfied with the lack of information she's receiving. "Fine, but if you do happen to find anything out, please give me a call," she says, handing me a business card before walking away.
I look down at the business card in my hands. "The Midnight Hour, huh?" I say to myself, pocketing the card and trying to remember if I've ever heard of it before. As I walk, the journalist's questions continue to echo in my mind. I wonder what kind of story she is trying to write, and why she seems so interested in this case when no other journalist seemed to have caught wind of it yet.
Lost in thought, I barely notice that I've arrived back at the scene of the crime. The familiar sight of the deserted alleyway brings back a flood of memories from the night before. I can almost hear Sarah's body lying lifelessly on the ground, surrounded by a pool of her blood.
I shake my head, trying to clear my mind. This isn't helping me solve the case. I take a deep breath and focus on the task at hand. I need to find any clues that may have been missed during the initial investigation.
As I search the area, I can't help but feel that something is off. The scratches on Sarah's body, the piece of cloth, the hairs - they all seem like pieces of a puzzle, but I can't quite figure out how they fit together. And then there's my dream, which seems to be connected to the case in some way.
I can feel my headache returning, but I push it aside. I need to stay focused if I'm going to solve this. As I continue to search, I can't shake the feeling that someone, or something, is watching me. I scan the area, the setting sun illuminating the empty street.
Just as I'm about to dismiss it as nothing, my phone buzzes in my pocket, causing me to jump in fright. I pull it out, expecting to see a message from one of my colleagues or maybe even Cassidy. Instead, it's just a reminder to pick up my medication from my local pharmacy.
As I slip my phone back into my pocket, I can feel the tension in my shoulders starts to ease. Maybe I'm just tired and my mind is playing tricks on me. Or maybe it's just the lack of sleep from a long night's drinking. Either way, I decided to take a few deep breaths and head back home. I wasn't going to find anything more today.
Once I'm home, I take a warm shower and make myself some dinner. As I'm eating, my mind wanders back to the case. I pull out the business card from The Midnight Hour and with nothing better to do, decide to check out the blog.
As I read through the blog, I can't help but chuckle to myself. The stories are well-written, but they all seem to have a common theme of the paranormal and horror. With titles like 'The Ghostly Bride of Blackwood Manor' and 'The Apparition in the Attic,' I wonder what kind of person Lilly is to write stories like this.
I navigate through her blog, looking for any information about the journalist who gave me the business card. Finally, I come across a brief bio at the bottom of the page. Her name is Lilly Green, and she's been a freelance journalist for a little over a year now. She specializes in writing about true crime and the paranormal.
As I continue scrolling, I notice something strange. The dates of the different blog posts line up with the dates of several major murders in the city. My curiosity piqued, I wonder if the journalist is using these murders as inspiration for her stories. It seems like she casts a spin of the paranormal on each of the murders, claiming that ghosts and monsters killed these people.
I shake my head in disbelief. This journalist seems to be exploiting the tragedies of others for her own gain. It's sickening. I decided to investigate further, clicking on one of the posts titled "The Haunting of Central Park." The story is about a woman who was brutally murdered while jogging in Central Park, with the journalist claiming that a vengeful spirit was responsible.
I can't believe the audacity of this journalist. She's taking real-life tragedies and turning them into cheap horror stories. I continue scrolling through the blog, seeing more and more posts with titles like "The Ghost of the Subway Killer" and "The Demon of Brooklyn Bridge." The stories are ridiculous, but I can't help but feel a sense of unease as I read them.
I close my laptop and take a deep breath, deciding to get ready for bed.
I head to the bathroom to brush my teeth and wash my face. As I look in the mirror, I notice the bags under my eyes from the long day at work. I splash some water on my face, hoping it will make me feel more awake.
I get a headache while washing up, realizing that I'm down to my last dose of medication. These headaches have plagued me all my life, and I can't imagine trying to get through life without the relief that the medicine brings. I pop the last pill and hope that I can make it to the pharmacy tomorrow morning.
As I lay in bed, I can feel my eyes getting heavy, but I'm afraid to fall asleep. I don't want to revisit the haunting images that my subconscious might conjure up. I try to think happy thoughts, to imagine myself in a quiet library somewhere, but it's no use. The anxiety and tension from the day are too overwhelming.
Eventually, I give in to exhaustion and drift off into a fitful sleep.