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Midnight held the Piltover Public Morgue in a dark embrace. Standing its ground just barely outside the borders of the Boudary Markets, the modest building tried its best to mask its grim purpose behind clean white walls and a shiny golden gate, but, come nighttime, its eerie quietness did indeed betray the absence of any but one single living soul walking its halls.
This was Jayce's favorite time of night. When he got to the start of his night shift, at around 10 pm, chances of people coming in, carrying the latest departed, were higher. Same went for the early morning, when people started to get up and realize grandparents weren't breathing anymore, or when the previous night's revelries bore their fruits, and the shrill cries of distraught parents haunted the halls, making it impossible for Jayce to forget where he was.
In the hours between midnight and 4 am, though, the Morgue became a liminal space. No one but Jayce was left to take care of the dead. There was no need for it, since body snatchers were nothing but an old tale in the modern city of Piltover. Really, Jayce's presence there was more for show than actual usefulness, a kind favor extended from a family friend to Caitlyn, since she was the only one still thinking of him as reliable.
Jayce sighed as he sat on his stool, the bureaucracy papers in front of him daunting him as usual. He resigned himself to fill them in, putting a timer on, making it a challenge for himself. How quickly can I get this out of my way before I can finally go back to reading? That would be his intent. His paperback was peeking at him expectantly from the side of his vision, its colorful cover depicting a magician in the solemn act of casting a spell, blue light emanating from a glass globe on top of his staff.
It was stupid, really, how much comfort he was finding in his old childhood reads. But after his trial and subsequent banning from the Academy, preventing him access both to the Library and the Archives, the only reading he could digest were the old fantastical tales that had kept him company during his school years. Let alone that everyone treated him like a glass on the brink of shattering, stilled in a perpetual state of falling, always just about to hit the ground and dissolve into pieces. They kept insisting that he not strain himself to avoid a relapse in his old habits, that he needed to avert from anything regarding science or occultism for the time being (but what they really meant was forever), because he was still too fragile and dangerous to even spare a thought about these concepts.
Magic, true magic, was a thing of the past now, and all he could hang on to were his old outlandish fantasies of wizards and princes.
Truly, he could not complain. For once, he was still able to have a job and a personal income. He could still live in Piltover. Sure, going back to stay with his mother was not his best prospect, but after a few years of saving up he would maybe be able to find a place for himself alone.
He sighed.
The more he tried to stay positive, the less it worked. He took a peek at his timer and he realized he had wasted all his time brooding and feeling sorry for himself while the pile of documents was still staring at him, mocking him and his reluctance.
With another sigh he reset the timer and got back to his work, noting the names, causes and times of passing of their most recent guests. He let his hand work fast, barely gazing at the words, speeding through the process. The first few nights in the Morgue, he had worked himself almost into panic. Still deeply wounded by his trial, his mind had wondered at the lives all those people had left behind, coming up with every possible scenario, until he had been overwhelmed to the point of tears.
His boss had to call him to his office, the only room in the Morgue that seemed to retain any warmth, to bring him back to reason with a stark reminder that he needed to hold it together if he wanted to keep this job. And as much as he didn't really want to spend the rest of his working days in the Morgue, he couldn't just mess it all up and hope to find a quick alternative. He was painfully aware of this truly being his last resort, and he couldn't allow himself to let it go to waste. He needed to prove himself worthy of trust, it was his only way out.
So now, after three months of steady work, he had learned a few techniques. One, don't spend too much time on the papers. Write what you have to write, don't dwell on the details. Two, make your rounds as quick and as thorough as possible. You don't need to check every dark corner. Don't give your mind any reason to conjure more nightmares, walk fast, be methodical, and do not linger more than necessary. Three, for no reason must you ever open the body bags. There are professional doctors who make their rounds here when needed. They take it upon themselves to look after the guests and manage the relationship between the Morgue and their families. You are nothing but a guardian, know your place and don't get out of line.
So far, excluding that first night, no accidents had occurred. After a while, the novelty of the job had washed off, and the Morgue had become a regular place of work, like any other of the offices littered about the city, and Jayce's anxiety had, if not fully disappeared, at least become manageable enough.
Jayce hummed absentmindedly while finishing up with the documents, steadily repeating his list of rules to himself. With a swirl of his pen he left a signature over the last of his papers, officially declaring the time and condition in which one of the guests from the night before had arrived to them. He then set all the paperwork aside in a neat pile and set off to his first inspection round.
The Morgue was a small building. Nestled between higher constructions and shadowed by the grandness of the Boundary Markets, it sat in an ideal spot to be tastefully hidden away from curious eyes, and avoid spoiling the general cheerfulness that was so often associated with the city of Piltover, and it worked as a crossing point between the lower Piltovan districts and the Commercial Halls, where boundaries between the two cities blurred in a hectic amalgam.
No need to remind its citizens that, no matter progress and technology, accidents are inevitable, and lives meet their endings every single day. The suffering of those who passed through the Morgue was safely concealed behind its soundproof walls and reinforced gates, and there were guardians checking on the guests at every hour to make sure no funny business took place behind close doors. Hence, the presence of Jayce.
With a sigh he got up, securing the keys and a small flashlight to his belt. The inspection rounds never took much time, so that was the good part. Jayce took off for the long corridor that divided the space in two. Clean white tiles covered up the entire space, and the soft hum of the cold neon lights gave it a clinical look perfectly fitting for its function.
Soulless, is how Jayce would privately define it. On the right side of the corridor there were two storage rooms, each dedicated to preserve the bodies of the guest, one exclusively for guests from the Piltovan side, and the other exclusively for Zaunite guests. Jayce made quick work of inspecting those, blaming the chills that ran across his body on the low temperature of the rooms.
When he had first started working there, those rooms were the most daunting for him. Truth was, he couldn't stop imagining himself behind those four narrow walls, white bricks pushing in on him from all sides. If he had done it, if he had jumped after the trial, would he have ended up here?
The question had haunted him for weeks, still silently buzzing behind his ears every time he made his way through this part of the Morgue, his anxiety just slightly sedated by the routine. He hesitated on the threshold, then decisively took his keys, opening the first door with a swing and turning the lights on before he could take a peek at the darkness and conjure Gods know what terrifying images.
Don't give yourself the chance to be scared. That was his mantra now. A quick look at the room reassured him everything was as still and bare as expected. He let out a relieved puff of air, noticing how it immediately condensed. Another chill ran down his spine, so he took that as a signal that he was done here and moved on to the next door. Once again, he ran through his usual procedure, a quick turning on of the lights, a rapid but thorough glance, a decisive shutting of the door.
Feeling immediately relieved, he moved on to the next room, taking a sharp curve to the right and then approaching a door on his left. Even away from the two storage rooms, he could still feel the harsh coldness infiltrating through the layers of his clothes, down to his skin, making his hands tremble slightly.
He forced himself to focus, and, with a strong motion, he opened wide the doors to the autopsy room.
Out of all the rooms that made up the Morgue, this one was undoubtedly the biggest. Still small, compared to the solemn High Morgue of Piltover, where the most important citizens passed through before their final rest, but big enough for a mortuary placed between two cities, where guests came in from both sides and where doctors had to occasionally make their way to perform their examinations. It was a rarity, but still, it happened, and the Morgue needed a proper place to host such function.
Therefore, the autopsy room presented itself as an ample space, two narrow rectangular windows left half open for the air to refresh, three stretchers at ready disposal, and a set of two large desks, placed in front of each other, where the doctors could put aside their instruments and notes. A dusty old tape recorder laid forgotten on one of the desks, a fossil from an older era now that the younger doctors were used to carrying smaller and more convenient recorders along with their personal equipment.
Jayce moved quickly through this room as well, checking the window's safety locks, daring to take a peek at some of the notes hurriedly left on the tables. Rough sketches of limbs and wounds neatly surrounded by columns of writing, probably the work of some student brought there as aid for one of the doctors.
Sure now that nothing was amiss, Jayce got out and locked the doors once more, giving himself the grace of indulging in the completion of his least appreciated task as guardian. It would be another hour before the next commanded round, but that at least gave him some time to relax and read his book. Surely, after, he would feel less jittery.
A low rumbling sound interrupted his thoughts. He frowned and quickly ran to the entrance door just next to his office, to take a look outside.
Rain was pouring down in buckets, a thick curtain of water hiding the entire perimeter of the Morgue's courtyard, Jayce couldn't even make out the shape of the buildings around him. As if the atmosphere wasn't already chilling enough. He grunted and closed the bolted door, feeling only momentarily grateful for the cover provided by his place of work.
Well, at least that would mean less visitors than usual during the night. With such weather very few people would venture outside, probably preferring to wait until the next morning. That meant an entire night just for himself. He could make an adventure out of it, why not?
He went back to his office, sure to find some blankets stashed in the utility closet, took them out and sat, as comfortably as possible, on the desk chair with his book. Meanwhile, the small boiler was set in motion, the rising heat slowly warming the water, and Jayce's heart fluttered for a moment at the thought of the nice hot tea he would be having in a little while.
Content in the small pocket of comfort he had managed to cut for himself, he pivoted his attention back to reading, fully caught in the wizard's adventures until the scorching howl of the boiler reminded him of his tea preparation.
Reluctantly, he got up from his chair and chose the first brew he could find among his supplies, then sat back with his warm cup of tea and checked on the clock to see how long he still had before his next round. The clock hands marked the time at half past midnight, so that meant he still had a good half an hour of reading before the next inspection.
He tightened the blanket around himself and was just about to open his book when a roaring sequence of booming knocks landed on the entrance door of the Morgue. So surprised he was that he sent some of the tea spilling from his cup, hissing as the hot beverage scorched the skin of his hand. "Fuck!" He tried to clean his hand in a hurry, more knocks landing on the door in an urgent manner.
"I'm coming!" He silently cursed whoever was at the door, feeling only a little guilty about his annoyance. When he opened the bolts he was surprised to find a pair of enforcers, their uniforms completely drenched in water, hair stuck to their heads, a pained expression crossing both their faces.
"Are you gonna let us in, boy?" one of them asked. The rain was so heavy Jayce couldn't even properly make out their features, but from the voice the enforcer seemed like a middle aged man. "Yes, sir. Of course, I'm sorry." "Alright, no fussing now." The two of them came through the door as if they owned the place, their stride arrested only by the harsh neon lights, so bright that they had to stop and squeeze their eyes.
Jayce shivered just looking at them, and immediately felt better about his obligations. At least all his inspections took place inside, meanwhile those agents were forced to make their rounds in the open even on such an awful night.
He took a look at them while they regained some composure. The one who had talked to him before was a man of around forty years old, jet black hair and a black mustache giving him a stern look. The other agent was shorter, younger, a woman of about twenty years, her red hair kept short, now in a messy tangle sprouting in every direction, and sticking on her face.
They were carrying a stretcher with a black body-bag on it. Jayce frowned. Usually there would be more people to take care of such business, but it must have been something urgent and unexpected if the two agents had come here in such a hurry, and under a storm of such proportions.
A cough from the oldest agent shook him out of his thoughts. He must have been staring at the body-bag for a while without realizing, and suddenly he felt bashful. "Sorry, agents, could I offer you something to drink? Maybe a cup of tea?" The younger woman seemed eager to accept, but the man shot her a disapproving look and shook his head. "No, thank you. We must return promptly to our work. We were only charged with bringing his remains here as quickly as possible."
Jayce felt a new rush of question bubbling up. He tried to stop himself, but couldn't help asking "What happened?" The man seemed annoyed by his forwardness. "We do not know. Sounds of explosion were heard near the dormitories of the Academy of Techmaturgy, Gods know whatever the hell one of those lunatics was doing. Anyway, the good news is he only managed to kill himself in the process and did not hurt anyone else. We were alerted to bring the body here. Apparently, he must have been dabbling in some dangerous matter, since the Investigation Department wanted the site to be analyzed as quickly as possible, and the body to be disposed of. More than this, I do not know. I cannot fathom which doctor will brave this weather to come here tonight, but maybe tomorrow morning, once the storm has relented, you will be able to bother some of them with more of your intruding questions."
Feeling like he was already probing at the man's temper more than enough, Jayce let the subject drop. "Sure, yes, thank you." He grimaced at his own awkwardness. "Is there anything else I can do for you?" The enforcer scowled. "You can shut up about any of this ever happening, that would be extremely helpful."
Now, that definitely caught his interest. He bid goodbye to both enforcers, going through the motions absentmindedly, questions swirling wildly about his head.
Whatever had just happened was against all procedures. Usually, when a guest was to be received, there would be at least four enforcers, some taking care of the logistics, others of the bureaucracy. More often than not, family would be accompanying the guest, and, if needed, like it seemed to be the case here, a couple of doctors would be there already to ascertain the causes of death and proceed with an autopsy.
Sure, every case was unique. Often, the autopsies took place after some time, the process was not always speedy, and with the weather being so dreadful it was more than reasonable to wait until the next morning for an examination. But there was something about the urgency with which the enforcer had spoken and moved that left him with a lingering sense of unease. The fact that only two people had been sent there, and that he had been urged to keep quiet, gave him the impression that someone meant to keep this incident a total secret.
He turned to the new guest, his remains laying on the stretcher. Did he dare? He came close to it. Him, the agent had said. Him. Jayce got close to him, one of his hands brushing over the body bag encasing him. A tangible charge of electricity seemed to take hold of his hand, he withdrew it with a gasp, then shook his head laughing at himself.
He was getting himself worked up in a frenzy, while all he needed was to keep his head cool, and focus on the job. The quicker he took care of this guest, the sooner he could go back to his tea and book.
He started pushing the stretcher along the corridor, its wheels squeaking and the sound reverberating through the entire building in a distorted echo. Jayce paused in front of the storage rooms, unsure of what to do. He had never been so utterly alone in receiving a guest before, but he knew the standard procedures. Most guests were to be carried to one of the empty slots in the storage rooms, but the ones in need of an autopsy usually were destined for the autopsy room.
He sighed, knowing what to do, and still reluctant. He started pushing the stretcher once more. He could feel the moisture from the storm starting to seep in through the Morgue's walls. Jayce stopped for a moment to quietly scold himself. He had left the windows in the autopsy room half opened to let the fresh air in and had forgotten to close them. He cursed under his breath, and made way to the room in a hurry, stretcher slinging fast along the corridor.
He opened the heavy door in a rush, letting out another curse as he noticed how the water was already staining the wall, slicking down to wet one of the desks. He ran to save whatever note was left there, throwing all the papers together on the dry side of the desk and hastily jumping on the top of it to reach the window and close it.
The wind was so strong he found himself fighting against the bolts on the window, his hair, face and collar getting drenched from the rain. Finally, he managed to close the first, and then second window. The deed had left him breathless, and he silently made a promise to himself to go back as soon as possible to the forge and get some needed exercise in.
He turned around to take a hold of the situation. On his right were the abandoned papers he had (almost) saved. He tried to put them in some sort of order but gave up almost immediately. He took in the damage on the wall, water slowly dripping from the gleaming white tiles to the floor. He sighed, thinking of his tea, now abandoned in the office and probably cold. He would have to wait until after cleaning and the second round of inspection before he would brew another cup.
Lost in his thoughts he started making his way to the office and supply room when he noticed something. Or rather, the absence of something.
The stretcher, which he had left just outside the entrance of the autopsy room, was gone. He frowned, and looked around the room. Nothing to be seen there. He rubbed his eyes. Tiredness must be getting to me. That's what he kept repeating himself, painfully aware of how quickly the beating of his heart was raising and unable to help but feeling foolish for it.
There's nothing to be scared of. The wind must have swept the stretcher away, that's all. Set on accepting this as a logical explanation, he gathered the courage to look out and, on his right, there it was. The stretcher. All the way down to the other end of the corridor. How did it even manage to get so far? He shushed his brain. Now it was not the time for uncomfortable questions.
He strolled to the stretcher, walking slowly as to assure himself that he was not feeling scared at all, but when he got closer something punched the air out of his lungs, a surprised gasp leaving his mouth before he could stop himself.
The body-bag was open. The wind couldn't have done that. He tried to steady his breath. The zipper wasn't open all the way down, just about halfway through the body.
Jayce knew he ought to get closer and check, he knew he ought to close the bag once more, make another round, be sure no one was inside and messing around with the guests. Who even would do that? Just the thought made him so uneasy he could feel bile rising up in his throat.
Yet, he was petrified. The open zipper reminded him of a wound, raw, displaying the insides of something he was never supposed to see. A slender white arm was hanging out of the body-bag. He tried not to look. He couldn't keep his eyes away from it. Pale complexion, long, slender fingers, a small wrists. And wounds. Scattered all the way from the forearm to the barely visible shoulder. Symbols. No, runes. The rational part of his brain corrected him.
Jayce was starting to feel sick.
He took a moment to ground himself, staring intently at the gray floor, closing his eyes and focusing on the cold breeze coming from the storage rooms.
When he felt capable of holding himself up without retching, he took another quick look at the guest in front of him. The sooner you do it, the sooner it's over, he recited to himself. Then, with a resolute swing he took the lifeless limb in his hand, and, as gently as he could, put it back in the bag, and zipped everything up once more.
He then pushed the stretcher all the way to the autopsy room, left it just past the entrance, turned back and closed the door, locking all the bolts. All this he did without taking a single breath. Only when the body was secured behind the door, he allowed himself to slump on the floor, sitting harshly, not noticing the pain shooting in his back. A shocked sob left his mouth.
He looked down at his own hands, incredulous, the lingering sensation of the warmth emanating from the guest ghosting through his skin.
He shouldn't be so warm. His mind kept screaming at him, no way of holding back the wave of panic he was feeling. He let himself be scared for a few minutes, heart seemingly wishing to escape his chest cavity, eyes watering with more tears, breath coming in short.
After a while his panic settled into a more bearable flow of nervous energy. He knew he had much to do. First, make sure no other people were inside the Morgue. He needed to assure his brain that no, no one had moved the guest around the building, trying to steal his corpse for who knows what reason.
Second, he had to secure the guest himself. He couldn't just leave the body unattended in the autopsy room. He had to take it out of the body-bag and put it in one of the freezers, otherwise he might get in trouble with the doctors the next morning.
None of his duties sounded the least appealing to him, anxiety already spiking and making his limbs feel stuffed with stretcherton.
With effort, he rose up from the floor and looked around himself. The corridor was empty, the storm outside still raging, the sound of thunders rattling its way through the entire building, drowning out his own heavy breaths and the electrical buzz of the lights and freezers.
He pulled at his shirt, trying to recompose himself, and, after another long breath, he set off on his inspection, unsure of what he hoped to find. The thought of an intruder disturbed him, but no more or less than the thought of something else moving the guests around the Morgue. Maybe it really had been the strong wind shifting the stretcher. But then, he couldn't stop thinking of how warm the guest's hand had been. It didn't make any sense. He forced himself to stop ruminating over his fears, pointedly focusing on the white tiles surrounding him.
To start off his round he first got back to his office, insisting with himself he was just making sure very single room was checked for, but truly, just taking the chance to bask for a moment in the comfortable heat of the room. After sparing a longing look at his blanket, book and cold tea he turned around and, still not ready to face the more unsettling rooms, he went first for the waiting room.
This was the room dedicated to the guests' families, where they could wait before the identification process, or before saying the last goodbyes to their loved ones. It was a somber, but comfortable room, the biggest of the Morgue, with large red sofas, and a couple of tables for refreshments. There were no windows there, so the chances that anyone had gotten through from the waiting room were scarce, but masking his procrastination behind thoroughness, Jayce still took his time looking around the entirety of the space.
Once he couldn't put off the inspection any further, he moved on to the first of the storage rooms. When he got in, he almost immediately released a sigh of relief, for it was very visible that no one was there. Unless, his brain subtly suggested, they have hidden in one of the cells.
He felt his stomach churning at the thought. Who would do such a thing? The room was freezing cold on its own, who would be so intent with their purpose as to lock themselves up in one of the cells, risking frostbite, all just to mess with the Morgue's guardian?
He looked at the rows of small, square, metal doors. He wasn't doing this, nah. Maybe, as a last resort, but maybe not. But what if the next morning someone noticed something he hadn't? What if the thief would get the chance to take something away only because he had been too scared to check properly? What if someone realized and then complained to the management? He would be fired in a heartbeat.
He released a frustrated grunt. There was no winning in this situation, he just had to get over himself and his childish anxiety and make one full and accurate check, leave any doubt behind and hope he didn't find anything (or anyone) weird.
Begrudgingly, he started opening all the cells, metal scraping on metal, the sound echoing through the small room. Don't look, don't look, don't look, he kept repeating to himself. It will be easier if you just don't look. And he tried, he really did try his best, but couldn't help noticing a pair of lifeless blue eyes, a glimpse of tussled brown hair, a small burning scar on the inside of an arm. He rushed through the last row of cells, barely even looking at their latches by this point, just focused on getting over with it as fast as possible.
When he closed the last cell he took a moment to steady his breath, his vision blurring, clean white turning into black empty space. He batted his eyes feverishly only to realize it was not his eyesight faltering, but the neon lights overhead. He looked up at the ceiling. The cold spotlight seemed to be overtaken by a power failure.
Not this too, please. As if the thought of being alone with a stranger and (possibly) a body snatcher in the Morgue during a raging storm wasn't enough, now he also had to worry about a power outrage.
The only thing he could do was outrun it, so he quickly moved to inspect the second storage room, once again going through the cells as quickly as possible, all while the lights overhead stuttered more and more furiously. At this rate he was going to get a headache for sure.
It was just as he smashed close the last of the cells that the lights went completely off. A second later, a strong bang resounded through the entire Morgue, so loud that Jayce almost felt the walls shaking. There was no calming down after that, his mind started racing, a palpable sense of dread filling up his lungs.
The electricity meter was at the end of the corridor, unreachable unless he went through the entire length of the Morgue first.
I want to go home. The thought came such clarity that it shook him. I really, really want to go home.
With his hands shaking, he reached for the flashlight looped on his belt. The beam of light brought him little comfort, since it seemed to make the dark edges around it even more menacing.
Trying to ignore his legs trembling, Jayce strolled casually to the door. If he pretended to be calm maybe he would convince both his brain and body that he actually was, and that there was no need to stop functioning.
The second loud bang, coming fast and clear from the far side of the corridor, immediately took all his resolve away. With a sprint, he ran to the office and slammed the door behind his back, looking furiously around for something to put in front of it to keep any intruder firmly outside. He dragged a chair and the heavy metal desk to create a small barricade, panic moving his limbs stealthily like an expert puppeteer. He knew he wasn't acting rationally, that he ought to go and check the autopsy room, but a desperate frenzy was taking him over in an uncontrollable surge.
He slumped to the floor and reached for his abandoned blanket with a hand, pulling it towards him and wrapping it around himself. In the cold dark of the Morgue, he could feel the hair behind his neck rising, the chills going through his body caused by more than the mere cold temperature, an impending sense of certainty downing over him. I'm not alone here.
And if, so far, it had been feasible to reign his fear in, to drown his doubts in rationality, citing every other possible cause as the culprit, now he just felt like it was undeniable that someone was indeed inside the Morgue, with him.
He didn't know how long he stayed slumped there on the floor, unmoving, the sheer action of breathing feeling as burdensome as carrying a heavy weight.
After a while, when eventually his lungs regained full capacity and he felt himself able of completing a meaningful thought, Jayce started burning with shame. Why had he reacted in such a childish way? This was his job, his last chance, the only possible way to regain some of the trust he had lost, and he was going to get fired because he was too scared of checking a noise? How long was he gonna let his fear dictate his life? He longed to be the man he was before. Before his Academy fiasco, before the trial, before he was stripped of his own dreams and ambitions.
Not that anxiety hadn't accompanied him even then, but it was manageable, an obstacle he could still find ways around, and it felt worth it, for a higher purpose. Now, he had to come to terms that fear would still be an obstacle to overcome, even if the end goal was not what he had dreamed for. He had to make it worth it, and he had to keep this stupid job.
The memory of his mother's face floated at the edge of his vision. I cannot let her down again. I cannot give her another reason to be disappointed in me. He swallowed down his panic and with renewed energy, a mix of frustration, anger and adrenaline racing through his veins, he removed the barrier and opened the door to the office.
He was welcomed by the sight of the dark corridor, opening up like the throat of a gargantuan monster.
Stop with such thoughts. He commanded himself. After a deep breath, he took his flashlight and lit it on, the beam illuminating the path. Slowly, but decisively, he paced through the corridor.
The air felt now still. Impossibly so. Even the thunderstorm outside seemed to have abide by the icy atmosphere of the Morgue. Jayce didn't give himself time to hesitate. He moved steadily, syncing the rhythm of his steps with the beating of his heart, growing louder and louder in his ears. He tried to ignore it, as much as he tried to ignore the boiling pressure of his blood behind his limbs,hands, feet, and even his eyes.
When he got to the curve of the corridor, he stopped for a moment, fear taking hold of his body once more, anticipating a dark figure, the thief, or whoever else might be, jumping at him. Well, if that's his plan, might as well get it over with. He once more hoped that playing the part of the fearless guardian would convince him he actually was one.
He took the turn with a swing and a shout, hoping that whoever had been supposedly hiding behind it would get scared or at least surprised, giving him a second of advantage. Of course, when he shone the beam of his flashlight, no one was there. He laughed at himself nervously, then took another four steps, turning now on his right, facing the autopsy room's door.
Now, this was the most difficult part. Scared of the scenarios his mind might be conjuring, Jayce didn't let himself think about anything at all. Instead, he moved swiftly to the door, keys already in hand, unlocking all the bolts as quickly as possible, and swinging the door open with a fast movement of his arm.
This time, when the light fell upon the spectacle in front of him, he couldn't help but release a strangled scream.
The stretcher was where he had left it, just in front of the door. But the body laying above it was…exposed. Body-bag open halfway through, the man, the corpse, that was supposed to be inside of it, protected, was now laying over the stretcher, his torso visible and tightly wrapped in a metal back brace, his legs still hidden inside the bag, and he was…twisted, as if he had tried to get off of it, but had lost his strength midway through the process.
One of his arms was stretched towards the entrance in a motion that resembled life, like he had been trying to reach the door and didn't quite manage it. His lifeless eyes caused Jayce a full body shiver. Pale, unnaturally so, a stain of light purple impossibly swimming through his pupils. His arms, as well as his chest, were littered with scars. Now that he didn't dare avert his eyes, Jayce could see that they were indeed symbols, runes, their shapes strangely familiar to him, the memories from his studies in magic flashing before his eyes.
His mouth started to feel dry, and still he couldn't stop looking, his eyes locked in on the face of the guest. Light brown hair, all disheveled and mangled, high cheekbones, moles dotting his features, one just above his lip, the other right under his left eye. Beautiful. Jayce, thought for a moment. And young. Sadness clamped at his heart. This man could have been his peer, maybe a fellow scientist, since he had also been a university student.
Fighting against his brain screaming at him to turn around and run away, Jayce got closer. His breath hitched. The man had a scar, a light slash, going straight from the top of his forehead to the end of his neck, as if his face had been sliced in two equal parts. Jayce felt tears pooling in his eyes. What had happened to this man?
His hand lingered just above the man's shoulder. He didn't know what he wanted to do. Comfort a dead man? Gods, his mind was really spiraling. He knew one thing for sure, though, and that was that he couldn't let this person be treated in such a way. He was there to protect the guests, to assure that they would be handled with the respect they deserved, regardless of their provenience and past, and he wouldn't let any thief, or jokester or any sick individual take advantage of them.
Fighting against his flight instinct he moved closer to put the guest back into the body-bag, something just outside the field of his vision bothering him, a nudging sense of dread creeping up his spine, tingling the hair at the back of his neck. He jumped slightly, surprised by the cold touch of metal bolts dotting the entire length of the man's spine, up almost to his nape, and he cringed thinking of how painful that procedure must have been.
He tried to shake it off, once more scolding his own mind for its weakness. It was only while zipping up the bag that his eyes managed to make sense of what he was seeing, of that movement disturbing him, for the chest of the man in front of him, the dead man in front of him, was slightly, but steadily, rising up and down, in a grotesque, impossible pantomime of breathing.
Jayce didn't waste any time thinking, pondering or even consciously deciding what to do. He bolted out of the room, hurling the door behind him, not even stopping to make sure all the bolts were in place. He took a run for it, eyes focused on the door of his office.
He felts his lungs squeezing in a panic, his eyesight getting blurry with tears. Don't. Not now. Please. His throat was stuck, he wanted to scream so badly, but he knew he needed every bit of air to make it to the office. How long had he been running already? Had the corridor always been this long? He couldn't tell, with blood pooling up in his brain his thoughts were coming to him sluggishly, while his heartbeat was beating wildly and completely out of control.
The moment he put his foot wrong, he felt it with absolute certainty: he was going to die there.
The floor came at him at the speed of light, his chin hitting the tiles and making his teeth chatter so hard he bit his tongue. Blood pooled in his mouth, tears now falling freely from his eyes, sobs shattering his chest.
He couldn't make sense of this. It had started like a normal evening of work and now he was never going to go home or see his mother again. He would be found in Gods know what state, killed by who knows what, and he had still so much to do, so much to learn. He felt pathetic at the thought that his last moments were about to be spent in self pity, but he couldn't help himself.
Unable to get up, he stayed there, laying down, too scared to look back at where he had come from. The beam from his flashlight still illuminating the empty space behind his shoulders.
When the first bang came, loud and unmistakable in the now silent Morgue, a tiny speck of resolve flickered in Jayce's heart. He tried to drag himself to the office. He knew he was too slow, that whatever had been terrorizing him all night was way too fast and smart for him to outrun it, but still, if the last thing he could do was going down, he would at least try to go down with a fight.
The second bang was quickly followed by a third. The autopsy's room door opening wide with such force that it hit the adjacent wall.
Shivering, unable to discern his tears from his sweat, Jayce turned around, slowly, his heart threatening to burst out of his chest. First it was a sound, not loud, but piercing. Nails on a board. Or on a tile. Jayce thought. It wasn't rushing. It's playing with me, taking its time.
The sound stopped the moment the man, if that is what he could call it, took the turn and appeared in Jayce's sight. The dim, artificial light was barely catching the shape of whatever was at the other end of the corridor, and his mind fought against it with all its might, for it felt like something too impossible to be real.
In front of him stood the man that had been on the stretcher until a few seconds before. He "stood" for lack of better words, for he was not walking, nor truly putting any of his weight on the floor. No, he was floating. Close to the tiles, toes pointed barely grazing the floor, his whole body was stretched, rigid, hands wide open, fingers splayed out, his mouth gaping in a silent scream.
The scars on his body were alight with purple, their shapes dancing furiously on his skin, inundating the entire corridor in an eerie lighting.
Jayce couldn't stop staring, awe and fear mixing up in a mad rush of wonder taking over his mind and body. He knew, instinctively, that even if he tried he wouldn't be able to move one single bit of his body.
It felt like annihilation.
It felt like devotion.
The man in front of him didn't stop. Now that he could see him more clearly he took in the wild swirling of colors in his eyes, his hair floating in a halo around his face, his breathing, a strange sound, so human in its cadence and yet mechanical in its timbre. He felt hypnotized by the impossible, terrifying beauty of the creature beholding him.
The purple light shining through the runes on his body was getting more and more intense, flooding the entire building in a cascade of maddening color. Jayce's vision started getting blurry, the unearthly nature of what he was seeing now no longer a simple burdening impulse on his mind, but also exerting a physical, tangible pressure on every single part of his body.
He felt crushed by the force of whatever power had been conjured through the man, if he really had ever been just a man, in front of him.
He knew his body and mind couldn't take much more of it. He felt life slowly dripping out of him, sense abandoning him and yet the dread he was experiencing just moments before seemed to be equally depleting, for he could find nothing in his heart but utter and complete awe.
It felt bittersweet in its poetry. A disgraced man of science, a fervid believer of magic, dying in contemplation of an inexplicable miracle.
I would've loved to understand you. Jayce thought. I would've loved to know what happened to you. Tears of mad joy pooled at the corner of his eyes, the knowledge of having always been right, of dying not a fool, but a visionary, overcoming fear and desperation.
Just as he was closing his eyes, ready for darkness to finally take him fully, a loud shot resounded behind him. Shook out of his rapture, he turned, incredulous, just to see three figures standing at the entrance of the Morgue, their features drowned by the light.
One of them, the tallest of the three, shouted something, but Jayce's ears were too stuffed to understand the words. The shortest of the three figures took out a device of some sort, small and round, and threw it right in Jayce's direction.
Instinctively, he tried to cover his face, but the object was, after all, not meant for him, as he realized when it hit the ground just below the floating man. Jayce barely had the time to notice its shape, curious, toy-like, a mechanic monkey with cymbals. His mind was racing trying to make sense of all of this, when the monkey hit the cymbals and an explosion of blue light revealed a net, tightly knitted together, with runes inscribed all over it.
The net encased the floating man fully, as he unleashed an inhumane shriek, a sound so wrong in its nature, for it was teared out of a throat never meant to speak or function ever again. Jayce shivered at the pure desperation he perceived, so strong he could have mistaken it for his own.
His ears ringed so loud he had to squeeze his eyes, head throbbing in pain, desperately trying to regain some sense of what was happening around him. In the chaos caused by the sudden arrival of these strangers, the realization of being still alive hit him with such force, his overwhelming fear now free of its shackles, released as a crushing wave over him, sight blacking out, the last thing he felt was his head hitting the floor.
"Is he alive?"
"I think so. Is he breathing?"
"Yes, he is, he just fainted. Give him some space to breathe. Hold his head"
Jayce came to to a world of swirling colors. He batted his eyes in an attempt to make sense of the spots dancing in his vision. Blue, white, the cutting neon lights splitting his sight in fractured images. Faces. A woman. A dash of blue hair. A boy, his face painted white.
"Are you alright, boy? Can you hear us?"
A third person entered his vision, this one older, an adult man, his face half covered in a blackened scar, his other eye blue, piercing, examining Jayce with cutting intelligence.
"Can you hear what we are saying?"
Jayce nodded, still unsure. The other two people, the girl and boy, exchanged a worried glance.
"What are we gonna do with him? He saw everything." The older man gestured their worry away. "Let me take care of it. The two of you, go outside, I need someone to overlook the moving of our new associate."
The two nodded and immediately took off, sparing just one more glance at Jayce, still laying on the floor in a confused state.
"Now, young man, to the two of us. What is your name?"
Jayce tried to speak, his throat dry as a desert, and only after a few coughs he managed a reply. "Jayce, sir, my name is Jayce Talis."
The man nodded in acknowledgement. "Well, Mr Talis, you have had an incredibly stressful night. I believe you might have witnessed some events you will deem inexplicable, but let me assure you, we are here to take care of it. Now, you see, to do our job as quickly and as successfully as possible we need the uttermost privacy, so I would be very grateful if you avoided mentioning whatever it is you think you saw to anyone. Say someone broke in during the night. Say they attacked you and that you don't know what happened while you were passed out. You'll make it easier both for us and yourself, won't you?"
Jayce knew what a suggestion sounded like. This was not a suggestion. This was a threat. He swallowed back whatever little saliva he had left.
The man was almost out the door when he heard himself say. "Sir, please, that was magic, wasn't it?" He sounded pathetic to his own ears, but he needed to know, he needed a confirmation that what he had seen was real, that after all the mocking and the humiliation of the trial, he had actually gotten something right: magic was real and still breathing through the world.
The man turned around slowly, a flash of surprise racing through his face.
"Sir, please, I have devoted my entire life before this to the research on magic. Please, I will not tell a living soul, but I need to know I didn't waste my entire existence on a useless speculation."
The man walked to him slowly. Jayce had never felt smaller than in this moment, laying down at the feet of a stranger, begging for an answer.
"Mr Talis, come with me. We might have something to discuss."
He offered him his hand, and Jayce went.