Demoniac

Morgue

He pulled back and waited, peering around the corner and watching for any movement.  At the end of the hall, two swinging doors sat unmoving, with a small plexiglass window in each.  After a few moments, someone moved beyond them.  He caught a glimpse of the person, only the back of his head and a white coat.  It seemed someone had decided to stay late.  It explained why the place was lit like a Petri dish under the scope.  Nightshift pushed off the wall and bobbed on his feet.  He reached over and flipped the switch.  The lights in the hall flickered to  grey.  He pushed himself, grabbing the whisper of shadow that now hovered around him, dissipated, and rode it to the next hall.  He snapped back together and fell into an easy gate.  The mortician had seemed busy and Nightshift was likely to be out again before he noticed anything.

Nightshift continued down the hall until he passed a receptionist desk.  A computer monitor peaked over the top.  He circled around the desk and pushed the chair out of the way, shaking the mouse so the screen winked to life. A blue background and a police shield illuminated the monitor, with an icon labeled user in the center.  Nightshift clicked it and a text box appeared asking for the password.  Without sitting, he pulled the keyboard out on a sliding tray from under the desk.  His halted as it reached the end of it's track and Nightshift keyed in the word "password."  The computer unlocked and revealed a desktop.  He pushed the chair away from the desk and fell into it, pulling a phone from his pocket and dialing Clif's number.  As it rang, he scanned the desktop until he found an excel file titled 'directory' and opened it.  Clif picked up.

"Miss me already?"

"What did you say the girls name was?"

"You left before I could,"  Clif said. 

Nightshift waited on the line as the directory opened and began scanning the names.

"Brittany."

"Last Name?"

"I can't remember."

Nightshift continued scrolling, looking for any Brittanys.  Unfortunately, there were more than a few.

"C'mon, Clif.  I really need you to remember."

"Why?"

Again, Nightshift didn't say anything.

"Whatever you're doing, don't get me in trouble.  Give me a second."  There was a pause and Clif began mumbling on the other side of the line.  Nightshift waited.

"Taylor,"  Clif said abruptly. "Brittany Taylor."

"Thanks."  Nightshift said, then hung up the phone.  He opened up a search in the document and typed in the name.  It was highlighted in the document.  Nightshift memorized the number next to it.  203.

He stood up and looked around.  On either side of the waiting area were observation windows into rooms lined with square, metal doors.  He recognized them as the cold storage units used to keep bodies that had arrived.  It wasn't his first time in a morgue.

Nightshift noticed a directory on the wall and approached it, scanning through the numbers marked next to each room.  Numbers "180-210" were assigned to the room just a little further down the hall.  He walked past the directory and made his way to the door at the end of the hall, switching off another light as he did.

The hall fell into darkness.  There were finally enough lights out that he could, if he had to, move easily on the darkness.  He reached the doors and pushed them open.  They swung wide and he stepped into the room.  The doors swung shut again behind him, like saloon doors after a grand entrance, and Nightshift watched the air puff white with his breath.  There were no lights on in this room, and it faded too a glossy dark as the doors closed behind.  Slowly he scanned the metal doors, large and heavy and each equipped with a metal handle that fastened them shut.  Small plaques were on the face of each door, reading a different number.