Skullduggery {sapphic thriller}

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Darkness enshrouded us as the door fell closed behind. I could just make out Desirae's silhouette in front of me, sweeping from left to right. A low mechanical buzz thrummed through the air. Wet metal and dank mildewy brick clogged my nose. Shadows of heavy equipment and wooden pallets from the warehouse's former days as Bay City Iron blocked out the streetlights from the windows. My eyes slowly adjusted as I tried to follow the white of Desirae's dress through the darkness like a ghost.

"That's the stairwell we used to access the studio and the loft," I whispered as we passed.

"And ahead?"

Past a brick column, new interior walls enclosed what used to be empty space where the old loading bay opened up from the outside. A wide, shiny steel door was its only entry from what I could see. The hum grew louder as we approached.

"That's definitely new."

Desirae turned away from the door and looked back towards the stairway. "Cora?" Her voice was met with the silent hum coming from within the walls behind us.

"What if the killer just stashed her car here?"

"It's certainly possible." The whites of her eyes flicked from the stairwell to the steel door. "We should clear the upper floors first."

"Should. But that's not what your gut is telling you." Even in the dark, I could see it in her eyes. "You've been right about everything else."

"Not everything." Her gaze fell back onto me as she weighed her decision. What felt like minutes was barely a second. She looked over her shoulder once more at the stairwell, then turned to the door.

Just like before, my fingers wrapped around the cold metal handle while Desirae readied herself on the side. At her nod, I pulled the door open as she stepped inside, then followed directly behind her.

Overhead, the lights automatically flicked on, blinding me, as their brightness spread an eerie blue cast over a metal table in the center of the room. Goosebumps pricked my arm with a chill. The temperature had drastically dropped. To the left of the table, a new loading bay door took up half the wall. A sink sat off in the corner. Trays of instruments lined its counter. Just beyond the metal table, another steel door led deeper inside, this one with a special latch handle to help keep it sealed tight. I'd worked at enough restaurants in the past to recognize it as a cooler door.

"This is the procurement room," Desirae said quietly, still keeping her gun aimed low, but ready. "Watch your step."

On the floor, puddles of what I could only assume were body fluids and grime pooled near a central drain below the table. As we reached the door, we took up our positions again. She nodded and I pulled.

Desirae's shoulders eased upon entry. The cooler was half the size of the procurement room, lined with shelves and totes. Along the back wall, built-in fans spun to circulate the air, creating the hum. Strings of numbers labeled the shelves. I leaned in closer to read one, but my eyes instead went to the lavender gray flesh of a male face, vacuum sealed on top of other bags of the same. Bags of feet. Hands. Spinal cords attached to shoulders. Full torsos. Heads. My stomach flopped as I jolted back, clasping Desirae's arm.

"Are you okay?"

"Are you?" I countered, watching her scan the shelves like it was just a pantry and she was in the mood for a snack.

"I've honestly seen worse."

"Worse?" My throat tightened at the thought. "I don't know what I was expecting, but this..." I had to turn away towards the door.

"They seem to be arranged by dates." Desirae aimed the muzzle of the gun down and held out the grip towards me. "Take the gun."

"What? No-"