The sound of heels clicking against the tiled floor reverberated throughout the morgue, an unusually loud reminder of the sterile environment. Adrian Keller, who had been deeply focused on the papers scattered across his desk, glanced up when the door swung open without a prior announcement.
In walked a woman—tall and possessing sharp, defined features. Her dark hair, which hung to her shoulders, framed her face, while her keen eyes swept over the room like blazing searchlights, taking in every minuscule detail as if she were scanning for hidden secrets. There was a certain intensity in the way she carried herself, suggesting that she had been exposed to the darker sides of humanity more times than she cared to count and was unimpressed by it all.
"Dr. Keller?" she stated assertively, raising a badge for him to see. "I'm Detective Marla Reyes with the NYPD Homicide Division. Do you mind if we have a word?"
Adrian blinked, trying to shake off the lingering haze that had clouded his mind since the previous night. For a moment, he wondered if this woman standing before him was merely a figment of his imagination brought on by fatigue and stress.
"Please, come in," he replied, a slight awkwardness creeping into his voice. "Or... you've already entered."
Detective Reyes did not break into a smile, maintaining a serious demeanor as she pulled out the empty chair opposite him and took her seat. From her coat pocket, she produced a notepad, ready to jot down notes.
"I understand you were the leading investigator on the case involving the Calgrove girl, correct?" she inquired, her tone direct. "The Jane Doe."
Adrian affirmed her statement with a nod.
"What can you tell me about the autopsy results?" she pressed on.
Adrian took a breath, preparing to share the grim details. "The findings indicate blunt force trauma, a ruptured spleen, and a cerebral hemorrhage due to secondary impact. It appears she was likely unconscious during the initial attack. There's a possibility she was sedated before her death as well. The toxicology screen is still pending, though."
Marla scribbled quickly on her notepad, her pen gliding effortlessly across the page, ready to document every crucial detail.
"And what about the time of death?" she continued, her focus unwavering.
Adrian's gaze shifted slightly as he replied, "It's estimated to be around seventy-two hours before the body was discovered, perhaps even a bit longer."
As she flipped to a new page in her notebook, Reyes's expression remained concentrated. "And what about the symbol?"
At that moment, Adrian's heart dropped.
He hadn't documented any symbols in his official report.
"I didn't mention any symbols," he replied, his voice faltering slightly.
Detective Reyes looked up from her notes, her expression unreadable, yet her gaze sharp as a blade. "If that's the case, then you should explain why the Crime Scene Unit found a smear of wax on her back, shaped unmistakably like a crescent mark. It's clearly symbolic and appears to have been applied intentionally. This is the same crescent that your assistant, Lena Ward, flagged during a similar autopsy last year—a case that, interestingly, involved a body that vanished before you had the chance to analyze it."
Adrian straightened his back instinctively, shifting in his chair as the weight of the conversation settled in. "That report was sealed," he said, his voice steady but laced with curiosity. "How did you find out about it?"
Reyes reacted matter-of-factly. "Nothing remains sealed from Homicide when someone begins etching messages onto the bodies of teenagers. This is not the first time this particular symbol has emerged, Dr. Keller. But you were already aware of that, weren't you?"
Adrian chose not to respond, knowing that if he did, it would force him to confront admissions he wasn't prepared to make just yet. He had indeed seen that symbol before; it lingered like a ghost in his memory, creeping into his nightmares and prompting a cascade of emotions. The symbol was tied to a boy—a boy whose life had been snuffed out within the very walls of the same orphanage from which Adrian himself had come. He could still vividly recall the sight of blood seeping into the cracks of the concrete floor, a grim reminder of the past he was struggling to escape.
Reyes leaned in closer, her expression serious. "Let me be perfectly clear. I'm not here seeking to point fingers or make accusations. However, I have a deep aversion to mysteries residing within the confines of morgues, and I definitely dislike secrets that are tucked away within medical reports. If there is something lingering in your past—something vital to this case—I urge you to voice it now, before it has the chance to come back and harm you."
Adrian hesitated, his thoughts churning as he struggled to articulate his feelings. "I think this is just a fragment of something much more intricate," he finally admitted. "But beyond that, I can't quite grasp the entirety of it yet."
"Then you'd better expedite the process of figuring it out. Because whoever is orchestrating these events is only getting warmed up," she replied firmly.
After Reyes departed, Adrian remained seated in silence, the weight of her words pressing heavily upon him. He absently tapped his fingers against his wrist, caught in a web of thoughts and memories. The wax, the symbol, and the boy whose body had vanished the previous year occupied his mind relentlessly. He recalled the tragic image of a boy around seventeen years old, discovered in the shadows of a construction site—an unidentified victim with missing fingernails and a crescent-shaped bruise gracing his inner arm.
Adrian had sent those haunting photographs to Lena, instructing her to keep them under wraps until the toxicology results came back. However, when they arrived at the lab the following morning, he was met with bewilderment—the body had mysteriously disappeared, logged out without any explanation.
He had chosen not to press for further clarity on the matter, although he couldn't fully understand why he refrained from doing so, even to himself.
But now, as everything began to unfold in his mind, he could feel a chilling realization dawning upon him—a pattern was emerging, glaringly evident and demanding attention.
That evening, Lena arrived once more, her usual abruptness evident as she entered without knocking. "You've been quiet all day long," she remarked, casually tossing a brown paper bag onto his desk. "Are you intending to starve yourself again, or will you at least feign having a meal?"
With a dismissive gesture, he pushed the bag away. "Detective Reyes came to see me," he said, looking up at her with concern.
"She called me right after," Lena replied, her tone unchanged. "She asked about that kid who went missing last year."
"And did you tell her the truth?" Adrian pressed, anxiety creeping into his words.
"No," she shot back. "I'm not foolish."
He met her gaze intently, searching for answers. "You still have access to those old case files, don't you?"
"I thought you deleted them," she said, a hint of confusion in her voice.
"I archived them instead, using your profile to do so," he clarified, a sense of urgency rising within him.
Lena reached for her tablet and began typing furiously, her eyes narrowing as she examined the screen. After several seconds, her face contorted with confusion. "This is odd," she said.
"What's wrong?" he asked, an alarm rising in his chest.
She turned the device toward him and pointed at the folder labeled 'Unmatched Victims.' The folder was there, but all the images were missing, leaving only barren data shells behind.
"Files appear to be corrupted," she stated, her frown deepening. "Or, they've been scrubbed clean."
A chill crept through Adrian's arms as he processed her words. "You backed them up, right?"
Lena's expression faltered as she glanced away. "I believed I did."
"Try again," he urged, his voice now firm. "Check your external drive."
She hesitated, as if weighing her options.
"Lena," he reinforced, "I need to see that symbol again—the one from the boy last year."
With a resigned sigh, she finally took action, moving back into her workspace. "Fine. But we both know that if this thing is larger than we anticipate, we might be entering treacherous ground."
Adrian cast his eyes downward, his hand betraying him as a tremor began to manifest in his fingers—a soft, unrelenting shake that felt beyond his control.
"It's already dangerous," he murmured under his breath, his mind racing with anxieties.
Just an hour later, after a period of searching, Lena exclaimed triumphantly, "I found it!" She held up her external drive like it was a prized trophy. "The image backup folder. It's all still there."
She plugged the device into the desktop, and a series of high-resolution photographs appeared on the screen. One particular image halted Adrian in his tracks, leaving him momentarily breathless.
It was the victim from last year. So pale and gaunt, his body marked with the same nerve-wracking symbol—they hadn't changed a bit.
Adrian leaned closer to the screen, studying the distinct shape carefully. This was no random marking; it was a deliberate etching that felt almost coded in its design.
"Can you enhance the image?" he asked, already reaching for the image enhancement tool.
Lena complied, adjusting the display. Adrian traced the symbol with his finger, his brows knitting together in concentration.
"It's not merely a crescent," he said quietly. "It's a continuous loop, followed by a broken line, and culminates with a hooked end."
"Looks like some sort of writing," Lena muttered in thought.
"It is indeed. Back in the orphanage, we would pass notes to each other using similar shapes and insignias."
Her head snapped up, eyes wide. "You've never mentioned this before."
Adrian's voice came out flat, lacking its usual warmth. "It's a bit hazy for me now. But what I do recall is that... this is how we used to inscribe our names. I believe our names were written like this, at least."
His companion queried with furrowed brows, "Are you suggesting that the murderer might be a former resident of the orphanage?"
Adrian's gaze remained fixated on the screen, his heart racing in his chest, each beat echoing his growing apprehension.
"No," he finally replied, his voice steady yet tinged with anxiety. "What I truly believe is that the person responsible never actually left the place."
That night, as he drifted into a restless sleep, Adrian found himself in the familiar setting of the basement once more.
However, this time, the lifeless figure sprawled on the cold, concrete floor was not the boy whose image had haunted his memories for so long.
It was him.
And to his horror, he felt the unsettling sensation of someone methodically inscribing on his very skin.