Page 65 of Beneath the Light of the Moon
Pocketing his keys, he freed up his hands to hold his helmet. Mikko observed the weathered brick lining the one-story building. Its texture was evident in the low light as he walked in. A worn awning flapped in the small gusts of wind, only a few pieces of the business’s name remained on the canvas.
Miller’s Mortuary.
As he neared the threshold of shadows before him, he realized why it was so dark. One of the exterior wall sconces had burnt out completely while the other had been shattered. There were jagged pieces still protruding from the light socket. His eyebrow raised. Exterior maintenance wasn’t a priority here and something about that triggered him.
“Let’s hope they maintain the interior better than out here,” he grumbled to himself. His irritation grew since the thought of looking at a dead body didn’t stir his insides with joy.
Armored gloves still covered his hands—another weapon added to his arsenal—as he reached for the door handle. It opened on silent hinges, cool air rushing out to greet him.
Stepping across the threshold, Mikko’s displeasure intensified as the doorsnickedshut behind him. A chill settled onto his damp clothes and skin making a shiver race up his spine.
A dimly lit lobby greeted him with a sickly pale green glow reflecting off the linoleum floors. With a squeak of his boot, he lookedover his shoulder, his head on a swivel to avoid any surprises. While his relation to organized crime meant he dealt with unsavory tasks and people, something about being surrounded by dead,preservedbodies put him more on edge. The door he’d stepped through had a film on it, now bubbling and peeling away, to prevent the outside from looking in.
“God, this place is depressing.” He even hated the way his mumbled words echoed in the space.
Facing forward, he noticed two halls branching off from the lobby, mirroring one another.
Where’s Cristiano?
As if summoned by his thoughts, footsteps echoed from the left corridor, and seconds later his friend appeared.
“Ah, you’re here finally,” he said, coming up to Mikko and briskly clapping him on his back. It was more reserved than their usual greeting which wordlessly told Mikko something was amiss. Not far behind was an older man.
“Wouldn’t miss it,” Mikko replied sarcastically. Cristiano grinned, mood lifting slightly. He turned to the man behind him, ready to introduce everyone. The aged gentleman, presumably the mortician, beat him to it.
“Joseph,” the man said, his hair ghostly white in the fluorescent light. His crisp lab coat also reflected it, and Mikko fought the urge to squint.
Mikko nodded in response, holding a hand out, all business. “Mikko.”
“I assumed that already—we don’t have all night,” Joseph said curtly, ignoring his outstretched hand. “Follow me.”
Before either of them could say a word, Joseph was already disappearing around the nearest corner. Cristiano and Mikko shared a look. He supposed working with the dead made one’s social skills alittlerusty.
Without another word, they followed Joseph. To keep up, the men had to lengthen their strides, their boots squeaking on the floor. It was a small indication the inside was indeed more maintained than the exterior. Mikko sighed in relief.
In comparison, Joseph’s shoes made no noise at all, and it unsettled him. There was no need to be quiet among the dead; they didn’t care what anyone did anymore.
The sound of a keycard swiping pulled Mikko’s attention back. He watched as Joseph opened the door, the hallway continuing beyond with more white, sterile doors lining each side. For a modest building, the corridor continued on for forever.
Maybe that’s why Joseph walks so fast.
“Almost there,” the mortician said, sensing the other men’s thoughts. They passed four more doors, before stopping at the fifth one on the left. A small window was placed in the door, allowing Mikko a sliver of what lay beyond: sterile surfaces and a sheet covering a body.
Ivan.
Another swipe of Joseph’s access card and the door opened before the men. The overpowering scent of cleaners and other embalming liquids Mikko had no name for overwhelmed his nose. His eyes watered as the odor burned his nostrils. Although, maybe this scent was better than the alternative—rotting flesh.
Cristiano coughed, the fragrance abrasive on his airways too. “How do you work with this smell?”
Mikko glanced over, catching his friend tucking his nose into the collar of his sweatshirt, desperately trying to avoid the smell. Cristiano’s displeasure was evident in the furrowing of his brows. Mikko wanted to chuckle.
“Eh, when you’ve been doin’ this for as long as I have, well, your sense of smell starts to go,” Joseph replied. “And when the maskswe’re supposed to wear are too restricting, you have to improvise.”
Cristiano scoffed, the noise muffled beneath his shirt, “Gives a whole new meaning to ‘nose blind.’”
“A perk in this line of work, no doubt,” Mikko added.
“Indeed.” Joseph’s lips tipped up at their commentary, pleased he could endure what they could not.
