Well, here we go again. Another day, another visit to the morgue. You'd think they would have learned the first time they wheeled me in like a fresh corpse. But nope. Second time getting the deluxe treatment: metal tray, ice-cold silence, and the scent of bleach and decay clinging to the air like a bad cologne.
I knock twice on the inside of the metal trolley I'm laid on, just as the storage door creaks open with that familiar metallic groan. Someone's pulling me out like I'm the daily delivery of doom.
As soon as the blinding lights hit my face, I sit up, grinning.
"Don't freak, this is all just a big misunderstanding."
The poor guy screams like he's in a slasher film, stumbles backward, and crashes into a metal bin. It clatters dramatically across the floor. Classic.
I sigh and bring a hand to my forehead in a tired facepalm.
"Dude, it's not the first time I've been let out of here, and I doubt it'll be the last."
His eyes are wide, his mouth opening and closing like a goldfish.
"You... You…"
"Yeah, yeah... I've heard the whole 'no pulse, must be dead' speech before. Doesn't mean I am dead," I say, hopping off the trolley. The cold floor hits my bare feet and sends a chill straight through me.
"Now, if you don't mind, I need my stuff. And a hospital robe. Preferably before someone else walks in and sees more than they signed up for."
He's still shaking, but he gestures to the locker and pushes a set of keys across the floor with his foot. I bend down, still very naked, and grab the keys. No point in modesty when you've been carted around like a cadaver all night.
As I unlock the locker and start pulling everything out, I glance over my shoulder at him.
"So, what's your name? Chances are we'll be seeing more of each other."
"W-Wez," he stutters.
"Nice to meet you, Wez. Keep an eye out for the name Eden Farnworth. Trust me, I'm going to be on your frequent flyer list."
My phone's tucked into my fleece pocket—thank the universe. I fish it out and shoot a quick text to Mitch:
Need a pickup. Hospital car park. ASAP. And pants.
I glance back at Wez, who still looks like he might faint.
"Hospital robe?" I ask, a bit more gently this time.
He approaches like I might bite him, holding out the robe with both hands like it's a peace offering. His hands are shaking. I take it and flash him a smile.
"Thanks, Wez."
I shrug on the robe, grab my bloodied clothes, and start heading toward the door. He's still staring at me, eyes wide like I'm about to sprout horns.
"I'm not a zombie," I say calmly, pausing by the door. "I've got a condition. Makes me look like I'm dead. No pulse, no breath, no heartbeat on machines. But I'm still ticking... somehow."
He gives me the slowest nod I've ever seen. I return it and push open the door.
The fluorescent lights of the hospital corridor buzz softly overhead. I walk barefoot past a few nurses who don't even glance up. Either they've seen worse… or they've seen me before.
Clutching my blood-covered clothes in one arm and holding the robe closed with the other, I follow the green "exit" signs like a ghost retracing old steps. I shouldn't be doing this, but here we are. I will probably find myself doing it again.
Outside, the morning light stings my eyes. I squint at the parking bays until I spot Mitch's car. I shuffle over and knock on the window.
He jumps and scrambles to lower it.
"You scared me!" he says, eyes wide.
"Sorry," I grin, pulling the robe tighter around me.
I slide into the passenger seat and glance over. He's gripping the steering wheel a little too tightly.
"I really thought you were gone this time," he says, barely above a whisper.
"Nope. You can't kill what's already dead," I chuckle, trying to keep it light, though a part of me feels… off. Like something really did change this time.
"You seem… different," Mitch says, finally looking at me. His gaze lingers.
"Do I?" I ask, not sure I want to hear the answer.
He shakes his head slowly. "Maybe it's nothing. Just… the whole thing was scary. For both of us."
The engine roars to life, and he pulls away from the curb.
The ride is silent. Not the comfortable kind, though. The tension sits between us like a third passenger. I glance at him, but he's focused on the road, lips pressed into a tight line.
When we reach my house, he stops at the front. No words. No music. Just the idle hum of the engine.
"I'll call you later," I say as I unbuckle.
He nods. Still doesn't look at me.
I step out and close the door. As soon as it clicks shut, he drives off without a word. I stand there for a second, watching the car disappear down the street before finally turning toward my house.
I slip inside quietly. The place feels too still, like it's holding its breath.
Upstairs, I make a beeline for Millie's room and knock twice.
"Yeah?" she calls.
I push the door open. She's sitting cross-legged on her bed, a thick witchcraft book in her lap. She closes it and grins when she sees me.
"I knew you wouldn't be dead," she says with a giggle.
I smile tiredly. "Any chance you've got something for healing? I'm sore as hell and I don't exactly bounce back anymore."
"Actually… yeah." She hops off the bed and grabs a notebook from her desk. "Found something last night. Marked the page. It's not instant, but it'll help."
"Nice one," I say, rubbing the back of my neck. "I'll go grab some clothes before I scare someone else."
I retreat to my room, toss the bloodied mess near the laundry basket, and head to the drawers. I grab clean boxers and socks, then move to the wardrobe and yank down a pair of black joggers and my favourite black jumper. Familiar. Comfortable.
As I dress, I catch sight of myself in the mirror. Pale. Eyes darker than usual. There's something… off. Even I can see it.
Still, I'm moving. I'm not in a body bag. That's got to count for something.
Right?