by M. K. Dawn
She brushed her swollen lips against his. “Amazing. But…” The kissed deepened.
“Oh, no.” Archer pushed her away and climbed out of the pool. “We’re not doing that again.”
Sloan’s face dropped. “What!”
Archer laughed and held out his hand. “Come on, Slash.” He pulled her out of the pool and into his arms. “Let’s get you to bed.”
“To sleep?”
He nipped at her earlobe. “Are you tired?”
Her body quivered. “No.”
“Good, because I’m just getting started.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Sloan startled awake. Damn their alarm. It reverberated off the walls of their room in the most exasperating way possible. Why hadn’t they thought to turn it off last night? The more important question: how was Archer sleeping through it?
“Snooze,” she snapped and it fell silent.
Her eyes were heavy. Her body was sore in the most delightful way. When they returned to their suite after the hot springs, Archer had taken his time making love to her. Once they were both too exhausted to move, they’d stayed up for hours talking about the personal details of their lives they had never shared with each other before. It was the most intimate night of her life.
She rolled to her side and stared at the man who lay beside her undisturbed. Her thoughts scrambled to understand how this happened. They didn’t have a thing in common. Except maybe their stubborn streak. Still, there was something about this man. Something that made her vulnerable and strong; happy but scared out of her mind. She had become a walking contradiction. Was she really okay with that?
“Now who’s staring while the other sleeps?”
“The alarm went off.” She glanced at the time. “We’ve only been asleep about an hour.”
Archer seized her waist and planted small kisses down her neck. “Why didn’t you go back to sleep?”
Sloan pulled away. “I wasn’t sleeping well anyway.”
“You want to talk about what happened?” He leaned back and caressed her arm.
It was a move that was meant to provide comfort but it agitated her even further. “No.” She rolled out of bed and unhooked her robe from the closet. Walking around the room naked, she felt too exposed. It was a feeling she’d fought most of her adult life to overcome.
“Sloan, what’s wrong?”
“I have a debriefing this morning and need to shower.”
Archer jumped out of bed and clasped her upper arms. “Don’t push me away. After last night—”
“We had sex, Archer. Nothing more.”
“You’re scared.” It wasn’t a question.
Sloan did her best to cover her outrage. Not because of his accusation, but because of how good he was at reading her. “Scared?”
“Your parents—the two people closest to you—died when you were young. Then the world goes to shit and everyone else you knew died. That kind of loss, it screws with your head. Makes it hard to get close to anyone again.” Archer wiped a tear from her cheek she hadn’t realized was there. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“You went to the surface,” she mumbled.
“And three of my men died. I could have died.”
Her heart ached at the thought.
“I get it. When I heard there was an attack in the medical ward, all I could think about was you. The thought if something happening to you…”
Sloan stood there, lost in the moment and unsure of what to say. It was the same way with her when she received the call that an emergency was headed for the OR.
“So be scared all you want, but don’t push me away. Don’t pretend like last night didn’t mean as much to you as it did to me.”
“I’m going to shower now.”
“Sloan?” She knew he wanted a response; affirmation that he was not alone in his affection.
The problem was, an emotional response was not something she was good at. She’d never told another person whom she wasn’t related to that she loved them. Wasn’t even sure she knew what it was to love someone other than family.
“Your silence is killing me, Slash.”
With a deep breath, she leaned in and kissed him but pulled away just before the passion ignited into wildfire.
“That’s a good sign, right? Not a break-up kiss?”
She ran her hands down his bare chest. “I’m going to take a shower.”
“Was that an invitation to join you?” he shouted as she closed the door and locked it. The shower was cramped enough as it was.
The warm water was soothing, but she longed for a soak in the relaxing hot springs. Maybe they could go there again. Better yet, maybe the access Archer had granted her yesterday was still in effect and she could venture there alone. A delightful dip with only the lap of the water to keep her company.
Sloan dried off and covered herself with the robe. There was a slight chill in the air as the ground around them cooled.
Before she made it back to the bedroom, Archer handed her a mug of coffee. “There’s been a change in schedule.”
Sloan took a quick sip. “In mine or yours?”
“Both, I suppose. The debriefing has been postponed until this afternoon. And you’ve been appointed to perform the autopsy on Cale.”
“Oh.” She tried her best to steady the shaky hand which held her drink.
“I can contact someone if you can’t handle it. You’ve been through so much.”
“Why wasn’t Fletcher asked? Or a medical examiner?”
“He’s under the weather. The medical examiners are not aware of the situation. Really, Sloan, you don’t have to. Evelyn was there. I can ask her.”
“No, I’m fine. Fletcher would never allow it as he threw her off the case.” She handed him her mug. “I need to dress.”
As much as she didn’t want to confront the body of the man who attacked her—the body of the man she’d killed—she needed some answers. Some clarity on what happened to Cale. What caused his physical and mental transformation? The only way she would receive those answers would be to perform the autopsy herself.
***
“I’ll go in the room with you,” Archer said as they walked down the hall towards the morgue.
Sloan’s nerves were frayed. She never thought she’d be so nervous when confronted with a corpse. The fear was absurd, unfounded, and needed to be faced head-on. “That won’t be necessary.”
“I wasn’t asking, Slash. I’ll keep quiet and stay out of your way, but I need to see for myself what happened.”
“There are guards at the door. Did you expect that?”
Archer groaned. “Yes.”
“Colonel,” Russo saluted as they approached, “what brings you here?”
“I am to accompany Dr. Egan during the autopsy.”
Russo frowned. “That has not been authorized.”
“I led the mission that got these men killed.” Archer puffed out his chest. “I’m going in that room.”
“Sorry, sir. I’m not allowed to grant access to anyone but Dr. Egan.”
This little display of power was getting them nowhere. “That man in there tried to kill me. I’m not performing the autopsy without Colonel Archer in the room by my side.”
“Doctor, one of my men will happily escort—”
“No,” she said firmly. “As he is my…” What was he? An onslaught of words ran through her head—lover, boyfriend, mate, partner, match—and none seemed to fit.
“As her boyfriend,” Archer said taking her by surprise. “I will escort her. Move aside, Russo.”
He did as Archer commanded. “I will be contacting the execs about this.”
Archer held open the door for her to enter. “Be my guest. Let them know I’ll be joining the debriefing as well.”
The door slammed behind them with a thud. “That went better than expected.”
“What did you expect?” Sloan hurried around to ensure she had everything she needed. The tools were prepped and ready
. The body was covered, much to her relief.
There were no chairs in the room so Archer took a seat on the empty counter. “To be hauled off in handcuffs.”
Sloan dressed in a full body gown and slid on a pair of gloves. Then she slipped on a second pair for good measure. “I wouldn’t have let that happen.”
“Going to take them on three at a time, huh?”
She found the face mask and put that on as well. “Like I told Russo, I wouldn’t perform the autopsy if you weren’t granted access.”
“Aww. That’s sweet of you, sticking up for your….um…what did you call me?”
“I didn’t.” She was only half paying attention at this point.
“You know, Slash, most girls go a giddy when a guy calls himself a boyfriend. Especially when it’s unprompted and unexpected.”
“See any drawers or cabinets labeled ‘test tubes’?” She wanted to take a few samples and for that she needed—
“Behind you.”
“Thanks.” She grabbed half a dozen and laid them on the large workstation. “You should consider a gown and face mask. Autopsies are a messy business.”
He hopped off the table and dressed. “Going to ignore what I said earlier?”
“What?” She didn’t comprehend a word he’d said. Instead, she stood there dumbfounded as she uncovered Cale’s body.
Archer turned around. “I said…” His thought trailed. “Slash? What is it?”
His skin was still pale—to the point of almost being translucent. The face of a monster still stared blankly back at her. Neither surprised her. She’d been psyching herself up for those images for hours. It was his lacerations she couldn’t comprehend. “I…I…it doesn’t make any sense.”
He came up beside her. “What doesn’t?”
“Look.” she pointed at Cale’s leg and then at his stomach. “These wounds. The ones he had before his death. They’re almost completely healed.”
“I see the stitches.”
“Take a closer look.”
Archer hesitated.
Sloan grew impatient but bit her tongue when she saw the sorrow in his eyes. In the moment, she’d forgotten this man on the table was not just a nameless corpse, but one of Archer’s friends. “You don’t have—”
“Give me a second.” He took a deep breath under his mask and stepped forward. “What am I looking at?”
Autopsies were not for everyone. Archer wanting to continue said a lot about his strength. “The skin. See how it has already begun to fuse back together?”
“That’s not normal, right?”
“It’s been less than twenty-four hours.”
“So, that’s a no.”
She smiled at the humor in his voice. It meant he’d put aside his personal connection to the deceased. “Lacerations such as these should take weeks to get to this point. And that’s being generous.”
“What does it mean?”
“I don’t know.” She paused, not sure if he was ready for what was about to come next. “I need to open him up.”
Archer rubbed the back of his neck—the one part of his body that was exposed. “Do you need help?”
A sweet offer prompted by social accord. One he would most likely not be able to follow through with if the paleness of his skin was any indication of his aversion to the situation. “I don’t believe so. Why don’t you take a seat?”
He didn’t push the issue. Instead, returned to sitting on the counter, his eyes focused on anywhere but the remains.
“Many morgues,” Sloan said as she picked up the large scalpel, “have an auto recorder so the coroner can take notes without pause. You would think with the technology in place here, something so simple would be standard.”
“Want me to scrounge up a paper and pen?”
She pierced the skin just above the pubic bone and began to cut the deep, y-shaped incision up the body and through the open wound in his chest. The wound she created with the IV stand when he’d attacked. A sticky black substance oozed out. It was too thick to be discolored blood. It didn’t even trickle towards the drain at the end of the table; it pooled next to the body and didn’t move.
Then there was an odor. Worse than a decomposing corpse; rotten eggs, dead fish, and sewage mixed as one. “What in the world?”
“Jesus.” Archer sputtered and gagged. “That smell. Got any of that stuff? You know, what they put under their nose to block the smell?”
Sloan mentally rolled her eyes. “You watch too much TV. Breathe through your mouth. Cotton balls up the nose may help a smidge.”
“This doesn’t bother you?”
Sloan shrugged. “The incision’s done. Time to peel back the skin, muscles, and soft tissue.”
“Announcing a play by play?” Archer asked from behind the mask.
“I wanted to prepare you for what’s going to happen next.” And maybe prepare herself a bit as well.
With the scalpel, she exposed the ribcage and strap muscles on the front of the neck, covering the face. Intertwined in the muscles were flesh-colored strands that reminded her of tentacles—all of which appeared to stem from the heart. Her stomach rolled. Never had she heard or seen anything like it.
Archer left his perch on the counter. “What the hell is that?”
“I don’t know. Hand me the bone cutters.”
“Which are those?”
Sloan kept her eyes trained on the body and held out her hand. “Curved pruning shears.”
Archer placed them in Sloan’s hand. “That’s just wrong on so many levels.”
“I’m going to open the ribcage.” She made no haste cutting into one side of the ribs then the other until the ribs—a few on the left were already broken from the IV stand—and chest plate were no longer connected to the rest of the skeleton. “The scalpel, please.” Archer handed it to her without a word. She cut away the soft tissue stuck to the back of the chest plate and removed it.
The scalpel slipped from her fingers and clattered on the floor as Sloan’s brain struggled to comprehend what laid before her.
“Sloan?” Archer’s voice was breathless. “What is that?”
In place of the heart was a blob (It was the best word she could think of in the cloud of fear that plagued her mind). Colorless aside from ink-black veins fanning throughout, the flesh-like strands were indeed attached to this…thing. Hundreds of these strands filled the chest if not more. They fanned out towards every part of the body. Then there was the stab wound.
“Sloan.” Archer tugged at her sleeve, reminding her of a scared child. “I think…there’s…” he dry-heaved, “missing.”
“What?” She followed his flailing hand to the lower half of the body. “Oh my God.” There was nothing but the strands—the tentacles; no stomach, no bowls, no organs.
“We need to get out of here!” Archer stumbled back, his eyes feverish as he ripped off his apron. He was having a panic attack.
“Archer—Lee.” Sloan tugged off her latex gloves and seized his face. “Look at me.” His eyes flicked to behind her. “Not the body. Me. Slow, deep breaths.”
His head bobbed. Slowly, he regained control. “We need to go.”
“He…it’s dead.”
“That’s…not…real…natural.”
Sloan understood his terror. His loss of control. God only knew the horrors he’d witnessed during his years as a Ranger, but nothing could have prepared him or came close to this.
“How are you so calm?” His voice was shaky, detached. At least he wasn’t stumbling over his words anymore.
“Working in a hospital, I’ve seen my fair share of crazy.” She had also learned to distance herself from the work. “It’ll hit me later.” Probably more than him.
“We need to go,” he repeated.
Sloan’s posture straightened. “I can’t. Not yet.”
“What? Why? I think you’ve got enough!”
“I need to check the brain. The newly formed teeth. Cut open the…foreign entity.” T
hey were the last pieces of the puzzle.
“No!”
“Archer…the organs didn’t just disappear after death. There are no marks indicating they were removed. We need to know what happened.”
He clenched his fists at his sides.
“You don’t have to stay.”
For a moment he stood there, eyes boring into hers. Then he snatched his discarded apron off the floor and jammed his arms through the holes. “Fine. Get it over with.”
***
“I’m sorry, Colonel,” the young soldier at the door said. “You have not been authorized to attend this meeting.”
Archer took a menacing step forward. “Put me in contact with one of the execs.”
The boy’s face paled. “Sir, I’m not supposed—”
Sloan stepped between Archer and the kid. “I’m authorized, correct?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Please open the door. I will ask them myself.”
The soldier eyed Archer, fully aware of what he was capable of.
Archer held up his hands in surrender. “I’ll wait.”
With a disconcerting look, he stepped aside and allowed Sloan entry to the packed boardroom. As promised, Archer behaved himself and waited in the hall.
“Dr. Egan. Please come in. Take a seat,” a tall man with graying hair said—a man who looked surprisingly familiar though none of the execs ever ventured past their own floor. “I’m General Scott Davis and these are my associates. I won’t waste time with introductions. Around the table are the highest-ranking officials from each branch of the United States military, aside from the President, who is currently indisposed. Let’s get right to the point of why I’ve called you here today.”
“Before we do, I would like to request Colonel Archer join us. Not only did he lead the mission, but he was present during the autopsy.”
Davis frowned. “We’ve heard. He can join us.”
The door must have been cracked, because Archer wasted no time barging in. “Thanks for the invite, fellas.”
“Have a seat, both of you,” Davis instructed. “What we discuss in this room is top-secret. You are not to speak a word of this to anyone. Is that understood?”
“Yes,” Sloan and Archer said in unison, though Archer added a “sir,” at the end.