Victor’s friends kept their word.
At the hospital, they delivered my “corpse” and filed the paperwork, stating the cause of death as suicide. Gwen was already waiting for me in the morgue with dry clothes.
It was cold there, and the air reeked of something sharp and sour, a smell so strong it clung to the back of my throat and made me gag.
“Hurry, Clara,” Gwen urged. “It’s dangerous to stay here without protective gear. The gases from bacteria and microorganisms… they’re toxic.”
I dressed as quickly as I could, trying not to breathe too deeply. My stomach churned, and nausea threatened to rise.
We slipped into her old car and drove away.
“You’re lucky,” Gwen said. “If Vic had called me half an hour later, I would’ve been home already. My night shift had just ended.”
“Yes. Lucky,” I
