Frozen Flame

Chapter 2 Echoes of the Dead

Johnny planted both hands on the autopsy table, forcing himself to breathe steady. The chaos in his head sharpened into one thought—this was way too strange to ignore.

He looked up at Phoenix. She was picking at her teeth with a pair of tweezers, like she was at a fancy dinner. The tweezers, meant for organ samples, were now dotted with cheese. The cold metal caught the light, reflecting the blood at the corner of her mouth. A chill ran through Johnny.

“Hey,” his voice still trembled. “We need to talk.”

Phoenix glanced up, snapping the tweezers shut. “Talk about what? Your crush on me?”

A cocky smile tugged at her lips, steering the conversation to the absurd.

“Don't dodge the question.” Johnny's voice dropped. “Have you ever experienced anything like this before?”

“Experienced?” Phoenix shrugged. “I'm a living corpse—does that explain it enough?”

“Don't be ridiculous.” Johnny's voice rose. “I'm asking if you've ever had anything like this happen before.”

Phoenix froze, then relaxed. “You're questioning me like a detective.”

“Then consider me interrogating you.” Johnny stepped closer. “You've seen this before, haven't you?”

The smile on Phoenix's face faded. She dropped her eyes, staring at the autopsy lamp.

“If I say no, will you believe me?” Her voice went soft—guarded and cold.

Johnny stayed silent, then shook his head. “I don't.”

The air between them grew heavy. Only the low hum of the cold storage compressor broke the silence.

“I know you're hiding something.” Johnny's tone was firm. “And I bet what you're hiding isn't simple.”

Phoenix's eyebrows twitched—a tiny sign Johnny caught. He smelled a crack, like a membrane tear during a dissection, revealing a dark secret inside.

“Tell me.” Johnny narrowed his voice. “I want to understand what really happened.”

Phoenix licked her dry, cracked lips, weighing her answer.

“Are you always like this?” she suddenly asked. “Do you stare down the unknown until it peels its skin?”

“I'm a forensic doctor.” Johnny answered flatly. “It's my job.”

Silence settled between them like a block of ice.

Phoenix's fingers tapped lightly on the edge of the table; each tap felt like an invisible nail being hammered in.

“Do you really want to hear it?” She looked up; her eyes were hollow for a moment. “After you hear it, you might think I'm crazy.”

“I'm in a morgue talking to a living corpse,” Johnny smirked slightly. “Go ahead.”

That “go ahead” was like a switch. Phoenix's shoulders relaxed a little, shedding an invisible armor. Her smile disappeared, her eyes sharpened and went distant.

“That was a long time ago.” She started slowly. “Back then… I wasn't even ten.”

Johnny didn't interrupt; he took a step closer, afraid to miss a single word.

“My mother died.” Phoenix's voice was oddly flat. “Cause of death was a car accident—dead at the scene. The doctor confirmed it, they covered her with a white sheet, and took her into the morgue.”

Johnny's fingertips tightened, scraping lightly against the clipboard's edge.

“My father was out of town on business. I went with the neighbor lady to identify the body. That morgue was freezing—colder than here.” Phoenix's gaze pierced the air, fixed on a cold memory from more than ten years ago. “I remember clearly: the neighbor was just about to tell me not to look—and then—”

She paused, pressing her tongue to her upper palate, as if trying to keep herself from trembling.

“And then my mother moved.”

The moment those words fell, it felt like the air was sucked out of the room.

“You mean… she came back to life?” Johnny's voice was lighter than expected.

“Mm.” Phoenix nodded. “She sat up, just like you saw me. The white sheet slipped down; she looked at me and smiled softly.”

Johnny couldn't help asking, “And then?”

Phoenix's eyes dimmed briefly. “Then… she left.”

“Left?”

“Yes. She walked out of the morgue. No one stopped her; she didn't look back. When I chased after her, the hallway was empty.”

Her voice was calm, but beneath that calm was a long-dulled pain stretched over years. “After that, I never saw her again.”

Johnny pictured a woman stepping out of the morgue, disappearing into an empty hallway—her back swallowed by darkness.

“You didn't try to find her?” Johnny asked.

“I did.” A faint smile touched Phoenix's lips. “But what could a ten-year-old do? I told the police; they thought it was just a traumatized child's hallucination.”

Johnny frowned. “And after that?”

“I grew up.” Phoenix spread her hands. “That memory slowly faded, replaced by everyday life; I started doubting if I even remembered it right.” Her voice dropped. “Until today.”

Johnny was silent for a long moment, sorting through a tangled mess of thoughts.

“So… your current state might be the same kind of phenomenon your mother went through back then.”

Phoenix nodded. “Maybe.”

They looked at each other. The cold hum of the storage unit seemed to breathe along with them.

“We need to form some hypotheses.” Johnny finally said. “First—this might be a rare physiological condition, something like apparent death, but lasting unusually long.”

“Second—” Phoenix finished, “some external force unknown to us is manipulating things. Maybe… I was pulled back into my body by some power.”

“Third—” Johnny's eyes darkened, “this isn't biological resurrection at all, but a transfer of consciousness.”

Phoenix raised an eyebrow. “Sounds like sci-fi.”

“But what's happening here isn't exactly sci-fi, is it?” Johnny replied.

Phoenix was silent, then sighed slowly. “Fine. How do you plan to test those theories?”

Johnny didn't answer immediately, staring at her as if searching her eyes for clues. “I haven't figured that part out yet.”

Phoenix snorted. “Then no need to reach any conclusions. After all…” She tapped her chest lightly. “Whatever the cause, I'm still here.”

Cold air seemed to spread from her fingertips, like an invisible crack slowly opening.

Johnny touched his neck, reflexively checking his pulse as if to confirm he was still alive after hearing her say, “I'm still here.”

“But don't you think this is way too coincidental?” He lowered his voice. “The same thing happened to your mother, and now it's happening to you.”

Phoenix looked up; her gaze was sharp like a blade. “You suspect me?”

“I suspect someone—or something—behind this is picking targets,” Johnny didn't back down. “And you just happen to be on the list.”

She stared for a moment, then smiled once—but the smile had no warmth. “Are you trying to scare me, or yourself?”

“I'm trying to find a pattern.” Johnny's hand tapped the clipboard, making a crisp noise. “If this was random, you wouldn't run into it twice. The odds are way too low.”

Phoenix curled her lips. “Maybe I'm just that astronomically unlucky.”

“But your mother disappeared.” Johnny clung to that thread. “If her case was like yours… she probably didn't leave on her own.”

“What do you mean?” Her tone sharpened suddenly.

“I mean—maybe she was taken.” Johnny's words came through clenched teeth. “Whoever took her, and whoever brought you back, they're the same people.”

The air seemed to compress, even the hum of the cold storage got heavier.

Phoenix was quiet for a few seconds, then shot back with a half-smile, half-sneer. “You sound like a horror movie writer.”

“This is a morgue, not a movie set.” Johnny's eyes didn't blink. “I need to know how long you'll last, or if—”

“Or if I'll vanish like my mother, without anyone noticing?” Phoenix finished for him, her voice cold. “You're planting a death flag.”

Johnny didn't laugh; he put the clipboard away. “Promise me one thing.”

“What?”

“No matter what happens, don't leave my sight alone.”

Phoenix c****d her head, studying him. “Are you afraid I'll get hurt, or afraid I'll hurt someone?”

“Both.” Johnny said honestly.

She stared long, then let out a light, careless laugh. “You really are a useless forensic doctor—afraid of the dead and afraid of the living dead.”

“Shut up.” Johnny tightened his fingers slightly. “I'm serious.”

Phoenix didn't answer right away. She turned, walked to the cold storage unit, and pressed her hand against the cold metal door.

“You know, I used to think that day was a dream.” She said without looking back. “Only today did I realize… nightmares can wait until you grow up.”

Johnny's stomach clenched—it wasn't mockery, just old pain.

He stepped closer. “So you're scared.”

Phoenix didn't look back. “Of course. Who wouldn't be? But being scared doesn't help.” She slowly pulled her hand away. “You can investigate if you want, but I'll tell you this—if what you find breaks your normal view of the world, are you ready?”

Johnny met her gaze without flinching. “I lost the normal view the moment you opened your eyes on that table.”

They looked at each other, as if sealing a silent pact.

“All right.” Phoenix shrugged, relaxing back into her casual pose. “Then we'll be like Holmes and… uh, a resurrected Watson, investigating together.”

“You're more like a restless suspect.” Johnny said coldly.

“Suspects have to put on makeup before they run.” Phoenix turned, grabbed a scalpel from the table, used the blade as a mirror, and reapplied her lipstick. “Shade—Plasma Red.”

Johnny watched her, but in his mind, he was already running through scenarios—the mother's disappearance, resurrection a decade later, the matching traits… no way this was coincidence. But whether this led to the truth or deeper darkness, he didn't know yet.

“Then let's start.” He said.

Phoenix raised an eyebrow. “Now?”

“Now.” Johnny snapped the clipboard shut. “While we're still alive.”

The lamp at the end of the hallway flickered twice and buzzed softly, like a quiet signal.

They stared at each other, neither moving first, but the air seemed to drop several degrees.

The morgue door was pushed open gently from the outside