The mortuary was saturated with the sterile sting of disinfectant, its fluorescent lights flickering ominously above the rows of still bodies resting beneath white sheets. A type of unnatural quiet reigned, the only sounds being the distant hum of machinery and the far-off echoes of hurried footsteps, muffled by thick walls.
Rossie Carter stood resolutely beside one of the metal tables, the faint green glow of her moonflower bracelet pulsing softly at her wrist...an eerie beacon in this chilling environment.
Her hazel eyes, tinged now with a strange, luminous green, were fixed intently on the boy who had been shot by her father's team.
An inexplicable unease settled in her stomach. He looked too peaceful for someone who had just faced death...a serene mask marred only by the tragic circumstances that had brought him here.
With careful hands, Rossie peeled back the shroud covering the boy, her heart racing as she tried to reconcile the stark reality of the scene before her. As she examined his chest, a chill slid down her spine.
There, where bullet wounds should have left brutal, ragged holes, she saw the flesh knitting itself together...slowly, impossibly, as if some unseen force was healing him from within.
Each pulse of the moonflower at her wrist seemed to synchronize with the miraculous, unsettling sight.
Rossie's breath caught. She pressed the hospital buzzer, the sound echoing harshly in the stillness, and summoned the mortuary attendant. The woman arrived quickly, her face drawn and tired, a heavy weight of exhaustion settling into her features.
"Look," Rossie pointed, voice barely above a whisper, her heart racing with a mixture of fear and hope. "The wound,..it's closing up."
The attendant glanced at the boy on the table and her skepticism was palpable as she frowned.
"That's not possible. Post-mortems don't heal. It has to be a trick of the light or your imagination."
"No," Rossie protested, shaking her head vehemently. Dread mingled with wonder, coiling tightly in her chest.
"Just… keep watch. Something's wrong."
Without waiting for a response, she turned and fled the icy room, pulling out her phone to call her father, her fingers trembling as she dialed.
"Dad," she hissed urgently into the receiver, the words tumbling out in a rush.
"The boy from the shooting - I think he's… healing. Like he's not really dead."
A confused murmur crackled through the line, mixed with concern.
"Stay there; don't do anything rash. I'll send backup."
Just as she hung up, the air shifted. A flash of movement at the hospital reception caught her eye.
A hooded figure slipped past—Silas, one of the occult members she had confronted before, his posture unmistakably furtive.
The moment their eyes met, panic surged within her. Silas hastily turned away, but not quick enough. Rossie's sharp gaze bore into him, honing in on the potential threat he represented.
She trailed him as he traversed the corridor, her heart racing with each hurried step. Silas moved with tense purpose, eventually entering an unused storage room.
Rossie's instincts screamed at her, and she followed, acutely aware that she was stepping deeper into a web of danger. The moonflower bracelet pulsed against her skin, its magic heightening her senses.
Suddenly, Silas leapt from the shadows, his nails elongated into deadly claws glinting ominously under the harsh fluorescent lights. Rossie reacted on instinct, fueled by the surge of moonlight-fueled speed coursing through her veins. She dodged his attack effortlessly, pivoting with a fluid grace that surprised even her.
Grabbing his wrists in a vice grip, she flung Silas across the room. He crashed into the wall with a bone-jarring thud, shock registering on his face.
"Silas," Rossie warned breathlessly, keeping her stance ready for another fight.
"Don't be stupid. We're in a hospital_don't create chaos. Just answer me: why are you here? What does the occult want with the mortuary?"
Silas snarled, lips curling back from his teeth, silent and defiant. He rushed her once again - only for Rossie to parry his attack with ease, sending him sprawling a second time. The struggle intensified, both combatants locked in a delicate dance of power and cunning.
"Enough! I don't want to hurt you, but you need to cooperate." Her voice rang with authority, desperation lacing her every word.
Before Silas could answer, a loud, metallic bang echoed from the mortuary, a sound that shattered the tense atmosphere completely. Alarms blared to life, their shrill cries merging with the panicked screams of orderlies, scrambling for safety as chaos erupted around them.
Rossie's head whipped toward the door, panic etching deep lines across her features.
With a wild surge of adrenaline, Silas sprang to his feet and barreled out of the room, disappearing into the maelstrom of chaos. Rossie, torn between pursuing him or returning to the mortuary, opted for the latter. She dashed back through the pandemonium, her heart pounding in her chest like a drum.
What she found in the mortuary sent shockwaves through her very being. Doctors and nurses stared in astonishment at the scene before them: the metal door was buckled outward, glass shattered across the tiles like jagged ice.
The body of the shot boy was gone, the empty slab an astonishing testimony to an unnatural escape. The attending physician muttered in disbelief, his voice trembling, "He… he just broke through the door. He wasn't dead after all."
Rossie arrived at the scene breathless, heart racing in her ears. The mystifying escape, Silas's presence, and evidence of occult healing left her suffocating in uncertainty and dread. As she surveyed the scene, her fingers brushed instinctively against the moonflower bracelet, its power pulsing with an alarming intensity.
She glanced back at the twisted door, and for the briefest of moments, she swore she saw a flicker of movement....a shadow darting through the sterile white halls. Her instincts flared.
What kind of force was animating the boy?
What was Silas' true role in all this?
The shrieks of orderlies soon faded, leaving behind an unsettling quiet.
An air of dread thickened as Rossie realized that whatever had brought the boy back- a malignant force weaving through the fabric of reality was far from finished with them.