26. My Gifts Come In Body Bags

My heart pounds out of my chest, and I shoot up in bed. Waking to Egor's barking is something new. He only does that if he's outside, happily chasing squirrels. I blink rapidly and rub the heels of my palms over my eyes.

"Egor?" My feet land on the hardwood floors. I don't take the time to put on my slippers or robe. "Egor?" He doesn"t enter my room as he typically does, padding along with his cheerful, carefree self. No. He's nowhere to be found. "Egor!" I'm panicking now, racing around my apartment. When I hear the barking again, I realize it's coming from outside. What is he doing outside? "Egor!" I scream, opening my back door.

The white fluff ball darts past me into my kitchen, his mouth dripping with slobber.

"What were you doing outside?" I scold him. He sits at my feet with his head tilted to the side. "Don't look at me like that, Mister." I jab my finger at him. "I didn't let you out."

But who did?

My head pounds like it has its own heartbeat. I didn't let him out. I know I didn't. That's not something I would do. I wouldn't leave him outside and forget about him because I couldn't have fallen asleep without him in his doggie bed next to me.

I crouch to wrap my arms around his neck. "You can't go out there without me knowing, buddy. What if I had lost you?"

There's no way he could've let himself out, and I know I'm saying this to him more to make myself feel better. I must've been exhausted when I got home from the club. Yeah, that's it? There's a niggling in my brain, though, that tells me otherwise. To put myself at ease, I check the rest of my apartment, but nothing seems out of sorts. So freakin weird.

Egor whines and nudges my hip. "Alright, I've got to get ready for work, bud." I pat him on the head before returning to my room to dress for another long, boring day in the morgue.

I miss the thrill I once got from the job. If it wasn't for the excitement the doctor brought into my life by stripping away my mental restriction, I'd still be locked in the same mindset. Instead, I'm seeking change, and it's nearly addictive. That's what I'm chasing. That sexual freedom. Someone who understands me.

After I've dressed for the day, I meander to my office. I have an extensive day today with family coming in to finalize their funeral arrangements and stiff, dead faces to make a masterpiece. A little rouge on the cheeks after applying a layer of concealer really helps to liven up the body. I'm going through my mental to-do list for the day when I open the door to the morgue.

In the middle of the room, lying on a cadaver table, is a human-shaped figure covered in a white plastic body bag.

"I didn't leave this out here," I voice out loud so I don't feel so alone.

I would never leave a body out like this still wrapped in a body bag unless I had to run out for a call, and I didn't have one last night. The events from last night into this morning are as clear as ever. I didn't drink or do drugs, so it's not like I did it and forgot. My mind reels at various possibilities, but I come up short every time. As I approach the table, a yellow note stands out, making the dormant bats in my abdomen flutter to life. It's stuck to the top of the bag with a messy scrawl.

‘If you try to take another man home,

I'll send them to you in pieces instead of a body bag.'

-King

Ripping the piece of paper off the bag, I clutch it to my chest.

"It worked."