Sasha took the elevator down to the morgue, a place she absolutely detested. Even though she was a skilled surgeon who had watched countless lives slip away on operating tables, the morgue always unsettled her in a way the ER never could. The sterile, freezing air. The eerie silence broken only by the hum of refrigeration units. The ever-present scent of chemicals and something faintly metallic, like rust and old blood. It was a place where hope didn't follow you.
As the elevator doors opened with a soft ding, a chill ran down her spine.
She wrapped her lab coat tighter around herself and stepped inside the quiet morgue.
"What can I do for you, Smith?" she asked curtly as she entered, her voice echoing faintly off the tiled walls.
"Dr. McCall, thanks for coming," Dr. Smith said, walking over to a gurney in the center of the room. A white sheet draped over it concealed the still form beneath.
"Yeah, no problem," Sasha muttered, keeping her distance at first.
"It's about your patient that died last night," he said, lifting the sheet with careful hands. The man's pale, lifeless face came into view. "This might sound a little weird, but... while examining him, I could've sworn I heard him breathing."
Sasha arched a brow, stepping closer. "What do you mean, you heard him breathing?"
Dr. Smith looked sheepish but determined. "It was faint. Raspy. Shallow. Like a death rattle... but more rhythmic. Like a breath trying to come through collapsed lungs."
She looked at him skeptically.
"Look, doctor, I know how it sounds," he added, seeing the suspicion in her eyes. "But I swear... just listen."
Sasha leaned in slightly, inspecting the body for herself. Cold skin. Rigid limbs. All signs of classic postmortem rigidity.
"So what did you do?" she asked, arms folded.
"I began examining him more closely. I checked his vitals again, but nothing. Flatline. No pupils reacting to light. So then... I opened him up again."
Sasha's brows drew together. "And?"
"His heart," Dr. Smith said slowly. "His heart was still pulsing inside his chest. Not fast, not erratic. Just... slow and steady. For at least thirty seconds before it stopped completely."
Sasha blinked. "Wait... what?"
"I know what I saw," he said. "I stared at it long enough, questioning my own sanity. But it was real."
Dr. Smith walked over to a nearby table, where a covered metal tray sat. The clang of his shoes against the floor echoed ominously.
"You have to understand how crazy this sounds, right?" Sasha said, her tone flat but uneasy.
"Yes. But don't call me crazy just yet." He removed the white sheet from the body and handed her a kidney dish containing the man's heart.
It was grotesque.
Charcoal black, shrunken in some places, bloated in others. The texture looked leathery and patchy like parts had begun rotting while others still clung to life.
Sasha furrowed her brow and leaned closer. "Why is it like this?" she muttered.
Dr. Smith pointed with a gloved finger. "Notice the aorta and right ventricle? It's in a state of advanced necrosis. But the left ventricle... look. It's practically untouched. Smooth, even pink in some places."
"That doesn't make sense," Sasha whispered. "That kind of selective decay doesn't happen, certainly not inside a human body while the rest of it remains intact."
"I know," he nodded. "But it was the necrotic side that was pulsating."
"What the hell... His blood work didn't show any infections," Sasha muttered, mind racing. "No cardiac abnormalities. He was healthy... or, at least, he should've been. He died from the trauma sustained in the crash. Nothing more."
"Well, this is the first time I've ever seen something like this," Dr. Smith said, still staring at the heart with a mixture of fear and awe.
"Me too," Sasha replied. "But logically this is just—"
"I think the chief needs to see this," he cut in.
Sasha nodded. "Yeah. And you need to get a tissue sample to pathology. Stat."
"I'll get it prepped," Smith said, already reaching for the necessary equipment.
Sasha checked her watch. Damn. She was already ten minutes late.
"Let me know when the results come in," she told him before heading for the elevator. "I'll find the chief."
Without another word, she exited, her heels clicking with purpose on the sterile floor.
******
When she reached the supply closet, Dr. Fletcher was already there, waiting. His brows were pinched together, his shoulders tense. But the moment he saw her, he gave her a smile.
"You're late," he said, though not unkindly.
"I know," Sasha replied, brushing past him. "I had to go to the morgue. By the way, Dr. Smith needs to see you after this. Something strange came up regarding one of the patients from last night."
"I'll check in with him," Fletcher said. "Now—"
Sasha didn't wait. "Now let's not waste any more time," she whispered, her lips curling into a mischievous grin. With practiced hands, she untied the strings of his scrubs and pressed herself against him. Her mouth found his neck, sucking gently at the soft skin beneath his jaw. She knew exactly how to melt him.
Fletcher groaned and gently eased her back. "Wait, wait..."
"What?" she asked breathlessly, already tugging at his waistband.
"I—stop," he said. "I can't."
She tilted her head. "What do you mean? You want me to do the work? Fine." She shoved him playfully to the floor. "Lie down, and I'll ride you cowgirl style."
Sasha stood above him, fingers sliding into the waistband of her scrubs, eyes blazing with anticipation.
But Fletcher grabbed her wrist.
"No, Sasha. I mean it. I can't have sex with you. We need to stop this."
The words hung in the air like fog.
She froze. Slowly backed away, letting her scrubs fall back into place. Her face was unreadable.
"...So why did you page me?" she asked coldly.
Fletcher stood up, brushing off his pants. "Sasha... I need to tell you something."
"It's about that ex-girlfriend of yours, isn't it?" Sasha's voice was sharp now, accusing. "I told you, I don't do married men or guys in relationships. You said you were single when we started this."
"She's not my girlfriend," he said slowly. "She's..."
"Then what's the problem?" Sasha stepped forward, a smile tugging at her lips again. She reached for his scrubs.
Fletcher caught her hand. Firmly, this time.
"No, Sasha. I proposed to her. We're engaged."
Sasha's hand stilled midair.
Engaged?
The room went silent. Her palm lifted before she even realized it, and the sharp smack of her slap echoed off the supply closet walls.
That single strike was more than pain, it was betrayal, fury, and heartbreak all at once.
"You were seeing her the entire time we were sleeping together?" she hissed. "That was our one rule! If either of us gets serious with someone else, we tell each other! How long have you been seeing her again?"
Fletcher looked away. "It's been three months," he admitted.
"Three months?" Her voice cracked.
He nodded, rubbing his reddened cheek.
"GET THE FUCK OUT!" Sasha screamed, pointing toward the door.
"Sasha, I am sorry. But what did you expect?" he asked, voice trembling. "I told you I wanted more than this. More than ten stolen minutes in a damn closet. You never wanted a real relationship. You said you couldn't do that."
Sasha glared at him, fury swimming in her eyes. "You don't need to be sorry. Just be gone."
Fletcher walked to the door. Before leaving, he looked back at her, his face softening.
"I know we're mature enough not to let this affect our work. I just hope we can still be friends."
A bedpan flew through the air.
"KISS MY BLACK ASS!" Sasha roared.
Fletcher ducked, the metal pan crashing into the doorframe with a loud clang. He quickly ducked out and closed the door behind him.
"...I'm truly sorry," she heard him mutter faintly before his footsteps disappeared down the hallway.
Sasha stayed in the supply closet for another two minutes. Long enough for her heart to stop racing. Long enough to stop shaking.
She leaned against a metal shelf and took a deep breath. Then another.
In.
Out.
She straightened her posture, collected her lab coat from the hook, and slung it over her shoulder.
"You get what you give," she muttered to herself.
Her voice was calm, but something inside her had cracked.
She stepped outside, shoulders square, jaw set, heading back to the cafeteria to finish the lunch she no longer had an appetite for.
But at least out there... no one was trying to dissect her heart.