9 Chapter 9
Vincent burst through the emergency room doors, his eyes wild as he frantically scanned
the staff, a man possessed.
“Who called me from this number?!”
He forced his legs to move, taking one slow step after another toward the gurney. He searched for some sliver of hope on the corpse, a body so ravaged it was barely recognizable as human.
He located the spot on the corpse’s side.
“So,” a voice said to someone watching the feed, “are you satisfied?”
He lurched toward the gurney, his hands hovering over the reeking corpse, desperately searching for one last piece of proof.
“No… It can’t be…”
In the sterile silence of the morgue, father and son crumpled, their faces streaked with tears as they were consumed by a regret that would never end.
The sight of the gurney rooted Vincent to the spot. It was fear, cold and sharp, paralyzing him. Fear that under that sheet lay Isabella, and with her, any chance he had of ever earning her forgiveness.
Vincent eyed her with suspicion. “I am. Are you the thief who called me?”
Vincent snatched the file and stared at the details.
The moment he saw it, Vincent’s pupils constricted. His entire body started to shake.
But how could she have died from chemical burns? It had to be a mistake.
Hearing the sound, a wave of nausea rose in Vincent’s own throat, but he swallowed it down.
He had to find proof. Proof that this ravaged thing was not Isabella.
The name, the date of birth, the description… it was all Isabella.
It was her. It was really her.
That’s it! The scar.
“How could I not recognize my own mom!”
What they didn’t know was that a nearby nurse was holding up a phone, live-streaming
the entire scene.
“I would recognize Isabella anywhere!”
Inside, a single metal gurney stood in the center of the room, a body-length shape
covered by a white sheet.
A body, corroded and charred black, was revealed.
Luke had never witnessed such a horrifying sight. The stench and the image assaulted
him at once.
It was tossed aside.
A guttural retch escaped him, and he doubled over, vomiting on the cold floor.
“Come with me.” As she led the way, she explained, “The police found her in an
abandoned cold storage facility. There was a large amount of sulfuric acid at the scene.
It’s been preliminarily ruled a suicide.”
An overwhelming wave of regret and devastation finally crushed him.
Luke, however, felt no such hesitation. He only wanted to see his mother. He rushed
forward and yanked the white sheet away.
Vincent squinted, his eyes tracing the discolored flesh.
It was their wedding ring. He remembered her words, years ago: “Unless I die, I will never, ever take this ring off.”
Luke, still retching nearby, finally understood in that moment what true loss was.
“By the way,” the nurse said softly, “we found this ring on her.”
The nurse just shook her head and turned.
Loss meant the mother who would have sacrificed her life for him was gone forever.
“This is my wife, yes, but I refuse to believe this happened! There’s been a mistake!”
He remembered the distinct scar on her waist, from a shard of glass that had been meant
for Luke.
“Ahhhh!”
In front of a computer screen, a man casually crossed his legs.
She held out a simple gold band.
Just then, they arrived at the double doors of the morgue.
“You must be Isabella’s husband,” a plain-faced nurse said, approaching with a clipboard.
“The body has been severely corroded, so you may not be able to…”
Northwestern Memorial Hospital.
“Impossible!” Vincent and Luke interrupted in unison.
Seeing their fierce certainty, the nurse said no more. She pushed open a door and stepped aside, letting them enter.
Tears blurred his vision.
He collapsed to his knees, a raw, heart-wrenching scream tearing from his throat.
Though the body was horribly damaged, he could still make out the faint, tell-tale outline of the scar.
The nurse rolled her eyes. “Sir, this is the file for the patient who was brought in. You can see for yourself.”
