Page 7 of The Arbiter
I wipe the scene the way I always do. Fingerprints, fibers, entry points. Habit is a muscle memory. But I don’t erase everything. A camera across the street will catch the edge of my silhouette. A reflection in glass. A shadow that moves wrong. News spreads quickly when something doesn’t fit the pattern. And this won’t.
Back in the car, I remove my gloves slowly. The white strand falls over my forehead again when I lower my head. I don’t fix it this time.
She’ll open him under sterile lights. She’ll make the first incision without knowing. She’ll understand that this wasn’t negligence. It wasn’t sloppiness. It was a choice. I didn’t break protocol. I broke it to her.
A few hours pass as I monitor the building’s cameras. A system I already know better than the men who installed it.
Madeline sits in her office. Clueless.
The feed flickers before stabilizing. The back entrance. Headlights cut through the rain-soaked darkness. A sanitary vehicle pulls in. Her best friend.
I recognize her now. I made sure I did. Best friend. Confidante. The one who laughs too loudly in archived photographs. The one who stands too close in every image. She steps out first. Then the gurney. Black body bag. Delivered to the back door like cargo. Like a gift.My gift.
I lean back in the driver’s seat, studying the angle of the camera. The way the fluorescent lights hit the wet pavement. Somewhere in that building, Madeline is about to meet me again. She just doesn’t know it yet.
A few minutes later, I’m already behind the corner near the back entrance. Close enough. Hidden. Tonight, I want my entrance to feel different. Cutting the electricity would be predictable. I’ll make them both paranoid first.
I pick up a rock and throw it into the darkness near the sanitary vehicle. Then I listen to the sound of two best friends pretending they aren’t afraid.
“Did you fucking hear that?”
Lucy asks, her head snapping toward the loud noise.
Silence stretches between them. I know my little pathologist is already analyzing the situation in that sharp, methodical mind of hers.
“It’s late, no one should be here. Especially not on private property,” Madeline states. Her voice is quiet.
“Maybe it’s your annoying ex again. Stalking your pretty face,” her friend jokes.
My jaw tightens so hard my teeth nearly crack. What ex? The thought flashes hot and ugly before Madeline responds.
“Oh shut up,” she mutters, her eyes rolling.
“Bitch, stop reminding me about him.”
Lucy laughs, throwing her hands up in surrender. Then they move closer where the sound came from. Curious. Exactly what I wanted.
While their attention is elsewhere, I slip toward the back door and enter the mortuary. Easy. I head straight to the autopsy room. My hidden spot. The one I used the first time.
I know how to trick the motion sensors now. But more importantly. I know how to use them to my advantage. How to make them react. How to make her doubt what she sees.
The security cameras show nothing unusual. Because of me. Because I allow them to. I don’t want to deal with security tonight. Bryan. I know all about him too. Annoying gym rat, thinks he’s untouchable. Cocky. Narcissistic. I despise those personality traits. And he owns them all. Madeline has a friendly relationship with him. I despise that even more.
But the ex Lucy mentioned, that’s my next project. No one else gets to stalk my little storm. Only me. The thought settles into my mind with dangerous calm. I don’t act out of jealousy. I act out of correction.
Footsteps echo down the corridor outside. Then, the metallic screech of wheels. The trolley. How convenient. They push it into the autopsy room together.
“It’s fucking heavy, I’ll have a monstrous biceps at the end of this career,” Lucy groans, slightly out of breath.
Madeline laughs softly at that. The sound hits me harder than it should.
The trolley stops in the center of the room. Perfect. Perfect for my view. They stand there for a moment, catching their breath. Then they move the body off the trolley, right on the dissection table. The one she’s always working on.
“So let me guess,” Madeline says as she reaches for the zipper.
“Another victim of The Arbiter.”
My eyes linger on her fingers as she opens the bag. Slow. Careful. Professional.
