Page 65 of Not This Night

Rachel grunted back, dangling precariously as she tried to leverage herself higher. Her breaths came out in short bursts, fogging the air as dusk settled around them. Every second counted.

She wouldn’t wait. Not now. Time was slipping.

Ethan gave a final boost, propelling her upward until she could peek through the dusty pane into the dim interior of the coroner's office.

Rachel's fingers clenched around the window’s edge, her boots scraping against the brick as she pushed and shoved. The stubborn frame wouldn't budge—an unanticipated adversary in an already fraught night.

"Damn it," she hissed between gritted teeth, giving the window one last aggressive rattle. It remained sealed, mocking her efforts with its immobility.

"Anything?" Ethan called up from below, a hint of worry threading through his otherwise calm demeanor.

"Jammed tight," Rachel replied, her voice edged with frustration.

Ethan frowned, thoughts racing for another way in. But Rachel was already descending, her movements brusque and urgent. Her boots hit the ground with a thud that echoed her mounting impatience.

"Let's circle—" Her words cut short as the sharp buzz of her phone broke the silence. She snatched it from her belt, eyes scanning the screen.

"Simmons," she muttered, thumbing the message open.

"Can't make it tonight. Family event. Will be in first thing tomorrow. - Dr. S"

"Tomorrow?" Rachel's voice spiked, disbelief and anger warring for dominance. "He picks now for family time?"

"Rae," Ethan started, but she was already typing a response, her thumbs a blur of motion.

"Unacceptable. This is urgent." She hit send, the blue bubble of her text floating in the digital void.

"Maybe he'll reconsider," Ethan offered, though the uncertainty in his voice suggested he didn't believe it any more than she did.

"Maybe pigs will fly," Rachel snapped, shoving the device back onto her belt. Her mind raced, every second wasted gnawing at her resolve like acid.

Muscles tense, Rachel scanned the area, her eyes locking onto a hefty rock nestled under the gnarled branches of a live oak. With swift strides, she closed the distance, snatching the rough stone in one fluid motion.

"Rae, hold on," Ethan's voice came from behind, tinged with caution. "We can't just—"

"Can't what, wait for Simmons to finish his pot roast?" Her words were clipped, sharp as flint.

The glass door loomed before them. Rachel's heart drummed a warrior's rhythm against her ribs. There was no turning back now. She hefted the rock, feeling its weight, solid and real in her hands.

Ethan stepped closer, his tone a mix of plea and reprimand. "Dammit, Rachel, slipping a window is one thing, but this is—"

Before Ethan could object further, Rachel swung the rock. The crash of shattering glass cut through the night, shards cascading like crystal rain. An alarm began to blare.

"Darn it, Rae." Ethan's whisper barely reached her over the ringing in her ears.

"Help me clear this," she commanded, already pulling away the jagged edges with gloved hands. The cool night air rushed through the newly formed breach, carrying with it the sterile scent of antiseptic and death.

"Fine," Ethan grumbled, stepping forward to assist. "But we're gonna have one hell of a report to write after this."

Rachel didn't respond. All that mattered was the path forward—the search for a killer that had just taken an unexpected detour through a broken doorway.

Ethan's footsteps echoed Rachel's as they crossed the threshold, glass crunching under their boots. His brow furrowed, a silent question about the path they'd just taken. She knew it was wrong, but necessary. The fluorescent lights flickered overhead, casting an eerie glow on the stainless steel that lined the morgue's interior.

"Rae, if we're caught—" he started.

"We won't be," she cut him off, her voice laced with iron.

Rachel strode forward, every step purposeful. They passed empty gurneys and closed office doors, the hum of refrigeration units growing louder as they approached the core of the coroner's sanctum. Her heart thumped, not from fear, but from the anticipation of what lay beyond the steel doors of the refrigerator compartments.

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