I slink down into the burgundy chair. Rachel’s favorite.
I’m more pissed off over the fact that he gave me the wrong key. Me and Kimmie tried it out, but it wouldn’t budge. I checked the dot pattern on it—two dots lined up like on a die—comparing it to the Ankh keys on the chart. Yep, it’s the wrong one.
So, I’ve got this seemingly useless key, and it seems that I am in the process of collecting the whole set.
Another thought occurs to me. There is a key under the bed that I’m not supposed to follow the instructions for until I’ve read Rachel’s journal. What if that key has something to do with the one Zand gave me? So many damn keys! I never really thought about how these old mansions would have so many.
Sitting in my sister’s chair, a terrible feeling sinks in. In the past, I learned not to ask questions about things I suspected had unsavory answers, especially in regard to Rachel. But what if…
What if she’s still alive?
The odds are so low. But what if?
She knew she would die. She put me in her will. She requested that I look through her personal things, and I’ve been stalling for fear of what I may find. I’m doing it all over again, avoiding the pain of knowing that somebody hurt Rachel. It makes me sick.
No more.
I stand, going to the desk where I pull out the black folder, opening to the first page.
Le Morte
Rachel
Mortician’s Daughter
My work begins where yours ends.
Never a new day, always a new night, like that which blooms in moonlight, shining dully over slumbering relic.
Rendering your chill cadaver. Draining, filling, shaping, sealing with needle, balm, and thread, dabbing ivory, rose, nude, and umber.
For I am always the last responder -R
Blorgans
Rachel
DO NOT put organs in blood fridge/freezer
or get yelled at again!
“Blood & Organs = big bucks, Rach.”
“Shh. Strictly family business, Rach.”
“You tell, you die, Rach.”
BLAH BLAH BLAH
Notes
Process
1. Pour solution into sterile container.
2. Refrigerate the solution at 35 degrees.
3. Prepare the organ, flushing the blood.