My Immortal Read Free

yet to release to the press?”
    Roman glared at the man who had issued the provocative question. He said nothing as he scooped up the folder and stalked from the room.
     
    Just after eleven o’clock that night, Adele slipped into the front door of the city morgue. She looked both ways before making sure her unusual hair was tucked up under a cap, and then slid the key into the pocket of the large, curve-concealing coveralls. Adele had learned early on in her career that it always paid to know a good locksmith with questionable ethics.
    For Adele, the e nds always justified the means.
    She ducked her head as she passed other janitors on the lower floor, before quickly making her way up the stairs to the main offices of the coroner.
    After pushing the door shut behind her, she pulled a tiny flashlight from one pocket and her camera phone from the other. Of all the cabinets that lined the opposite wall, Adele headed straight toward the one that was locked.
    She pulled a pick from her cap and fiddled with the lock until a resounding click echoed through the eerily quiet room. The drawer slid open and Adele stuck the small flashlight in her mouth as her gloved fingers fumbled through the files. There was a tremor in her hands as she stopped on the file that read, “Maldonado, Lily.”
    She flipped the file open and began to take photos of the contents, not even stopping to read. She had no time to waste, and being in a place permeated in death was doing a serious number on her nerves. She could check the p ages out on her computer later. At that moment she just wanted to get her sneaky task over and done with.
    Page after page swished from one side to the other. Then from out of nowhere a photo slipped from the stack and floated gracefully to the floor. Adele stooped immediately to retrieve it and then sucked in a breath as she turned the photo over. The flashlight slipped from between her lips and clattered to the floor. Out in the hall something thudded and thumped, which prompted Adele to throw the photo into the file and shove it back inside the cabinet.
    She snatched the flashlight from the floor as she scooted from the room. Another janitor passed by, tipping his head toward her. She returned the nod and kept her face turned slightly away. That was when she noticed the door to the examination room.
    In that room laid the body of a dead child she had inexplicably dreamed she killed. Beyond anything else Adele knew she didn’t want to go into that room or see that child.
    But she also knew she had no choice.
    She absently brushed away the indistinguishable voices that instantly buzzed in her ear like a swarm of gnats. It was a legion of familiar ghosts that always seemed to follow her wherever she went, so much so their intrusion was more bothersome than worrisome. Instead she turned her focus toward the end of the hall where the other janitor turned out of sight, giving Adele a golden opportunity to explore what lay beyond the door she was inching cautiously towards in spite of herself.
    With a deep breath she pushed the door open. Even the air inside the room was as still and cold as death, which was appropriate, but it wasn’t making her job any easier. Death and mortality were topics best shoved under a rug somewhere, a distant reality that wouldn’t come any sooner or any slower with any examination. Like many, Adele couldn’t stand cemeteries, she couldn’t deal with funerals; she just hated the finality of it all. It was a ticking clock that just got louder whenever she had to think about it – and thanks to this new case that was all she could think about.
    No wonder she couldn’t sleep.
    She gulped hard as she shut the door behind her, eyeballing the endless vaults on the other end of the room. She squared her shoulders and headed toward the two vaults that had name tags.
    She stopped short when she read “Maldonado” on the outside of one of the vaults. She fought back the images flashing through her mind