For the second time in his life, Matheus woke up naked, in a strange bed. Although, calling the gurney a bed might be a stretch. Corpses didn’t require comfort. Matheus sat up, the papery blanket falling to his waist. He peered down at his chest. No Y-incision. He glanced around; judging from the assortment of cloth-covered lumps, the morgue had plenty of work without starting on him. Matheus hoped the cops felt terrible when the paramedics carried his body out of the cell. Maybe the next time someone called for a rescue, they’d step it up a notch.
“Alistair?” Matheus’ voice echoed off the metal walls.
He climbed off the gurney, wrapping the thin blanket around himself. The air had a closed in, metallic smell. Frost coated the lower half of the walls. About two dozen gurneys stood in neat rows, all but a few occupied. Matheus shivered, hopping from foot to foot as the cold stung his bare feet. Something scratched over the floor. Matheus reached down, removing the card tied around his toe.