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Dani

Kneeling on the unforgiving wooden floor, the acrid smell of cleaning solutions’ hangs in the air like a heavy shroud.

It mingles unpleasantly with the relentless odor of decay that has seeped into every crevice of the room.

The grotesque combination twists my stomach, a visceral reaction that makes me fight the urge to puke.

It has been months, and I’m still not accustomed to the pungent smell of death.

The stench of rotting bodies permeates the wooden surroundings and clings to my senses. It’s a scent that tells of lifetimes lost and the finality of existence, and it was one I find deeply unsettling.

While I have always held a fascination for the mysteries of death and what lies beyond, the reality of its odor is something I can never quite acclimate to.

The room is steeped in shadows, creating a gloomy atmosphere that contrasts sharply with the incredibly rare ray of sunlight flooding in through the grimy, cracked windows.

The light spills across the floor, illuminating dust motes that dance lazily in the shafts of golden rays, yet it does little to dispel the sense of foreboding that lingers within the space.

If this scene isn’t the archetypal setting for a chilling murder mystery movie, then I don’t know what would be.

“What happened here, anyway?” I ask Jules curiously, who surveys the scene around us with a broad smile as if she were a child on Christmas morning .

Jules and I have always loved doom and gloom, so I had no problem taking this job with her.

Crime scenes fascinate me, just like death does. I’m the type of girl who falls asleep to horror movies and relaxes while watching murder documentaries.

Chunks of brain matter still sit splattered on the floor. Even though I should be mortified, I feel slightly excited with the thrill of this crime.

I know that’s messed up, but that’s me. I’m fucked up.

“I guess the father went cray cray and murdered his wife and son. He suspected she was cheating, so he shot her in their bed and then killed their son,” she points up the stairs, “and then he took his own life,” her hands dramatically gesture to my feet, where I stand on the blood-stained wooden floor.

“You’ll get used to it, Dani. We all do eventually,” Jules says as she nudges my shoulder.

“Please,” I say nonchalantly, attempting to mask my discomfort, “you know I have a penchant for crime. It’s just the odor that overwhelms me.”

“Danika, Julia! The floors aren’t going to clean themselves!” My eyes quickly dart at Spencer as he yells and walks up the stairs.

“I hate when he calls us by our full names. Makes me feel like a kid… I suppose you’ll say I’ll get used to him too?”

Jules laughs, “No, you will never get used to Spencer and his big ego. I swear, he thinks being Crime Scene Cleanup Supervisor makes him the most important person at any crime scene... I mean, for fuck’s sake, we are all here to be the clean-up crew.”

Yeah, I wasn’t ever going to get used to Spencer. I used to secretly want to fuck him because I enjoy having hate sex. Makes it more fun with zero connections afterwards. But after working with him these past few months, I loathe him.

Jules reaches out, her gloved hand grasping a sturdy scrub brush with worn bristles.

Then she hands me a thick, dark biohazard bag; its warning symbols stand out sharply against the plastic surface.

As she secures her mask tightly over her face, her eyes reveal a blend of determination and caution.

I quickly mimic her movements, pulling the mask over my face, the faint scent of disinfectant filling the air around us.

I methodically scrub the blood-stained floor; my muscles ache with the effort. With each deliberate brush stroke, the rhythm resonates in the stillness, a haunting reminder of the tragedy that recently unfolded within these walls.

Time drifts by, and after painstaking effort, we have gathered the remnants of what occurred and meticulously restored the space to an almost serene state. It’s as if the ghosts of the past have been buried beneath layers of fresh paint and diligent cleaning, leaving no trace of the grim scene.

“Want to grab a drink after work? A few of us are going to go to that one Irish pub in town. Maybe we can find you a man?!” Jules wiggles her perfectly polished eyebrows and bats her thick eyelashes at me.

Jules is always trying to match me up with someone.

I’m certainly not a prude, quite the opposite actually, but I’m also not really the relationship type.

She has been my best friend for 24 years.

When we were 7 years old, we became best friends after she pushed a boy that was picking on me off the balance beam on the playground.

He had to get seven stitches and never fucked with me again.

“I don’t know, Jules. It’s the same people every night.

Doesn’t that get tiring for you? I don’t know if I can handle one more drunk Devin getting into another bar fight.

Or Lisa complaining about her marriage. Or Brent going on and on about the ghosts in this town.

But I’ll consider—” I stop talking and notice a small patch of blood on the corner of the floor that I missed.

Jules notices my gaze and goes to clean it up, but I place my hand on her shoulder and stop her. “I got it. It’s fine, really. This was my section, so I’ll finish it up.”

“You sure babe? I don’t mind.”

“Yeah, it’s fine, really! Plus, you already took off your gear, and I still have mine on. Go, I’ll be fine to finish up. I’ll text you when I’m leaving here, ‘kay?”

“Alright, if you say so.” Jules turns her head towards the front door as Destiny and a few others walk out, “I call shotgun, bitches!” Jules smiles and gives me a wink. “Text me as soon as you’re done! I know Carter will be excited if you come out tonight.”

Just like Jules, I’ve known Carter my whole life. Once, he and I kissed at a high school party as a dare, but it didn’t spark anything for me. Unfortunately, I can’t say the same for him.

“I will. Promise.”

Jules is about to pinky-promise me, something we’ve done since we were kids, but she quickly stops when she realizes I still have my gloves on. “I’m holding you to that promise, babe!” she chirps, air-kissing me before heading out the door.

I release a long breath I didn’t realize I was holding and finish cleaning the one tiny spot I missed.

I squat down, examining the spot. Lost in my thoughts, I wonder why he really shot them. What drove him to pull the trigger? What drove him to that harrowing moment when he chose violence over words? His son was only 12 years old.. .

“Almost done, rookie?” Spencer’s voice cuts through the silence like a sudden crack of thunder, jolting me from my concentration.

I jump, almost falling over, and instinctively reach out to steady myself.

One hand finds the cool, textured surface of the wall while the other grips a loose floorboard that creaks under the pressure—a reminder of the old structure’s age and wear.

“You startle easily... hurry up with this; I can’t leave until you’re done since I’m in charge here. I’m going to pack everything up and expect you to be finished and have all your shit put back by the time I come back here. Got it?” His tone is harsh, he’s clearly annoyed.

If he wasn’t such a dick, he’d be incredibly good-looking. Spencer never fails to rub it in our faces that he is in charge...

“Aye, aye, Captain!” I joke, saluting him with my middle finger. He rolls his eyes and walks away. Spencer isn’t my boss, just my superior, so I have no problem being a bitch to him.

I quickly return to work, scrubbing the last little blood spot from the floor. I examine my work, making sure I actually get everything cleaned this time.

I push myself off the ground and I can’t help but notice that loose floorboard again. I push on it and realize no nails are holding this board in place. Something catches my eye—the faintest glimmer of light escaping from between two floorboards.

My body starts to hum, and I’m not sure if I’m about to faint.

Curious, I put my brush down in my bucket, remove my mask and gloves, and wipe my brow, glancing around to ensure I am alone.

I pry at the loose board with my fingers until it creaks ominously and pops free.

Dust billows up around me as I lean closer, my heartbeat quickening.

“What the hell is this?” I whisper to myself .

A dusty, black, leather-bound book is nestled in the shadows beneath the floor. Its cover is worn and cracked, and the title is barely legible.

I open the book. The sound it makes when I flip open the front cover is like a jaw cracking open from a deep sleep.

“Latin?” I whisper to myself, the word hanging in the air like an echo of a forgotten memory.

My grasp on the language may be somewhat rusty, but the word “Grimoire” stands out boldly in English on the book’s front cover, its faded letters almost beckoning me closer.

A thrill of intrigue surges through me and ignites a spark deep within my core, causing my senses to tingle and come alive as if the very essence of the book is coaxing me to uncover its secrets.

I am always captivated by the mystical and the enigmatic, yet this feels profoundly different—this is an invitation to delve into the shadowy depths of the arcane, something undeniably dark and alluring, waiting patiently for someone brave enough to explore its mysteries.

I laugh to myself. I can be so dramatic. It’s just a fuckin’ book.

With deliberate care, I lift the ancient grimoire from its concealed spot, shaking off the fine layer of dust that has settled like a cloak over its surface.

As the leather cover comes into view, I am fascinated by the designs embossed upon it—swirling spirals and cryptic symbols that seem to pulse with an energy of their own.

My fingers, tingling with anticipation, glide over the contours of the ornate patterns.

As I prepare to replace the creaking floorboard, something else catches my eye in the dim light filtering through the floor .

Curiosity piqued; I swiftly dip my hand into the dusty earth that lies beneath the wooden slats. My fingers brush against a small, oval object, and as I grasp it, I realize it’s a necklace. It feels cold and oddly heavy in my palm.

I pull it out, the chain glinting momentarily as it emerges from the shadows. A plume of dust dances in the air as I blow gently on the pendant, sending a cloud swirling before me. I cough reflexively, the fine particles irritating my throat.

As I gently wipe the dust from the pendant, my thumb reveals a sumptuous red gem at its center.

Deep like spilled wine, the ruby is surrounded by tiny, glittering diamonds that catch the light.

The tarnished gold chain, though aged, exudes elegance with its knottily woven links, holding stories of the past. The gem seems to pulse with a life of its own, mirroring my heartbeat.

A strange warmth radiates from the necklace, resonating with an energy that feels both foreign and familiar. It’s as if the necklace and I are intertwined in an unspoken bond, connected by something deeper than mere chance.

I laugh again and shake my head. There I go, being dramatic like some low-budget romance movie you’d watch on daytime TV.

Casting a cautious glance toward the front door, I ensure that Spencer remains oblivious to my transgressions—a surge of rebellious exhilaration courses through me as I swiftly return the board to its previous spot.

I dart across the room to my bag perched on the counter, and with trembling hands, I carefully slide the grimoire and necklace into the bag’s depths, feeling as though I’m sealing away a powerful relic from a world that has long since forgotten its dark knowledge.

I wipe the sweat from my forehead with the back of my hand, feeling the dampness cling to my skin. The oppressive heat wraps around me like a thick blanket, and I can’t shake the discomfort of the protective gear I’m wearing.

Damn. I’m sweating like crazy. I hate wearing this heavy shit.

I gather all my tools and remove my protective gear. Before I leave, I glance at the floor one more time to ensure I placed everything back correctly.

“You, uh, heading to the Irish pub? I was thinking about meeting everyone there.” Spencer asks as he runs his hands through his thick sandy blonde hair. Hair that I used to envision myself pulling while I screamed out his name...

His dark brown eyes dance with amusement, and I fight the urge to keep eye contact with him. Spencer has never been friendly with me before.

“Yeah, I think I am. If I don’t, I’m afraid Jules will disown me and throw my body to the wolves so there isn’t a crime scene to clean up,” I awkwardly joke.

Spencer raises an eyebrow and his mouth curves up. “You’re so weird. Get in, I’ll drive you.”

That’s weird... He’ll drive me? What the hell is happening?

“Um, no thanks. That’s okay. I drove today. I’ll meet you there, though.”

“Alright, if you say so,” he flicks my nose and then looks me up and down a little too seductively. “See you soon.”

Is Spencer flirting with me? I quickly get into my car and frown as I look down at my shirt.

Completely see-through. Wonderful.

You can see the lace pattern of my black bra through my sweat-soaked white shirt. No fucking wonder Spencer was being so friendly.. .

Needing to change my shirt, I reach into my backseat and grab my tight black tank top, which always shows off my curves nicely.

Without thinking, I quickly peel off my shirt and put on the new one.

Once my head is through the neck hole and I pull it down, I notice Spencer’s truck parked right next to my car, and he’s staring at me.

One eyebrow is raised, and he bites his lip, then smiles.

I could slap that smirk right off his face.

I flip him off, and he drives away.

Bastard.