Chapter 1: A Disturbing Encounter

There’s a unique sensation one experiences upon entering a morgue, provided you’re still breathing. As I walked through the New York City Mortuary's doors that evening, I recalled the warning sign at the Haunted Forest in The Wizard of Oz, filled with terrifying flying monkeys. My reason for being there was equally unsettling: I was there to identify a corpse—my boyfriend’s, to be precise.

John and I had been together for nearly a year when I discovered his secret life as a hustler, assuming various aliases while being lavishly compensated to accompany affluent men across the globe. Just an hour after confronting him about this revelation, he had emptied my bank account and vanished, leaving a note that read, “For services rendered.”

I chose not to involve the authorities after he took off with my money. If a hefty withdrawal was the price to pay for never seeing that despicable man again, I felt I had escaped unscathed. However, six months later, the police knocked on my door with news of John's fate.

They had apprehended him in Florida, but the circumstances were grim—he was returned to New York City in a body bag. While it may seem cold, I neither grieved nor celebrated his passing; it marked the conclusion of one chapter and the start of another. The authorities had discovered my identification and credit cards alongside a few hundred-dollar bills near his remains in a hotel bathtub, prompting them to seek my testimony. While it was clear why my credit cards were with him, the presence of my ID hinted at something sinister.

After a brief questioning, I was requested to visit the morgue for a formal identification. I hesitated but ultimately agreed, reassured that I was not considered a suspect—yet.

"Yet" is a word that holds significant weight.

I decided it was wise to attend the identification process and ensure my name wasn’t associated with any potential investigations.

As we journeyed deeper into the morgue towards the elevators, I joked to the officer escorting me, “Death sure has a way of being permanent, doesn’t it?” He remained silent. My attempt at humor was merely a distraction from the unsettling fluorescent lights and the grim, sterile atmosphere. The air reeked of a harsh cleaner, likely from a glass beaker that once housed a vital organ.

The unsettling reality of my impending appointment with a corpse began to weigh heavily on me as we descended in the elevator. The officer finally broke his silence. “This is it?”

“This is it,” I replied, feeling a wave of nausea rise within me.

I wanted to flee but found myself in a room facing an examiner, who introduced himself without formalities. He greeted me, “Thank you for coming, Mr. Fontaine. Most people don’t handle this situation well.”

“I could do without the candor,” I muttered.

I anticipated seeing a body under a sheet, similar to depictions in movies, but instead were two tables covered in white cloths—no toe tags in sight. My heart raced as I understood that John was likely beneath one of them. I was unprepared for the unveiling, but I thought it would be quick: a glance at his face, a confirmation, and then I could leave.

The officer handed me a yellow plastic bucket and a jar of a mentholated ointment. The examiner instructed me to apply some under my nostrils to mask the smell of decomposition.

My stomach churned. As I considered leaving, the sheet over the corpse was pulled back, revealing a mutilated face. I could only manage a fleeting glance before the contents of my stomach made an urgent return. “Do you recognize him?” the examiner asked.

I struggled to maintain my composure. The officer kindly splashed water on my face, helping me recover slightly. The examiner repeated his question, “Do you recognize him, Mr. Fontaine?”

“Recognize him? Perhaps before the plastic surgery. No, I don’t know who that is. Sorry I couldn’t be of more help.” I reached for the door, saying, “Good luck!”

But the examiner stopped me, “Mr. Fontaine, I have some additional things to show you while you’re here.”

“Things” sounded ominous. I should have kept walking, bu