"I am the rot in the floorboards, Rebecca. I am the shadow in your mother's eyes."
She peeled back the sheet on the gurney. Nothing. She checked the woman in cold storage. Nothing. "I am the rot in the floorboards, Rebecca
She pulled a fresh gurney into the embalming room. On it lay an elderly man, his skin the color of wet river clay. The protocol was simple: wash, drain, preserve. But the air in the basement was heavy, smelling less of formaldehyde and more of burnt hair and ancient soil. "I am the rot in the floorboards, Rebecca