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offices opened on Monday. 
    With another sigh, she glanced back at Margo’s bay.  “Sorry.  But, I promise, I’ll be back.”   She waited for a moment, almost as if she were expecting approval.  And then she shook her head at her own insanity.  It was common knowledge among those in her profession that it was okay to talk to the bodies—it was only when they started talking back that one needed to worry.  
    Thankfully, Margo remained silent.
    But something outside in the hallway rattled, and Tracy spun around, staring at the door, her heart racing.   A minute passed, and then another.  Nothing moved, the only sound the slow drip of the sink in the far corner. 
    She sucked in a breath, cursing herself for letting her imagination run away from her.  It had to be the phones.  And the computers.  She was used to knowing that people were only a few nanno seconds away.  Suddenly she felt very alone.  And kind of foolish.  Clearly whatever she’d heard was nothing to be afraid of.  Probably just Charlie making rounds.
    Moving on silent feet, she made her way back to the door, pausing to give it another beat.  When nothing moved, she risked a peek through the window in the door, relieved to see an empty hallway, the lights, although dimmer than daytime, still functioning as they were meant to.
    Pushing aside her misgivings, she opened the door and stepped out into the hall, her gaze darting first to the left and then to the right and then back to the left again.  The passage way was empty, with no sign that anyone had been there at all. Maybe she’d imagined the noise. 
    She wasn’t exactly operating at her best.  Unexpected proposals had a way of throwing a person off her game.  Especially when the subject was supposed to have been off limits.  An image of Seth, wearing nothing but his tux pants, holding out the rose petal covered tray filled her mind.
    Damn the man.
    She started toward the elevator, but a sound stopped her mid-step.  It was low. A moan.  Someone was in pain.  She spun around, her mind trying to identify the location of the sound.  There were four doors on the corridor.  Eliminating the lab where she’d just been, that left three, two leading to additional autopsy labs and one a small room holding cleaning equipment.
    Wanting nothing more than to head for the relative safety of the elevator to her apartment, Tracy pushed aside her fear.  If someone was hurt, she needed to help them.  Especially if it was Charlie.  And if she were imagining the noise, better to face her fears head on.  It had been a very long day—and night—and now she just needed to make sure there was nothing amiss.
    She waited for another beat, but with no more sounds to guide her, she picked the closest door and after slowing inching it open, swung into the room.  Like the lab she’d just vacated, tables were spread across the room and a row of drawers stretched along the back wall.  Smaller than the previous lab, it was clear once the lights were turned on that the lab was empty.
    Unless somebody was hiding in a drawer, which even for Tracy was too creepy to contemplate.  She checked the second lab, finding nothing more than empty tables and equipment.  Ever the optimist, she tried both the phones and the computers, but as before there was nothing.  Connectivity clearly interrupted. 
    Without allowing herself to think about the action, she grabbed a scalpel off an autopsy tray.  Better something than nothing.  Then she flipped the lights off again and moved back into the hall.  The only noise now was the continual hum from the florescent lights overhead. 
    She quickened her pace, heading for the third autopsy lab.  But as she passed the storage closet another low moan echoed through the hallway.  She shivered, then turned slowly, her gaze darting around the corridor, scalpel raised defensively as she watched for danger.
    But the hall was empty.  And the sound evaporating.
    Sucking in a