Chapter Seven: The Cold Below
The rusted sign above the emergency exit door read: Authorized Personnel Only. But authorization was the least of their concerns now.
Luna hovered behind John, her translucent form pulsing faintly with the fluorescent flicker of the hospital corridor. Her presence had grown stronger since they'd entered. Her heartbeat—impossible and fragile—pounded like a war drum inside her ghostly chest. She wasn't sure if it was fear or the nearness of her body.
John exhaled slowly, his fingers tightening around the keycard he'd "borrowed" from an old contact who still worked nights in security.
"Are you sure this is it?" Luna whispered, her voice oddly clearer in the gloom.
John nodded. "The hospital records were scrubbed, but blueprints don't lie. If Voss kept his victims anywhere, it would be in the abandoned surgical wing below. Nobody goes down there anymore—not since the fire ten years ago."
He swiped the card.
The lock clicked.
The door groaned open, releasing a gust of air that smelled of burnt wires and formaldehyde.
Luna flinched. "It's… cold."
"You can feel that?"
"I don't know." Her voice wavered. "Maybe it's just my memory of fear."
They stepped inside.
---
The stairs creaked with age, every step echoing through the hollow, concrete shaft. Muffled alarms chirped somewhere far above, but the deeper they descended, the more those sounds died away. The light bulbs flickered, some dead entirely, others blinking like dying stars.
Luna's form wavered.
John paused. "You okay?"
She clutched her arms tightly. "Something's here. It's not just me."
"What do you mean?"
She looked up at him, eyes wide. "There are others. Like me. Fractured. Lost."
John's stomach turned.
---
The basement hall was long and stained. Gurneys sat folded against the walls, covered in dusty tarps. There were no cameras. No windows. Just one final door at the end.
A steel one.
A keypad blinked beside it.
"I don't suppose your ghostly powers include hacking," John muttered.
Luna didn't smile.
John knelt beside the keypad, inspecting the wires. "He's smart. Probably changed the code every week. But if I know Voss…" He pulled a wire free and sparked it with a penlight. "He keeps trophies."
He reached into his coat, pulling out a tiny, plastic locket—one of the few things recovered from a Jane Doe found six months ago. Inside: a picture of a girl with no name and a date of birth carved crudely into the back.
"That date… it's the code," John murmured, pressing the digits.
Beep. Click.
The door hissed open.
---
Inside, the air changed. It was thick, humid. The walls were covered in surgical sketches, notes, diagrams—faces drawn, redesigned, crossed out. Beds lined the space, each one draped in white sheets.
Luna stepped in and immediately froze.
She stared at one of the tables. Her breath—if it could be called that—caught in her throat.
John followed her gaze.
And saw her.
Luna's real body lay motionless on the table, an IV stuck into her arm, her skin pale but alive. Monitors beside her blinked with faint green light.
"She's… I'm still alive," Luna said.
John moved quickly to her side. The vitals were low, but they were there.
"You're in a coma," he confirmed. "Some kind of induced stasis. He's been keeping you here… waiting to swap you out."
Luna's ghost stepped closer to her physical form, the edges of her spirit trembling.
"I feel like I'm being pulled back in… like gravity." Her hands reached toward herself—but passed right through.
John stood beside her, his expression darkening. "He's playing God. Choosing who lives and who dies. Who's worth 'perfecting.'"
Just then, a sound echoed from beyond the far wall.
A metallic clang.
John drew his weapon.
"Hide," he hissed instinctively, then shook his head. "No, wait—you can't."
"I'm not helpless," Luna whispered, floating behind a large surgical cart. Her form dimmed, blending with the shadows.
Footsteps.
Slow. Confident.
Then a voice.
"Ah. Carter. I thought I might find you here."
Dr. Elias Voss stood in the doorway, not in a lab coat, but a tailored black suit. His graying hair was slicked back, his expression eerily calm.
"You've been digging," Voss said, stepping in like he owned the place. "You found one of my better works. She's not finished yet, though. Still a bit… unrefined."
John raised his gun. "Step away."
Voss smiled, unfazed. "Do you think you're the first to come looking for the truth? Your sister did too, in her own way. But her death gave you a gift, didn't it? A window. A curse. Call it what you will."
John's finger twitched on the trigger.
"Why her?" he growled. "Why Luna?"
Voss tilted his head. "She was beautifully empty. She wanted to disappear. I simply helped her."
"You drugged her. You erased her."
"I saved her." His voice echoed coldly off the walls. "And now, you've ruined everything."
Suddenly, a monitor behind John began to flatline.
He turned—Luna's body convulsed on the bed.
"Luna!"
Her spirit screamed, flickering violently. The pull toward her body grew stronger—painful, wild.
"She's not ready to go back!" Voss shouted.
John fired.
The bullet missed—Voss was gone.
Vanished into smoke—or was it shadow?
John rushed to the bed, hands on Luna's shoulders. "Fight it. Breathe. Stay with me."
Her spirit screamed louder—
And then collapsed into her body.
---
She gasped.
Air.
Pain.
Life.
Her eyes snapped open.
And John exhaled in relief.
---