"And this is where Ravi and I work, the morgue," I say.
Midnight scrunched up her nose, "Death and sterile things, I know this smell mixture all too well."
"Really? So tell me, Midnight, how do you feel physically? Do you feel different in any way?" Ravi asks then I walk over and smack his arm.
"Really?" I ask in a low voice.
"Yeah, different than I normally am because I usually am not covered in painful bruises and cuts," she answers.
"Alright, no need to be so snappy, it was just a question," Ravi replies.
"Um, no one asked before and I found it a bit strange, I'm fifteen, a week away from sixteen," the girl said, "Aren't cops supposed to ask for a victim's age?"
"It must have slipped Clive's mind at the moment or he didn't want to ask too many questions because you looked like you were on the verge of bursting into tears again," I say.
"Are you feeling hungry at all for anything in particular?" Ravi buts in.
"No, if anything I might lose my lunch," the girl says, hugging her arms, "really I just feel a bit tired."
"We have a couch in the office if you want to rest for a while," I suggest.
She nods and Ravi leads her there as a couple of familiar cadavers are rolled in, Midnight's parents. I sighed and looked at them, I was all out of the heroic brain and based on what Midnight said about her parents, her mother was probably my best bet.
Ravi walked out and was rubbing his hands together, "She was out like a light the moment she relaxed," he said before noticing the bodies, "You know you don't have to eat their brains."
"It'd be nice to have a normal brain for once, even if I'll become a slight spaz," I say.
"Well that's as normal as you get nowadays," he commented and handed me the bone saw.
A few minutes later, I was dining on spaghetti and brain-balls with hot sauce, which wasn't half bad if I do say so myself. All of a sudden, I had an urge to bake, nothing in particular, just bake.
Midnight walked in as I was washing my plate, "I guess you were hungry," she says and I guess she noticed the various bottles of hot sauce, "My dad loved spicy things too, sometimes I would catch him drinking Sriracha as if it was a soda."
"Really?" I asked then walked over and squatted in front of her, "By the way, how are you feeling after your little nap, Sweetheart?"
"I'm feeling a bit better, I don't feel like puking anymore but your breath stinks like a ghost pepper," she says then pauses for a minute, slightly smiling afterwards, "MPD, my dad had that too."
