Chapter Text
The sound of creaking wheels filled the silent morgue as Maria Mollinue's body rolled in upon a gurney. The mortician pushing it, Robert Mort, hummed a sea shanty under his breath as he placed her body beside the table containing his tools for autopsy. Sharp blades, large scissors for cutting bone, a saw even, such danger for the living and dead.
Mr. Mort turned away, crossing the room to find his gloves in the drawer of his desk. It was a shame to have to cut open such a beautiful woman, for even in death Ms. Mollinue was beautiful. Amber skin, long wavy hair the color of bronze, a peaceful face that had once been sharp with wit, she had been taken too soon by the Ripper. A deep gash across her stomach suggested he'd robbed her of her womb like some of the others, and a gouge in her chest suggested he'd stolen her heart as well.
Truly, truly a shame.
Robert Mort continued to hum as he found his gloves, thick rubber with fabric lining, ensuring no blood upon his hands. He paused, picking up a portrait of his wife sitting upon the desk, smiling fondly. Any day now she would go into labor, Robert only hoped he was there to help her bring their child into the world. A little boy, or perhaps a little girl of their very own.
So lost in the euphoria of the future was he that he did not hear the gurney squeak, he did not hear the telltale ticking, he did not hear the shifting of metal tools or the padding footsteps. Behind him, Ms. Mollinue's eyes snapped open and she slowly sat up, staring at him with the eyes of a feral caged creature. She stood, the sheet covering her mutilated body slipping away, and took a scalpel from Robert's tray of tools.
The mortician didn't notice her approach until she threw an arm around him and sunk the scalpel into his neck once, twice, three times. As he choked and pulled away, she ran for the metal ramp that led to the surface, blade in hand. Mollinue scrambled up the shute like an animal on all fours, throwing open the doors and fleeing into the night, nude and armed.
Robert Mort, on the other hand, collapsed to the floor, clinging to his neck as blood squirted through his fingers from the deep wound. His eyes went hazy, and his last thoughts were of his wife, alone now.