The heavy rain made the funeral parlor's street sign shine brightly. Shen Jing glanced at the location on her phone and gritted her molars sorely. Who would order takeout from the crematorium at 11:47 in the night?
The headlights of the electric car split a pale light in the rain, and the outline of the funeral parlor looked like a dormant beast. He wiped the rain off his face. The seafood porridge in the incubator was emitting a strange temperature. The order notes column clearly stated: Sent to locker No. 3 In the morgue, the door was unlocked.
"Sick." He cursed in a low voice, but turned the handle in a strange way. When the cold air hit my face, the metal cabinet door suddenly made a harsh friction sound. The third drawer was slowly sliding out, and in the pale flashlight light, the outline of a female corpse gradually became clear—the purple lips were slightly open, and the tip of her tongue was touching a rusty bronze bell.
The phone vibrated suddenly, and an anonymous text message popped up: "Three rings, and you will be happy in your afterlife. Forensic Doctor Shen, are you satisfied with this meeting gift?"
The incubator hit the ground with a thud. The fishy smell of seafood porridge mixed with the smell of formalin penetrated into the nose, and Shen Shen's temples twitched. Twenty years later, the pattern of this bell was exactly the same as the one his father held in his hand when he disappeared.
"Old Lin!" He growled into his Bluetooth headset, "Retrieve all the surveillance cameras in the funeral home tonight, and focus on checking..." Before he could finish his words, there was a rustling sound behind him. In the shadow under the dissecting table, half of the red rope was leaking blood.
Purpose: To attract readers' interest in reading