Three years after my death, the police finally caught the fugitive behind the organ trafficking ring. From his possession, the authorities recovered a ledger—a meticulous, chilling record of 1,198 victims. Every single line detailed a donor and a recipient, matching stolen lives with purchased ones. Except for line 999. That row was entirely blank. In the compound where the bodies had been harvested, they couldn’t find a single trace of whoever belonged to that number. No bone fragments, no ashes, nothing. It was as if person 999 had never existed at all. An anomaly like that was bound to draw attention. Inside the interrogation room, Greg’s anger simmered just beneath his badge. “Talk,” he demanded, his voice dangerously low, hands flat on the table. “Who was Donor 999? Whose name goes in that blank space, and who bought her organs?” Zack leaned forward, his eyes tracking the tremble in Greg’s fingers as they pressed against the paper. A slow, mocking smile crept onto his face. “Detective,” Zack purred, “you shouldn’t bite the hand that fed you. I left Lora’s name off that list out of mercy. I didn’t want to break your heart.” He leaned in closer, his breath fogging the glass between them. “But tell me… what’s it like to be physically whole with the woman you loved? To have her inside you?” … The words hung in the sterile air. In an instant, a face flashed in Greg’s mind—beautiful, delicate, and entirely ruined by the bitter hatred he had harbored for her over the last three years. Lora. Greg slammed his hands onto the metal table, the screech of his chair echoing in the small room. He stood, towering over the suspect, his chest heaving. “What kind of sick game are you playing, Zack? I am a detective! I don’t make deals with monsters who harvest people for profit!” His pulse was spiking too high. Beside him, his mentor, Chief Henderson, placed a firm, steadying hand on Greg’s forearm. “Greg. Keep it together.” Greg forced a breath through his nose, his jaw clenching so hard it looked ready to crack. “I don’t have time for your mind games, Zack. Give me a name. Who is 999?” “I already told you,” Zack said, his eyes glittering with sadistic amusement. “Lora.” “Detective, I know it hurts, but some truths are meant to be swallowed.” Greg’s fist hit the table with a deafening crack. “One more time, Zack. Give me the real name. Or I swear to God—” Zack didn’t flinch. Instead, he slowly straightened his orange collar, drinking in Greg’s unraveling state. “I am telling the truth,” Zack whispered, his voice dripping with venom. “It was Lora. And you, Detective—the big, noble hero of the department—aren’t just a hypocrite. You’re the single biggest benefactor of our little operation.” Greg snapped. He lunged across the table, grabbing Zack by his collar, lifting him half out of his chair. “Lora again!” Greg roared, his voice cracking. “What the hell was your connection to her? Was she one of you? Was she helping you run this goddamn ring?!” Hovering in the cold air of the room, my spectral body stiffened. Years ago, if he so much as knit his brow in worry, I would have reached out to smooth the creases of his forehead. But now, when my translucent fingers brushed his brow, they slid right through him. I could touch nothing. I could soothe nothing. Zack slapped Greg’s hands away, his grin widening. “You really don’t know, do you? Lora didn’t have to die. She was only supposed to donate a kidney to save your pathetic life. But her sweet little sister, Natalie? Oh, she paid a hefty price to make sure Lora never walked off that operating table. A sister paying to have her own sister slaughtered. Pretty poetic, don’t you think?” The sheer weight of the confession pressed down on the room, crushing the air out of it. For a long, agonizing moment, there was absolute silence. Then, Greg let out a harsh, dry laugh. “You almost had me,” Greg whispered, a shake of his head turning into a bitter scoff. “But telling me my kidney came from Lora? Telling me Natalie hired you to kill her? That is the most pathetic, desperate lie I’ve ever heard.” Of course he didn’t believe it. Everyone in the precinct knew the story of Greg’s heartless, mercenary ex-girlfriend, Lora. When Greg was a rookie, he had a fierce, reckless drive that helped him crack several major cases. But it also earned him dangerous enemies. One evening, when we were out on a date, those enemies tracked us down. To protect me, Greg had thrown himself in front of the blade. He was stabbed multiple times, bleeding out on the pavement, barely clinging to life. His kidneys failed. And the girlfriend he had nearly died to protect? The moment she found out she was a perfect match for his transplant, she emptied his bank account and vanished without a trace. Greg had refused to believe it at first. Sick, feverish, and weak, he dragged himself out of his hospital bed to search for me. But all he found was a security tape from a high-end hotel: me, draped over the arm of a wealthy stranger, smiling as he escorted me into a luxury car. In that single moment, Greg’s entire world collapsed. He stopped taking his anti-rejection meds, gave up on physical therapy, and practically tried to drink himself to death. It was Natalie who stepped in, weeping, begging him to live. She said she wanted to atone for her sister’s cruelty. She volunteered to be tested, proved to be a match, and gave him one of her own kidneys. She stayed by his hospital bed night after night, pulling him out of the abyss. Today, she was his devoted fiancée. How could Natalie—sweet, self-sacrificing Natalie—ever be associated with a ring of black-market butchers? Watching the veins throb against Greg’s temples, a sharp, familiar ache bloomed in my chest. If Greg ever found out that the kidney keeping him alive right now belonged to me… that it had been harvested in blood and agony from Zack’s basement… how would he survive the guilt? How could he ever look at his own reflection again? The heavy door to the interrogation room clicked open. The lead medical examiner, Dr. Evans, stepped in and whispered something into Chief Henderson’s ear. Minutes later, we were in the sterile, fluorescent glow of the forensics lab. Dr. Evans pointed to a sealed evidence bag on the metal counter. “Forensics just brought this in from the basement of Zack’s lake house. According to our intelligence, that basement was a torture chamber for anyone who crossed him. We extracted these blood samples from the floorboards and the concrete walls.” Greg’s throat tightened as he stared at the dark, dried stains on the fabric. His fingers curled into fists. “How long for the DNA match?” Greg asked, his voice barely a whisper. He paused, his gaze drifting away from the bag. “I mean… can you run those samples against Lora’s DNA records? Just to rule her out. No other reason.” Dr. Evans gave him a long, pitying look. “I’ll try, Greg. But some of these stains are years old. The DNA might be too degraded. If we can’t extract a viable profile, we’ll need to search the property again for more physical evidence.” “I’ll go,” Greg blurted out immediately. “I’ll search the house myself.” Before the words fully left his mouth, Chief Henderson blocked his path. “Greg, stop,” the Chief said gently. “I know how deep your history with Lora goes. But look at yourself. You are too close to this. You’re benched. Go home, get some sleep, and let the team handle the search.” “I don’t care about Lora!” Greg snapped, his eyes flashing with desperate denial. “I’ve been on this case for months. I need to know who 999 is. I need to find her family. I need to bring her home!” As the word home left his mouth, a memory from our college days broke through his defenses. During our senior year, I had gone on a geology field trip in the mountains with my professor. A sudden flash flood had washed out the trails, and I got separated from the group, losing all cell service. The moment Greg heard, he didn’t wait for the search and rescue teams. He threw on a rain jacket, grabbed a flashlight, and sprinted into the dark, stormy woods alone. He searched for hours in the freezing downpour. It was almost dawn when he found me huddled beneath a muddy ridge, shivering, my ankle badly sprained. I was covered in dirt, but the moment his flashlight beam hit my face, I smiled through my tears. “Greg,” I had whispered, reaching for him. “I knew you’d find me. Just like my dad used to.” My father had been a veteran police officer who died in the line of duty when I was a child. He was my hero, the standard by which I measured all good men. That night, Greg had held my freezing hands against his chest and made a promise. “Lora,” he had said, his voice thick with emotion. “No matter where you are, no matter how lost you get, I will always find you. I’m going to join the academy. I’m going to become a cop so I can bring lost people back to the families who are waiting for them.” Tears I could no longer physically shed poured down my spectral cheeks. Greg was brilliant. I knew he would eventually piece together the truth. But that truth would drag him into a darkness far worse than the mountain storm we once survived. And I was completely powerless to stop it. I was just a ghost, forced to watch him drown. Greg sat on the wooden bench outside the precinct, chain-smoking. A small pile of white ash gathered between his boots. He only smoked when the world was collapsing around him. He had quit years ago because I hated the smell. He had gritted his teeth and gone cold turkey just to keep me happy. Now, the habit was back with a vengeance. Suddenly, a pale, slender hand reached down and snatched the cigarette from his lips. Natalie threw it onto the pavement and crushed it beneath the heel of her designer pump. She wrapped her arms around his neck from behind, her voice dripping sweet, manufactured warmth. “Look at my handsome detective! The news is saying you busted the whole ring. I’m so proud of you!” Perhaps the seeds of Zack’s words had already begun to sprout. Greg stiffened, subtly shifting his shoulder to slip out of her embrace. “What are you doing here, Natalie?” Natalie’s perfect smile faltered for a fraction of a second. “It’s all over the news,” she said, quickly recovering her sweet demeanor. “Everyone at the hospital is talking about it. A few of my colleagues were wondering… have they started identifying the victims yet? Where is the investigation headed next?” Greg stared at her face, studying her features as if looking at a stranger. Natalie reached up to stroke his hair, her shirt riding up just enough to reveal the thin, faded scar on her lower abdomen—the mark of her “sacrifice.” Greg flinched, as if the sight of the scar burned him. His voice softened, though it lacked any real warmth. “Natalie, you know the rules. I can’t discuss active investigations.” She pouted, shaking his arm playfully. “I know, I know. I’m sorry. I was just excited.” Greg caught sight of Chief Henderson’s sedan pulling out of the garage. He quickly extricated himself from Natalie’s grip. “I have to go. Fieldwork. I’ll call you when I’m done.” Without waiting for her reply, he sprinted toward the parking lot. I hovered above, watching Natalie’s face. The moment Greg turned his back, the sweet, doting fiancée vanished. Her features hardened into a cold, venomous mask. This was my baby sister. The girl I had raised, the one I had protected from every harsh corner of the world, even at my own expense. No matter how many times I replayed our lives, I couldn’t understand how she had come to hate me so deeply. After our father died, it was just the two of us. Times were incredibly lean, but Natalie was proud; she refused any charity. To pay her tuition for medical school, I dropped out of college and set up a late-night food cart on the street corner. My back ached every single night from standing over the hot grill, but every penny went into her tuition fund. I didn’t mind the exhaustion. I was building a future for my sister. Then came the night a group of drunk men tried to harass me at the cart, forcing me to drink with them. Greg, who was patrolling nearby, stepped in. He handled them easily, then draped his warm, heavy jacket over my shivering shoulders. “You okay?” he had asked, his voice steady and calm. “You shouldn’t be out here alone so late.” To thank him, I started packing him extra food whenever his patrol car went by. Small gestures turned into long conversations, which turned into five beautiful years together. Greg loved me completely. He remembered my fears, kept track of my cycles, and quietly paid off Natalie’s remaining school loans so she could focus on her residency. Thanks to that support, Natalie graduated at the top of her class and secured a coveted position, quickly becoming their rising star. A tiny, overlooked detail suddenly sparked in my mind. In all those five years, Natalie had never once called Greg her brother-in-law. Even though he treated her like family, she always addressed him formally as “Detective.” When had the obsession started? Before I could piece it together, the police cruiser pulled up to Zack’s secluded suburban house. A young officer met Greg at the police tape, looking defeated. “Greg, we’ve gone through the main house. There’s nothing. He cleaned it out.” Greg’s jaw clenched. “Zack is arrogant. He would have kept a trophy. Search it again. Focus on the basement.” He pushed past the officer and strode down the hall, throwing open the heavy steel door to the basement. A wave of cold, stagnant air rushed up to meet him—smelling of bleach, damp earth, and a faint, metallic trace of blood. Greg grimaced, holding his breath. Greg had walked through dozens of horrific crime scenes, but the atmosphere in this cellar made his stomach twist. Cold metal restraints hung from the wooden beams. Despite the frantic scrubbing, dark stains remained trapped in the cracks of the concrete floor. It was a factory of pain. Greg knelt down, sweeping his flashlight over the concrete floor. Near a drainage grate in the corner, his beam caught a tiny speck of color. He leaned closer and picked up a broken piece of an acrylic nail. As the light caught the delicate lavender-and-silver pattern, Greg’s breath caught in his throat. It was the exact manicure I had gotten for our anniversary date. The last night he saw me. The stoic professional mask he wore cracked. In his eyes, a terrible, desperate panic took hold. Standing right behind him, looking at the damp walls, my spirit trembled. This room. This was where Zack had pinned me down. Where he had torn my nails out one by one, mocking my screams. Day after day, locked in the pitch black, I had whispered Greg’s name like a prayer, begging him to open that door. But now, looking at his breaking face, I prayed he wouldn’t find me. I didn’t want him to see what was left of me. It wasn’t even a body anymore. It was… Greg clutched the broken acrylic shard so tightly it cut into his palm. He stormed back to the precinct, his boots echoing loudly in the lobby. Natalie was still waiting there, sitting on a bench. “Why are you still here?” Greg demanded, his voice raw. Natalie stood up, pulling a heavy, cream-colored envelope from her bag. “I was so excited about your case that I forgot why I came,” she said, her voice dropping into a soft, sympathetic tone. “Greg… look what arrived in the mail today. Lora is… she’s getting married.” She watched his eyes closely, tracking his reaction. Greg stared at the elegant cursive lettering of the bride’s name. A bitter, ugly laugh escaped his throat. “Of course,” he muttered, his jaw twitching. “She’s too selfish to ever be a victim.” “What did you say?” Natalie asked, blinking. “Nothing,” Greg said, ripping the invitation in half and tossing it into the trash can. “I have a case to solve.” He threw open the door to the interrogation room again. Before he could speak, Zack smirked from across the table. “Well, look at that. The great Detective Greg isn’t as smart as they say. Still haven’t found your girl?” Greg lost his grip, slamming both hands onto the table. “Cut the crap, Zack! Lora is alive. She’s in the city. She’s getting married next month!” Zack’s laugh was cold and sharp. “Is that what they told you? That’s funny. Because last I checked, she was still in my basement, waiting for her white knight to rescue her. Oh, and by the way… that kidney in your side? She begged me on her knees to make sure it went to you. Want me to tell you what she had to do to convince me?” Greg dragged his hands down his face, his voice sounding hollowed out. “You’re trying to get under my skin using her name. It’s not going to work. The day she walked away from me for some rich guy’s car, she died to me.” He leaned over the table, his eyes burning. “I am giving you one chance to cooperate and save yourself from a needle in the arm. Don’t waste it.” Zack didn’t flinch. He leaned back, his handcuffs rattling against the metal bar. “Detective, we both know I’m never walking out of here. Your department has bled my business dry and locked up my crew. I hate you, and you hate me. So when your beautiful girlfriend fell right into my lap… did you really think I’d just let her go?” Greg stiffened. He could claim he didn’t care all he wanted, but the old, deep wound in his chest was bleeding all over again. Zack crossed his arms, wearing a look of absolute triumph. “I’ve given you the clue, detective. Whether you find her before she rots to pieces… well, that’s up to you.” Greg spun on his heel and slammed the heavy door behind him. Through the glass, Zack’s hysterical laughter followed him down the corridor. “Go find her, detective! I can’t wait to see your face when you do! It’s going to be beautiful! Hahaha!” I drifted beside Greg as he stumbled down the hallway. I reached out to grab his sleeve, but my hand dissolved into mist. “Greg, please, stop! Don’t look for me!” I cried out to him with everything I had. I wanted to tell him that I would rather be buried in the dark forever. I would rather have him hate me, remember me as a selfish runaway, than watch him break into pieces when he found the truth. But he couldn’t hear me. He was already running back toward the lake house. The floodlights of the lake house burned through the night. Greg and a dozen officers tore the estate apart, lifting floorboards and checking hollow walls. By dawn, they had found nothing. Greg slumped against the living room wall, dark stubble covering his jaw, his eyes hollow. Chief Henderson walked over and placed a sympathetic hand on his shoulder. “Greg, Zack is playing with your head. You’re a damn good cop, but you’re not a miracle worker. Even if we never identify 999, Zack’s going away for life. The prosecution has enough to put him under the prison.” Greg raised his bloodshot eyes. “I know he’s lying, Chief. Lora is alive. She’s out there somewhere.” He paused, swallowing hard. “I just don’t want 999 to be left in the dark forever. Whoever she is, someone is out there waiting for her. Just like I was waiting for Lora in the mountains. If we find her, at least they’ll have closure.” The Chief sighed, seeing the stubborn light in Greg’s eyes. He knew there was no stopping him. “Alright,” Henderson said. “You wanted to canvas the neighboring properties today. Let’s go. I’ll walk the line with you.” They reached the third house on the block when Greg stopped on the porch, looking back at Zack’s property. “Chief,” Greg said slowly, squinting. “Look at the layout of these houses. They were all built by the same developer in the nineties. But the basement footprint in the other two houses… they look much deeper than Zack’s.” Chief Henderson frowned, studying the concrete foundations. “You’re right. The exterior wall on Zack’s basement is set back about four feet compared to these.” “He didn’t shrink his basement,” Greg said, his voice dropping. “He built a false wall. Get the sledgehammers.” Standing in the damp basement, Greg swung the heavy sledgehammer himself. With a deafening crack, the drywall split, revealing a hollow space behind the concrete-board facade. He swung again, clearing a larger opening. The officers behind him gasped, several of them covering their mouths. “What the hell is that?” someone whispered. Greg’s hands began to shake, the sledgehammer slipping slightly in his grip. Inside the hidden cavity, suspended against the back wall, was a large bundle tightly wrapped in layer after layer of industrial plastic wrap. Through the foggy plastic, the grotesque silhouette of a human form was visible—but the limbs and torso were pieced together at unnatural, impossible angles. A wave of decayed tissue and chemical preservative hit the air, sending several officers stumbling back toward the stairs, gagging. Greg stood frozen, his flashlight beam trembling as it illuminated the top of the plastic wrap. He stared at the shape of the skull inside.
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