Hermia drove not more than a few blocks further before her vehicle slowed to a crawl. They had returned to a more suburban part of the town; the tilled fields and grass gave way to homes once more. She pulled into the driveway of a corner building.

Aiden, intrigued as ever by the town, appraised this building. It was old, from the early 1800s; the structure was simple, squarish, with a white stucco facade. The entryway had a dark door flanked by two white columns. English ivy, usually an invasive plant, creeped up a scaffold on the side of the building, giving the building a decidedly manicured allure.

"This, is a morgue?"

"Yes, Idyllic Morgue and Funeral Home. The building has been here for ages; who knows how many times it's been repurposed. Just last year, we had central A.C. and ventilation installed."

Aiden grimaced, "Oh God, I'm sure the residents of the area were also grateful for that."

Hermia laughed, "Luckily, our fair town sees little death. The smell isn't as bad as you’d think." She parked next to a beautifully maintained black Cadillac Eureka Hearse. Aiden silently mouthed the word 'wow', his eyes wide. They disembarked and approached the door of the establishment. Before Hermia could knock, it swung open on its own accord.

A thin gentleman greeted them. He was dressed in a dark turtleneck, matching dark pants, and a white lab coat. His pallid face, while wrinkle-free, was not young; he possessed sallow jowls and deep-set eyes, which gave him an unapproachable gauntness. Aiden thought that this man must have experienced much unpleasantness. If only he had seen less suffering in his lifetime, he might have been an attractive man with bright green eyes and less white in his flaxen hair. Upon seeing his guests, a gentle smile appeared on his thin lips. "I heard your vehicle pull in, Mia dear. Well met, Sheriff Stone."

Aiden heard a distinct accent in the man's English. The accentuations on vowels and the stunted punctuations were decidedly Scottish in nature. He returned a smile. "Aiden Stone, thank you for the warm reception, Mr....?"

"Doctor. Dr. Frankenstein."

Aiden blinked. This time, he heard a more guttural pronunciation on the ‘k’ sound and emphasis on the last syllable of the name, indicative of a Swiss German accent. But it wasn't the accent that threw him off. "Did you say, Frankenstein?"

Dr. Frankenstein's eyes darted to Hermia's face for a moment before he smiled again. "I have, doubtless, excited your curiousity, but you are too imaginative. There is no relation to a certain protagonist of an unfortunate novel, I assure you." The man's speech, while marred with the slightest halting cadence, was no less rich. He spoke with the eloquence and speed of one who was accustomed to public speaking.

Aiden grinned sheepishly, “Of course not, silly me. Well, you live up to your namesake; in this case, life mimics literature.”

The doctor returned the smile. “If memory serves, the Frankenstein of the novel was a notable chemist, but your compliment is well received.” He reached out a gloved hand to shake Aiden’s but immediately retracted it. “Ah, apologies; I’m afraid my indelicate work has left these gloves fatally soiled. You’ll please excuse me; I’m sure a future meeting will grant me the pleasure. Do come in.” The doctor stood aside, and the duo were ushered into the foyer. 

Aiden looked around in awe. The house was an homage to old-world charm; all the furniture was antique, the floor was chessboard-coloured, and the twin white staircases that led to the second-floor landing were the original wood. Clearly, this house was once a bustling abode to the gentry; though it was no longer responsible for the same volume of people, someone had gone ahead and given the place a fresh layer of paint. The walls were a deep burgundy adorned with framed portraits of oil paintings, mostly vases full of flowers. A large crystal chandelier complete with electric candles hung suspended from the ceiling, throwing dazzling rainbow lights everywhere. In every window, heavy curtains were drawn back with golden ties, allowing sunlight into the space. 

The decadence of the place was a feast for hungry eyes. “This is a very upscale establishment you run, Doctor.”

“Thank you; it is my eldest son’s esteemed establishment. I cannot possibly take all the credit.” Dr. Frankenstein closed the door with a snap. “My dear Mia, how thin you are. Please help yourself to some pastries in the kitchen, I insist.” He looked dotingly upon Hermia before turning back to Aiden. “Everyone adored Mia growing up. There were few children in the town and even fewer girls. Why, everyone treated her as their own. She grew up a playfellow to my sons—what an animated and good-tempered child, even a bit mischievous.”

“Uncle, please.” Hermia looked flustered. “He’ll be my boss soon; he doesn’t need to know that.”

Dr. Frankenstein chuckled, “As you wish, my dear, provided you eat something.” 

Hermia sighed and shrugged her shoulders in defeat. “Alright.” She turned to Aiden, “The morgue is downstairs. I’ll join you both in a second.” She departed for the kitchen, leaving Aiden in the doctor’s care.

The two descended a staircase into a basement. This level was simple and unadorned; there were only two embalming tables and a three-body morgue cooler embedded into the wall. An array of surgical equipment lay out upon a small trolley beside one of the tables. The table itself had a white sheet covering its deceased occupant.

“We are a low volume establishment.” Dr. Frankenstein began, “I am certain we are lacking in what you’re sure to have seen in larger townships.”

“Hermia, uh, Mia, did mention. You alone are the doctor, coroner, and medical examiner, is that right?”

The doctor chuckled, “She sings my praises too much. On a professional level, I am the only one qualified to perform all three roles, although I was never elected or appointed as coroner. He gingerly lifted the sheet off the victim’s face, stopping at the shoulders. “Here we are, may I present, the late Sheriff John Williams.”

The man beneath the sheet was small in death. Bodies shrunk post mortem; nevertheless, as Aiden’s green eyes skirted across the man’s features, he instantly noticed the similarities between father and daughter. They had the same wispy hair texture and shapely nose; the father looked about 50, with a fuller face, prominent beard, and receding hairline. 

“Time of death and location where the body was discovered?”

“Time of death is an estimated 20:45 pm, August 2nd 2024, a Friday. Discovered by his daughter on Jack Front Lane, right between the cinema and the tailor’s shop.”

“Cause of death?”

“His throat was slit, courtesy of a sharp knife. Unrelated to the cause of death, but worth mentioning. There were other incisions made shortly after he passed. You will want to see, or rather, feel, for yourself.” Dr. Frankenstein uncovered the body completely. The giant Y incision bisecting the body from the coronary autopsy was not the only cut on the body. Several lacerations, deep and calculated, marked the torso.

Aiden’s eyebrows furrowed. Dr. Frankenstein offered him a pair of surgical gloves, which he donned. He gingerly inserted his hand into an incision on the left side of the body beneath the ribs.

“Feel for the pancreas.”

Aiden’s hand sunk in. He felt ribs, then nudged the spleen. Moving even further, he felt the stomach, but nothing where the pancreas should lay. “Negative on the pancreas.” 

“Now again, for the liver.”

Aiden went around the table and repeated his probing. But where a liver should be, he once again, came up empty-handed. “Are there any other organs missing?”

“Anything that can be donated posthumously has been, excuse my morbidity, harvested.”

“Removing organs, possibly for sale. That to me sounds like a probable motive.” Aiden spared a glance at the morgue’s scarce amount of coolers. “Any other bodies match that modus operandi?”

Dr. Frankenstein shook his head. “We are a small town; murders happen once every few decades, I’m proud to report. Not enough to even warrant having a full morgue, as you’ve noticed.”

Aiden bit his lip. That was a dead end then. “Do we often communicate with the counties around us?”

The doctor nodded. “I followed that train of thought myself, Sheriff. Unfortunately, there were not any bodies possessing these similarities within the last half decade or so, I’m afraid.”

Aiden began to strip off the gloves into a nearby rubbish bin. “Worth a shot...” He noticed just then that the victim’s hands were still bloodied. He gingerly lifted one up to take a closer look. The victim’s hand looked raw; fingers and even parts of the palm looked like they were stripped of skin. “What happened to his hands? Signs of a struggle?”

“Yes...it certainly seems that way. He was Sheriff after all; I can’t imagine he went without a fight.” The doctor cleared his throat and clasped his hands together, “Alas, no additional DNA under his nails, I’m afraid. May he rest in peace.”

Aiden nodded slowly, setting the hand back down. He resumed disposing of his gloves. He peered at the doctor’s somber profile. “I presume, based on your relationship with Herm—uh, Mia, you were close to Sheriff Williams as well?”

“No, not at all.” At Aiden’s look of surprise, the doctor chuckled, “It was not due to a lack of effort or personal strife. The Sheriff, unlike his daughter, was not affectionate. He preferred to keep acquaintances to a minimum. An exclusive existence for a man who has seen the underpinnings of human nature.”

Aiden thought that line odd. Was he a psychiatrist before becoming the Sheriff? He distinctly remembered Hermia calling her father something akin to a rockstar. “Did his last line of work jade his idea of how society should be?”

“An apt guess, Sheriff.” Dr. Frankenstein sighed and shook his head. “Alas, it was the opposite. You see, he loved people; they delighted him. So much so that he... more or less became a god. He gave life to many people and, in his wake, created fantastic miracles. These miracles were...beautiful, comical, treacherous, and ultimately, real people could no longer prevail in his eyes.”

“What…?” 

“How are we doing?” Aiden just about leapt out of his skin. He had been so engrossed in the conversation, he hadn’t heard Hermia join them. She closed the distance from the entryway to Aiden’s side, casually polishing off the remainder of what appeared to be a muffin. “Where are we?” Hermia looked down, and her face softened. “Dad gets cold easily, you know?” She took hold of the sheet and tugged it over her father, tucking it in around his shoulders. “He’s at that age where a drop in temperature can give him a cold.” 

“Oh yes, age; how old was he?” Aiden asked.

Before Dr. Frankenstein could reply, Hermia cut in. “He’s very sensitive about his age, but if you must know, he’s just a bit shy of sixty.”

Aiden smiled; it was common for children to not remember their parent’s exact age. “He’s lucky he has a daughter who cares so much for his well-being.” Hermia sniffed quietly but did not reply. “Well, Doctor, it has been a pleasure.”

“No, no, the pleasure is most certainly mine.” The doctor smiled and folded his hands in front of him. “If there is anything I can assist with, Sheriff, don’t hesitate to give me a ring. My practice is right next door, Frankenstein & Sons, M.D.; you can’t miss it.”

“I will take you up on that.” Aiden whipped out his mobile, “May I take down your number?”

“551-666-7837, you’ll have to excuse me, it’s the landline to the practice. The mobile devices nowadays are a great deal more daunting than they used to be, I’m afraid I’ve become apathetic towards owning one entirely.” 

“Thank you; if you receive a call from a 908 area code, that’ll be mine.” 

Hermia checked her watch, “Thank you for having us, Uncle. Tell Henry his muffins are getting better.” She leaned in for a quick hug. The doctor wrapped his arms around her, but his gloves did not touch her uniform. 

“You’re always welcome, dear. He will be delighted, no doubt about it.” When they broke apart, the doctor had tears in his eyes. He reached out his gloved hand to touch Hermia’s face but withdrew it at the last moment. “I’m so sorry, my dear; please ask anything of me in his stead. You’re as good as my own.”

“Thank you, Uncle. I’ll pop by for dinner when time allows. No need to see us out; Dad doesn’t like to be left waiting.” Hermia took one last look at her father’s face and said, “See you, Dad.” She gestured for Aiden to follow.

Together, they ascended the stairs and made a beeline out the foyer. The moment the door shut behind her, Hermia let out a heavy sigh. Aiden laid a hand on her shoulder and patted it a few times. Words were of no help here; grief demanded its toll.

“He was my whole world, you know?”

The sheriff nodded. “I know, and I promise you, I’ll get to the bottom of this.”

She wiped her eyes with the edge of her sleeve. “I know you will.” Hermia jerked her chin at the car. “Okay, enough detours; let’s go visit Mayor Dakkar.”