by A.J Provost
Lily pulls out a crate of apples, carefully setting them on the wooden display. The scent of crisp fruit fills the air. She pauses, hands on her hips, and glances toward the back. The walk-in cooler holds the rest of the morning’s deliveries—milk, eggs, lettuce, and everything she needs to finish stocking before the breakfast crowd trickles in.
With a sigh, she tucks a strand of graying brown hair behind her ear and heads toward the cooler, pushing open the heavy metal door.
The Body
A blast of icy air hits her face.
Her sneakers squeak on the damp concrete floor as she steps inside. Stacked crates and bags of produce greet her—but something feels… wrong.
It’s colder than usual.
A sharp, metallic scent—almost coppery—lingers in the air, mingling with the crisp aroma of fresh vegetables. Lily frowns, rubbing her arms. Her breath mists in front of her face.
And then she sees it.
Nestled between crates of lettuce and cartons of eggs, a body lies sprawled on the cold floor.
A man.
Lily gasps, stumbling back against the nearest shelf. Metal bars bite into her back, but she hardly notices. The man is deathly still, his skin pale, almost bluish under the dim fluorescent light. His body is curled slightly, arms stiff at his sides.
His eyes—oh Lord—his eyes are open.
Staring vacantly into nothingness.
Her breath catches. A wave of nausea grips her stomach.
No. This isn’t real.
Her heart hammers in her chest as she forces herself to step closer. Cold air stings her throat. No breath. No movement.
He’s dead.
Lily clamps a hand over her mouth, bile rising in her throat. Her knees threaten to give out. She grabs the edge of the shelf to steady herself.
Call someone. The thought slams into her foggy mind. The police. An ambulance. Violet.
Her frozen fingers fumble for her phone.
"Pick up," she breathes, her hand trembling as she dials. "Pick up."
After three rings, her sister’s voice answers, groggy but sharp.
"Lily? What’s wrong?"
"I—I need you to come to the store. Right now." Lily presses a hand to her forehead, trying to steady herself. "It’s bad, Violet. Really bad."
A sharp intake of breath on the other end. Then Violet’s voice, steely.
"I’m coming."