The Truth Buried Deep Inside My Father’s Empty New Jersey Coffin
The floor was made of polished white linoleum that reflected the fluorescent lights above.
The air was warm and tasted faintly of bleach.
I walked down the hallway, my wet boots squeaking against the floor.
A sign on the wall to my left read: *Medical Wing – Level B.*
An elevator at the end of the hall sat open, its interior light blinking.
I stepped inside and pressed the button for the lower level.
The elevator descended with a smooth, silent glide.
When the doors opened, the smell of bleach grew stronger.
It was mixed with the metallic scent of copper.
Blood.
I raised my weapon, stepping out into a wide reception area.
A glass desk sat in the center of the room.
Behind it, a computer monitor was active, displaying a security feed of the hallway I had just left.
I moved past the desk toward a heavy double door marked *Restricted Access.*
The lock on the door was electronic, but the keypad was dead.
I pushed the door open with my shoulder.
The room beyond was a large, high-security medical ward.