Autopsy Emma Walker Room Novels & Stories

I told myself that she was clearing a more private room than this and wasn’t just bailing on me. “What are you doing here, Emma?” Edward asked when he saw me. “You have the nerve to stick around when the patient has… hold on, what happened to the patient?” The nurse suddenly appeared by then. She looked between the both of us, as if deciding if she wanted to tell him first before I did. “The patient is dead,” I said. “I’ve asked her to move him out immediately so I can conduct an autopsy.” “So you can do what?!” I sighed heavily. Gosh I’m so incredibly tired right now and would really use a break.

Maybe Macario could figure out what his gift was and how to utilize it. Amaris came back in after a while and handed me a cup of the tea. I drank it quickly because the smell was god awful. I felt like I was being pulled through a funnel, and it took me a moment to be able to breathe properly. I looked around and recognized the War Room. Emma was in the same outfit that she wore the day we found her in there with Ethan and Johnson. “My brother said that all she had left were her biggest fears before she wakes up,” I told Amaris as I watched the scene unfold in front of me.

The top floor serves as recovery rooms while the examination and operation rooms are on the first. I move down the chilly stone corridor lit by flickering torches. It's early. Emma will probably be in her apothecary working on healing elixirs. Each step echoes, each echo pounds in my ears. It doesn't escape me that Emma might have answers I don't want to hear. I take a deep breath at the door, stealing myself and walking inside, the door creaking on its hinges behind me. “Hope,” Emma says sweetly. “I wasn't expecting you.”

"Okay then, I will be right back." She walked out of Owen's office and went down the hall with desks. She stopped by the meeting room door and knocked_ just in case there was a meeting Owen did not know of. Right next to the meeting room was their lab where they tested certain substances or people. Autopsies and postmortems were done there too. When she got no response from inside the room, she opened the door and walked in. Her eyes were solely focused on the glass display case at that took up almost all four walls of the room. It had everything she needed.

"Emma, he's in the ICU. Room 204. But please, prepare yourself..." I nodded numbly as my mind spun out worst-case scenarios. Taking a deep breath, I opened the door to Elias’s room…

"Could you please check if there are any visitors still in Mr. Buckman Snr.'s ward?" The nurse nodded. "Of course, Dr. Morgan." After several minutes, the nurse returned. "No visitors are left, Dr. Morgan. The ward is quiet." "Thank you," Emma said. Decision made, she made her way to the special ward. Two bodyguards stationed at the door acknowledged her with a nod, allowing her entry. She stepped in carefully. The old man lay still, his eyes closed, his chest rising and falling gently. The room smelled faintly of antiseptic and fresh linens.

I met May outside the room as she anxiously paced to and fro with the doctors beside her. "Thank God you are here," she exhaled as she moved closer to me. "She won't let go of him. She has been in there since," May said, feeling tense, and I assured her that everything would be fine before I made my way inside the ward, where I saw Emelia staring at Maverick's dead body, her eyes lifeless.

It was as if they were in their own little world, just the three of them, moving through the cold, sterile halls. They entered a small examination room, and Robert’s eyes scanned the area quickly—everything was white, spotless, clinical. There was an examination table in the center, a few chairs along the wall, and medical equipment scattered around the room. The nurse instructed Emma to sit on the table, and Robert helped her up, his hands gentle but firm as he made sure she was settled. The nurse gave them a brief nod before exiting the room, leaving them alone again.

Lucas said. We descended in silence. The staircase ended in a steel door, sealed tight. Lucas punched in a code. The door hissed open. Inside was a dimly lit corridor lined with thick wires and screens. A single hallway stretched ahead, lined with glass panels. And behind those panels… cages. **Emma’s POV** My breath caught. Inside the cages were people. Some unconscious. Others awake but unmoving. Hooked up to machines, strapped down like test subjects. “What… is this?” I whispered.

And speaking of “safe” Emma walked to the living room, pulling up the rug hiding the safe room’s trapdoor. She gave it a brief tug. Locked and bolted. Of course. Let’s see what we can do about that. Going upstairs, Emma snatched the smallest of her father’s plastic explosives from its shelf and returned to the spot above the safe room. Sweat made the plastic slick as she pressed the device against the thick door. Her index finger quivered above the crude number pad. God, just . . . let this thing be as simple as it looks.