Stealing the Heart of Mr. Steele

[Cordelia]

Pulling open the wall carefully, I peek inside.

Sensing my motion, overhead lights flicker to life, revealing a staircase leading down. Maybe his bathroom is downstairs?

Making my way down carefully, I do not pay attention to the sound of the door sliding closed behind me, nor the tell-tell sound of the lock latching nor did I notice the jars lining the walls on shelves until the tangy smell of antiseptic mixed with formaldehyde hits my nose. Thankfully I also see a large, covered garbage can. Spilling the contents of my stomach into the receptacle, I feel better, but also worse at the same time.

Where the heck am I?

This is not the bathroom.

I am standing next to a cold, metal table. It is covered with the paper that doctors use in examination rooms but lacks an the basic comforts one usually finds when in such places. Leather straps are hanging from the sides of the bed, to hold a patient in place, and troughs li end for drainage. It looks like something you might find in a coroner's office or a funeral home, a place to prepare a body for an autopsy or a funeral. But usually, the people they are examining are dead.

So why does this bed have straps?

Unable to contain my curiosity, I step towards the shelves lining the wall. They are poorly lit, so at first it is hard to see what is floating in the jars set in neat lines, organized by shape and color, but as I approach the shelf, an overhead light springs to life. As my eyes begin to focus on the shapes inside, I feel a sudden chill. Shivering from both the frigid atmosphere of the room and the darkness of my thoughts, I gasp in horror at what I find contained within.

There are several jars containing

ovaries in various levels of dissection, as well as other parts of the female reproductive system, both internal and external. A few jars contain entire uteruses with infants encased within, all preserved forever, floating in a clear fluid. One jar holds the smallest speck of human passenger.

My heart pounds against my ribcage as I begin to panic. Whatever work Jude is conducting in this room cannot be as altruistic as he claims. Where did all of these body parts come from? What possible purpose could he have for these particular parts? I need to get out of here.

Running up the stairs, I press myself against the door, willing it to open, using all of the strength I can muster. But my efforts are useless-the door is solid and I am not feeling well, my strength ebbing the longer I stand here. I look for a

handle, keypad, or anything I could use, but all I can find is a smooth place where a door handle used to be a keyhole for a key I do not have.

Dizziness overwhelms me. Falling to my knees I press my hands to the floor, taking deep breaths. I reach to pull out my phone, but I cannot find it. I must have left it on the table in Jude's living room.NôvelDrama.Org holds © this.

Sobbing. I lift my hand to bang on the door, "Help..."

The door swings open. Jude is standing in the doorway. "Oh my God, Cordelia! There you are! I've been looking everywhere for you.

He reaches down to pick me up and I pull away, hesitant to let him touch me. "I don't feel well, Jude. I think I need to go home and rest."

"Tilly is here," he explains. "She said something about expecting you for lunch and..."

"Tilly!" I call out, wanting my friend with me more than anything. The clattering steps of her kitten heels as she shuffles forward calms me. I am not alone.

"Cordelia! Are you okay? What happened?" She helps me up from the ground and gives Jude a strange look? "What is going on here?"

"I got lost on the way to the bathroom," I sob. "I've been trying to get out but I just couldn't make this door budge," Jude is listening to every word I say, his face blank. I don't want him to know that I saw those shelves. "I don't feel well...I threw up in a garbage can... "Oh sweetie," she guides me out of the hallway. "Let's get you home."

"Can I stop by

," Jude inquires hesitantly. "To check on you?"

I mumble something non-committal, about needing to get more work done before we leave for the fashion expo.

He nods, accepting my response. "I understand," his voice is soft. "Hopefully I'll have a chance to stop by before you leave."

Thanking him for his hospitality, I feel a shiver as he watches us leave the apartment.

Holding onto Tilly tightly, I try to hide my fear as I turn back and give him a little wave.

I watch as Jude's face transforms from a blank, hard stare, to a bright, warm smile. He waves back.

As soon as we cross the threshold to our studio, Tilly turns around and demands "Tell me what is going on here, Cordy. Something is going on with you and I need to know, right now." VictoryAnne Vice Author

What do you think? Is Jude a misunderstood genius or something more sinister...?