Part 1

   Surgical precision. Entirely unnecessary for the task before me, yet I exercise it nonetheless, at least as best I can. Considering this mouse is still among my early experiences with something of this nature, not much can truly be expected of the results. But alas, my friend requested the heart of it, so I shall try my best to oblige.

   The smell is less than pleasant as I poke my way through the rodent’s interior. A misused box cutter is all I was provided for the task, but it is adequate and rather to my liking. The razor edge had little trouble tearing through the skin, and my hands had similar ease in prying off anything the blade could not sever. Poking around the main abdomen without risk of damaging the desired piece, however, was more of a challenge.

   As I work, a shadow appears in the way of the ceiling fan’s warm light.

   “Any luck with it, freak?”

   Six (or as she likes to spell it, “5ix”) is my dearest friend, but for nearly all of the years I have known her, she was nobody. Just another name in my messages.

   Two years ago, in the early morning hours, I received a call from a number that my faded memories were certain I knew. I decided not to pick it up on the first dial, but once the same number tried a second time, I answered.

   It was a relatively mundane phone call to start. Just a simple greeting, a “do you remember me?” or two, and a catching up on where this disconnected friend of my youth had been. Until that point, I had no idea that she had ended up in the same town as myself. It was nice to know who she had become after all this time, but the true motive of the call was not realized until after the brief formalities of reconnecting had passed.

   Rather unceremoniously, she put forth her request.

   “So, uh. Can you help me bury a body?”

   Evidently, she had either grown far too much confidence or had completely lost her social awareness. Additionally, she had no way of knowing my thoughts on such an idea. Fortunately for her, I was more than willing to help.

   She had offered to pay me a fair sum of money, which I of course accepted. She had accidentally cut short the life of some unfortunate man via reckless driving under the influence of more than enough alcohol. Stupid, yes. Worthy of reprimanding, absolutely. Did I turn her in or judge her? Of course not. I have no place to do so.

   A thorough referencing between the man’s ID, the town’s phone book, and some municipal archival documents (of which I had access to at the time via less-than-legal means) revealed that he apparently had no ties to anyone in the town, other than as another four-digit tab to the local bar, entirely unpaid. Just one more victim of this tired place.

   We buried him outside of town. 59 miles south exact on the 25, west side of the road, 30 yards straight into the woods, six feet under, marked properly with a tall stone which has undoubtedly fallen over by now.

   With such a sensitive yet successful rekindling a friendship, there were few things we wouldn’t share with one another. She found my macabre interests strange, but was always more than willing to participate for the fun of it. Not without ample teasing, though.

   It was not long before she essentially forced me to move out of my car and into her house. I briefly questioned how she managed to get her own place, but then I recalled just how desperate this place is for more residents, so likely it was far more affordable than it otherwise would be.

   Over the last year or so I have made myself at home in her second bedroom, readily engaging in my interests whenever they are available, and often aiding her with some sort of strange task needing to be done. One of those being retrieving the heart of a recently deceased mouse, which now lays entirely open before me on the tarp-covered workbench in her basement. Why she desires the heart is unknown to me, but it is not my place to ask, only do.

   “I’ve not yet to locate the heart. It may help if I were to have better lighting, perhaps,” I say in response to her inquiry on my progress.

   She moves out of my light, sighing. “You and your light. I already told you, if you really want to see better, just take off those sunglasses.”

   “You know that the sun is always too bright this time of year. I hardly tolerate it normally, but it is far too much these days,” I reply, continuing my work on the rodent.

   She sits down on the old leather couch on the other side of the room. “Really, why aren’t you nocturnal at this point? You wake up at 3pm and go to sleep at like, 4am.”

   “My biology won’t let me.”

   “And it’s happy with the way you sleep now?”

   I offer no reply as I drag out another unidentifiable organ from the bottom of the creature’s torso.

   She turns herself over on the couch, her legs over the top and her head hanging off the front, making her short brown hair hang down strangely.

   “Y’know Val, you should come with me tomorrow night. I’m headed out to the hotel on the edge of town to take a second look at it now that I know there’s no security stuff left. It’ll be fun.”

   “Is Sylvia not available?”

   Six scoffs. “They’re too busy with finishing up their classes to come with.”

   I tilt my head in curiosity, still trained on the mouse. “Classes? I had assumed that they would have finished all that by now.”

   “They failed a few core ones, gotta retake. Unlike them, I know,” she says sarcastically.

   “You do recall that they had to deal with the loss of their mother these last few months, yes?” I point out.

   “Oh, shit... Right,” she corrects, righting herself on the couch, now sitting with her legs crossed.

   I set down the knife and take off my gloves before standing up to stretch. “Well, we will see how I am feeling once the time comes. Presently though, I don’t have much interest in the excursion.”