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ao3bronte · 4 years

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Mamma Mia AU [Part 6]

READ PART 5 HERE!

Take A Chance On Me

Six months later...

Never in her wildest dreams did Marinette expect to be sitting where she is now, dressed to the nines in one of her own highly sought after designs. Having just released her very first collection, M by MarinetteDesigns, at the beginning of December, all of her custom made prêt-à-porter fashions were flying off the racks. She’d even had to hire another seamstress just to get through the backlog of formal wear commissions that she’d received ever since Alya’s BuzzFeed friends set up her social media accounts and started repping her brand all over their articles and personal posts.

But more on that later.

At the moment, Marinette is sitting at a huge, zigzag communal table under the glassed-in rooftop patio on top of a boutique hotel in Le Marais, clapping her hands and cheering as the two people she never thought she’d see together emerge from behind closed doors hand in hand. Jagged Stone performs an epic guitar solo from the platform as Luka picks up his new bride and spins her around, grinning like a maniac.

The wedding itself is a completely bombastic affair with celebrities and the like sneaking here and there to avoid the paparazzi. Marinette feels like a kid in a candy store as Luka’s guests file in left and right, most of them artists and bands she loves to listen to. And his bride, of course, doesn’t have much of her family along for the wedding. The media backlash from her mother’s empire had been outlandish, especially in Japan, but she’d ended up fitting right in with most of Luka’s ragtag group of friends in Los Angeles. With the help of her new husband and their support circle, she’d risen above the controversy and won the Olympic gold medal in fencing, bringing honour to herself for the first time in her life.

Sporting a gorgeous red rose tattoo on her upper arm, Kagami Tsuguri Couffaine turns around and gives everyone that trademark smirk of hers, welcoming them to their reception. Luka can’t keep his hands off of her, his eyes practically bulging out of his skull when she plunks her leg up onto the chair she’s supposed to be sitting on and demands he take her garter off with his teeth. The partygoers roar as Luka does just that, emerging victorious with a red and navy strap of fabric hanging from his canines.

Satisfied with his performance, Kagami calls all of the single and unmarried ladies attending her wedding to the platform and waves her rose and orchid bouquet over her head for the traditional toss. Hoping to avoid the pitying glances, Marinette pretends to be completely consumed by her emails and ducks her head in the hopes that no one will notice her. She would have been successful too, had it not been for the exchange of raised eyebrows and playful glances between the bride, the groom and a few other savant attendees.

“One, two, three!” Kagami cries, launching her bouquet into the air. Like a missile locked on a target, it somersaults right over everyone’s heads and thwacks an unassuming Marinette straight in the face, knocking her right off her chair.

“Oh my god, Marinette!” Alya squeals, laughing as her best friend spits petals from her lips. Everyone is cheering as Marinette slowly stands up and waves the bouquet above her head, blushing with embarrassment.

“I don’t even have a boyfriend,” she shakes her head, still smiling despite not having a plus one by her side. She’s long accepted the fact that she’s going to be on her own for good and surprisingly, she feels better for it. Acceptance is the first step, after all, and Marinette has been going to so many weddings lately as an honoured guest for designing the wedding and bridesmaids dresses that the blank space at her side hardly bothers her any longer. She’s even started working on tuxedos!

Way, way down the table, Marinette tries to ignore the ghost from her past crowding the open bar with Nino and the rest of the boys. She’d said hello politely but otherwise avoided him, if only to keep a tamper on her feelings; even though her love has long withered down to smothered embers, Marinette wants to be careful to avoid the winds of change that would flare those feelings in her soul.

The food at Luka and Kagami’s wedding is fantastic and the music is even more so. After the first course, Luka invites everyone up to form a mosh pit as Jagged plays a brand new track off his upcoming album and Marinette is absolutely thrilled to bop around, screaming at the top of her lungs with her hands in the air. She’s as free as a bird and the gorgeous, rock star inspired dress she has on leaves little to the imagination as she sways and shakes to the music. Alya catches it all on TikTok, much to Marinette’s chagrin, and captions it: ‘What a catch! 🎣 How is my girl still single?!’

After, everyone takes a breather and sits back down at the table, its decorated surface filled to the brim with food served family style on colourful, mismatched platters. Marinette loves the boho aesthetic of the different multi-hued plates and napkins, the discordant textures and silverware already inspiring another collection for her fashion line. She digs into the huge heaping of pasta that Alya had plopped onto her plate and laughs along with her girlfriends as they eat the night away under the Parisian lights.

As the main course is being cleared from their tables, the wedding band begins to play and couples slowly but surely leave their tables for a tour of the dance floor. Alya jokingly offers a ‘samba-à-trois’ with her and Nino but Marinette laughingly declines, prefering to watch and take photos of her friends while they’re enjoying themselves. She’s got a knack for capturing the perfect shot and Marinette is just about to turn back towards her table to edit them when someone calls her name.

“Marinette!”

No matter how many months and years pass between them, he’ll always stop her in her tracks.

“You look beautiful tonight,” Adrien compliments her breathlessly, a sheen of sweat on his brow. He’s been dancing with the boys, hauling them up in the air on his shoulders as the party throbs around them, “I mean—you look beautiful always! It’s just—uh, tonight you look...especially beautiful.”

“Thank you,” Marinette responds, desperately trying to keep her voice even. She can’t help but transpose the black mask over his features as he runs his fingers through his messy hair, his cheeks flushed from exertion, “You look...handsome yourself.”

“Th-thank you!” he stutters, looking strangely unkempt for someone who always seems to have it together, “I just—um. Do you want to dance with me?”

He offers her his hand and she stares at it, the technicolour lights casting shadows on his upturned palm, “I...thank you for...um, offering but—”

“Please,” he beseeches her, his eyes blown wide, “I’ve missed you.”

Marinette gulps, her throat tightening against the emotions rekindling in her chest, “I’m…”

“Just one,” he says, taking a small, tentative step towards her, “And if you...if you don’t want to see me again after, I can do that.”

Her heart clenches. Tikki punches her thigh through her skirt.

“Just one,” she says eventually, placing her hand gently overtop of his. He grasps her like their lives depend on it and Marinette is suddenly thrust back to the days where their entwined fingers meant the difference between defeat and victory. He slumps with relief and pulls her towards his chest, resting his other hand on the small of her back.

And they dance.

Her heartbeat skips with every step as they sway to the music, lost in their own private orbit of things left unsaid. Adrien can’t keep his eyes away and she can hardly catch his gaze without burning up, finding it far easier to stare at the knot of his loosened tie. Somehow, they drift closer and closer until his lips are a hair’s breadth away from the crown of her head and Marinette can feel the warmth of his body coming off of him in waves, setting her skin on fire.

“I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you,” he whispers, his words barely there, “When I left after the wedding...I knew it was the biggest mistake I’ve ever made and I’d do anything to take it back.”

Marinette trips a little, stumbling into his chest, “Adrien—”

“I’ve been meaning to tell you everything but Alya told me you blocked me and I...I wanted to respect that. So I’ve been waiting six months to tell you what I should have told you all those years ago,” Adrien’s voice wavers, “I’ve loved you since the day we first fought together. The problem was, at eighteen, I thought I loved the idea of freedom more.”

“I was wrong, though. I was so, so wrong and I’ve spent the last four years of my life regretting every second. I’ve transferred to TU Delft to finish off my graduate degree so I can be closer to home. I want to come back on the weekends to fight by your side again and repair our relationship, but only if you want to. I just...I know I’ve been an awful partner and an even more awful friend so I totally understand if you never want to see me again but...I thought I would just try.”

Marinette swallows, fighting the tears that prickle at the corners of her eyes, “I’m sorry, Adrien. But I...thank you for the apology.”

He makes no move to let go and neither does she, “It’s...it’s okay. You’ve been doing so well on your own. I just want to be closer though, in case something happens. The Netherlands is only a few hours away by bus.”

The music slowly wanes and Marinette steps back, averting her gaze, “I guess it’s time for dessert.”

Adrien swallows, loosening his tie further, “Right. I...um, I’ll talk to you later?”

“Sure,” she says, finally glancing back up at him. He looks wrecked, for lack of a better word, “Maybe you can tell me how your studies are going?”

“Oh!” Adrien’s expression immediately brightens, his smile near blinding, “Yes! I’ll tell you anything! Everything! After dessert! We can talk!”

Marinette can’t help but smile a little, his fumbling antics so unlike the Adrien she knows. He’s unmasked in front of her, the Chat Noir she has always known and loved, “Nino’s waving at you.”

She points over his shoulder and Adrien turns, catching a glimpse of Nino, Luka and about ten other guys all hooting and giving him questioning thumbs up. He smiles and gives them an enthusiastic nod in return before turning back to Marinette, “I’ll find you after dessert, okay?”

“Okay,” she agrees, watching him scamper off towards his friends. Alya is on her not a second later, her arm draped around her shoulders as they walk back to their seats.

“Well? How did it go?”

Marinette shrugs, “We danced and I asked him about his studies.”

Alya skids to a stop in her tracks, “That’s it?”

“Well, he said he was sorry too,” she says, walking out from under Alya’s arm as she continues walking, “And then the song ended and we’re going to talk about his classes after.”

“I swear to god, that idiot!” Alya stomps her foot and storms away towards her husband and the rest of the boys.

The cake is cut, the lights are low and the party is about to truly kick into high gear. The wedding band is replaced by one of Los Angeles' best DJs and Marinette stays out of the fray for the time being, taking a break from the action. She’s responding to commision requests when the song that had just been playing slowly dwindles and the crowd starts to scream.

“Speech!” a familiar voice cries and Marinette’s head yanks towards its source so quickly it cracks, “I'm gonna make a speech, everybody!”

Standing on the wedding platform with his tie nowhere to be found, Adrien raises his glass of champagne in one hand and holds the microphone to his lips in the other, “First of all, I just want to make a big shout out to the bride and groom for hosting an amazing party! Santé!”

The crowd cheers and drinks with him, buzzing seemingly with anticipation. An electric current tingles down the length of her neck as something tells her that everyone clearly knows something she doesn’t.

“And secondly, I want to thank my friends for helping me try and win back the love of my life. Hey, Marinette! I’m still free! Take a chance on me!”

Hoisted from the platform to the dinner tables, Adrien begins to strut as if on a catwalk, "To the most beautiful, talented woman in the world! I'm gonna do my very best to get you back, if you let me try. I wanna be the first in line to your heart."

The entire party cheers him on. Jagged Stone plays the opening chords to the wedding march on his electric guitar.

"I know I kind of screwed up,” he averts his eyes for a moment, his cheeks burning as her jaw clunks to the floor, “But if you change your mind and need me, just let me know. I’m going to be around more often and...well, put me to the test. I won’t disappoint you ever again. I’m all yours.”

He pauses in front of her, microphone still in hand, “We could go dancing or go for a walk or anything, really. Just as long as we do it together. You’ve got to know how much I want to win you back and...and when I close my eyes at night and dream, I’m always dreaming about you! You have to know that I...I can’t let go of you. Of us. Of what I left behind.”

“Please Marinette,” he reaches out to her just like he had earlier, his palm raised and at the ready. Marinette feels like dying and flying all at once.

Her heart pounding, Marinette takes a shaky breath and raises her hand only to hesitate, her fingers curling with indecision. Her mind is racing and fuzzy and between the wolf whistles and the intensity of Adrien’s gaze, Marinette finds herself feeling something in her chest she hasn’t felt in four long years.

“What do you say, M’Lady?” Adrien smiles with a hopeful shrug, “Will you take a chance on me?”

“I…” she trails off and somehow, her arm is moving on its own accord. Should she listen to her mind and turn him down? Or should she listen to her heart and find love once more in the arms of the man she’s loved for years and years and years.

Well, there’s only one choice here, isn’t there?

“Yes,” she whispers, a sweet benediction, “Yes!”

Clasping his hand, Adrien hauls her up with supernatural strength onto the table and tosses the microphone into the crowd. There’s a horrible feedback noise as Nino catches it against his tuxedo but nothing matters anymore except the smile on his face and the joy in her eyes as he wraps his arms around her waist and presses her flush to his body, “Why did I ever let you go?”

“Because you were an idiot,” Marinette responds and Adrien throws his head back and laughs. Here I go again, she thinks as she soaks in his contagious joy as the crowd screams around them. How could she resist him, especially after a confession like that?

“Can I kiss you?”

Marinette inhales sharply, “How could I resist?”

“Is that a yes?”

“Of course it is, you silly cat.”

Adrien bends down and presses his lips against hers just as the fireworks ignite in the background, bathing the glassed-in rooftop deck in hues of vibrant reds and golds. Marinette gasps as he runs his tongue along her bottom lip and she pulls him ever nearer, basking in his warmth as she grabs handfuls of his hair. She devours him longingly as he explores her body with his roaming fingertips and Marinette feels the dam of her desire breaking, overflowing with desperate, relentless love.

“I’m never going to let you go ever again," Adrien murmurs against her lips before diving back in and kissing her again, grabbing her by the hip. She feels delirious and suddenly they’re both smiling, giggling like school children because finally, finally ! They could be together! No matter what, four years or twenty, no span of time can truly keep apart true love.

READ PART 7 HERE!

#miraculous ladybug #mamma mia #ml fanfic #adrinette #miraculous ladybug au

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grim-faux · 3 years

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The Etiquette of Survival

This is the first four chapters of the book I’m working on. The book as a whole needs editing, but I’m searching for the write publisher company to query for submissions. These chapters would be the ambassador for the work I want to publish, but they need the most work at this point. Particularly chapter 03, which I’m not found of as material in later chapters has changed.

Salt and Feathers

Genre: grim dark

word count: 16,040

A Forensic Coroner is dragged into a world of political and supernatural elements, upon perceiving inconsistencies surrounding an influx of John and Jane Doe cadavers. Allegra Terrel must rely on the compliance of an inhuman supporter, and the deadly commissions he is assigned. If she hopes to achieve some semblance of normality, or survive at all, she must keep allies close and enemies closer.

01. A Cold Slab

The noxious scent of formaldehyde coiled around the lumpy white coat, saturating anything and everything porous. It wasn’t a bad scent but it was off-putting, particularly after a few days without a full on shower and grinding off the layers of perspiration buildup. It wasn’t a disposition the staff devoted itself to; after the first few dozen bodies came through, people stopped caring about their appearance. The few exceptions in the scenario being meetings and the sort.

The only reasonably slow period was the graveyard shift; the few hours that medical could catch up on the backlog of paperwork. The department sat square center of a large metropolitan, and there was no time of day when bodies weren’t being found or resurfaced by unsuspecting civilians. The winter months helped slow the inflow, though the dead didn’t roam.

Allegra Terrel stepped off the elevators and officially began her shift. Traffic in the corridor shuffled at a tame trickle, some of the doors propped open and lazy conversation drifted through. Allegra nursed the chilled mug she carried; it was piping hot when she left home that evening. She took a corner and followed the hall past doors with nameplates. Only inventory had private rooms and locks.

“Good evenin’, Harv-o,” she announced, upon entering through a set of doors. “Any word of the Rendell case?” She gave a courteous tilt of the mug towards the burley officer stationed by a howling microwave.

At the sink and scrubbing out a weathered metal coffee pot, stood her square shouldered and delicate handed partner, Harvey. Without missing a beat, he swiped down a towel and dried off the pot. “Toxicology still hasn’t come back yet. We might need to send in a few more tissue samples – they’re sure there are anomalies in the blood work, but nothing conclusive. He could have eaten too much sesame or something.”

“That goes on the file, but doesn’t do much else,” Allegra mentioned. It had more to do with the agents assigned to the case than anything; investigators would know the details and plausible motives.

It was the usual small talk in the lounge. Going over incoming and outgoing ‘patients’, same as the way accountants ran over the details of clients ruffled by imbalanced assets. A swing by the lounge was a usual certification to pick up partners or get directions to his or her whereabouts. Only veterans dared pick up a quick bite before diving into the work that didn’t involve filing papers.

“I hope those aren’t my burritos in that nuke box.” A stout man ducked in from the door and raced across the room. He snapped the refrigerator open and cursed.

“Evening Chuck.” Allegra caught the single serve box of cereal tossed by Harvey. She turned to the officer. “Theft is reserved among staff of the department. You know better.”

“Well,” the cop began. The microwave buzzed. With a napkin in hand, he took out a small bowl. “There’s a guy on third floor selling the contraband. So technically, not theft.”

“Uh-oh.” Allegra nudged Chuck aside. “Scalping overworked laborers with delicacies. How far has mankind fallen?”

Though Homicide Studies was stationed above Victims Files, along with the records for the living members of the deceased; no one had any particular like for the Third Floor, above autopsy. Chuck was one of the few brave enough to march up there and demand answers, or compensation.

“What’s the name of your provider?” Chuck turned on the cop. “I am done with this bullshit.”

“Don’t get physical,” Harvey warned. He stood, staring daggers into the coffee pot situated on the heating plate. The warm scent filled the office. “He or she will spread unflattering rumors, and then you’ll be sorry.”

The cop hesitantly gave a name to Chuck, and the man burst from the room. Harvey looked up in the wake of the departure. “Dang. I had some files he needed to run up.”

“I’m sure he’ll survive.” Allegra munched at the soggy cereal, politely waiting for Harvey to get his cup of black fuel warmed to perfection. She dumped her cold swill and went for the fresh. Harvey poured for her. “What does the roster look like?”

Harvey shrugged. “We have a body came in from a jobsite, construction. And another of those bodies way past expiration – Marx wants a detailed report on that.”

“He’s taken an interest in those?” Allegra added sugar and stirred. She finished off her cereal and milk, and peered at Harvey. “He didn’t say it’s in connection with suspected serial murders?” The cop cleared his throat.

“You’re wondering about the bodies coming in?” he posed. “A lot of Johns and Janes?”

“Yeah,” Harvey answered, through a sip. “One or two bodies found in the advance stages of decay, not that unusual. But the cadaver boys, I was browsing their files and the inferences they were making… it was kind of creepy.”

Allegra tossed the empty cereal carton and washed her hands. “I’ll go ahead and get set up. I expect a lot of condensing from you.”

“You know it,” Harvey quipped.

Beneath Third Floor awaited Autopsy and Forensic Investigation, where bodies first went for cataloguing. The Homicide Department worked in stages, the dead didn’t complain so long as they were looked after in a reasonable time; some bodies took precedent over others due to suspected chemical components and cell termination. The deceased reserved their right to silence, regardless how painful or vivid their final moments were. Unlike a spiritual medium whom communicated with the spiritual consciousness of the departed, the homicide investigators took on more scientifically approved means to translate those final moments. Sometimes clarifying if the death was an unfortunate accident or the rampaging emotions, could take until the time the deceased was ‘taken home’ as it were, by the next of kin. From there, the body would be made ready for presentation and the final closure of loss.

Stainless steel tables lined the glistening tile walls of the room; everything sparkled or shimmered in the fluorescent lights. The room was chilled to the point if the humidity was at an adequate level, the present warm bodies could’ve viewed their breath. The room reserved the calm passive of a library, but the sounds were not of flipping pages, the squeal of saws and crack of tools chirped off. At the far end of the room the soft conversations exchanged between autopsy directors and overseeing detectives; the few occupied tables kept undivided attention to their work, and soft murmurs swirled around death and causes.

Allegra chauffeured a metal trolley to and from the assigned autopsy table, collecting the anticipated supplies and assembling her apparel. She attached the audio recording to her pocket and ran the wire to her ear, then, went to the employees shared closet and collected her slciker suit.

Harvey slipped in as she was leaving. He handed over a clipboard. “I brought the body up.”

“What about the cop?”

Harvey was already pulling out his suit and pulling the boots on. “He didn’t have much to say – more about the location where the bodies were discovered. Oh! They did confirm inconsistencies in the extraction point, and the retrieved remains. We talked about that?”

“Yeah.”

“Remains were not fully retrieved. It’s bizarre.” Harvey zipped up and followed Allegra back to the table, and the black bag waiting for them. He pulled on his respirator.

Allegra mirrored the action, and adjusted her hair bun between the straps. She read off a date and serial code from the page of the clipboard.

“Klein, Harvey and Terrell, Allegra. About to begin preliminary examination of John-Doe-102.” Allegra glanced back at the table behind her, as a new group of investigators rolled up a gurney. “Estimated time of death mid-summer, the body is in moderate stage of decay.”

Harvey slipped on gloves, and moved the portable table over to the counter connected to the wall. Meanwhile, Allegra took the base of the black bag and unzipped. Harvey departed for a few seconds, when he returned it was with a camera. The bag was fully open, and Harvey began snapping photographs – he took each stark white card and set it aside. Through the vaporous sounds of snaps, Allegra read off the standard physical descriptions of the cadaver; from skin tone and variation, to an estimated age. For the time, he was a John Doe. An unknown civilian, no identification, no ties. No one to offer a name or past.

“Cause of death estimated to be exsanguination and trauma to the heart – the sternum is obliterated – noteworthy damage is visible to the thoracic region of the spinal column, the vertebra exposed.”

The clothing – a pair of tattered pants – was already removed by the forensic team and labeled. Allegra described features of the face, and took out containers for the tissue samples. It was a tedious task of getting the tubes and inserting the arterial needle, and massaging blood samples out of the body.

Harvey finished taking pictures, and began jotting down notes on a fresh page pinned to the clipboard. He examined fingers and checked hair. He frowned.

“What?” Allegra didn’t look up.

“Nothing,” Harvey mumbled. “Mm. Late summer? We didn’t have a lot of cold-cold days.”

“True.”

The initial work on incoming cadavers took roughly forty-five to an hour and a half, depending on the state of death. That didn’t include cleanup and cataloging supplies, or sending samples to toxicology. Beginning at one in the morning, it was drawing near pre-morning by the time Allegra and Harvey had cataloged three bodies. They were finishing work on a women submitted as a potential homicide, and were debating on quitting – Harvey could drive his wife to work if he hurried.

A thump came from the table that the second group of detectives worked at. Allegra glanced up; caught Harvey’s line of sight and spun around. She clicked off the audio recorder. The other team of investigators flashed eyes to Harvey and Allegra, and to each other – it was two men and a women intern, she was taking personal notes.

“What ran him over?” Allegra posed.

“A chunk of rebar.” The lean guy, Tom, mentioned. He tapped the end of his pen to the gore soaked piece of metal protruding from the backside. “There’s also blood on the scalp, but this body is a mess.”

“I’m not sure if we should advance with the autopsy.” The other man, Otto, added. “The atrophy wasn’t caught – it looks like this guy, with this stage of muscle regression – he was withheld from food. He was locked up someplace.”

Allegra crossed her arms and leaned back. She checked a clock mounted on the wall. “But a struggle was evident in the body? Due to the head wound, and physical scarring.” She pointed out blotches down the spine and shoulders.

“Yeah,” Otto piped. “Are you done for the evening?”

Harvey yawned. “Were we? I guess?” He moved around the table and stood beside Allegra. His eyes tracked the body. With a gloved finger, he prodded the ribs. “This looks like some form of anoxia – water departs the cell through osmosis. But the surface epidermis doesn’t display tissue damage through malnutrition. Bizarre.”

“Yet, the skin is supple, if not succumbing to usual rigor mortis,” Allegra noted. She raised the thin arm and, with some effort, moved the wrist. “Good luck with this, kids.”

Tom laughed. “Thanks. Katelyn? Can you hand me the branch cutter?” The intern, Katelyn, reached to the counter and handed over the gleaming gardening tool.

“I want to call Remus on this,” Otto mentioned. “Is that cool?”

“Cool,” Tom replied, between crack-crack, and a Crunch.

Allegra finished filling out the page on the clipboard, and without looking up, said, “The chest was punched through with that rebar. It reminded me of the collapsed ribcage of John-Doe one… o’two. That’s the one.”

“The heart was practically removed,” Harvey added. He left for a short span of time, and when he returned it was with the temporary plastic cover for storage. “I’m sure it was in there somewhere. Melted.”

“Ha.” Allegra folded up the woman’s legs, and Harvey folded the bag down.

On return, Otto announced, “Remus said hold off on removing the rebar.

“Oops,” Tom pouted. “A reason for making storage difficult?”

“No. He wants to put the body away for now, and he’ll assign some ‘specialist’ to take a look at it. It might be related to an ongoing case.” Otto moved around the table. To Allegra and Harvey, he inquired, “You need a box?”

“That would be super, thanks,” Harvey said. He worked with Allegra manipulating the woman’s body the remainder of the way into the bag. “We’ll need to sign on that jewelry. Thank you, my man.” He took the box from Otto and sorted away clothing and personal possessions.

The two relocated the body to a gurney, and finished packing up and sterilizing equipment, the table included. A finalized form for what equipment was used and where, was filled out. Once all items were accounted for and protective suits stripped off, Allegra pushed the gurney towards the double doors. Harvey hurried ahead and moved the doors. It was a lull in the department; graveyard shift was on the change and a fraction of the department would cycle out with a fresh group.

The corridor was quiet, most offices locked tight and the slit beneath the door in shadow. Allegra and Harvey made light talk on the way to the industrial lift.

“I can take samples to toxicology,” she offered. “Jezebel will be getting off in an hour, huh?”

“Unless they wrangle her into overtime. Lord forbid if the head of department misses yoga.” He looked back up the hall. “I wonder if it’s something serious.”

“Hmm?” Allegra pulled the lift in, while Harvey pushed. “You mean Remus? Guy’s cryptic.”

Not every homicide submitted for investigation was given equal treatment. Many of the John and Jane Does that passed through, but never found their kinship, usually did pass due to natural causes – exposure, old age, or neglected illness. These unclaimed bodies went to incineration, and cases that were proven homicide were not always extensively investigated into, unless MO patterns appeared in frequency. Most common in the ring of shady cover ups, bodies were incinerated and the physical evidence remaining in storage, would gradually deplete until the deceased became a distant memory. A temporary and forgotten log in the department’s guest book.

The elevator chimed and the wide doors wheezed open. The basement extended before them; air stale and musty, the floor a flat slate of cracked cement, painted and repainted over the years. A distinct and worn path evident through the colorful layers, led past a doorway and toward a fence left ajar down a short corridor.

Allegra pushed the gurney, and Harvey guided the front out.

A uniformed man stepped out from the side doorway, clipboard in hand. He gave his wristwatch a check before passing the clipboard over. “Five thirty-four. This your first or last?”

“Last,” Allegra answered. And signed her name.

They pushed the body through the narrow corridor, among cinderblock barriers and chain fences, and mazes of heavy shelves stuffed with lonely boxes – the last effects of the departed. On passing a neglected chalkboard, Harvey took a marker and wrote ‘Ericka Liam’ on the cardboard box.

“Do you plan to do a few more hours?” Harvey posed. He pulled a set of keys from his pocket and opened one of the fenced off passages. “I can do a coffee run, and get you a warm something.”

“I don’t know yet.” Allegra pushed the gurney to the corridor end and waited. The freezer section was where the worn path led; rows and columns of stainless steel portals. Around the wall would be another section of cold doors, and beyond another corner, more doors yet. A mortuary of chilled nudists . She trembled; now out of the waterproofing suit she felt the chill of the old building. “Y’know, I won’t keep you. I’ll review my files and call it.” She maneuvered the gurney toward one of the column doors and opened the freezer. Harvey was busy filling out a notecard.

It surprised Allegra when the trio from the neighboring table entered, with the gurney and cadaver. Well, Otto and Katelyn at least, which explained their abrupt appearance.

“Doors with a card are occupied. Usually,” Otto rambled off.

“You should have told Remus how big that rebar was,” Allegra mentioned. She opened a door and pulled the slab out. Harvey assisted with raising the body to the sliding table; Eircka Liam was a depressingly thin woman. “Looking at them now, I don’t think it would have fit.”

“Maybe we could have ‘Weekend at Berney’s’ it,” Otto huffed. “You shouldn’t have any trouble lifting this body, right? Hey? You okay, Katelyn?”

Katelyn was staring at their plastic covering, suspicion in her eyes. Nonetheless, she nodded.

Harvey shoved the slab into the freezer and shut the door. “Should I?” Katelyn backed away, and Harvey moved forward. Katelyn kept her eyes on the body, and followed its transfer to the slab. She jarred when Allegra touched her elbow.

“You okay?” Allegra murmured. “Not cold feet.”

“No. It’s nothing.” Katelyn shook her head. “The skin felt weird.”

“Well, yeah,” Allegra answered, helplessly. The chilled slab clacked into the depths of the freezer and locked; the door hissed shut, and the room felt just a smidgen warmer.

From within the narrow freezer Harvey’s voice lifted, but muffled, “Are you sure I can’t get you something?” The words exchanged faded, dwindling as the group departed; the rattle of the gurneys turn soft and somber.

“Food or beverage?” Otto chimed in.

“Both. It depends,” Harvey offered. “But only if Allegra sends me forth. Chances are Jezzy’s going to send me off to do the same for her.”

“Allegra….” Otto whined.

Within the cramped space of the dark freeze, low humming trilled louder in the absence of trivial chat. The slab and its bag remain still, precise as that of a coffin buried deep within cold soil, impervious to the spiraling wind of time. Minutes evaporated, binding into hours.

Frail shuffling, and scratching. A timid twitch – at the knuckles of the cadaver. The fingers scuffed at the interior of the bag, but relax. A moment of calm uncertainty pressed in.

A guttural moan belched from the body as it buckled, knocking within the impassive walls of its tomb. The cadaver riled minutely and shuffled sideways; it pawed blindly at the pliant material of the sack. Quaking, but not in sporadic convulsions; the body curled up to the best of its ability – arms tucked close to its torso – and lay. Ribs expand tentatively; slow, careful breathing. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. Long, drawn out, deep breaths.

The sticky plastic slithered over its shoulders as it continued trembling in the dark.

02. The Walls Wept Wetly

Paperwork was never ending, and required the bulk of time and attention. There was organizing the cataloged information from the endless string of cadavers, and inputting the fine details – regardless how minute – as accurately as could be managed within time constraints. Coordinating meetings with detectives on tight schedules was also a priority, and signing out the bodies for reevaluation and study; a lot of back and forth and cross referencing with forensic specialists out in the field.

Cadavers needed strict one-on-one, like coma patients awaiting the hour of awakening. They relied on a chemical roster to maintain flesh and microbe levels, or risk losing valuable evidence. What went into the bodies was documented, and the alterations in the bodies microbial chemistry was carefully monitored. Despite refrigeration, the bodies did suffer some amount of degradation that could not be prevented.

At least they never complained.

Allegra’s shift began at twelve midnight, and would roll into five AM, sometimes later depending on the time of year and the steady tip of populace sanity. Schedules were subject to change depending on the skills investigative teams held for forensics, and a body would be reserved. Much like the body Tom and Otto encountered.

The commune office was segregated by ordinary, some of the walls were original and mounted oak with windows. In total there were nine individual desks, with three occupied and low lights peeling back the soft gloom; papers shuffled, faint music played somewhere.

It was a strict paperwork day for Allegra. Check and certify the cadavers in her and Harvey’s care were ‘stable’, with no unforeseen anomalies in the surface epidermis. Harvey broke from his shift temporarily, which left Allegra on her own in the meantime and make headway on a mountain of paperwork.

“Allegra,” Chuck spoke, in greeting. He darted into the shared cubicle space (Harvey had the desk behind her), folder in hand. “You haven’t by any chance seen where Hudson ducked off to?” Chuck dropped off a file and kept going.

Allegra pushed her chair out from the desk and rubbed the screen glare from her eyes. It was about time for a break. “I saw him the day before?” Chuck came back by, and gave her a short look; he went to Harvey’s desk and began rummaging through stacks of files, muttering dates and months.

An unexpected surge of warm days thawed out some of the city zones, and in effect brought attention to bodies that were missed across the city. It was a common issue – people go missing, bodies thaw out, people follow the stank out of morbid curiosity. Some people in the department placed bets based around local weather predictions; it was a banned trade, so of course the higher-ups didn’t care.

“Someone on Third was certain he was resting in the second floor lounge,” Chuck added. “We haven’t had much luck raising him over comm.” He turned his attention to Harvey’s computer and punched in the passcode.

“How long has he been off radar?” Allegra checked her wristwatch. “He didn’t run an errand home?”

“I think he’s reliable about giving word before taking off.” Chuck navigated the mouse on the screen; across the room, the printer wheezed to life. “How’d the autopsy of Lingui go?”

“Standard enough.” Allegra tossed another folder onto Harvey’s desk; which Chuck plucked up. “Sent blood to the labs and waiting for confirmation. It looks like he overdosed before drowning, but as far as any other details, I believe it’s the police’s business. It doesn’t look like foul play.”

Allegra hated ODs; it was a pain to throw them through the system, and even if they panned out there was still the uncertainty. Bad emotions within friends and family made framing carelessly as a likely culprit, and too often investigators were good with that; a common story, which didn’t always end if the body was laid to rest. A couple of months back, the department had to get clearance to exhume a body in the middle of summer, and check if it matched another homicide with similar criteria to the victims untimely death. In short, she never felt certain that open and shut cases would stay that straight forward.

“Leave his files open,” Allegra said, as Chuck moved aside. “I need to cross check notes. You take care.”

With a farewell, Chuck was gone.

The hours blazed by, as Allegra tackled the grueling task of tedious cross checking notes and summarizing the key details. It wasn’t as bad as it was initially when she was still interning; getting the gist of the trade. She plodded through cases that she had confirmed information compiled, and steadily moved through the documentation of ambiguous cases – muggings gone wrong, crimes of passion, and more. Harvey returned at length and they shared a late-early-dinner-breakfast-brunch, and he forced Allegra to have some proper food for once. While eating, he shared word that Remus was still focused on the other side of town with another incident.

“Hopefully it has nothing to do with Tom’s absence,” Harvey hummed, while chewing crispy fish. “That was two days ago – he called in, but there was no return or update.”

Allegra finished cleaning up her desk, and dumping the rubbish into the bin beneath her desk. “That’s odd. Chuck came through asking if anyone’s seen a Hudson. I wanted to tell him I don’t know the guy.”

“I know him. He’ll sometimes take a mid-shift nap down on the second floor.” Harvey scrolled with his mouse, and without looking back, “Chuck needs to shut these files when he’s done. And not rename half of them.”

Around three Harvey left to pick up his wife, and from there Allegra held down the fort. The homicide department never ceased momentum, but held its lull at predawn when people should be put away, rather than stumbling upon discarded victims of capitol crime. In the hour following Harvey’s departure, Allegra pushed through two more reports and called her shift solid.

On her way out of the commune office, she brushed by Chuck. The other man almost ran into her; Allegra had to shove her work duffle aside to let him by.

“Did you find Hudson?” Allegra managed, before Chuck got away.

“Uh-huh. He’s okay.” Chuck held a far seeking expression in his eyes, similar to distraction and preoccupation. He opened his mouth to go on, but cut off and turned away. “I’ll see you.”

“Take it easy,” Allegra insisted. Chuck's curt breakaway didn't set well with her. She lingered, watching his retreating back, before withdrawing herself.

The corridor was lined with windows and occasionally a set of large doors, some open, with the same scene – cubicles, faint light, and subdued conversation. There was a corner, and then past a few more large doors and smaller offices; many shut up and dark. No matter where you went in the building, the scent of surgical plastic, formaldehyde, and alcohol was prevalent. Some offices, like Remus, used a healthy dose of incense and other fragrant aromas to counteract the subtle linger.

Allegra made it to the corridors end and punched the lift button. It was when she climbed inside and hit the first floor, she heard it. A faint whimper. But not a whimper—

She stuck her hand out knocked back the shutting doors. Allegra listened, eyes flashing to the hall extending to either side. One direction led to doors and a dead end, and the other way was much the same, but also the large industrial lift used to transport cadavers. The sound was akin to whining now; somber retching and choking.

Was that a child?

It was eerie, and Allegra’s mind conjured up all the stories she heard back when she was interning; none of which rendered evidence of being true, aside from insistence that they were genuine first-hand account. Stories about the department being haunted, and employees hearing strange noises in the lull hours. Predawn.

Allegra checked her watch. The hair on her neck stood and prickled. She knew she was hearing that, and it didn’t sound right.

But she was curious too. She stepped from the lift and set her duffle bag of folders down. Which direction was it? She cupped a hand behind her ear and turned right, then left. Definitely coming from the direction of the second lift. Allegra left her duffle and crept down the corridor, passing empty rooms and the entrance to another corridor. It was odd, as she navigated down the hall, she thought the sob was fading.

She stopped and waited, ears attuned to the direction of the echo. It wasn’t getting fainter, but it did pickup in pitch. That sounded like an infant.

The creepy meter hiked up a few decibels. Allegra debated turning back, whatever this was it didn’t feel normal. But the logical side of her mind insisted this was a couple of interns, or veterans trying to spook interns.

At a bend in the corridor, she came across one of the regulars – she didn’t know his name – but he wore a blatant expression of puzzlement and discomfort. Allegra waved him down, and whispered, “Do you hear that?”

The man nodded, relief flooding his eyes. “I thought I was the only one. It’s creepy – the room I came from, no one seemed to hear it. I popped out to see if I could find it, and get a refill.” He waved a large plastic mug. “I think it’s coming from this way.”

“I’ll keep moving down this way. In case. I’ll try and find you if I see anything.” Allegra tried not to smile as she left the man. Maybe it was a prank, and the room he came from was leading him on. That didn’t explain why she heard it all the way from the elevator.

Rumors among spooky stories were not favored among the senior members of the department, though they weren’t barred entirely. People couldn’t help stand in the break room exchanging one baffling tale for another, while warming poorly concocted meals in the few available microwave boxes. Through, the week as of late was a heated debate on the strange incidents the graveyard shift was subject to. It brought her back to Tom, not making an appearance at work and none of his team able to connect with him.

She knew someone mentioned something about singing, though she hadn’t been witness to her own experience. Sterinert with toxicology was a no nonsense bore and skeptic to any sneeze of mystic hogwash, but he wasn’t above admitting when an encounter with a shred of unexplained stumbled his way. His character wasn’t enamored by ghost stories, despite his practice to keep familiar with witness testimonies, and he did have something to say about the serenade.

The usual argument got tossed about that the homicide department was cause for haunts, given that more than the bulk of residents were among the dead. If a death was traumatic the spirit couldn’t rest, which encouraged the talk. But this talk was disputed by free-range detectives who delved into every article of fact or fiction – fact being stranger than fiction – and insisted passionately that spirits gave not one two cents about their bodies, and only lingered at a site where violence encured. Rarely were cemeteries reported haunted, the topic proven time and time again by paranormal specialists; houses, homes, and unassuming locations became the locations of unfathomable mystery. Unassuming places hid terrible secrets and refused beyond realm of reason to let those secrets lie undisturbed. A fact of life that with enough digging and enough scientific application, the clandestine would shed its mask and reveal the truth of its character. Even Sterinert acknowledged that more often than not, what was believed to be undeniable truth hitting the brain could be a trick of the mind.

Wires and electrical apparatus not properly insulated could induce paranoia, and various gases in small doses stirred vivid hallucinations indecipherable from actuality. The homicide department was ancient, and though some remote locations had undergone minor renovation work the overall complex remained outdated save for the technology ported in. By the power of suggestion and long-long hours, it was feasible to rationalize she and the regular succumbed to subconscious prompting.

She stood at the entrance of a corridor, trying a new tactic by covering one ear and tilting her head. For added effort, she shut her eyes and focused on the direction. It wasn’t coming from her level or the pathways coursed through, the weep rippled from an overhead vent.

Once assimilating that knowledge, she navigated the corridors seeking the gaping vents which projected the clearest resonance. This benefited her in no shape or way, since soon after the realization the shrill cut off. Abruptly and completely. She was certain to not have stumbled out of range, she crossed to and fro searching to relocate the sounds but failed..

It was time to go and that was final. Where was her duffel bag?

With footwork weaving within delicate – and invisible – a fog threads, she craft fully directed her poise back unto the route that delivered her. There was actually a shortcut through a hall that curved into the next bend, through a passive and partially ignored section of the departments equipment stores, where rooms sat neglected; trolleys loaded with spare computer terminals and other equipment huddled along the walls.

At one point she thought the cries of the infant began once more, wheezing rasps and squeaks – it was a trial to hear over the heave of the heating unit. The musty air was a welcome distraction, despite how grief-stricken the wail came. She picked up the pace, nearly stumbling onto the shape huddled in a bleary doorway. It sent a jolt straight through her heart.

“Jeesus!” She glared, vision swirling

A mass of cloth rumpled and wadded lay partially in the path, yet as she peered down on the offensive scrubs in the low light she was uncertain, but it appeared to shroud a definite mass. Unorganized clusters of boxes obscured her view of the opened entry, and for whatever reason she was on high alert. Not that the heap was outward threatening, but the doors in this corridor stayed locked, no exceptions.

It took some mental coaxing before she would creep closer, her limited vision prying at the gloom. She maxed her senses to their limits aching for a scuttle, or creak upon the prehistoric tile. Slanting far over the precarious juxtapose of ratty cloth, one hand groped within the portal for the anticipated switch. A burst of radiance sent her recoiling, and caused her to nearly vault backwards into a wall. Her poise was managed with dignity, allowing her the grace to give the inner room a scant examination.

Globs of dust hung beneath the malformed light bar, descending from the ceiling boxes and discarded desk stood stacked wall-to-wall, among other miscellaneous junk rejected by upgrades. But no indication of space or shadow that anyone or anything could hide in, she scarcely imagined a pigeon would call this a home.

The door to this room. It was shut when she first made a pass through the hallway. That, she was certain of. Only a handful of staff had spare keys to the rooms.

She bowed down and took a fold of the cloth. The texture was scratchy and cheap, but luxurious to depleted residents of the department. One of the sheets from the lounge, third floor. It was far from home without a friend—

The sheet felt warm, unnaturally so, with tinges of heat still radiating. A person… couldn’t be under this. No, it was not large enough, and not the right shape. But if felt warm.

Without hesitation she tore the sheet back and gawked.

Nothing was beneath. Not a hair, nor a thought. She stooped and patted the floor, her coroner instincts kicking into gear and searching for thermal evidence. The faux tile was cool against her skin and contrasted the vibrant sensation of the cloth still clutched in her hand. She flopped the sheet to her knees and prodded the fibers.

Something clinked beside her knee. It took some searching, but she located the piece. The screw was still sweeping in odd little loops on the floor, scared out of hiding. She took up the minuscule hardware—

Pain sizzled through her spine and brain, dazzling the black space behind her eyes with vibrant pops. Irregular sensations vibrated through the scattered grasp of awareness, and all at once she felt herself propelled deep into the subconscious parts of the brain reserved for absolute oblivion. She drowned in the tart scent of blood, and something else.

Fragmented stabs of light pulsed across the black abyss of null. She winced and twisted away, her body caught up in tight, constraining texture. She lacked the energy to urge an movement from her limbs; she was heavy and buried under the fabric. All the bits and unaccounted pieces of her skin, muscle, and tendons ached like nothing definable. More accurately, her head hummed with each throb of her heartbeat. She dreamed about the black body bags that the cadavers lay in. The stiff, sleek material that barred off bruising, punctures, and kept the things inside from spilling loose. She threw out an arm and connected with a hard surface. Instant regret flooded her brain.

She roused again. Sensed some amount of time passed; her environment was changed. She uncoiled slowly, allowing the twisting in her spine to shift accordingly in her body as she moved. The scent was familiar. Home. Her bed, her sheets, her pillows. She made it home. That was a plus.

Her bedroom was dim. Through the blind’s gaps flittered a shallow gray sheen, and birds tweed and called in high pitch shrills. Allegra struggled her focus at her immediate surroundings, her vanity desk, and the dresser on the wall opposite to her door. The bedroom door was shut. She flung her arm over to the nightstand, and blinked at the acidic light of the digital alarm. Seven-thirty-nine. PM. When did she get in? She’d been out for hours.

Moving out of bed was a grueling challenge. She slipped her legs over the bedside and sat, hunched over like a senior with chronic depression and scoliosis. She just couldn’t drag an ounce of energy back into her muscles; she was drained. She almost couldn’t stand. As she staggered to the door, she patted down her day-before-clothing. No keys.

She lived in a charming little neighborhood, the bulk of its residence occupied by new families and singles; people that could afford a decent little economical home. A zone of strict no drama and no excitement what so ever. Despite this detail, Allegra wasn’t comforted by the idea she might’ve left her keys in the door lock.

She inched to the coat rack beside the door and pulled on her house robe. The heater was thrumming through the vents above the door, but she felt cold; impossibly chilled to the core. She shuffled out into the corridor, hand trailing the wall. Three, five, seven – she counted her steps, shoes catching on the carpet. On the last step, before the yawning archway of her living room, she froze.

It was obvious now that she was right on top of the opening, the sound spun on the warm churn of air within her home. Five steps back she might’ve heard it if she were more alert, but she was barely holding upright; the wall kept her from tipping dangerously. She listened by the wall edge, every nerve bristled.

The stereo was on. A soft melody trickled by her ears, barely over the sound of her breathing. She held her breath and shuffled backwards.

She never listened to the radio, not unless it was her sparse free days and she planned on mellowing out. She would remember turning it on; that she would remember.

Allegra began backing up, nearly knocking into a desk beside the wall. She made it to her bedroom and eased the door shut. And clicked the lock.

For the next ten minutes she sat on her bed, mind reeling. Someone was in her home. Maybe not one-hundred-percent certain, but she knew her half ‘sleep walking’ habits. She felt her pockets over one more time. She didn’t need her keys. She got up and checked her vanity desk.

The phone was gone.

One-Hundred-Percent certain now, someone was in her home. And they brought her here.

No-no. That didn’t make sense.

Allegra flicked on the accent lamp in the corner of her room. She carefully eased the closet door open, and pushed aside piles of outdated medical gear, tools of the trade, cardboard boxes, old laundry. She dug around until she located the combination lockbox. With a final confirming glance to her window, she sat with the box and put the code in. Inside the box among spare cash and bank statements, and other valuables, she pulled out a pistol. She shut the box and dug around in her spare shoes. Actually, it was a coat pocket where she found the ammo cartridge. Six rounds. She gave herself moment to recover from the tension, then, loaded the cartridge into the pistol.

The thought she could be in error, and that she could be proceeding out to confront someone from her place of work, did cross her mind. But no one – she wasn’t that close to anyone – would have done this. She got her nerve under order before unlocking the bedroom and inching into the hall; shoulder pressed to the wall.

The opposite end of the hall had a spare bedroom, door open. Tinted light trickled in under the slat gray. Her eyes were unaccustomed after absorbing the soft light from her room, but by the time she reached the archway that veered right, into her living area, she was better acclimated to the dreary haze. She stood by the doorway and listened; the song hummed on, faintly. No other sounds crept around, and that unnerved her. She wanted to detect something, know for certain if someone was there or where they could possibly be. The last thing she needed was getting spooked into killing another person. She dealt with enough corpses daily. Hourly.

Allegra edged around the corner. She was stiff like a board; head a mess of pain and adrenalin. She didn’t want to be here; her own personal sanctuary of all places. She didn’t want to do this.

The living area seemed much darker than the corridor, despite the large windows in the kitchen, and the patio doors to the side of the room behind the couch. Last traces of dusk glamor shimmered through a gap in the blinds, and hit the patch of tile. The living area was nestled in close with the kitchen, an open floor plan. The sides of the living area entertained built in shelves, filled with books, movies, a television, and other knickknacks. Her eyes first zoned in on the radio placed on the shelf there, but as expected, no one is there.

At first she doesn’t see him, in her haste to give the room a second and third scan. Allegra checked the dining area in the further corner, its dark cloak, the looming maw of a doorway, and the general peripheral of the room. She completely bypassed over the couch situated in front of the sliding patio door.

A deflated and haggard face stared up from a lumpy mess of coat and spare blankets; blankets Allegra kept in a hall closet. The eyes in the shrouded face stared back, unwavering. Allegra took a moment to react and fix the barrel of the pistol on the heap sunken into the couch.

“Is that gun loaded?”

03. Walking Scandal

“Is that gun loaded?”

Allegra felt her knee tremble and the tendons give out. Smoothly, and with every ounce of willpower, she sidestepped and leaned on the edge of the bookcase. The gun remained fixed on the face poking out of the blanket pile.

“It is.”

“Please don’t shoot me,” the voice was soft, wary.

Allegra wouldn’t let her resolve waver. She gave her immediate zone a quick glimpse, but kept a sharp ear on the figure. He appeared to be alone.

“Answer me then. Who are you? I’ll think about what to do with you.” For a brief spell the intruder was silent; Allegra wondered if he was judging whether or not he could overtake her, and the weapon.

“You collapsed,” he answered, finally. In his mediation he rubbed his fist at his cheek. “I brought you here. Sorry, maybe it would have been better to call a medic? You had a wallet on you, and I looked up your address. I wasn’t trying to rob you, nothing like that. I thought... you could have a condition, and it would be on an ID or driver’s license. I didn’t know what else to do. You wouldn’t wake up.”

Allegra took a deep breath and let it out. Spots pricked in her peripheral, and her head went fuzzy. “No. No-no.” She blinked away the thickness; she needed to get back to bed. “That’s not true. I remember… you knocked me down. I hit my head.” A thin grin spread through the lips of that face – he must’ve been between twenty or thirty, but no more.

“Well, true. I didn’t know how you would take that. All honesty, I was trying to get up.” He looked away, somewhat distant, his brows knitted tightly. Reflective. He kept silent.

“That bump on your head,” he resumed. “You should be laying down. Resting.”

The situation was… off. Of course, getting KOed and hauled back to your home was beyond the norm, but everything was spiraling beyond sanity and safety. Allegra skimmed through the series of events – up to before she was laid out – to really get a grip of where her 'situation' was. She disconnected from the bookshelf and moved toward the couch, eyes intently studying the intruder’s face. The light was poor and his hair was smatted and sticking to the side of his head. He watched as she came closer, and closer still.

He looked familiar. Allegra couldn’t place where, but perhaps he had a familiar face – a general appearance easily mistaken or incorrectly recalled. It was too dark to define his complexion, and he squinted at her as if searching through a veil. His hair was—

And in a flash the man rose in front of her, mound of blankets thrown backwards in a black eclipsing shadow; uncoiled all at once and enveloping. A hand shot out to her clutched fists; movement so fast Allegra’s muscles locked reflexively. A pulse of light balked off, momentarily blinding her, the noise splint the air and left her ears buzzing. But the gun was out of grasp, and the man – home invader – now held her wrists in one bone crushing grip.

“Gun. Out of my face.” He released her promptly and curled down, wheezing as he hobbled back. Enough distance to fiddle with the weapon, without her springing into retaliation.

But Allegra didn’t feel like springing. She dropped to one knee, and leaned on the couch cushions.

“You strung out over nothing worry,” he replied. The intruder unloaded the pistol, and tossed it onto the seat beside Allegra; the ammo cartridge bounced off her elbow. “If you give yourself a chance to relax, you’ll recover better.” He moved from the couch, and stood near the kitchen entry.

“It’s weird,” Allegra snapped, as she reloaded the pistol. “It’s like I get defensive—”

“I’m not keeping you here,” he broke in. “Really, you can leave if you want. Though, no promise I’ll be here when you get back, should you want to bring some friends. But you’re not confined. If that's what you're on about.” He turned a little and looked out one of the large kitchen windows. “I’m recovering my bearings – that’s the truth. I planned to leave before you woke, but… you did suffer a mild concussion. I was worried.”

Quietly and with marginal amount of restraint, Allegra prodded her faulty memory of what she could recall up to her fall, and to it factored in the man intruding in her home. A self-declared good Samaritan in her time of need. She recalled the unsettling sounds. Finding the body, or what she perceived to be a corpse left out – an elaborate prank. It wasn’t unheard of. But he wasn’t dead. What was he doing in the department? More importantly, how did he get out, and with her? Someone had to have seen.

Someone had to. It was unfathomable to believe he slipped out of the department unseen. His story didn’t add up. He was hiding something. He invited her to doubt. That was it.

She spoke her muddling to herself for the most part; deep concentration bore a heavy weight on her wounded memory. But he heard. The intruder peered at her, calculating something. That, too, was apparent. “What do you remember?” He scrubbed at his face, and looked at his hand. A beat came and went, the soft tunes rambled on in the background.

“Maybe, ah, talking about it will relieve your stress?” he posed. The man didn’t as much as blink when the reloaded gun was turned back on him. “Or drinking something might? Warm milk and honey? Do you have tea?” He spun away and entered into the kitchen space.

It helped Allegra’s nerves to have the gun, and have it on a target. “Did you go through my fridge?”

“No. But you do eat, don’t you?” He stooped down, awkwardly; light swept up the ceiling and walls. Pause. “You do eat, don’t you?” He reappeared with a cartoon and uncapped it. A light sniff and the face twisted up in the dying shade of the fridge light.

“I don’t do a lot of shopping.” Allegra let the gun go slack on the couch. She heard him rummage about; the fridge light pulsed and flashed as the figure pulled out containers and tossed them. “Busy schedule. Lots of days spent in the office. Food usually gets left and forgotten. Goes bad.” She felt at her wrist and checked her watch. “Can you at least get me a glass of water?” She heard more than observed his search. “Cabinet above the sink.” The doors clicked open and shut. Water trickled from the faucet. She looked up and watched as he filled the tall glass. He didn’t do anything with the cup; brought it straight to her like a normal person would. A normal person that hadn’t knocked her out and broke into her home. That was more normal than the fact that….

“Set it on the floor.”

He stopped a few feet from her. Click. Light felt its way up and down the walls, exploring the room fully from its source; the end table’s lamp. Allegra didn’t avert her eyes as she lowered her hand from the lamp; she kept that gun on point. Though she had a better view of his features, and his complexion; that nagging remained at the back of her head. She saw him somewhere, before encountering him in the corridor. But where?

The man had indulged in a wardrobe change since she clonked out. He wore a puffy coat, basic enough as far as coats went, and dark slacks. A dark patch swelled on his left shoulder; he shifted his posture under her lingering stare.

Carefully, he set the glass on the carpet a yard from Allegra, and backed away. “Let me know if you need anything else,” he hummed. “My intuition tells me you know your kitchen better than I do.”

Allegra took the glass and gulped down the tepid liquid, to the last drop. She didn’t realize how parched she was until the water hit her lips. With that little bit of fluid her head became a fraction clearer, but she still felt languid and muddled. She had a few more hours to rest before her shift began, but there wasn’t going to be anymore rest.

And a strange man – who broke into the department – was in her home. She did not have plans to go to work and leave him all alone. She didn’t know exactly what to do; without a phone. If he did allow her to leave, then it would be in her best interest to seek help. No doubt he would leave, but she could offer a description; a lead and investigation was better than….

Allegra checked her watch again. Eight already. “I have to get ready for work.” She tried to read the man’s expression on her confession. For the time, he was stationed in the kitchen staring out a window and oblivious to her. He didn’t budge. “My shift starts at nine.”

“If it’s not too much trouble, can I stay here for a short time?”

Allegra balanced herself, and watched the man. The window he gazed through overlooked the front lawn and a portion of the street. Allegra gave her person a pat down. “You didn’t do anything to me, did you? Aside from knock me out.” She raised the gun slightly when he glanced her way.

“Ew. No. I’m not that sort of… person. I searched you, for some identification, and carried you home.” He brushed his hand over his face. “That was the extent of the physical contact. Promise.”

That felt like the first honest confession he had given since she confronted him. Allegra didn’t feel undressed and redressed, but the ache in her body. Her head flared with pain. Hydrocodone would take off the edge.

Allegra knew there was no way she was going to rush and make it into the city for work, and she didn’t feel like confronting the squatter about the missing phone; no reason to raise alarm. Priority, she needed to get out.

Her shoulder and head were in absolute agony. Once Allegra was in the bathroom, she searched through the cabinet for her prescription medication and took that, along with two more glasses of water. She kept the pistol in sight on the toilet tank while cleaning up and dressing. One peculiarity she noted was the spare pillow case draped over the mirror, and held in place by staples. That was bizarre, but she was more discomforted by the idea he had used her sole only bathroom. She spent as little time as necessary within.

Once ready, she sought out the intruder. Same as when she sought him out before, he was curled up on the couch. This time she kept the pistol hidden in her pocket, but in a firm grip.

“I need my keys.”

The man raised his gaze from her presented palm, to her face. “The shelf beside the doorway.”

“Are you going to be here when I return home?” she posed, withdrawing her hand. He shrugged and sank into the blankets.

“No promises. I’m not on board with wrecking your place, staying here, or being more of a nuisance than I am.” He made a small effort to grin, thinly. It wasn’t disarming, it wasn’t ‘charming’, it was meek expression akin to someone trying to reassure them self, more than anyone else. “Do whatever suits you. But don't think about me. As far as this goes, I don’t exist.”

Allegra frowned. She let the issue go, and moved – facing the man the whole time – to the open doorway that lead to the front of her home. True to word, the keys were left on the shelf beside the doorway. Her Range Rover was still in one piece, no visible scratches or unaccounted dings; it wasn’t a brand new car when she bought it, but she took care of it. She checked the back seats and the cluttered back; filled with boxes of papers and discarded files from work. Nothing suspicious.

A wave of relief rippled through Allegra when she opened the driver-side door, and slipped inside. Security. Touchdown. For a while she sat, ignoring the flutter of panic scolding her that she was late and needed to get a move on; she needed a second to herself.

From the outside her home still looked normal and inviting. The windows dim; the unwanted occupant must’ve turned off the lamp on the end table; she usually kept a light one when she left for the graveyard shift. Small habits aside, her home looked typical, like all the other economical homes throughout the neighborhood. Only a few houses had lights on within the windows, and the soft, inviting glow of porches dotted the nightscape scenery.

Allegra fired up the engine and backed out of the driveway. As the miles piled on between her and her home, she wondered if everything experienced was factual. It was surreal, impossible. There couldn’t be a dangerous assailant and intruder, housesitting her home. She didn’t just leave like any drab and boring old day, off to work as if everything wasn’t completely off.

She took deep breathes at each and every traffic light she stopped at. This could not be happening.

But it was.

No internal evidence was present within the environment of the department when she arrived in an hour’s time. The usual routine was in order, and the regular shift was up and about on errands. Aside from the vague accusation from security detail when she was traipsing through the first floors checkpoint, nothing was a red flag of breaking character.

“You didn’t clock out last night,” the security woman grunted. She handed over the box of items passed through, once Allegra exited the metal detector ark.

Allegra exhaled sharply, distracted. “Yeah. I was tired, I’ll be more careful. So sorry.” She got out of the way of the next person, while she stuffed her pockets. Security didn’t seem boosted. And somehow, that man got in and out without alerting anyone? Hard to believe.

One detail worth alarm was the fact Harvey Klein was not at his desk working, nor at the second floor lounge on his prescripted break. This wasn’t incredible unusual; each homicide investigator had side-engagements to undertake during their shift, and it was easy to lose track of time. Harvey began hours before Allegra came in and could’ve been called away.

The apathetic drone and redundancy of the commune research office made Allegra question if what she witnessed within her home were real, or if she ever left work (was taken) in the first place. When she thought back on heading to the lift, and then hearing the strange calling; she doubted her own perception. She followed infant cries and was attacked. Or, hit her head as the man put it.

A few hours in and no hair or hop of Harvey, and no one (not even Chuck) knew for certain if he had come in at his shift start. Allegra didn’t do more than bury herself in the looming assignments, churning through paperwork, and flat out working under the floodgates of anxiety. There did rise some murmurs, straight from Third. Allegra didn’t go out of the way to ask for specifics, but there was mention of an internal scandal; a matter of investigation. These insinuations left Allegra stunned, and apprehensive about Harvey’s wellbeing.

When Allegra managed to pry herself away from work, somewhat nebulous, she decided to return to her vehicle and check the glove compartment. The pistol was there, locked away before she went in. It was a relief knowing it was in her possession, more than knowing she might've been lucid at the time. The medication for her headache wasn't that strong, but she wasn't beyond doubting it as an influencer as well. She sat in the Rover, debating on how to present her assault to the department – but did recall that there was no guarantee the man would be present at her home for capture. He wasn’t going to wait around for arrest.

But he did admit he wanted to stay there. Safe. It wasn’t a guarantee, even if the effort was coordinated to catch him. He smuggled her out of the department. He was up to something.

After a half hour debate over options, Allegra reentered homicide. On her way to the elevator, Harvey caught up to her in hall. “Oh god, Harv-o!” Allegra went for an immediate embrace. “Where have you been?”

“Me?” Harvey gasped, expression dismal. “You didn’t hear them calling for you?” He gave her a long straight-on stare when Allegra backed up. “Are you feeling all right?”

“Who? I stepped outside for some fresh air.” Allegra rubbed at her face, hoping to bruise some color back into her cheeks.

Harvey gave her a floor and room number; Internal Affairs and Investigation. “That’s where I’ve been. Taking Q and A – no idea what it’s about, but there have been some incidents that have been smothered out. The day guard from B level? He was attacked – not recent either – this was a few days ago. You know, was it Adrian. Or Roger? I can’t remember— Anyway, someone drugged him. A totally separate branch from criminal investigation is popping downstairs, but they haven’t released details on what’s going on. Third floor is in a wild buzz.”

Allegra didn’t try speaking. She was good with absorbing the timeframe alone, and piecing together the vague transcription of events. She filed her thoughts back into order; starting from when she boarded the lift on her shift-end. “Oh my god,” she stuttered, reaching up to her collar. “Was he— the guard? Was he all right?”

“Yeah,” Harvey muttered. “They didn’t release word on what was taken, but Third insists it was a cadaver. To top it all off, Otto didn’t show up to work and no one’s been able to reach him. And you… I thought something happened to you. You didn’t sign out from your shift, and I couldn’t get out to wait out for you.” He pulled Allegra into a second hug.

They pulled away and sidestepped as a gurney wheeled by, accompanied by a plain-cloths cop and one of the local hands. Allegra watched them, before turning to Harvey.

“Do they know what time all this took place? I was very tired yesterday. I don’t remember— I must’ve forgotten to sign out.”

Harvey nodded. “What time did you take off yesterday? This morning?” Harvey smirked. “The guard didn’t recall either – I don’t think. The matter thus far has been hush-hush – under no circumstance are we allowed to engage in the rumors spread.”

“So everybody Third up knows?” Allegra raised her gaze to the microphone mounted in the upper corner of the hall. The message droned out with her identification serial, full name, and the pre-mentioned floor Harvey relayed earlier.

Allegra didn’t have a lot of time to think about what she should say, or dwell on what the questioning could entail. She drew out the time from her departure with Harvey, to when she had to venture up three floors to Internal Affairs sector.

An Investigation. The department that dealt with personal reports, altered or missing evidence, and other matters of interest which dealt with the threatened security of homicide study.

A pause followed Allegra’s knock. She waited; hands pressed to the sides of her neck. She slept on her shoulder wrong and the muscle was tender, to the point a simple turn of the head agonized her. She wished now she brought the medicine. The side-effects included drowsiness, but with the way she felt now, the risks would be worth it; the pain refused to go ignored. She needed to wake up more. She needed a drink of something cool and smooth.

“Go ahead and enter.”

Allegra tried the knob. She pushed the door in, and found the cluttered office housed two extra occupants; one was a man in a suit, and the second was a scratchy appearing man in a dress vest.

“Good evening, Dr. Leopold,” Allegra began. She addressed the man behind the oak desk, and did her best not to stare at the other two. In turn, the added occupants offered the same courtesy; the man in the dress vest sat in a chair that looked too small for him and flipped through a provided folder.

“Agent Bunsen, and Director of Internal Affairs Kistler.” Leopold indicated first the scratchy man, then the man in the dress vest. “They’re here on reviewing questioning from members of the homicide department, namely those that had access to the basement in the recent week.” Leopold articulated exact dates and read the times off, and which homicide investigators entered the basement level. “You didn’t sign out when you left the night before.”

“No, I didn’t,” Allegra admitted. She kept rolling the prospective Q and A back and forth in her head; above all else, what should she say. Her thoughts kept drifting back to the current occupant/assailant of her residence, and the pistol she had locked in the Rover.

She should say something here and now.

“I don’t recall leaving – my schedule has been loaded with paperwork,” Allegra uttered, instead. “My partner – Harvey Klein – he and I have been able to keep up with the incoming, but only by a hair.”

“Are you feeling all right?” Allegra turned her eyes to the man in the too-small chair. Director Kistler. “You look ill.”

Allegra managed a smile. “I’m completely peachy. That’s homicide and the Does – under staffed and overworked. We can’t exactly ask wrongful death to take a vacation.” Kistler left a lasting stare on her, before allowing his eyes to dip back into the folder.

“Norvyn Dawud was on security the night before, at the main entrance. He didn’t see you leave,” Leopold clarified. “And none of the emergency exits appeared tampered with.” He held up a hand when Allegra opened her mouth. “I don’t believe you went above and beyond to simply sneak out after a full shift, but we take all evidence in order and work towards our conclusions. You are aware like most in the department, that a theft took place.”

Allegra gulped, but maintained a straight face. “He did it. There was man that broke into the department, assaulted me, and slipped back out into the night.”

“Am I a suspect?” she managed.

Leepold hummed, and checked a page on his desk. “Not yet… there are inconsistencies with the estimated time this theft took place, the supplied recounts of the questioned staff, and also prints.” The lines in his face deepened. “We’ve managed to keep the items identity a secret. Above all else, we do factor in staffs track record and current psychological reports. The investigation is ongoing at this time, and information is sensitive.”

Prints did catch Allegra’s ear. Fingerprints. Those found within the department would match those of the intruder. She opened her mouth, but hesitated.

During the breather, Kistler spoke up. “You and Dr. Klein were working on preliminary analysis of Does brought in? Cadavers categorized among a distinct set of MOs that have been a recent appearance through the city?”

Allegra nodded. She glanced Bunsen’s way – he watched her with dark ringed eyes. “At risk of repeating what Klein told you, can you give me a briefing?” She listened as Leopold offered a condense version, including the theories she and Harvey came up with while transporting the cadaver down for storage. She wondered if one of the cadavers she and Harvey had cataloged that day went missing – Leopold did refer to the missing item as having an identity. “Harvey made estimates on the month of death, based around an unusually warm fall. He may be right that it doesn’t quit line up given what we viewed.”

“What did he figure with the body? Be specific,” Bunsen pressed. Allegra swung his way stiffly.

“From our gathered intuition on rate of decomposition, the surface epidermis was intact as were sub dermal tissue.” Allegra considered more of the cadaver, and the notes gathered. “There was a noted lack of decay in major organs – those which are noted to break down fastest due to the higher percentages of percent bacterial pathogens – such as intestines and liver. The probable month of death was difficult to reach.”

“Dr. Klein mentioned he and you had indirect contact with a cadaver you were not assigned to catalog,” Dr. Leopold interjected. He browsed over a stack of pages on his desk. “And you made observations. What did you think?”

“Could you clarify?” Allegra was standing, and she rather sit for a bit.

“A John Doe-65.” Leopold peered at the files; sifting aside a monochrome photograph. “You spoke with the autopsy team, Tom and Otto – there was an intern assisting them.”

Allegra plucked at her sleeve end, her mind rummaging through the brief exchange. “I do believe I recall… murder weapon was a huge metal bar?” To her question, Leopold nodded. “The body was starved, but there was no other explicit evidence.” Allegra raised her shoulders. A light twinge bit at her neck. “Ah. But the cadaver that Tom and Otto were examining did have injuries not dissimilar to a John Doe Harvey and I examined earlier that evening. A fatal chest wound.”

It wasn’t impossible to believe that the man who had stolen and delivered Allegra to her home, was also capable of working the incinerator in the basement – if his intent was to destroy evidence rather lift it. This certified one matter for Allegra; the man was skilled, or had an inside informant from the department. Someone that abetted to getting the task done; either destroy or theft the evidence. As Leopold put it, the incinerators were simple, old machines and easy to use, and determining if they were used at all and for what mediums would be difficult. If the man at Allegra’s home did have an accomplice, why did he attack and turn up at her home? To her, it sounded as if he was betrayed. Which would explain his ‘law low’ intents.

“Sam, from the basement, was all right?” Allegra breathed, at length. “Not cuts or assault?” Leopold gave her a somewhat bewildered look.

“Yes. He was given a strong narcotic, and no – no lasting harm done.” Leopold looked at Bunsen and Kistler, before readdressing Allegra. “Where did you leave the building from the night before? I need that detail for reference.”

Allegra made up a story, along the way of formation questioned about who was on staff and where as she made her way along the usual route to leave the department. Leopold’s transcript of her disappearance was thus, apparently, no one had seen her head out from the entrance, but at one point her compact Rover was gone and they put two-and-two together. This factor annoyed Allegra more than it terrified. Literally abducted right out from under their noses, and no one more the wiser. She had even spoken to someone a few minutes up before her vanishing act; however, she didn’t recall his face or get a name.

By the time they were done, Allegra was worn and ready to go home. She had two more hours on shift, and Harvey was waiting outside the room when finally emerged; drained and mind spinning webs. She heaved loose a sigh and crossed over to him.

“We have two bodies to process,” Harvey chirped. “You should call in sick, and let me and Chuck deal with the paperwork. He can jot down notes.”

“Tomorrow. I’ll take the next shift off,” Allegra assured. “Hmm. Harvey?”

“Yeah?” He was exiting out the doorway and into the corridor, but stopped and gave her his attention.

“Nevermind.” Allegra patted his shoulder and brushed by. “I think I can handle two dead people. Oh, would you by chance know? Files? I got the gist whoever came in was—” Allegra stopped herself. No one but her was aware of the man that infiltrated the department; the consensus was that someone in the department mishandled evidence. “Do you think Tom submitted the files for the John Doe his team was looking at?” That came from left field.

“I’m not entirely certain.” Harvey matched her pace; his arms crossed. He mused, partly to himself, “Considering, Remus wanted the autopsy on that body postponed. They would have preliminary info filled out, some pictures. Uhh, why the interest? Was this something from Leopold?” They reached the hall end and Harvey punched the button on the lift panel. He bit his lip and hissed.

Allegra pondered over Harvey’s words briefly. “Yeah. Well. He did question about the cadaver the three were looking at.” Allegra gave the vital details over. “Seems like some conflicts of interests in the higher ups. Exciting.”

“I did do some research into the more recent files,” Harvey began. “There’s not a big budget for Doe murder investigations, but I did find significant consistencies within the MOs. Would it even be worth the time to compile those files?” Harvey shook his head. He moved aside as passengers departed the lift, and then climbed in with the remaining staff leftover. “I’d thought about meshing the info and files we already have, and submit them to Remus. See what he thinks. He was supposed to be back today, but I haven’t heard if he’s gotten in yet. No word on what he’s been up to.”

Allegra hit the number, and leaned onto the wall. “The way it sounds, he was miles away when the action went down. He might already be investigating those files.”

Harvey nodded. “True. If that’s what’s going on.”

The lift elevated and dipped. Allegra snapped her eyes open, her thoughts a smidgen cleaner. “There was a guy here the other evening – early morning.” She described the individual she crossed paths with, while searching for the bizarre sounds. The eerie crying. “Have you seen someone like that?”

Harvey looked over his shoulder at her. “Sounds like Rayan, a guy in forensic photography and printing.”

“What floor is he on? Did he come in today?” Allegra punched the key on the panel. Harvey barked a confused sound right when the doors shut them off from the open corridor. There were curses and muffled language from the other side, but the lift was already descending. Allegra swayed and Harvey snared her before she toppled over.

04. Shackles of Conflict

The entry Allegra typically used into her home was a side/backdoor, nestled in beside the extension of the garage port. She shut the door on the early gray of dawn and flicked the lock. Then listened.

Her home was dark and still, aside from the continued roll of the stereo, she could gather no other distinct noise. She wondered if her abductor was still present, or if during her shift he decided to depart her home. He had threatened as much; Allegra suspected he would leave if he anticipated her bringing the whole investigative department onto her house.

Allegra entered the door entry and flipped on the accent lamp, on the nearby shelf. She blinked against the flare. The room was prioritized for her utility tools, and lined with industrial shelves; the shelves were stacked with duct tape, weed killer, spraypaint, wire rolls, cabinet liner, and other essentials. The opposite door and home entry was shut, but she could detect nothing immediately beyond the panel. Allegra crept forward and eased the door open. As she emerged into the kitchen, she reached for the wall and clicked on the ceiling lights, the small bulbs gleamed across countertops the appliances. With the room illuminated, she studied beyond the kitchen and the living area with the lone couch. The blind slates at the sliding door swayed.

Nothing.

With a sigh, Allegra tread over to the vacant couch and sat down, on the far side away from the bundle of blankets. She stared at the messy heap. The blankets were still there. The radio was on, too.

She shut her eyes and laid her head back. The angle she was trying to lay at strained her neck, forcing Allegra to scoot down and stretch out. She rested her head on the armrest and closed her eyes.

A noise pried at her diluted senses. Allegra jarred and sat upright; arms tightly fitted over her chest. The light in the kitchen remained on. She searched her immediate range—

The abductor rounded the corner and entered from the corridor. It looked as if he came from the spare room. He stopped and gave her a long suspicious stare.

“I made an effort not to rouse you.” He crossed to the bookshelf. One hand scrubbed at his face, as if smoothing down stubble. Allegra suspected he decided on turning the radio off, but instead he picked up a mangled little sock on the shelf. “I did some work on cleaning – it appears you don’t have a lot of time for that, either.” For emphasis, he coughed into his raised fist. The hand that held the ratty little sock ran the clothing article over the bookshelf. “I’m shrewd with my work. I’ve done domestic type jobs in the past. Odd jobs. Handy-man type work.”

Allegra explored the room over with her eyes, and could identify the glinting surface of the end tables, the carpet was lined and ruffled with vacuumed lines, the cabinets in the kitchen shimmered. Did the counters sparkle when she turned on the light?

“Thank you,” Allegra said. Though she was almost certain she didn’t invite the home invasion. “You worked all evening? While I was out.”

The man wheezed a bit. He sounded ill, almost. “I managed what I could. I could’ve... It’s the least I could do. I know you don’t want me here, and I’d rather be someplace more hospitable.”

Allegra stood up from the couch, and made an effort to straighten her clothing. She wore basic slacks and a button up shirt, work brand fashion that looked nice. Typically she changed as soon as she got in, or showered at the department before leaving.

“I need to pick up something to eat. Are you hungry?”

The man sat on the floor beside a fake plant, which he glowered up at. “No.” A short beat followed. He shook his head and directed his gaze to Allegra. “Yes. You’re still not up to speed? Would you rather I go?” He patted his thigh. “I would buy, but I’ve misplaced my funds.”

It didn’t appear he had much going in terms of funds, Allegra speculated, by look of his clothing. She said nothing; instead, she retrieved a notepad and pen from a drawer and delivered them to him. As she backed away, she placed her hand on the pocket which held the pistol.

“I’ll pick up some cleaning supplies. You’re using a sock.” The man fidgeted.

“Yaaaah. I’ve been on dust duty.”

“Make a list of what else you need, and I’ll budget.” Allegra left him to the task, and wandered off to the bathroom. Despite the nap, she knew the prescription pills would still make her drowsy. She washed her hands and checked her watch. It was only five PM, and her following shift was canceled. Allegra passed a glance to the pinned cover, replaced, over the mirror.

“What did you do with my phone?” was the question, Allegra delivered upon returning to the living area.

He looked up from the notepad. Quickly, he rose and moved up behind the couch. Tugging up the rumpled blankets he revealed the phone and all attachments, hidden, but intact. “I wasn’t about to cut your cord. You’d rightly panic and phone someone, if I didn’t have the chance to explain myself.”

Allegra didn’t have much else to say, other than, “I appreciate that – disconnecting, rather than cutting.” It would’ve been one more errand and a fresh, unnecessary expense. She returned the phone to her bedroom and hooked it up. She made a mental note that he didn’t follow, or make further comment about the issue. That, or make comment regarding her return to the homicide department where he attacked abducted her; she wasn’t so sure which was more accurate.

“You’re not at all worried I might call someone?” Allegra posed, upon her return to the living room. “The police, to be unoriginal? My work place.”

He coughed somewhat, and his voice rattled as he began speaking. A second gruff-wheeze cleared the problem. “I’m guarded. You have every right to call someone, but if you do, I will quickly vacate the premises. Though you are capable, I don’t think you will.” He raised his gaze from the notepad. “But, you’re not exactly threatened by me. Are you?”

Allegra thought about that. Really, she was unsettled by his presence. However, he had the opportunity to do her harm, or abandon her someplace. She reasoned this person needed her to resume her usual routine to avoid detection, from whoever he had concealed himself from. Someone from the departments; his inside source possibly; their alliance may have taken a dive south. It was foolish to let her guard down, but the impression he wasn’t dangerous forefront won her over. The goal right now was to bide time for answers, but he wouldn’t give them up. Spooking him off would be the complete opposite of helpful.

“No,” she answered. “Is there a specific reason why you couldn’t break into someone else’s home? Clean for them?”

“But we’ve become so close already.” He tore the sheet of paper from the notepad and extended his arm. His smirk broadened.

“Are you trying to charm me?” Allegra snatched the paper away and backed up.

“I take it’s not working.”

“I take it you’re not in the tactical position to do that sort of charming.” Allegra put her hand in the pocket with the pistol. She skimmed over the list. “Do you have food allergies I should be aware of?” The man shook his head. “A name, then?”

This caught the department infiltrator off-guard. He almost spoke, but stalled. “You’re spending a lot of time on a fake name,” Allegra encouraged.

“John.”

Allegra gave him her full attention. “Seriously?”

“What’s wrong with John?”

Allegra stopped there, but bore in mind it was genuinely the first thing in his subconscious he latched onto. John, or Not really John, broke into the basement level of the homicide and tampered/destroyed evidence. He must have seen one of the Doe possessions boxes….

Shopping flew by, and Allegra struggled to focus as she drove between destinations and intermingled with rush-noon-lunch traffic. Her mind puzzled over what she was told, the withheld information Dr. Leopold must have been dodging around. The only way Not John could have gotten out of the station, with her unconscious body no less, was if he had an inside assistant. An accomplice to aid him, and who knew the department well enough to evade security.

Fast-food was her last stop, before returning to her neighborhood and home. Allegra took the time to eat and stayed out in the parking-lot among patrons and eyes, eating her one-forty-nine dinner and pondered her rash decision. Two people missing, one guard was attacked. It would’ve been safe to tell Leopold everything, surely. But John was wary of something as well; something to do with the stolen property of the basement. Perhaps Remus had something to do with the body. He was the only other person to know of it, beyond the department. But Remus was a Department Head and a strict guy when it came to protocol; it didn’t make sense.

When Allegra made it into her home and stepped into the bright kitchen zone, she found the living space in the same state when she arrived earlier – plus some extra shine.

A saucepan was left on the stove, the bottom filled with liquid and bubbles. Allegra frowned. She set the bags down on the counter-top, and listened. The stove was off, but still heated. The stereo was still humming tunes, but the rest of the home was typical and uninhabited.

That’s what he was doing, Allegra decided. John was either hidden, or relocated to a position from where he could observe her arrival. He didn’t seem capable of overtly athletic movement, but that didn’t mean she was correct. He could have found a small task elsewhere to preoccupy his time.

“I brought food,” Allegra announced. She went to the sink and washed her hands. Then, undertook the task of organizing the purchases; some were private acquisitions. She drank another glass of water as she tucked emptied bags away for later use. When Allegra shut a low cabinet and stood, she jumped at the noise of the patio door sliding open. The named John entered, and slipped the door shut.

“The track needed some good hot water and dish soap,” he supplied.

“You’ll have to show me around. A full house tour of a remastered disaster,” Allegra replied. She brought out the gear specifically requested, and set it out on the countertop bench. “You’re doing more than you need to.”

“An apology for knocking you down. And out.” John pulled the edge of the coat sleeve over his palm. “I’m not happy about that.”

Allegra nodded. She thought about Samuel, and his ‘incident’. “Did you have any business down in the basement?” John stooped to snatch up the sock he dropped. He moved in that same jittery, awkward measure. “Oh, I don’t know where you grabbed that getup. I went ahead and picked up something less offensive. I hope it fits… you’re not quite as tall as me, are you?”

“T-thanks,” John stuttered. He gazed at Allegra, with a hint of indignity. “I’m not that short.”

“You’re really petite. For a man. Nothing fancy.” Allegra swung the bag over to John. It sighed and deflated at his bare feet. “You know where the spare room is. You can get dressed.”

John shook off the daze. He collected up the bag, and moved in on the counter-top cluttered with goods. “Later-later. I still have a bit to do, and I’ll save the new threads for when I get spruced up.” He looked through a few bottles, picked up a bundle of spare rags from the collection and ducked off. “I was in the middle of something when you came in.” His voice faded. He disappeared into the corridor.

“Your foods going to get chilled!” Allegra howled. She winced. The pain medication was wearing off. At least it didn’t put her in a woozy depression the way it usually did. She finished unpacking, put some foods into the refrigerator, and moved out into the living area.

Allegra kicked off her shoes and sank down on the couch. The blanket mound was gone; she didn’t dwell on its new occupancy. She rather settle in and keep an eye on the named John, as he ran back and forth. She could hear him sometimes in the next room, when he bumped a wall or… did something else. Otherwise, he went undetected.

“You’re foods gotten cold,” she muttered, whenever he darted through. At one point, the John tossed the bag into the refrigerator.

“I’ll heat it up later. It’ll be fine.”

Allegra didn’t argue after that. She shut her eyes, but blinked back the sleep. Her eyelids sunk down once more. She saw John slow when passing her, and stop entirely. He watched. Allegra frowned at him, but something must’ve gone wrong.

She struggled to turn over, before pushing herself up completely.

Everything was dark. She pushed her hands through her sheets and flopped over, with a grunt. She reached out with her hand feeling through the ambiguous veil; she hit the low foot board of her bed. Cursing and grumbling, she flipped positions and reached out, only to recall she already requested the work-shift off.

When did she make it to bed? Steadily, she wound through the events of the previous day. Food. John. Missing people. Cleaning. Not in that order. With a twinge of agitation, she concluded she nodded off. At least she was feeling leagues better than the day before, when she woke up from the fall. Still achy, but less lethargic, and more in tune with her surroundings. Even if she didn’t recognize she was upside down in bed.

The pipes hummed through the home, whistling away the woes of the day’s grunge. He was still in her home. At least she knew where he was this time.

Allegra pushed herself up in bed, still dressed in her clothing from the day before; her mid-length hair a tangled nest, short only prickly burrs to compliment the mess; the pistol burned a hole in her hip. She sat slouched sideways, waiting for her muscles to loosen and the dull pulse to fade. The water continued thrumming within the walls. She hit the digital clock. Late. She looked the way of the bedroom door, and imagined the corridor beyond it. Dark.

“Are you going to be in there much longer?” Allegra barked. She rapped on the door with her knuckles. “Not John?” The warble in the pipes died off, abandoning to the timid whistle of water trickling from the faucet. “We need to talk.” And she debated taking more medicine, but was on the fence about affording some time to come off the affects. “I need an answer. Now.”

“I need a towel,” the muffled reply came.

“Cabinet by the door.” Allegra listened to the click of the latch, and rummaging. “Do you have your new clothing?”

“Yeah.”

“Did you eat?” Allegra looked to the kitchen, but couldn’t make out evidence of a disturbed refrigerator in the gloom. A low reply came at her backside. “I’ll make some coffee.” She tried the doorknob, and found the lock loose.

A sharp snarl came from behind the door, and the handle snapped out of Allegra’s grip. “Do you mind!”

“You should have locked it.” Allegra was shambling to the kitchen. She clicked on a few of the soft lights as she went. Within a few seconds, she had the filter in the brewer filled, and the water added in the tank. She left the brewer and stood beside the counter, which separated the living area from the kitchen. The bathroom door opened.

Not John emerged. He clicked the light off at his back, the towel slung over his shoulders and head; he patted his face with the plush fabric. He was dressed in the new clothing; the collar of the shirt buttoned all the way up.

“Are we still on moderately good terms?” he uttered. “Or should I hit the road?”

“No. I need you to be straight with me.” Algera pressed her palms together and put her compressed hands before her lips. “You were at the homicide department, where I worked.” John went still and stared at her. “An item was stolen from the basement level – I don’t know the details. Some sort of incriminating evidence – it had something to do with a missing person, I think.”

“A missing person?” John echoed.

“Or found Doe, a John Doe. Right? Like the name you picked.” Allegra took a deep breath, and lowered her hands to the countertop. “I know you didn’t act alone. You worked with someone – someone that you’re hiding from right now, as we speak?”

John said nothing. He clung to the towel draped over his shoulders, and stared off, at one of the dark kitchen windows.

“I don’t know what’s going on,” Allegra admitted. Not John wouldn’t look at her. “But I see that you’re in some kind of trouble. Isn’t that right? My department can help you if—”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” John made a face, then, brought his fist close to his mouth.

“Listen,” Allegra resumed. “Two of my colleagues went missing. They made the files and cataloged a body – that must have something to do with it. Isn’t that why you’re hiding?”

“Files?” This time, John snapped his attention directly to Allegra. “What files?”

Allegra hesitated. She didn’t like that intense interest in his tone. “Basic identification of the body. Some photography and preliminary notes, minute observations. That’s what I’m saying – you had something to do with an item’s disappearance related to this cadaver, or the cadaver itself—”

“You didn’t see the body?” He stepped a little closer, eyes slanted quizzically.

“No, I didn’t.” Allegra straightened. The coffee maker wasn’t going. She flipped the switch, and got herself a glass of water. John denied and offered glass with a flick of his hand. “I didn’t get a good look at it.” After that, John directed his sight away, and nibbled on the end of the towel.

Allegra got another glass of water, and began to rethink her assessments. John didn’t have anything to do with missing evidence? He seemed genuinely concerned about the attention the department was getting, though wholly unaware a crime was committed. This was making no sense.

“I need to visit the morgue, and take the files.” Allegra snapped her head up to the response. John didn’t meet her gaze. He was completely out of it.

“That would be impossible. Currently, the department is under strict investigation.” Something occurred to Allegra. “You didn’t have someone in the department, assisting you?”

“Of course not.” John took a sharp breath.

“But…” Allegra dithered. She searched John for answers, but he was silent, his eyes intently fixed on a kitchen window. “What were you doing in the basement? That was your initial purpose, to tamper – I mean, destroy evidence. What are you looking at?”

Allegra went to the window. Close to the oily reflective surface, she caught sight of Not John as he booked it; presumably to the hall and a bedroom – a window. A few minutes of silence, and then a knock came to the entry door. She moved to the short corridor, extending from the living area and to the traditional front door.

“Hello?” She looked through the peephole, and snapped on the porchlight. A familiar face made the effort to smile back.

“Remus?” Allegra gaped. She unlatched the door, and turned on the entry light. “It’s kind of late.”

Remus was a square but sturdy young man, with untidy hair but a lot of passion for his people. He stepped up onto the threshold but held there momentarily.

“You really need an answering machine.”

“Did you try calling?” Allegra had one lone phone in all her household, and it was all the way in her bedroom. Or she was asleep. “It’s late— But come in! Come in! Get out of the cold.” She shut the door, and motioned to the coat stand in an alcove of the hall.

“Are you making coffee?”

“Come have a cup, and warm up.” Allegra led the way back into the living area and kitchen. “I’m sorry the place is a mess.” She was about to go on, but instantly caught the perplexed stare Remus gave to the twilight atmosphere of the room.

“A disaster site, I’m certain,” he mocked. “Allie, it could have waited, but I wanted to make sure you were holding up. How are you feeling?”

Allegra sighed as she went through the cabinets; momentarily, she forgot where the mugs kept residence. “Better, after some fluids and rest. It must’ve been a twenty-four hour thing. You came all this way to check in on me? You could’ve sent some smoke signals.” Remus was silent. Allegra spun around, and spied Remus standing rigid. He held something in his hands – one of the bathroom towels lay on the floor.

“Are you—”

“That’s not my blood,” Allegra snapped. She stared at Remus. Remus caught on.

And produced a relatively large pistol from under his coat. He dropped the towel, and watched Allegra intently. Allegra regained her composure, and tilted her head toward the archway across the room. She watched Remus inch his way toward the opening, the seasoned officer apparent in his sharp, controlled movements and stance. Like riding a bicycle.

Remus sided up to the wall and inched to the frame of the arch. He halted short of the portal and leaned carefully around the walls edge; the only sound on the air was the soft melody from the stereo. Allegra held her breath. The lethal end of the firearm peered into the corridor, and Remus followed briskly. The moment Remus was a fraction into the corridor a lamp crashed into his shoulder and pitched him sideways. A thick crack snapped off, buried under Remus’ shout.

Allegra’s jaw dropped. That little snippet didn’t compare, to witnessing Not John fly across the open portal and out of sight. A snarled curse erupted from Remus, and the scuffle began; the walls boomed as the two clashed. An ungodly shriek leapt forth—

A horrendous, inhuman sound Allegra would bet her soul came from the infiltrator of the homicide department.

#novel #book #book 1 #book series #grim dark #dark fiction #vampire #monster #forensic #story

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