A/N: I love writing murder mystery stories. I have written one for the Gossip Girl fandom before so I figured I would do one for the Glee fandom as well. Feedback would be lovely as always. I should note that my knowledge of the supernatural comes from reading the novels of Victoria Laurie, although I have tweaked certain things to better serve this story. I will update as soon as I can, but please note that I happen to be on vacation still. Also, there will not be a summer edition of 'Fuinning In The Blanks', but I will be doing one throughout season 3 with references to the summer.

After The Funeral

Quinn pulled the black veil down over her eyes, head lowered, so that no one would see her tears. She caught sight of Santana standing at the front of the church. She was leaning on her mom, who was whispering what the blonde assumed were consoling words into her ear. The Latina was much less put together than she was, her face stained with running mascara. Her heart-wrenching sobs seemed to shake the church. At the age of twenty six, Finn Christopher Hudson was dead. No, not dead, murdered, and everyone who had known him was devastated (or at least they pretended to be).

Unable to watch her pathetic act anymore, Quinn slipped out of the back pew and left the church. She was the only one who knew the truth, she thought demurely to herself. Well, her and Puck. Then again, Puck was the one who was screwing her. Finn had been clueless about everything with regards to Santana of course. Never for a moment did he think she was after his money. (Finn was the Chief Financial Officer of a multibillion dollar computer company, not to mention he had won twelve million dollars in the lottery about two years back.) Never for a moment did he think she was screwing his "best friend" behind his back.

Quinn had caught Puck and Santana getting hot and heavy against the wall of a bathroom stall at one of their glee club reunions. Finn had been outside laughing with the rest of them, none the wiser. There were plenty of moments since then where she had been tempted to confront him with the truth, but she had sworn to distance herself from the McKinley crowd the moment she had graduated from that hell hole. Their annual reunions were the only exception. Otherwise, she avoided them like the plague.

She had given herself a clean slate and moved to New York to pursue a career in television. She struggled at first, getting a few small parts here and there. Her big break came with staring in a comedy titled 'Three Wishes' and opportunities came rolling in after that. More opportunities than she could take in fact. Quinn was turning people down left and right. Everything she touched turned to gold and her latest TV show 'Insomnia' was no exception. The ratings for the finale had been through the roof and the show, of course, had been renewed for a second season. Going somewhere without someone asking for her autograph was near impossible nowadays.

"I know how upset you really are, Quinn," a tiny voice spoke up from behind her, interrupting her thoughts.

The blonde didn't even need to turn around to place a face with the voice, grimacing as she felt the intruder rest a hand on her shoulder in an effort to comfort her.

"You don't know anything, Rachel," she answered without turning around to look at her, keeping her voice even. She spoke through clenched teeth, "So, piss off."

There was fog in the air, the atmosphere thick with pity. She felt like she was suffocating. She felt like she was going to throw up at any moment. There was nothing she hated more than pity. She pitied others. No one, no one was allowed to pity her. She was goddamn Quinn Fabray.

"You don't have to pretend in front of me," the brunette reminded her, although she let her hand drop to her side in defeat. "I know you never stopped loving him from high school. I know how hard this is for you, Quinn."

The blonde whirled around to face her then, Rachel having hit a particularly sore spot, and snarled at her, "I thought I told you to piss off, Berry."

Rachel flinched at the harsh tone of her voice as she continued to watch her for a moment, sympathy lingering in her eyes. Finally, she nodded, giving her a sad smile before heading back into the church.

There it was again. That damn pity.

"You know where to reach me," she murmured as she left, even though she knew her words were most likely falling to deaf ears (which Quinn could confirm that they were).

The blonde rolled her eyes, waiting until she had disappeared from her view before getting into her car. She had no idea why she had even decided to come to his goddamn funeral. The people here might as well have been strangers. He might as well have been a stranger. Since graduating from high school, Quinn had only ever seen Finn at their high school reunions and even then, their conversations had been few and far between, not that they had anything to talk about really.

The drive back was a quiet one and she was only able to breathe easy again when she arrived at her building. She tossed her assistant her keys so that she could park the car before strolling toward the large double doors, the entrance to her palace. She allowed the paparazzi to snap a few shots of her before heading inside. Unlike most starlets, she had a great relationship with the paparazzi. She had come to an understanding with them. She let them do their jobs as long as they still gave her some privacy. She was even friends with a lucky few.

Her cool demeanor, however, disappeared as she entered the confines of the elevator, her lips quivering slightly as reality fully consumed her. Finn was dead. He was dead. Someone had murdered him. Quinn Fabray often pretended to be strong, but many a times, she was only one step away from crumpling, one step away from going over the edge. This, this was one of those moments. Her heart-wrenching sobs (much like the ones Santana had emitted earlier, except hers were real) echoed off the walls as she held onto the railing to support her shaking body. Finn Hudson, the boy she had never stopped loving was dead and the saddest part was that he would never know. He had died thinking that what he had had with Santana was real. He had died thinking that he was about to marry a girl he loved, one who loved him too. He had died without realizing that no one, no one would ever love him the way she had, the way she did.

By the time the elevator doors had opened again, Quinn was back to her usual, emotionless façade. She strolled into her penthouse, collapsing onto the living room couch in exhaustion. She lacked the energy to even drag herself to the bedroom. She turned to her left and noticed the red light blinking on the answering machine. She decided now was a good time as any to listen to her messages.

Beep.

Hey babe. How was the funeral? Listen, everyone wants to know whether or not you'll be coming in for work tomorrow. Call me, okay? Love you.

Beep.

Darling, People magazine wants an exclusive interview with you and Richard for the big one year anniversary. I told them you'd do it. It would be excellent publicity for the pair of you. Kiss, kiss!

Beep.

Hey sis, mom's worried about you. You haven't called her in weeks. Look, I know you two don't exactly get along, but do this for me, okay? Call her. Did you offer our condolences to the Hudson-Hummel family like we asked you to?

End of messages.

Quinn was quick to erase all three, letting out a strangled cry of frustration seconds later as she whipped the answering machine at the wall, the device shattering to pieces against the hardwood floor. Fuck them. Fuck all of them! Everyone was always expecting something from her. When had anyone ever taken her into consideration?

Once she had taken deep breaths to calm herself down, returning to her usual, placid state, she got up from the couch to sweep up what remained of her answering machine. She would have to get her assistant to go and get her a new one tomorrow. In the meantime, she figured she should probably call her boyfriend and her publicist. Frannie and her mother, however, could wait.

She picked up the phone, the dial tone sounding in her ear as she waited for Richard to answer. When he finally picked up and greeted her with a hello, all he heard in response was his girlfriend's blood-curling scream.

"Quinn?" he shouted into the phone in his hand. "Quinn! Are you there? Babe, answer me! Quinn? Alright, I'm hanging up and calling the co-"

"Sorry Richard," Quinn apologized, finding her voice again upon hearing his threat.

She held her hand to her throat as she continued to stare into those familiar eyes, her voice still shaking.

"There was…a mouse," she explained, chiding herself for not having been able to come up with a better excuse. "Anyway, I just wanted to let you know I'll be at the studio tomorrow."

"Jesus Christ, Quinn," Richard responded, running a hand through his hair in annoyance. "You almost gave me a fucking heart attack. Look, I know the funeral was probably exhausting for you, seeing as he was your first love and all. Get some rest, okay? I'll pick you up in the morning for work. How does that sound, baby?"

"Um, great," she stuttered after a moment of silence as she had zoned out somewhat. "Sounds perfect. Thanks for being so understanding. Love you."

She waited for his 'I love you too' before hanging up the phone. Once the device was back in the receiver, she turned back to look at those familiar, warm, brown eyes, praying that he was only a mirage.

"You can see me," Finn noted, a confused smile spreading over his face as he waved a hand in front of her face for confirmation. "Quinn, can you see me?"

She nodded hesitantly, getting up from the couch again and making her way toward the kitchen in order to grab herself a cup of tea. She hated that God was doing this to her. From her first encounter with the dead at the age of eight, she had learned to accept her gift. The only other person who knew of her gift was her college friend, Amy, who had a related, but much different gift than her own. Whereas Amy could tell whether or not a person was dead from their photo, Quinn helped the dead crossover to the other side, the ones who she encountered anyway.

From the moment she had heard that Finn had been brutally murdered, she had prayed that God would not be so cruel as to allow her to encounter his spirit. How could she help the man she loved crossover to the other side when her heart would be telling her to keep him on Earth for as long as she could? She knew that would be selfish, but she always had been with regards to Finn. Quinn sighed and locked her eyes with his, waiting for him to ask her the question they always did, 'How can you see me?'. She would explain her gift to them, help them piece together the moments up and until their death, help them realize they were indeed dead, and then finally send them along their merry way.

"You seem distressed," he observed instead, giving her a small smile. "Are you okay, Quinn?"

The blonde had a feeling he had no idea he was dead right now. Like most, he probably thought this was merely a dream, that he was tucked away in his bed right now, sleeping. Ignorance was bliss, but in this case, he would not be able to crossover without realizing and accepting his own death. Quinn secretly hoped he never would, but knowing what happened to those who lingered in limbo for too long, she loved him too much to ever let him suffer that fate, to wander the Earth for eternity.

"I've been better," she answered simply, leaning against the counter as she took a sip of her hot tea. "I assume you went to see Santana first and then your family. Finn, are you not curious at all as to why I can see you and no one else can? "

He gave her a boyish smile and she automatically felt like she was being transported back to her childhood. She had missed that smile. She had missed him.

"I am, but I figured you would tell me why eventually," he told her with a nonchalant shrug, sitting on the countertop or more like, floating on the countertop. "Besides, I'm dead. I've got nothing but time."

Quinn frowned at his words, her eyebrows knitted together in confusion. Odd. Most of the spirits she encountered didn't usually know they were dead. Whereas those who died naturally crossed over quite quickly without the help of people like her (at least she assumed there were people like her), those who suffered traumatic deaths were stuck in limbo so to speak because they didn't realize they were dead.

Normally, Quinn's job was to help these individuals remember the events leading up to their deaths, no matter how painful. Once they came to terms with the fact that they were undeniably dead, only then would she be able to help release them from the confines of this world to a much, much happier place. She supposed Finn had simply saved her the work. He would be on his way soon enough.

(Her heart broke at the thought.)

"So, you are fully aware that you're not alive," Quinn clarified, her eyes becoming a little watery as she thought about how he would disappear before her very eyes like they always did once she had helped them.

Of course he was. He knew he was dead, had been murdered to be exact according to those who had attended his funeral. Oddly enough though, his last memory was of his business trip to Mexico. He remembered nothing about being murdered. Perhaps that was why he seemed so unaffected by his own death right now.

"Yes, I was at my own funeral," Finn reminded her, wondering why the hell she seemed so sad suddenly.

She had seemed unperturbed by his death at the funeral procession.

"You left early. I saw you. I also overheard what Rachel said to you," he confessed, watching her reaction.

Immediately she put her defenses up again, glaring at him, the look in her eyes almost menacing.

"Yeah, well, you must have heard me tell her to piss off too then," she shot back, the cup of tea in her hands no longer having the calming effect that it usually did.

"So, it wasn't true," he stated, unable to understand why the possibility earlier had made him feel more alive than he had felt in years.

He scoffed quietly to himself. He knew why, like he could ever fall out of love with Quinn Fabray. His heart began to pound in anticipation over her answer.

"Not since high school," she assured him, turning her back to him and heading toward the bedroom. "You can rest in peace now."

Finn stayed where he was for a moment, his lips pressed together in slight disappointment before he followed her. The door was closed, but he walked right through the wooden barrier. Way cool, he thought to himself.

"Right, I suppose I can then," he responded, trying to pretend like her words hadn't affected him in any way. "So, are you going to tell me why you can see me and no one else can? Of everyone, I thought Santana would be the one who would be able to."

"Right," Quinn scoffed as she took off her makeup. "Because Santana's your perfect little fiancée. We all saw how distraught she was at the funeral."

"How about you watch how you talk about her?" Finn suggested, starting to get irritated with her attitude. "Santana's been through a lot with me."

"Like watching you accumulate a massive fortune, Finn?" she asked with a bitter laugh, unable to control herself.

"She's not with me for my money, she wasn't," he hissed, speaking to her through her mirror. "What Santana and I had was real. You don't know anything about her! You two have barely spoken to each other since high school. We've barely spoken to each other since high school!"

Quinn wanted to say, "Oh, is that why she's been screwing Puck behind your back?", but she didn't. That would be too cruel.

Instead, she said, "I apologize. You're right. I know nothing about her, or you, or your relationship."

She got up from her vanity table, crossing her arms over her chest and simply observed him for a moment. Clearly what she and Finn had had was over. She shouldn't be upset with God about this. What He had given her right now was an opportunity to fully let go of Finn. Once she helped him crossover, Quinn knew this burden would finally be lifted from her shoulders. She would finally be able to love Richard completely, give all of her heart to him.

(She had to believe that.)

"Anyway, long story short, I help the dead - that would be you - crossover to the other side," Quinn started when he had kept quiet after her apology.

He had been surprised by her apology, having thought she would have had some biting remark for him instead.

"Crossover," he echoed, looking at her skeptically.

She had gotten used to these looks of disbelief over the years.

"Yes," she answered, expanding a little. "Mind you I don't seek out the dead. I simply help those I happen to come across. So, you are a hundred percent fully aware that you were murdered?"

"Yes," he told her for the billionth time, rolling his eyes. "Are you a hundred percent fully aware that you're being redundant with your questions?"

She stared at him in shock for a moment before a smirk spread across her face.

"The years have done some good for you Hudson evidently," she commented, looking at him, impressed. "Got yourself a backbone."

He nodded at her, a small laugh escaping from his lips.

"Yeah, I guess you could say that," he said, watching as a her smirk slowly transformed into a genuine smile.

Their eyes locked for a moment before Quinn broke whatever was holding them in this dazed state.

"Who killed you?" she questioned, curiosity passing over her features.

She chided herself for having forgotten probably the most important question after 'Did you ever stop loving me, Finn?' to which the answer was most certainly, 'Yes, a long time ago.'

"I think the police would appreciate the help," she added, encouraging him to respond.

Finn pursed his lips, eyebrows furrowed in thought.

"I…I don't know," he finally admitted, opening his eyes again to glance at her. "I don't remember."

"What's the last thing you do remember?" Quinn asked, watching as he closed his eyes in thought again.

She needed to be patient with him. Her gift required patience.

"Boarding a plane to Mexico for a business trip," he told her, his memories jumbled beyond that point.

"Oh, well then I don't think you're ready to crossover quite yet," she informed him, trying to keep the utter joy out of her voice. "I'm guessing you don't see a tiny ball of light somewhere above your head?"

Finn looked above him for a moment, checking twice just to be sure.

"Nope," he finally confirmed, considering for a moment that perhaps this was all a dream.

It all seemed a little out there. Since when had Quinn had this superpower and why had she never shared this with him while they were dating?

"Hmmm," Quinn sounded, tapping her index finger lightly on her chin. "Definitely not ready then. I've got to make a call, a private one. Can you go? You can come back and find me later."

Finn shrugged, wondering why she was so quick to get rid of him, but followed her instructions. She was the only one who could help him "move on" after all. Walking away from her though, he realized that maybe he didn't want to "move on". Talking to Quinn again was nice, real nice.

"Uh, yeah, sure, I guess," he said, making his leave. "I want to go and check to make sure Santana's okay anyway."

Quinn nodded at him. She was okay alright, she thought to herself as he vanished. So okay in fact that she was probably already screwing Puck by now. She probably should have warned him, should have told him the truth, but he wouldn't believe her until he saw it with his own eyes anyway.

(Quinn secretly wished they were fucking right now.)