"Agents Ford and Waverly, FBI. Are you Dr. Lucy Cox?"

The brothers stood in front of a tall, grey-blond woman in a lab coat, bent over the desk reading some papers. She wore her hair in a knot which was held on her head by a pencil. Her profile looked tired and somehow sad.

"Yes, what can I do for you?" She didn't look up.

"We were told you are the responsible coroner for the autopsies of – wait: Robert Parker, Sadie Smith and Pedro Hernandez?"

"Really, am I?" Dr. Cox looked up – and nearly lost her pen. Holy cow, this is the hottest pair of cops I have ever seen! Just my luck I look like something the cat dragged in…

"Sorry, your assistant said that they were your cases."

Lucy was a professional. After telling thousands of relatives that their loved ones were dead – and no, they probably didn't want to know how they had died – she never lost her composure.

But this time it was hard work. Damn it, they are gorgeous!

"If Polly said so, she is probably right. I just never really remember the names. What was the cause of death? Walk with me – I need a cig…- coffee." Hell, I stopped smoking two years ago.

"It says here 'unknown', but the file suggests that it is the result of an animal attack." Dr. Cox wrinkled her forehead in thought and scratched her head.

"Rrrrright – I remember."

She lifted one of her eyebrows and dared to look the taller agent in the eyes. Nice eyes – just a bit sad.

They had reached a small but friendly furnished kitchen. In one corner stood three chairs around a small table, on the countertop was a coffee-machine, bubbling happily. Mugs with all kind of funny animals were placed next to it, arranged neatly around a donut-box.

"They were nearly totally skinned, you could see the bones through the claw marks. One of them – the construction worker, forgot his name…"

"Robert Parker"

"Right. He was missing the lower half of his head. Bitten off or torn off – couldn't tell anymore."

She poured the coffee in a big mug and took a donut.

"You want one? Help yourself."

Lucy, get a grip! He'll notice that you're staring! And that you'll start drooling any minute.

Sam poured himself some coffee, Dean looked at the donuts and decided against them. Somehow, the thought of sweet, sugar-coated bakery made him uneasy. Man, he hated hospitals, even if it was just the morgue. The smell was so… cold, hopeless. And final.

"Why are you investigating?" Dr. Cox was mumbling with her mouth full.

Sam had just taken a sip of coffee – hot and fresh, not the usual weak, tepid and tasteless piss – so Dean spoke.

"Maybe you've heard there have been other killings like that. Different kind of people, some of them quite rich and some just ordinary, every-day persons. We somehow stumbled over this, because we were investigating the death of one Carl Borroms, who was helping us in another case. First we thought it was a contract killing, but the circumstances didn't fit. And when we found out that there had been other deaths nearly exactly like that…"

He smiled – and Dr. Cox nearly choked on her donut.

This is ridiculous, Lucy. You have a son his age!

She tried to save some of her composure, but she had to cough and was spitting donut-crumbles all over the agent.

The fact that he grinned even wider didn't help the situation.

"Sorry" she mumbled after she caught her breath again.

"No worries, I really hate that suit anyway." His voice is like honey-coated gravel. And I can't shake the feeling that he knows exactly why I choked.

She lowered her eyes, shook her head and grinned. To hell with it – who cares if you fancy them!

"Follow me."

They walked down the hallway, turned left, down the stairs and through another hallway.

"You are not trying to abduct us somewhere?" Agent Waverly had asked that – or was it Ford? She didn't remember who was who. Agent Tall Lucy decided.

"No, but I wish. It's just so packed in the upper parts of the hospital that we had to relocate some of our "less important" clients."

Dr. Cox hated that kind of politics. No one should be "less important" when he was dead. But since there really was no room upstairs, she went with it.

"I have something you might wanna see."

***

On the cold steel table lay a corpse. Better, the remains of a corpse. It had been cleaned already. With the pale, bluish flesh and bloodless wounds it looked even more horrible as if it had been covered in gore.

Dean cocked his head, looking at the sight in front of him. Like hypnotized, Lucy thought. His eyes were far away – wherever they went wasn't a happy place.

"Wow." Sam had reached the table.

"Yep, that's what everyone says who sees him. Had taken four hours to secure any possible evidence, search all the wounds for something – DNA, hair, fibre – just something."

"Nothing?"

"Nothing! He had been torn to pieces. Whatever had killed him was thorough and slow. His heart had been beating until he had bled out – which took a while. Somehow this creature managed to avoid hitting any of the arteries. It looks like random claw marks and bites – but how could an animal miss the arteries when it tears out his liver? And rips open the stomach? His guts had been hanging out, his legs and arms, hands and feet were bitten and the beast had been tearing at him. It had stripped his flesh and skin from his torso – see?"

She took some tweezers and lifted a piece of flesh. Only one small part was still attached to the corpse, the rest was like a bed-sheet, which slapped down on the body after Dr. Cox released it.

Sam swallowed. It sounded too much like a steak. And the smell of formaldehyde was getting to him.

"His body is nearly empty; the animal chewed on his intestines, gnawed through his stomach and bit away parts of his kidneys. His bladder was ripped – must be a very unpleasant sensation, if you ask me. The rips were broken by impact, the torso opened with blunt claws. Some of the ribs have been bitten in pieces. Piece by piece by piece – and since we couldn't find any remains, we think they were swallowed by the … thing. Same goes for his left hand – no remains were found. Torn off. As were the fingers on his right hand. His face was chewed on, 'specially the ears – while he was alive! The skull was cracked in many places, but even here no fatal wound occurred. The muscles and ligaments have been stretched nearly to the point of tearing apart – and it takes a lot of strength to do that! Someone – or something – must have pulled on two ends of him. This guy had been attacked by at least two animals. Probably more."

"What kind of animal?" Agent Greeneyes had returned from his trip down memory lane.

"I don't know. All the marks say 'dog'; big, fierce dog. But there is not one piece of DNA, no saliva, no hair – nothing. And before you ask – not a sign of human participation was found. It must have been dogs, but absolutely clean, hairless and without saliva?"

She shook her head, pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed. "If you tell me it was an invisible dog-pack - I'll believe it. Hell, I'll even believe it were aliens or a secret CIA-weapon."

She turned to Greeneyes, whose face was expressionless and stern.

"Doc, there is of course no such thing as a secret CIA-weapon. If there was, we wouldn't tell you. If we did, we would have to remove you."

He was joking. His face didn't give away anything, but his eyes were sparkling with fun.

You could get lost in those eyes…

"Hrmhrm" – Agent Tall was clearing his throat. "Do you know if there is a dog – or two – missing somewhere? Or a wolf, maybe?"

"No, not that I know of. But if there were wild dogs running around in the streets, don't you think someone would have seen something? Or heard? There are no other animals missing, no cattle, no cats or rabbits or whatever pets people keep these days. We – I mean the police – already checked."

"We should better re-check. Is there an animal-shelter somewhere in the city?"

"Two, actually. One is maintained by the county, the other one is private. I can give you the addresses. Follow me, they are in my office."

Sam was glad to get away from the corpse. It disturbed him. Vivid images of torn flesh, ripped ribcages and sprays of blood were running through his head. He all too well remembered his brother on the floor, the sound of tearing fabric and flesh, the smell of blood – metallic and strong.

The screams.

And his own helplessness. Pinned to the wall, he could only watch. Couldn't even lift a finger to help Dean. All his promises, how he would save him, how he would somehow get him out of this deal – worthless.

That day, he felt something grab his heart and squeeze every ounce of life out of it. Froze it. Turned it to stone; cold, unmoving and dark.

And yet it had kept on beating. Relentless, merciless, never missing a beat. He had tried to feel something or nothing, had tried to wash away the pain.

Alcohol didn't help. Cigarettes made him vomit. Marijuana gave him nightmares, worse than the ones he already had. After the experiment with the pot, he never had had the guts to start with the hard stuff.

Good thing he didn't. Would have been a very unpleasant surprise to come back from hell and find your brother with a needle in his arm…

Something bobbed his shoulder. "Wake up, Dude" whispered Dean. The doctor was leading them back through the hallway, to the staircase. Sam had already walked half the way without even noticing. He was just shaking his weary head when he bumped into Dr Cox, who had stopped suddenly and snapped her fingers.

"Damn, I forgot to lock the door – be right back with you", she shouted, already rushing back the way they had come. The brothers followed her with their eyes, her long white coat waving behind her.

"You're right, this was no hellhound."

"Why do you say that?"

Dean looked at his brother as if he had just ordered a pizza in a sushi-bar.

"You're kidding, right? A hellhound wouldn't bother torturing a person. They grab you, kill you and take your soul. The torturing comes later."

Sam shook his head. He knew his brother. Had known him for all his life. And still he managed to surprise him. With a sentence, a word, a joke – this sudden unexpected smile of his, that could illuminate the whole room. Not subtle and slow like a candle, but like an explosion of light and happiness.

Scary.

"Yes, I agree."

"So what then? Ghost dogs?"

"Maybe. There is…"

"Shshshs, she's back!"

They turned around and went up the stairs, Doctor Cox trailing behind. Admiring the view in front of her – Nice ass, both of them! – Lucy felt compelled to start a conversation. Why is it that women always start to babble when they feel embarrassed?

"So, how long have you been with the FBI? You seem pretty young."

The tall one turned his head around.

"Some time. Not that long, to be honest. But we are good. That's why we were given a case so soon. And since our real case died with Mr Borroms, we kind of felt responsible for this one."

"Yeah, otherwise we would have had to go back sorting paperclips in the office." said Agent Greeneyes, still with his back to her.

"How old are you two?" She really couldn't tell. They seemed to change age from one blink of the eye to the next.

"Older than we look, Doc." Tall smiled at her, and she didn't doubt it a second. There was…something in his eyes, something sad and lonely and hidden. She had seen a look like that, often.

It was part of her daily routine.