A/N: Happy Easter everyone! Thank you for all the wonderful reviews! They're what keep me writing! Also, as I forgot to indicate in the first author's note, I'm pretending that season 2 episode 2 was about one month after the finale of season 1 and (unfortunately) these characters don't belong to me. Sigh.
Oh, and sorry for the less eloquent chapter ahead, I wrote it during a bought of insomnia last night.
…
Everyone a part of the NYPD's Major Crime Unit was abuzz with curiosity and horror. Each and every member (so really only Jay, Murray, Carrie and Al) couldn't believe their eyes.
"Alright," Al said in an presenter's voice gesturing towards the large screen made up of four separate monitors. "The victim is Angela Jackson. She was approximately three months pregnant as of last -"
Al 's description of the victim was cut off by Murray who looked as though she couldn't decide whether to look sorry for the victim or in awe.
"That's not the Angela Jackson, right? The one who is - was - starring in Daydreams?" She asked. Three faces looked completely shocked at her.
"I didn't know you had a thing for musicals," an astonished looking Jay said. Who would have thought that behind the tough cop exterior beat the heart of a theatre lover?
"No… no, I'm not the musical lover. It my twelve year old daughter. She hasn't stopped talking about the premiere of Daydreams since it was first announced last year," Murray clarified.
A moment passed with everyone just absorbing the new information. They weren't dealing with the murder of an ordinary citizen. Not even that of an ordinary pregnant citizen. No, they caught the one case that had to do with a pregnant celebrity. The press was going to have a field day.
"And the fact that our victim was pregnant wasn't the worst part," Al started.
The team froze. What was worse than a pregnant victim, the loss of a life that hadn't even survived long enough to live? Could something really be worse than the murder of an unborn child?
"Worse how?" Carrie her condition it was hard for her to fathom something that was more devious.
"I ran the MO through ViCAP," Jay said as he started pulling up files onto the large screen. The sound of clicking keys filled the air and moments later the pictures of two other young women, both obviously expecting and both obviously having their throats slit appeared in front of the squad. Carrie barely managed to keep down what remained of her breakfast that morning as she felt it clawing at the back of her throat dying to be released. Still, she managed not to be sick, though, and kept her attention focused on what Jay was saying.
"It looks like our guy's a serial killer. The brass that were our predecessors nicknamed him "The Stork" for two reasons: one, he only killed famous pregnant women, and two, he always let behind a printed out picture of a stork rolled up in the vic's mouth," Jay read all the information off the screen. "Real sicko if you ask me."
"And, unfortunately for ms. Jackson, she seemed to fit into each and every category," Carrie muttered, just loud enough for the others to hear her.
…
Twenty minutes later, Carrie was in the stark white room that was Jo's Medical Examiner's examination room. Every time Carrie set foot in the place she couldn't help but, for lack of a better term, feel her skin begin to crawl. It must have been the cold, snowy white that adorned every visible surface (with the exception of the stainless steel autopsy tables, of course).
"Good morning, Carrie. So nice to see you after our little tall this morning. I got the distinct impression you were trying to avoid my question," Jo said, an obviously forced cheery expression plastered on her face like some sort of twisted Halloween mask.
Carrie smirked a little at her greeting- obviously Jo was still a little stung that Carrie didn't confide the identity of the- her- baby's father in her. But she just couldn't bring herself to do it. In her mind, the baby was in her body, she had control over it's future, she didn't need to bother Al with something to distract him from this case.
"I'm only here on business, Jo. What's the verdict on Angela Jackson?" Carrie asked hoping to avoid their earlier subject of conversation.
With an exasperated look, Jo turned towards the body on her autopsy table.
"Cause of death is definitely exanguination. The poor thing bled out almost instantly. But I did find something interesting," Jo said as she gestured to the victim's slightly enlarged stomach. When Jo pulled back the sheet, Carrie had to look away. Right near the highest part of the swell was an opening that could only have been made by a knife.
Jo, though usually not one to be overly sympathetic, place a hand on Carrie's arm after seeing the slightly sick expression that had taken up residence on her face.
"Carrie, there's a bucket right over there if you need to throw up," Jo said quietly and soothingly as she gestured towards the small bin located by the door. "This probably isn't easy to see right now."
"I'm fine," Carrie repeated what had seemed to become her stock phrase. "It's just… she was so young, so beautiful and so full of talent. Why would anyone want to kill her?"
Jo pulled away and indicated the victim's ring finger on her left hand.
"She wasn't married," Jo started. "Maybe the baby's father didn't want to be a dad."
"Yeah…" was all Carrie managed to get out. "I better start heading back to the squad room." With that, she turned on her heel and started to walk away. Jo's voice caught up with her, though.
"Carrie if you ever need to talk about what's going on, just remember I have done this three times."
Carrie turned around, nodded and continued to walk out.
…
Back at the squad room, Carrie found a new lead. It seemed that all three victims went to the same abortion clinic on the other side of the city, though they never actually went through with the abortion itself. This new information have Carrie an idea. She didn't want to have a baby, Al didn't even know of it's existence, so why not make a little trip there herself. All she needed for was someone to drive her, someone who wouldn't ask too many questions about why she would be the only one going in or why they needed to question people at an abortion clinic.
Carrie walked to Jay's desk and, upon seeing that he was digging around the financials of all three victims, Angela Jackson, Mary Naldi and Whitney Shari, proceeded to walk over to Murray's desk. Murray, too, was hard at work looking for similarities between the victims aside from the fact that they were all relatively famous (a world-renown physicist and a school teacher the New York Times had covered for one reason or another joined the talented Broadway actress in the way they were killed), had red hair and were pregnant.
Carrie was at a loss. Both Jay and Murray were busy. That left the one person she absolutely couldn't ask: Al. If he found out why she was going to the abortion clinic he would have a cow. And a sheep. And the whole damn farm.
Then again, if she didn't ask him to go today she wouldn't get the chance to at all. After all, after today someone else would have checked it out. Time to swallow your pride, she told herself. Just go ask him to drive you.
She took a deep breath and walked over to Al's desk. He was crouched over some papers, his face scrunched up as if trying to comprehend their information. After a brief second of closing her eyes, Carrie cleared her throat. Al's eyes suddenly lifted as though he just realised her wasn't the only one in the room.
"Yeah?" He said looking up at her as if she had interrupted him, which, she thought, come to think of it I probably have.
"Can you drive me to the abortion clinic all three victims drove to? I really want to interview some of the doctors or nurses and the parking's horrible and I need someone to keep the car running," Carrie said. She knew she was rambling, but she hope Al didn't take any notice to that particular fact.
"Glad to know what I'm good for," he said as though he were mad, but the small smirk that formed on his face betrayed the annoyance in his voice.
…
Thirty-seven minutes later (Carrie always counted the number of minutes when she was nervous), Carrie was inside getting the papers she needed from the receptionist.
It was strange, she had never expected a place like this to look so cheery. Surprisingly, it had each wall painted a soft pastel colour, be it pink, purple or pale blue. What remained the same as any medical institution she had ever been in, however, was all the doctors and nurses running around.
She sat down on the cold, hard, plastic chair which seemed to be required at every medical institution and started writing in her answers.
Right as she was writing in that she was six weeks pregnant, she heard the door of the clinic open. She heard footsteps coming closer towards her.
Soon she could tell there was someone looking over her shoulder.
"Carrie?!" A bewildered Al exclaimed. He had seen how far along she was on the sheet.