Chapter 2
The Winchester boys began their conversation with the Lieutenant with confidence. Their evening began well with arriving in the city only to take a dive into deep shit.
"Uh hum..." Sam cleared his throat. He and Dean held out their fake FBI badges to make the appearance look authentic.
"Hi, is there someone in charge?" he asked the Lieutenant.
Lt. Harrow answered, "Yeah, I'm the one in charge. Who's asking?"
Dean interjected, "Yes, I'm Special Agent Lorne and this is Special Agent Michaels. We heard that there has been some suspicious activity and we would like to aid in the investigation."
Sam looked at him quizzically because this may have the first time that he sounded intelligent to him.
"Agent Lorne and Agent Michaels, you say... Do you really think that you named yourselves after the person that started Saturday Night Live? I've been around for a few years and those are the worst fake names I have heard in a long time. Get lost!" shouted Lt. Harrow. "I could have you arrested right now for impersonating officers of the law but I am going to let you go. I have too much to deal with right now."
Sam and Dean immediately turned and walked away.
"Dean, that was too close. We can't afford to be locked up right now."
"Sam, you're right. But I'll stick around and do some snooping away from the police. I'm sure that we can learn something more about this case from the autopsy. Go to the coroners office and look around. Stay out of sight."
The two of them split up.
Doctor Raymond Clarke was standing over the body as the team walked into the morgue. Mrs. Jones chest was cracked open and Doctor Clarke was viewing the weight of her stomach. He poured out the contents just as Detective Parker started to speak.
"OK, Doc. You told us to wait for the autopsy for the sexual assault exam. Was there any assault? Yes or No?"
"Well, Detective, I can honestly say that your killer does not have any aberrant sexual proclivities. There is no sign of sexual assault. I did find evidence that a sex act occurred sometime in the last 24 hours. There is bruising in her pelvic region, but that is concurrent with normal sexual activity."
"Well, Doc, what do you have that is pertinent to the case?" asked Sergeant Halverson.
"I think that your killer may be solving his sexual appetite by killing the victim. The thrill of the kill is his means of releasing endorphins."
"Well, that's just conjecture on your part, Doctor!" Halverson responded with a mild-mannered, terse tone.
Doctor Clarke pretty sure of himself just smiled, didn't say a word and returned his attention to the victim lying on the table.
"What's next, Doc?" asked Parker.
"Hmm, I can tell you that she was pregnant; she was approximately 2 months along." The doctor looked pretty grim at this statement. "I just hate these cases; I have to tell the husband that he has lost two people from the family, not just one." He just shook his head and again returned his attention to the body.
"What about the skin under her fingernails; did it get processed?" asked Parker. Halverson looked at him and nodded in agreement.
"Yes, I sent scrapings to the lab to have it processed. The test results should be available within the next couple of days. I do have some other information to tell you about the body."
"Her name is Mrs. Jones, Doctor." Sergeant Halverson was quickly beginning to lose patience with him. His attitude was becoming too cavalier for her with the dead body.
"Very well, Mrs. Jones had a steak dinner with green beans and mashed potatoes as her last meal. She also consumed what seems to be champagne. I sent a sample of the stomach contents to the lab. They should be able to determine for you where she last ate. This would most likely be the hotel where the party took place. Maybe some of the party members can give you some additional insight."
Detective Parker answered him, "We have already located the hotel by the guest services information which was found in her purse. We still need to go there and do other investigating, but, thank you for the suggestion, Doctor. Is there anything else we need to know?"
"There are a couple of other things that I need to tell you, Detectives. First of all, if you look at the bruising around the next, you will see that the thumb print is on the left-hand side of her neck. This is consistent with the killer grabbing her by his left hand."
"How do you know that a man grabbed her, Doctor?" asked Parker. It could have been a woman."
"I don't think that it was, Detective. The size of the thumb print is consistent with a male appendage", he answered. Then the Doctor shuddered and his face turned a pale-colored gray. "The killer removed about two liters of blood from the body. The amount of blood left at the scene was not consistent with the human body quantities of blood. Normally, the human body has five to six liters of blood. Mrs. Jones was low."
He motioned for the team to move closer to the body. "Look at this. The slice in her neck has a deeper wound beneath it. Your killer cut into her neck's arterial flow and collected the blood before signing the trash can in blood."
Sergeant Halverson asked the Doctor, "What about the other victim from earlier this evening?"
"The other victim's name is Kelly Michaels. She is Caucasian, approximately 25 years of age. I finished the autopsy on her before the two of you came in. Everything is the same, except she was not pregnant. The killer removed additional amounts of blood from her as well."
Sergeant Halverson and Detective Parker looked at each other in horror. The two of them thanked the Doctor for his time, turned around, and walked out of the morgue without saying another word to him. That was just too much to take in.
I am home now. I unlock the door to my apartment. I look over my shoulder to see if any trolls are watching me. Curse the trolls, those bastards. I bend down to pick up the newspaper and throw it down on the table in front of the couch. I take off my raincoat. I pull out a treasure from my pocket. (The stupid troll scratched me. I hate her for that.) I love the disaster in my apartment: wallpaper peeling from the walls, trash everywhere, blood stains in the carpet, dirty dishes in the sink with rat shit mixed in. I admire my surroundings. I open the door to my refrigerator. I look inside. Behold, BLOOD. What a wonder this machine holds. A refreshing delight, I take a drink. Hmm! It needs warming. I put it into the microwave sitting on the corner next to the refrigerator. 90 seconds should do! I put a flask of fresh BLOOD from tonight into the refrigerator. But wait, I love my knife; it's my only friend. I go and sit down on the couch. Cockroaches scatter out of the seat. I light a cigarette. I admire the flame flickering from the red BIC lighter. I am scarred from head to toe. I love my knife; it's my only friend. I pull out a cloth to wipe my knife clean. My knife was dirtied by that trolls blood. It deserved to die. I love my knife; it's my only friend. It's clean. I can use my knife again. I love my knife; it's my only friend. Beware. I am now here. I read the newspaper: nice headline. I think that I will keep this article with the 5 others on the wall. I look at my collection across the room. Holding my knife, I stare at the blade. I admire the cleaning. Turning the knife to the side, the blade reflects my terror; a reflection other than mine appears behind me. I jump up from the couch.
"Who the fuck are you, bitch?"
I raise my knife to kill the invading troll. I am pushed back by some unseen force from this trolls outstretched hand.
Rowena speaks, "Hello there. Put down the knife. I'm here to help you, my dear, sweet, adorable psychopath." She bears a grin of incredible disgust but fascination for her find. "Bitch is such a harsh word when I come bearing a gift for you."
"What in the hell could you offer me that I don't already have, you ugly troll slut?"
"Ooh..tsk, tsk. Such manners won't do! You've never met your mother before, have you?" Rowena stated with a flare.
"Mother? Bitch, get the fuck out before I kill you, troll!"
"Now, now. Trust me; you want to hear what I have to offer."
"Offer?"
"How about immortality?"
"Fuck off, troll! Immortality, you've got to be kidding."
"I'm certainly not, son. I just need my son to do me a favor."
"What favor? And how are you going to make me immortal?"
"There are two men here in Las Vegas at this time whom I would really prefer dead. And, you, son, have such a talent. By the way, I am a 500 year-old witch and have the capability of giving life-immortal. But this gift does have the price."
"Who are these two people you want dead, bitch?"
"I told you that your manners really need fixing. Behave yourself, son! Their names are Sam and Dean Winchester and you'll find them out at your most recent scene of dismay. Really nice work, I must say."
"How do you know about that?"
"I was watching you from behind the trees while you sliced and diced that poor woman." Rowena grinned a most foul glare of appreciation.
My would-be mother disappears in a flash before my eyes. I ponder the recent encounter and find the upcoming task delightfully destructive.
Get set Las Vegas and the trolls, Sam and Dean. I am NOW HERE!