"Shit," Smecker muttered sharply under his breath.

His hands no longer shook as the panic eased itself back down to a dull throb and his anger flared up, past what it was when his day started. This was a sick joke and the FBI agent wasn't going to stand for it! Letting the sheet fall back onto the body, Smecker made his way towards the exit. He pushed past Greenly, who was, for once in his life, speechless. The knock of Smecker's shoulder to his back brought Greenly out of his silent stoop as it jarred him painfully.

"Hey! Where you goin' Smecker? Smecker?!" Greenly called out, but Smecker never stopped.

"Going to the morgue. Make sure those bodies are processed, labeled and waiting on their slab before I get there," he called over his shoulder.

Smecker heard Greenly curse rapidly as he hurried everyone to work faster. Chaos was breaking loose behind the FBI agent, but that didn't stop Smecker from reaching his car and driving off. Inside the car, Smecker took the longer way to the station, adding another ten minutes onto the drive that took less than twenty. The silence inside the car calmed him as he drove down the crowded streets of Boston, but the chilling scare was still nestled deep within his bones. Reaching into his pocket, Smecker brought out his cell phone and dialed a number by memory.

'Oi! Yeh damn fuckers! . . . Don't be sayin' tat, yeh twat! An why de fuck not? Give me de fuckin' phone! Yeh an wat army? OW! Tat army, yeh fucker! . . . Dis is Connor and Murphy, leave a message after the fuckin' beep. . . An you tell me not te do tat, yeh fuckin' ejit! Oh would yeh shut te fuck up already!'

Beep

"Connor, Murphy's dead. Get your ass to the morgue," Smecker bleated out and hung up the phone before he said anything else, "This is going to be a fucked up day"

30 minutes later

Silence. The morgue was the best place for it and frankly, Poppy loved it. Sitting at her desk, Poppy had been relayed the information that Agent Smecker had given Greenly and was scribbling as fast as she could about what she had found on the first John Doe; A.K.A.: Murphy McManus. Poppy wrote the name at the top of the page and had to pause for a moment.

"I know that name," she said to herself, as she stared at her handwriting.

With in a split second, she threw her pen into the table and pushed herself away from her desk, rolling with her wheeled chair to the other side of the morgue, where she kept her database computer. Missing the computer by about a foot, Poppy made a desperate grab and caught the edge of the desk, typing before she even had herself fully centered. Just as she was about to press ENTER, Smecker sauntered in through the double-swing doors and sat on the corner of her desk, even though she has told him multiple time not to.

"How's my Grim Reaper doing?" Smecker asked as nicely as an aggravated agent could.

Poppy hadn't turned around since Smecker had entered. Too engrossed to the computer than to the usually flamboyant FBI agent.

"I'd be even better if you got your ass of my desk, Smecker," Poppy spoke, distracted with her pursuit of information, "Gotcha! Sneaky little fucker,"

The printer came to life as Poppy wheeled herself back to the front desk and smiled prettily to Smecker as she adjusted her glasses. The machine that sat next to her spat out a thick piece of paper and Poppy ripped it out with a sharp flick of her wrist, holding it lazily out to Smecker.

"What do we got?" Smecker asked, seeming genuinely curious.

"What we have at this moment is nothing," Poppy said, still smiling.

"Then why do I have this paper?" Smecker asked with a raised eyebrow.

Poppy sat quietly, still smiling a knowing smile as she fiddled with her pen for dramatic affect. It was a game they have played since Poppy started here over a year ago. Poppy giving Smecker information and Smecker having to figure out the right question to make sense of it. The score was 29 to 6; Smecker the loss. Smecker looked at the paper and read the information closely, not seeing what the morgue director saw.

"Alright Poppy. I give up. What am I not seeing?" Smecker rolled his eyes, his frustration surprisingly simmering down a bit.

Poppy's smile broadened and she wheeled herself to a little score board she had hung next to the start of the wall-to-wall freezers.

"30 to 6," Poppy yelled out as she added a tally-mark to her nearly-full side.

Poppy pushed herself back to Smecker and took the paper back that she had earlier give him.

"What you are not seeing is right in front of you, Agent Smecker and since you are not seeing it you're not asking the right question, which is 'WHO do we have' and more correctly who we DON'T have," Poppy spoke smoothly as she smiled a winning smile his way.

"Such the poet, Poppy," Smecker poked fun, "So who don't we have?"

"And he knows proper English! Hallelujah!" Poppy threw her hands up in the air for emphasis.

"Poppy," Smecker stretched her name in warning.

"Alright, fine!"

Poppy got out of her seat for the first time since Smecker had been there and walked over to the first slab. She took the clipboard that hung off the front of the table and read the information out loud.

"White, caucasian male, Height: 5 foot 9 inches, Weight: 155 pounds, Age: 20 to 25 years old, Brown hair, Blue eyes, Tattoo of Celtic cross on forearm, Virgin Mary on neck, Aequitas on right hand, Personal property found on body: Black wool coat, black cotton t-shirt, blue jeans, size medium thigh gun holsters, two barrette's and a rosary. ID number 8528700, A.K.A.: John Doe, A.K.A. : Murphy McManus, A.K.A. : Not Murphy McManus, A.K.A. : the idiot that got himself killed! Drum roll please! William Jacob Thornton!"

Just as Poppy had finished with her enthusiastic over-view of the body on the slab, the swinging doors crashed open, hitting the back wall behind it. A skinny blonde in the same guard that was described on the body ran in, nearly falling over himself.

"WHERE DE FUCK IS ME BROT'ER!" the blonde yelled at the top of his lungs.

The door banged open again and again someone ran, in nearly falling over themselves. It was another man with brown hair and blue eyes, face red with anger.

"Why de fuck am I dead!" yelled the brown haired, blue eyed man.