"…we need you to identify the body Mam." Carla was strangling on her own sobs into the arms of her mother. She didn't think he would do this. She knew he took the gun and what he was going to do, but to go somewhere like the desert and leave his body to lay around until someone found him? And it was so soon.

After Tom left her, she didn't eat, she didn't sleep, she didn't even move from the couch, staring at the blank TV screen. She had sat there all through the day, and all through the night. Her fatigue was obvious, rings around her face, which was still red raw from crying, and her blank like state. These things were the first things to be jotted down as the local police force knocked at her door this morning. It was barely an hour later than when Tom had left her the day before, 25 hours ago, when she was greeted with the news of his death.

Yes, she already knew he would be dead, but she thought she would have had time to prepare herself for it. Not get thrown back onto the wagon of hysterics all over again. Her emotions erupted and she felt very unwilling on this rollercoaster ride of cruel despair.

When he two officers had informed her of his death, and asked her for her to identify the body, she felt stone cold inside.

They wanted her, her, the victim's WIFE, to go and look at his dead corps barely a day after she had last seen him alive?

Of all the insensitive things you could have asked her to do, they had to ask her that.

She didn't care if it was procedure or if they were just doing their job. This was a life they were talking about, her husband. The man she loved.

And they wanted to shove her at his cold, lifeless body which no doubt will be laid out on a merciless metal slab of a table at the morgue, cut to tatters just to verify that he had in fact died from a gunshot wound. She didn't even want to know where he had shot himself. He wanted to remember him as he was, alive, in one piece. Not blue faced and prone.

Dead.

It was the final slap in her face to hear them tell her the truth.

He was dead, gone.

No more waking up to snuggle with him.

No more giving him a kiss before work, or welcoming him back to her open arms.

No more having him surprise her at work in her lunch break, just to see her smiling face.

No more romantic dinners in shabby little places that seemed magical when he was there.

No more running around the house when no one was looking and having fun in general.

No more cuddling in bed and watching a movie.

No more cleaning up after him.

No more giggling as he tried to push his luck with her, or smiling when he respectfully accepted he would have to wait.

…now she wished she had jumped him from the first moment she saw him. She wanted to do so much more with him before they died. Go to Paris, see London, have house parties, children…

But now she would never know what that would be like. She would never make him happy with a daughter to push on a swing and spoil rotten, or a son to scrap and play football with. He always liked football. He never missed a game if he could help it.

She had left the officers stood at the door and ran to the phone, calling her mother and weeping down the phone for her to come pick her up. She didn't want to be alone in the car with the unfeeling officers, or drive in that blue sport's car they had returned to her…not after…

And here she was, at the morgue despite her pleas not to go, in her mother's arms and looking at a body covered in a white sheet.

Beneath that cover, she would see the stoic face of her loving husband…

…who was her loving husband.

She was a widow, at age 20, a widow and would never know what life could have been like with the man she loved. Because she knew she would never love anyone else, nor would she stop loving Tom. But…she couldn't look. She just couldn't.

"Mrs Black, we really need you to identify-"

"Oh stop it! Can't you see you are upsetting her!" Carla's mother spat, cradling her vulnerable daughter to her bosom. She had short curly black hair, ebony like her daughter's, and brown eyes that were narrow, and sternly looking down at the officers persistently talking to her.

"Look Mam, we have to verify who the victim is before we can close the case."

"Close!" Her mother sounded scandalised. She looked like a bad character out of those murder dramas on the afternoon TV, dressed in her old cottage style blue log sleeved dress and flower hat. But she was her mother, and acted as the support that she really wanted from her husband.

But he couldn't give her that support right now, could he?

The officer sighed, pushing his blue uniform hat up his head a little more. "Aren't you even going to investigate his death first!"

"Mum-"

"We already know the cause of death. Death by suicide." Carla cringed and whimpered loudly against her mother.

"He didn't commit suicide!" she screamed. "He didn't want to leave me!" she sobbed into her mother's chest, unable to face anyone right now.

oh my poor baby. She is far too young to deal with this. Her mother rubbed her back.

"It was a self inflicted gunshot wound through the head. Instant death." The younger inexperienced officer was given a reprimanding look from his superior, who then stepped in.

"My name is Inspector Glanter. We are ever so sorry for your loss Mrs Black."

"You don't understand my loss, sir." She reared round. How dare they try to relate to her! Like they actually understood what she was feeling! She didn't understand how she felt right now, other than a huge chaotic mess of grief, sorrow, despair, anger, and helplessness.

And if she herself couldn't sort herself out, those men had no right to try and do it their selves!

From the simply look of fury on her face, he put his hands up and stepped back. "I meant no assumptions Mrs Black. But I do realise this is a very hard time for you. If you would just identify the body, you can go home. You have been more than helpful enough."

"Y you're not going to write him off as a suicide are you? He had to; he was in so much pain."

"He was?" Glanter opened his pad and started taking notes. "And what medications was on, and for what illness?"

"He said Cancer." Her mother gasped. "It travelled so quickly, he couldn't be treated. I held him Inspector." He looked up from his notes, to see the saddest sight he had ever had to deal with on his job. And she wasn't the first one. A broken woman. "I held him as he writhed in my arms, biting back screaming in my face and turning blood red, raw red. He thought he was going to explode." She whimpered in horror, and turned back to her mother. "He, he was, in s so much, pain." She struggled through sobs. "N no one could help him. So he ended it."

"You knew he shot himself?" Glanter glared at his younger partner. Idiot!

"Yes! Yes I KNEW! He was with ME before he left!" she cried hard into her mother's embrace, and didn't see a coroner whisper something about he autopsy to the inspector, that made his sharp brown eyes widen in shock. He swiftly turned to the table, and lifted the sheet over his head, and then lifted it down to his waist, hiding him from view to the rest of the room.

"My God…"

"What?" Clara hiccupped.

"You said this man had cancer. Was it in his chest by any chance?"

"Yes, I think so." She sniffled.

"That will be all for today Mrs Black. But don't leave the area, I will need to visit you another time, when you've been able to prepare yourself for the identification." Inspector Glanter never looked away from the body, and dismissed everyone, but his partner. Carla's mother took her home, and stayed with her, not wanting to leave her poor widowed daughter alone.

Glanter however, called the Coroner back in. "Has anyone touched the body other than yourself in the examination?"

"No sir."

"And your honest opinion?"

"…the cause of death was most certainly by a bullet penetrating the skull through the right temple, and firing clean through the other side. The bullet has been recovered, as has the gun he was found with. I wonder if a fight happened first, as there is a deep laceration on his right palm." The inspector lowered the cover, and watched the Coroner turn the palm over. "Very fresh. It had barely started to clot at the time of death. I put that at any time between 4 and 7 yesterday morning. I have taken samples to narrow the date further."

"So if this cut is minor, and the bullet I what killed him…" Glanter held his cubby chin. "Then who broke open his rib cage?"

Oh yes. Gaping open for all to see was the body's upper chest cavity. The bone of the rib cage had been snapped and stood at unnatural angles, like it had been pried open forcefully.

"That's what troubles me. No one did."

"I don't follow you Dr."

"Well, according to my analysis, which confuses even me, the bones were not pulled, but pushed." He thought for a moment. "When someone brakes into a house through a smashed window, you can tell whether they broke in or out depending on which direction the glass shattered when it was broken. Right?"

"Yes." Glanter couldn't take his eyes away from the mangled chest. It wasn't as if he hadn't seen death before, he had. He had transferred here from the city simply to avoid constant death. But the sight of that empty chest, it was sickening.

"Well I can do the same. See this." He picked up a wooden tool that resembled a large lollypop stick, used in moving flesh around. "I'm going to break this like it was the rib." He held it horizontally. "he put his fingers on the outside, facing Glanter, and his thumbs on the ends of the inside, facing himself. "If I push hard enough like this, the wood will break and splinter inwards, and in theory, cut into the body, before being removed or pried open. But bones are not like doors on hinges, they break one way and then if broken the other way, they come clean off. But Mr Black's ribs are still partially attached, and broken out of the body. So instead of the pressure being applied onto the ribcage like so." He snapped the wooden tool towards his chest, it doing exactly what he predicted. "Mr Black's ribcage broke like so." He picked up another one, placed his thumbs on the inside but in the middle of the stick, and his fingers on the ends on the outside of the stick. He broke it, and the splinters and breaks were in the opposite direction than before.

But the same direction as the bones in Mr Black's ribcage.

"So are you telling me…"

"That no one broke into Mr Black's ribcage."

"But someone broke out." The coroner nodded.

"I have never seen anything like it. But that is the only logical way to explain such a bizarre injury. No weapon could ply the chest cavity open without leaving distinctive marks, and the same applies to human hands. I don't know what else to tell you Inspector. But after this man died, very soon after-"

"Something very fishy happened to our Mr Black." The Inspector concluded, beginning to write everything down in his note book. "I don't think I can honestly close this case until I find out who tampered with the body and why. And how."

"I understand. You have my number if anything else turns up. Inspector." He bid him farewell, as Glanter had already started to leave. "Oh Inspector Glanter?"

"Yes Dr?"

"I checked Mr Black's medical record."

"And?" he asked with interest, his pen poised over his pad.

"His last physical was last week at the local doctor's surgery. He was as fit as a fiddle. Fitter."

"No cancer?"

"No cancer. And no traces of there ever being cancer."

"And could he have developed it from nothing, to killing him direly in the space of a week?"

"Highly unlikely, in my medical opinion, inspector."

"Anything else?"

"There is one more thing." He cleared his throat. "His chest cavity has empty."

"I noticed." He grimaced.

"It shouldn't be." Glanter blinked, putting his large coat on, and a brown hat on his head of mousy brown hair.

"What?"

"There are no lungs, no heart, and half of the digestive system is missing to. And this is very disturbing." Glanter shuddered as the good Dr took out a tray he had obviously hidden, and showed him a long thick piece of flesh. "This is Mr Black's diaphragm. Or what is left of it. Notice the missing piece?" Glanter had to cover his mouth as he saw BITE marks in it.

"He was out there for over 24 hours." He tried to compose himself. "Coyotes could have-"

"Grown two sets of teeth lager than the average lion?"

"…this just keeps getting weirder and weirder." He wrote everything down as the Doctor began to return the Diaphragm to the draw he took it from, for later use. "Thank you, I'll keep you informed." Glanter stormed out of the morgue and into his car, his junior partner waiting for him. "Harradine, we have a case."

"What? The suicide?"

"Trust me Harradine, if you'd heard what I just heard, and seen what I just saw, you wouldn't believe it was just a suicide. No no, something far more sinister happened to our Mr Black than simply shooting himself from cancer. Cancer, that he did not have, nor did he ever have."

"The wife was lying."

"Hmmm, possible. But I doubt it. In the report I read before we got here, there was evidence of high adrenaline and activity in a lobe in his brain that activated upon physical stress. Luckily the bullet didn't smash straight through it."

"So…"

"So Mr Black was in pain for some reason." He thought, putting his key into the ignition. "But from Cancer? I think not. And I don't believe Mrs Black knew he was lying to her."

"You think she was hoodwinked?"

"I don't think she knew of the true reason for his attack she spoke of, no. but I intend to find out."

"Is this officially a homicide case then?"

"Until proven otherwise, yes."

"You really think this is a murder case sir?" Glanter looked down at his pimply faced junior partner. Where do they pick these kids up from? He sighed.

"Yes, kid, I do think this is a murder case. I definitely smell smoke. And where there is smoke, there is most certainly fire." I just hope we don't get burned. This has the potential to be nasty. I didn't want to admit it…but it looked like something busted lose from inside Black, and then ate whatever was missing from his chest. and left a hefty bite in his diaphragm. But that's impossible, right?

"Now you just sit down and I'll get you a nice cup of tea."

Carla smiled, drying her nose on a tissue as her mother left to the kitchen. Oh really mother. Tea? Is that supposed to make me feel better? In truth, nothing would ever make Carla feel better. She had lost her husband, her other half. She felt like half a person. Half a person…I certainly feel broken. She sniffled, her eyes watering once again. "There, now you just drink this herbal tea and it will clear your nasal ways right up." She said with a cheery smile. Oh really mother.

"Thank you."

"You know…you never told me he had cancer dear. If I had known then-"

"I didn't know myself until yesterday. Before he-" but she caught herself. Before she broke down into tears again. "I would have told you."

"I know dear. Oh, I'm so sorry." Oh great, her mother broke down into tears too. That was not what she needed.

"Mother."

"Oh you poor dear! My baby, only 20 and widowed! Oh my poor, poor baby."

"Oh mummy." And she started off again. Thank you very much mother. I had just stopped. She then scolded herself. Listen to yourself Carla. You're taking your anger out on your mother, who is actually here to help you! "Thank you for coming." Carla held her back, taking much needed comfort from the embrace.

"Oh, not even God himself could have stopped me!" Carla laughed with a hiccup, and kissed her mother's cheek.

"Thank you so much."

"Oh my darling." She cupped her daughter's face. "Do you want me to stay with you?"

"No, no I just-"

"Need to be alone? I understand this will be hard for you. I lost your father too, but I was well into my 40's when it happened. More than twice your age with twice the life experiences. You are still just a baby to life yet. This isn't fair on you." she sighed heavily. "And you look worn out." Carla nodded, her eyes dropping with effect.

"I haven't slept since he left." She squeaked, and buried her face into a fresh tissue. She had gone through three boxes just today. Luckily she had thought ahead last week and bought two jumbo sets, in the sale. But never did she know the reason she would be using them, or she wouldn't be bloody shopping, she would have been with her husband! And spent every penny on medical treatment, not the Tesco sale!

"What! Then you get right to bed before you collapse of exhaustion." Her mother herded her upstairs and refused to leave until she dressed into her nightshirt. That consisted basically of a large man's T shirt…Tom's T Shirt. It was orange with an army trooper printed on like a cartoon, with the words, 'I'm a super trooper' written in a speech bubble. Oh God…it still smells like him. Her mother caught her tearing up again, and hurried her to bed. "I'm going to stay with my sister. She's a lot closer, only 15 minutes away. If you need me, don't hesitate to call me sweetie. Oh I love you so much." She gave her daughter a fierce hug, and kissed her head. "Do try to get some sleep."

"I'll try." Carla wore a brave smile, and let her mother to show herself out. Once she left, her departure announced by the creaking of the new door, Carla began sobbing hysterically. All her woes spilling over the edge of her control and were jerked from her shaking body in waves and waves of trembling tears and sobbed words. These words came one at a time, not being able to steady her breathing long enough for a full sentence.

Carla kept asking why, why, why. She asked and prayed to every God she knew of, asking the same question over and over again, as if hoping at least one of them would answer her.

But no one answered.

Carla sobbed, almost smothering herself in her pillow in her grief. She did try to sleep, and hoped that once her distraught fit of tears ended, once she calmed, she might fall unconscious and get that vital sleep that way. But for now, she cried.

And cried.

And cried.

………

Did you ever wonder how consciousness started off?

You know, in the begging.

Did you think wow, bam, everything was and everything had thought?

Hardly.

Both the Scientist and Religious community would say you were wrong.

The Religious community would say that God (or Gods in some cases) created the world and the universe, and one of the common beliefs is that he created the world in 7 days, and then humans on the 6th day, the last day being the day of rest.

So in all, 6 days of hard work.

So from the religious point of view, there was no intelligent consciousness until the last day of creations, right? So not all at once or suddenly.

And from the scientific point of view, they would argue that only through evolution did the tiny single cellular organism split over thousands of years, becoming a multi-cell organism, and then usual frog and fish coming out the water and growing into an ape, and then Homo sapiens.

Us.

So, to recap.

Hard cold evidence and spiritual faith both prove that consciousness started slowly, coming on over time and later on in the grand scheme of things.

Did you expect a miracle when it comes to creation?

Doesn't a baby take around 9 months growing before it is ready to be born?

Raw food is raw, cooked food is cooked.

But the space between something being raw, and something being ready, takes time.

Time.

See?

Do you see what I'm saying?

Consciousness needs time.

The physical might be there, like the big bang and the holy earth, or the foetus and potato.

But the consciousness doesn't come until the very end.

And when you do become conscious, who are you really?

Isn't that the question that philosophers have been contemplating since the beginning of consciousness?

Who am I?

So it is pure logic that that would be the first question on the mind of any mature, intelligent sentient being.

Right?

………………………

………………………………

………………………………………

…………………………………………………who am I?

AN: Another chapter for you. I hope you like it, and I hope I didn't give too much of a clue away at the end…

Well, I'll be updating soon as long as I get reviews!

Wink wink, nudge nudge, say na more say na more

lol

From

Draguna Doragon