Chapter 8: American Murder Story Part I

"Gracie Fairchild, 47 years old, born: April 15th, cause of death: bled to death on Tuesday, November 12th from lacerations to her thighs, wrists, and neck." Leslie read aloud, staring down at the deceased middle-aged woman. "What a loss... Her children will surely miss-"

"Yes, yes, poor children, boo-hoo! Now can we leave already?" Grell's agitated voice chimed in. He rubbed his arms in an attempt to warm himself.

Leslie sighed and stood up, stamping the completed stamp on Mrs. Fairchild's profile. "I just feel so bad... How can a child live without it's mother? She's 10 mouths to feed!" Leslie turned to her red-headed and rather grouchy mentor. "She's the 4th American woman to be found dead like this within the past two months!" Grell huffed, a puff of air forming from his lips before disappearing into the wind. Leslie grumbled and walked over to him, removing her jacket and draping it over Grell's shoulders.

Grell glanced at the jacket then at Leslie. "Aren't you cold?" He asked, though he pulled her jacket tighter around his arms.

Leslie hugged her arms and shivered slightly. "A little, but since you're complaining so much, you must need it more than I do." She looked up at the dreary sky then back down at Grell, giving him her signature friendly smile. "Besides, I was born in cold weather. I should get used to it." Grell looked at his apprentice with wide eyes. He was grateful, of course, but somehow the words to thank her couldn't form on his lips. Feeling ashamed, Grell took Leslie jacket off his shoulders and placed it on her own. He then placed one hand on her head and the other on her arm, pulling her in for a warm hug.

Leslie let out a small surprised noise as her head was pressed to his chest. With her arms dangling by her side, she raised them to hold him closer, but stopped when he began to speak, "I'm just doing this to keep warm, so don't go trying anything funny!" His voice was bitter, but the sympathy was hidden among the tangled vines of spite. Feeling sure of herself, Leslie slowly brought her arms up and wrapped them around Grell's waist, pulling him closer. She nuzzled her nose into his chest and let out a warm sigh.

"If this is what you do to keep warm, I'll have to take you out during winter more often." Leslie giggled and pulled away to slip her arms into the sleeves of her jacket. With a smile, she turned on her heel and began to walk off. "Come on, let's go report back to William. He'll want to hear about this."

Later

"So she was slashed in the same places as the others?" William, who was looking over reports, glanced up only once to make eye contact with Leslie while he spoke.

Leslie nodded. "Yes sir. She was slashed on her thighs, wrists, and neck. All main arteries were cut open. She died a slow and painful death."

Will set down the report he was reading and quirked a brow at her. "How do you know that?" He asked, folding his hands together and looking up at Leslie from his seat.

Leslie looked down at her feet, then at him. "Her... her wrists had been slashed first, then her thighs... I only know such information because the blood was clotting more at those areas than they were at her throat." Leslie kept her composure, but on the inside she wanted to wring the neck of whoever did this. "Whomever killed obviously wanted her dead. There were bruises on her arms and knees and-" Will cut Leslie off by raising a hand and standing up.

"We're Reapers, Ms. Amberwood, not detectives." Will said, walking over to her. He looked down at her and fixed his glasses, the lenses flashing ominously as they always did.

"But Will, we must do something! Whoever is doing this must be stopped, we can't just-" Leslie was cut off yet again by Will.

"I will not let our top Reaper put herself in danger just because of the deaths of a few humans!" His tone was harsh and firm. "We are Reapers! We are sent down to collect the souls meant to be collected! We will not interfere with what nature has planned out for these people! And if it means several women will die, then so be it!" Leslie opened her mouth to argue, but thought better of it and quickly clenched her jaw. She looked down, tightening her fists.

"Yes sir..." Leslie's voice came out in a respectful tone and she turned to walk away. When she was outside his office, she was met by Grell who linked his arms with hers.

"So, how did it go?" He asked, walking with his apprentice.

Leslie was quiet for a long while until she shook her head. "I don't want to talk about it..." she murmured and walked on, unlinking hers and Grell's arm and walking ahead. After a few steps, the stomped her foot down and stopped dead in her tracks, fists clenched by her side and shoulders raised high in anger.

"L-Leslie?" Grell was cautious and tried to take a step closer, but Leslie snapped around to face him. Grell let out a scared yelp and cowered in fear. When Leslie was angered, she was truly menacing (much like a beloved butler he knew).

"No… You know what, Grell?" She looked up at him, her one showing eye glowing dimly.

Grell looked up at her and swallowed hard. "Should I be afraid to ask?" Leslie didn't reply, she just gave a low cackle and unsheathed her death scythe, examining the blade like a trophy.

"Ready your death scythe…" She said, a crazy grin drawn on her face. "'Cause we're going murderer hunting!"

AAAAAAND that's all I have for tonight. Sorry if it's too short, I'm writing this at like…. 1:00 in the morning so not too big on ideas. But at least it's the weekend so expect more chapters soon! I felt like Leslie needed to express her crazy, rebellious side a little in this chapter. Now this is only Chapter 8 Part 1 so be sure to be on the lookout for Chapter 8 Part 2 (and quite possibly Part 3).

Please favorite, follow and review! I hope you all enjoy this chapter

Tata my little Sugar Plumbs!

-HN