A/N:  Sorry for the delay, folks. Technical difficulties beyond my control have taken place.  But it's (hopefully) okay now, so set your hearts at ease.

Hah!  I'm back!  Let the creatures of the underworld quake in fear!
Sorry.  Anyway, I'm back from my prolonged hiatus.  I did get to play Silent Hill 2, and I plan on continuing the rental so I can finish the game.  So, hopefully, I can have a continuation coming down the pipe.  Heh, Kira would run out of bodies to dissect and this story would be over if I didn't have SOME sort of new plot twist, right?

Anyway!  Autopsy Report is cocked, locked, and ready to rock, so fasten your seatbelts and hold on tight, 'cause here we go again!

Cheers,
~Rumer

Autopsy Report: Chapter 6

Morgues are scary.  Well, that's during the day.  At night, morgues are just downright terrifying.  Especially when you're in a morgue alone at 11:45 PM.  Think of it: the only lights on are the ones you turn on yourself; no one there to help you do what you need to do - hell, there's no one there at all; the smallest sounds suddenly transform into the sound of a madman tromping after you, wanting to stick a knife in your gut; all that good stuff and more.  Fear does that to you, ya know.  It makes you almost delirious.  Good thing for me I never leave home without my Ruger.  Hey, no client has complained yet, so why not?  I have a license to carry concealed weapons, and it's best not to let it go to waste.  It's saved my ass many a time, I'll say that right now.  What I won't say is what those times were.  Some things are best left alone.

The fact has been established that morgues are scary.  You people are smart, normal people, right?  Then you understand what I've just been talking about.  Good.  Isn't it sort of ironic that the person giving the 'don't do this' speech is usually doing or has done the action before?  Here's an example: Me, walking down the corridor, on my merry way to the morgue.  I know it's not normal.  But then, I'm not normal.  Never was.  So it fits.

I'd locked Alessa's lovely little tape of Lisa in my desk and closed up my office a few minutes ago.  Seemed practical; there was nothing else I needed from there.  Well, except perhaps my stuffed giraffe for comfort, but that's another matter altogether.  Tough-as-nails forensic pathologists didn't need stuffed animals to hug on duty, right?  Right.  It's bad for the image.  In any case, I was on my way to see Alessa again.  Seeing that tape made me curious about her injuries.  Truth was, I didn't want to go down there.  I wanted to go home.  I wanted to go home and sleep.  And maybe watch a documentary on mollusks while I was at it.  But I wanted to go home just the same.  Too bad.  Work first, mollusks later.  What a deprived life I lead.

I came to the end of the corridor and saw that I had a choice.  There was a dark stairwell to the right, and an elevator to the left.  I was on the third floor of the hospital clinic and wanted to get to the basement.  Therefore, the elevator seemed the logical choice.  Right?  Wrong.  I'd had a horrible fear of elevators since I was a kid.  It happens after you get caught in a free-fall.  Since then I sported both mental and physical scars, neither being very easy to hide.  But both therapy and a hell of a health plan can work wonders.  Still, my mind was made up.  I went for the stairs.  After I turned on the lights, I took the tiled steps two at a time, quite a feat for a 5'7" woman wearing 1 ½ inch pumps.  I was surprised I didn't break my ankle.  Some morbid curiosity in me wondered what would have happened if the lights were off and I'd attempted what I was now doing.  The sheer thought of my own possible paralysis almost made me miss a rather remarkable smell.  I just caught a whiff, but as I descended, the smell grew stronger.

It was the unmistakable smell of death.

New death, not old death.  The smell of old death is expected when you're working in a morgue.  Dead bodies just smell dead.  I fear the day a corpse smells live.

I reached the basement landing and left the stairwell.  The hall was dark, as expected, and I had to grope along the wall until I found the switch.  I flipped it on, revealing the oh-so-spooky basement corridor.  Everything seemed in order, except for the extremely out-of-place smell and the fact that the door to the morgue was open.

Not wide open, just slightly open.  As if someone was inside and wanted everyone else to know it.  Funny.  The last time I saw, the door was locked.  In fact, I remember being the one who locked it.  And in any case, I didn't know anyone who liked working in the dark.  The morgue itself was pitch black, just like all the other offices.  I unbuttoned my royal blue blazer and let it flap open.  The good thing about blazers is the fact that they're lightweight and still manage to conceal a shoulder holster complete with Ruger .45 KP97 Decocker.  Quick access to my gun would be useful should something nasty be afoot.  Oddly enough, the smell of death was coming from the morgue.  Of course.

I let one hand rest on the butt of my gun as I neared the morgue.  After a few moments, I stood directly beside the door.  Death wafted through the small crack, and I stifled a sniff of disgust.  I heard a small crash from the inside of the room, making my heart jump into my throat and the Ruger jump into my hand.  Slowly, I eased the door open a few inches before flinging it open and pointing the Ruger into the darkness of the room.

"Don't move!"  I said in a 'mess with me and die' voice.  Quite the linguist when scared shitless, eh?

"Please!  Don't shoot!" said an obviously terrified masculine reply.  I took one hand from the Ruger and flipped on the light. 

The person I was pointing my gun as was none other than my cute li'l assistant, Rook Pawnton.  So much for stopping a big, bad criminal menace.  Ugh.

"Rook, give me one good reason why I shouldn't fire your ass right now," I groaned, shoving the Ruger back into the holster and buttoning up my jacket.

Rook looked pathetic.  More pathetic than I'd ever seen him, and that was saying something.  "Dr. Devereaux, please listen to me!"

I crossed my arms.  "That's not a good reason.  Strike one."

"Hear me out!  I got off work about 2 hours ago, right?  So on my way home I decided to stop by the store.  I bought some food, went home, put it away, and jumped in the shower.  I was about halfway through 'rinse and lather' when I remembered that I'd left my girlfriend's house key at the lab.  Since she wanted me to visit her tomorrow, I knew that she'd chew my ass out if I didn't have her key.  It's a spare, see, and she doesn't want them just floating around.  So I decided to come back.  I went to my office, but I remembered that I left the key in the morgue.  A little while after I was looking, the lights just went out.  I tried to get back over to the light switch, but I tripped over that stool-" he pointed to a small, knocked-over stool to the side, "and before I knew it, you were pointing a gun at me.  I didn't mean anything, I swear!  Please, don't fire me!"

I narrowed my eyes.  Rook was a cute kid but didn't know when to leave well enough alone.  It would serve him right if I'd fired him.  But then again, he was just a college kid, and he wouldn't have anywhere to go.  People's lives get ruined over little mistakes and temper meltdowns like this.  Damn my morals to hell.

"Rook, I should fire you," I said in my most disciplinary voice.  "You're only an intern, and you have no right to enter this building after hours.  In fact, you shouldn't even have a key.  I don't want to know how you got in, because that would constitute another offense- breaking and entering.  You should know better.  Also, you were strictly told not to enter the morgue unless accompanied by an employed member of the staff.  I really ought to fire you.  No, I ought to file a police report against you, Rook." 

Whatever color was left in Rook's face left it.  I couldn't keep this up.  Damn my morals to hell.

"But since I know how trying relationships are, and since I do know that this is the only interning opportunity you'll get for a while, I'm willing to let this go."  Damn my morals to hell.

Color slowly seeped back into Rook's face.  "Really?!"

"Really."  I let a smile twitch at the corner of my lips.  I was playing buddy-buddy.  Damn my morals to hell.

Rook looked like Christmas had come early.  My morals suddenly disappeared.  Maybe they went to hell like I'd asked.

"But!" I said, waggling a finger, "You get to help me.  I haven't had the best day either, you know, and the sooner we get done, the sooner we can go home.  And if you don't help…I'll have to tell some of my superiors about your…troubles…at home and in the office.  Are you okay with this?"  I added a challenging tone to that last sentence.  Blackmail is a sweet, sweet thing.

"I'm okay with this."  Rook looked exhausted.  He could deal with it.  After all, I had to.  Why shouldn't he?

***

An hour later, we were done.  Rook had some tissue samples from Alessa's wounds and was sending them to the lab first thing in the morning.  I finally finished my reports.  We locked up the downstairs and headed for the front door, keeping the communication to a minimum.  It was after midnight, neither of us really had the strength to talk.  But Rook somehow found some extra energy tucked away somewhere.

"Be careful, Dr. Devereaux," Rook said doggedly as we reached the front entrance.  "Cybil Bennett- the cop who went crazy after she went to Silent Hill- just escaped from the Kipling Institute for the Criminally Insane today.  She's supposedly armed and dangerous.  Be on your guard, ma'am."

I nodded.  "You too.  Don't worry about me."  We pushed open the front door and I locked it behind us.  "I don't think we're on Cybil's hit list, anyway.  Go home to your girlfriend."  I started to walk away.

"Girlfriend…uh oh.  Dr. Devereaux, do you have-" he was cut off after I took a small brass key out of my pocket and threw it over my shoulder.  He undoubtedly caught it.  "Thanks, ma'am!  Good night!" he called after me.

Good night.  What words.  If only they'd been true.

***

I was small in the dream.  Five, maybe six.  I couldn't tell.  There was a car, crumpled like a piece of silvery paper in the light.  I crawled inside the passenger seat and my hand felt something wet.  I looked down and saw my fingers smeared with crimson.  There were spots of blood all over the tan seats.  I looked up at the windshield and saw it shattered.  It looked like a crystalline spider web.  Shaking, I looked over at the driver's seat and saw it empty.  Mom had been thrown out the window to die on the grassy incline below.  I looked to the backseat.  I saw myself, the real me, strapped to the plush seat that had been shoved up several feet, crushing my little legs against the back of the passenger seat.  I got out of the car.  Something smelled…something that wasn't supposed to be there.

New death?

I smelled new death.  It didn't fit.  This was only a dream, and dreams didn't smell.  So I woke up.

Good thing I did.

Blinking my eyes several times, I managed to make out a figure silhouetted against the drapes.  Quietly, I felt my way towards my Ruger that was still in the shoulder holster, but was draped on the corner of the wooden headboard.  I felt the cool rubber grip and slowly eased it out of the holster.  I held the Ruger in a two-handed grip, sitting up and leaning back on the headboard for support.  Now I could shoot comfortably.  Good for me.  Now I could address whatever idiot was there.

"Don't move."  'Don't move' is better than 'Freeze', and not so cliché.  The figure didn't move.  Smart.  I reached over and brushed the metal of my touch lamp beside the bed.  Light illuminated the room, revealing a young woman.  Short, messy blonde hair, eyes the color of dirty ice, and an almost skeletal figure.  Her appearance, though almost anemic, didn't scare me.  What scared me was the .38 Revolver in her hand, pointed directly at my chest.  Before I could do anything, she fired at me.

It's not fun being shot at.  I don't know how I dodged the bullet, but the next thing I knew, I was on the floor on the opposite side of the bed, and feathers were flying.  I pulled myself to a knee, swung my arms over the side of the bed, and aimed the Ruger directly at the girl's skull.  "Don't move, I said!  Put the weapon down and put your hands on your head!"  The girl didn't respond.  I repeated the command, in a not-so-nice tone this time.  "Put the gun down and put your hands on your head!  Now, dammit!"

The girl spoke.

"No…I won't let you bring it back…" she raised the gun again.  "I won't let you…bring it…back…"

"Bring what back?"  I stood up, still pointing the Ruger at her.

"Samael…get out of here!  Get out of here!"  The girl kicked my dresser, hard.  Several small items fell off, including the videotape of Lisa.

"Calm down!  Who is Samael?" I asked, trying really hard not to shoot now and ask questions later.

"I WON'T GO BACK!  I WON'T GO BACK TO HELL!"  The girl was screaming her words now.  Uh oh.  From every movie I saw that involved psychos, when they started yelling, that usually meant that someone was about to die.  Shit.  Then I remembered what Rook said, about the crazy police officer on the loose.  The one who was raving on about Silent Hill and demons and hell on Earth.  Cybil Bennett.  Double shit.

"Cybil…you calm down RIGHT NOW and put the gun down!"  I was still trying to remain cool and in control.  It wasn't working.  Cybil hesitated for a second.  Maybe it was the sound of her name that made her stop.   She started to walk towards me.  Damn.

"I…I can't…shi-ne na wa iya…SHI-NE!"

That moment was flooded with a sharp pain, because that was the moment that Cybil chose to shoot me.  My vision immediately began to fog up.  I couldn't feel any pain, but I could feel total and complete numbness.  Numbness in the right side of my body.  I couldn't move my right arm.  My shooting arm.  Shit!  I had no idea what I was thinking, but I seem to remember transferring my gun to my left hand and shooting in Cybil's general direction many, many times.  I think I emptied my entire clip into her.  I collapsed on the floor.  The numbness went away and was replaced by a fiery burning sensation.  I liked the numbness better, I think.

"Shi…ne…iya…onegai…watashi wa kowaii…shi…ne…" It sounded muffled.  A side effect from being shot, I suppose.  Whoop dee dee for me: blurry vision, burning pain and hearing problems- three for the price of one, what a deal.

I heard a thump across the room, which I assume was Cybil dropping like a stone.  Yay, I beat the bad guy.  A zillion brownie points to me.

My moment of Kira's Great Triumph was cut short by my vision fizzing out and the burning sensation being replaced by raw, sheer agony.  I gasped several times from the pain and finally retched on the carpet.

After that I couldn't remember much because I passed out.

I woke to sirens.

~~~

More reviews=More chapters!  …which I'd still post regardless, cause I enjoy the heck out of writing this!