A/N: Good Lord, I'm getting back to my old self…I never thought that to be possible.  *joyful laugh*

In any case…

Gomen for the long wait.  It's been horribly rude of me not to update…I really have no excuse.  I've been really lazy for the past few weeks, and it's been rubbing off on my work, art, and writing.

So, after being given an extremely harsh reprimand, I've decided to shape up and continue.  Considering I'm planning to have maybe two more chapters after this, I'd best hop to it and make it count.  And with a sequel on the way (possibly), I don't want this to carry over into that time.  That would be really pathetic, ne?

And so, without further ado, I give you chapter 14.  Enjoy.  Mucho comic relief, and implied fluff.  Heeh.

Pax!
~Rumer ("Dies irae, dies illa…Solvet saeclum in favilla…")

Autopsy Report: Chapter Fourteen

I walked through the ashes of what once was my apartment building and shook my head in shock.  A few pieces of wood and sheet rock burned silently nearby, illuminating the night-consumed land.  I hadn't been allowed to get near the debris until most of the flames were gone and most of the victims removed.  Yes, there were victims.  And before, I'd thought the only time you'd die in an apartment was if one of its walls fell on you.  Shows how right I can be at times.

I stumbled over a pile of ash and involuntarily sneezed.  A cloud of black rose from the ground, totally obscuring my vision for a second.  Ugh, soot.  It almost immediately found its way to my eyes and they immediately began to water.  Hmm, what exactly was I DOING wandering around a previous firepit?  Oh yeah, looking for any salvageable remains of my apartment.  Apparently it depended on your definition of "salvageable", especially when you're dealing with an emergency of this sort.  My definition lingered between "pristine" and "lightly scuffed".  I wasn't gonna find anything.  I snickered to myself, fully aware of my impossibly high standards, and continued to scour the ground with my gaze.  I looked back to where I'd tripped, and fanned a bit of soot away from a charred lump.  It looked like a rock.  Scrunching my nose in disgust, I tapped it with the tip of my toe.

It began to bleed.

Suddenly, I found myself on my arse, sneezing and hacking up soot.  I'd jumped backward so quickly, I hadn't had time to catch myself, and wound up on my fourth point of contact.  Now I knew why my parents never named me Grace.  Realizing that running wasn't gonna do me much good, I did the second best thing.  I screamed.  Well, tried to, anyway.  I let out a wheezing, strangled noise that sounded like a cross between a horribly out of tune clarinet with a broken reed and a pelican honk.  Either way, it must have worked how it was supposed to, because several firefighters and a cop started to walk towards me.  Goody, I could communicate in ways other than English.  Well, if you count making several rather odd noises communication.  I didn't give a damn either way.  At least they were coming.  And that was good enough for me.

"What's wrong, Dr. Devereaux?" One firefighter trotted to my side and extended a hand.  I took it, and pointed to the pile of bleeding char.  He glanced down, and apparently he forgot that he was helping me up.  So again I found myself on my rump, and the firefighter started yelling for the others to hurry up.  His voice had turned from cool and confident to having an edge of nervousness.  I scared a firefighter.  Heh, point for me.  I let out a groan and staggered to my feet, seeing as the firefighter had no intention to actually help me up.  Great manners, spanky.  Exactly how many etiquette classes were you thrown out of?  I dusted myself off and backed away, seeing the group of firemen widen around the amazing bleeding piece of meat.

"Excuse me, gentlemen," I said in my most forgiving tone (which had an air of nervousness), "What exactly is that?  Why is it in my- well, what once was my apartment?"

"That's what we're about to find out, Ms. Devereaux," one firefighter said irritably.  Huh.  Funny.  Mucking about in the dirt poking at what might very well be just an overdone filet mignon didn't look like finding ANYTHING out to me.  Oh well, law enforcement officials are strange people.  They'll never pull you over when you're going 90 miles per hour in the city but you can bet there'll be a rogue officer waiting to ticket you when you're going 2 miles over the speed limit on a deserted country road.  I've had my share of official reprimands, so I know what I'm talking about.  Wait, I always know what I'm talking about.  Most of the time.

I stifled an exasperated sigh and began to circle the tribe of would-be investigators.  Yes, tribe.  Well, pack would be more accurate.  Scavenging, sifting through dirt and ash for remains…interesting, really.  Nah.  Snorting in disgust, I kicked at the ground spitefully, feeling much like a two-year old who just lost the spotlight of attention.  Me, act underage?  Surely you jest.  The kick did nothing more than stir up a bunch of soot which immediately found its way into my sinus cavity.  That's what I get, I suppose.  I started to sneeze and hack, and I made a mental note to never have a hissy fit in a pile of ash.  When I got all the black gunk out of my nasal cavity, I looked back at the meat inspectors.  Sure enough, few deviated their attention from the pile of char they were gathered around.  One shot me a glare, clearly telling me to grow up.  Yeah, thanks.  Don't I feel special.  Jerk.  A feeling of self-pity and indignation rose in my throat, and I fought it down.  Count to ten, take deep breaths, you'll suppress the homicidal urge if you try, Kira.  I counted to ten.  I took deep breaths.  I concentrated on telling the nasty little voice in my brain telling me to maim them all to shut the hell up.  It shut up.  Yay, point for me.

I realized I'd been clenching my eyes shut.  Huh.  The heavy thinker, that's me.  I opened them slowly.  Yep, the world was still there, the pack was still on the move, and I found myself standing on something white.  White?  In a pile of ash?  I swept a bit of soot aside with my foot and squinted to make out the markings.

Markings…

Symbols, really.  They stretched in a huge circle around what once was my apartment, encompassing a good 50 foot span.  I could see more traces of white all around the pack.  In fact, they were standing on some center mark…I nonchalantly dragged my foot around, getting weird stares from the random policeman and firefighter.  Yeah yeah yeah, SHUT UP.  Go back to your meat, boys.

A triangle inside the circle of markings was etched in the cement foundation.  Huh.  Why in the hell did anyone take the time to carve shapes in the foundation of a building?  I didn't know.  Probably just some poor sap with way too much time on their hands.  I crouched down and reached out to the carvings, feeling the grooves and tracing their patterns.  As I did, I felt a shiver roll up my arms, power draping over me with each touch.  It raised goosebumps, raised my hair on end.  As I was feeling the carve, I suddenly got a flash of something.  A name.  It looked like it was in some foreign language, but I heard it pronounced in my head…

Samael…

I got more images.  A three-winged figure in white, wings disappearing and bat-like ones taking their place…turning from white to black.  Red eyes…Eyes like burning coals.  They seared into me, penetrated my very soul.

I know you, Kira Devereaux…the time is now…you must know and remember…you are on the Grim Reaper's List.  Make ready…the time is near…

Sirens sounded in my ears.  Not police sirens, not ambulance sirens…air raid sirens, almost.  They droned on, surrounding me, covering me, drenching me, smothering me…I couldn't see…I couldn't breathe…

"DR. DEVEREAUX!  DR. DEVEREAUX!  ARE YOU ALL RIGHT?"

My eyes snapped open.  I was staring up into the face of a young police officer, who was white as a ghost.  Scared for me?  Naw.  I sat up, and realized that I was drenched with sweat, and my throat felt raw.

"What h-happened?" I asked raspily.  My throat stung with each inflection.  I winced.

"You sort of fell over and started shaking, like you were having a seizure…you started screaming…screaming loud enough to wake the dead…" the police officer said slowly, quaking with fear.  "We didn't know what the hell was wrong…are you all right?"

I struggled to sit up and found the task grueling.  It apparently showed, because the officer stooped down and placed his hands on my shoulders, steadying me.  How gentlemanly.  Chivalry, dead?  Naw.  Never was, just went into hiding.  I coughed once and felt something liquid in my mouth.  I put two fingers to my lips, and they came back red.  Blood?  Aw, hell no.  I struggled to get to my feet, but found the effort to be in vain.  Stupid, stupid girl.  You never try to do for yourself when there's a big strong man to help you, who's both willing and able.  I slipped my arm around the policeman's shoulders.

"Can you help me stand?  I don't think I can by myself."   The great Kira Devereaux, stooping to allow someone to help her?  Mark the day on the calendar.  It won't happen again for a long-o time.  Slowly but surely, I staggered to my feet, relying heavily on my living brace.  Good cop, nice cop.  You get a milkbone later.  I was about to say my thanks to the young officer, but a cry from the pack took both of our attentions.

"My God on high…It's a person…!"

I don't remember much after that, because I passed out.  Nice going.  Just goes to show why my parents never named me Grace.

***

I woke up staring at an unfamiliar ceiling.  It was Titan-Buff…not my Zinc White.  It was textured too, with those annoying little puff balls that fall into your hair and face if you dare touch them.  Nope.  Wasn't my house…that's right, it had burned down.  Well, in that case…

Where in the name of Judecca WAS I?!

I bolted up in bed (that's right, bed), making a cotton sheet flap to the side.  I was still in the clothes I was previously in, minus my gun.  The holster was there, but the Ruger wasn't.  Good.  At least I still had my clothes; the gun could be found and reclaimed.  I know what you're thinking, and DON'T.  It never hurts to be a little bit overprotective, and at times, prude.  It helps to know that the person whose bed you're in isn't a pervert.  That's always a plus.  Well, maybe a downside.  You have less reason to kill them later for taking you in the first place.  And people these days seem to look down on killing people for seeing you in your knickers or less.  Oh well, that's the justice system these days.  Rock on, 5th Amendment.

I looked around the room.  Powder blue watermark wallpaper covered the walls, and the thick-looking beige carpeting was a perfect reflection of the ceiling.  A large, light wood paneled chest of drawers and dresser set took up two walls, the chest of drawers serving as a stand for a huge mirror that reflected whoever used the king-sized, blue-sheeted bed or the matching night stand.  Hey, it all matched.  There must have been a sale somewhere.  And I missed it.  Big loss.  Sunlight streamed through a large bay window next to the dresser, giving me a perfect view of the street below.  A small digital clock was on the nightstand, and according to it, it was approximately 9:37 in the morning.  Great.  I swung my feet over the side of the bed and slowly stood up, leaning on the nightstand for support.  Now to find my host…and beat them mercilessly.

My briefcase was hanging on the brass doorknob.  Considerate.  I opened it and removed a long, leather-sheathed object.  Heh, I never left home without my bread knife.  MY knife.  The knife I did all my side work with, the knife I dissected organs and such with.  It had been with me since day one, and I carried it everywhere.  I tried to take it on an airplane with me once, and it raised such hell I was searched about four times before having to put it in the bag I'd already checked.  Not a fun trip, but hey.  You do what you have to when you have to.  I unsheathed my silver beauty, seeing my disheveled face in the reflection of the blade.  I winced.  I looked like hell, and frankly, I felt it too.  No matter, there was other business to attend to.  Rolling up the sheath, I stuck it in my pocket and grasped the blade in an outward slash position.  If I had to fling up my arms, it would wind up slashing vertically.  Natural defense.  Kama training is an invaluable skill.  Learn it.

Quietly, I opened the door and peered around.  Not an apartment, that was for certain.  A small house.  A light blue set of furniture decorated a lush living room, and an entertainment system dominated the far wall.  Not a bad one, either.  Top of the line, flat-screen TV and surround sound.  DVD and VCR, probably a turntable in that mess somewhere.  A kitchen to my far right.  I could see a stovetop from the doorframe.  Huh.  Not bad.  The house in all seemed very new-age, with several impressionist paintings and other random knickknacks scattered about at strategic intervals, both hung on walls and perched on wrought-iron pedestals.  Nice.  Well, the scenery was nice, but eh.  I'd seen better.  Not many, though.  And not by much.

After searching for about half an hour and finding nothing (except a nice dinette set and a fine selection of china, crystal and cutlery), I found myself in the kitchen.  Commercial stuff all the way, apparently this person didn't skimp.  Not bad.  There was a piece of paper taped to the black oven door.  Curious as I was, I read it.  And immediately felt stupid.

Kira,

I figured you'd come to the kitchen first.  Following your
stomach, and all that.  Do I know you or what?
You've obviously woken up if you're reading this.  Help
yourself with anything in the kitchen for breakfast.  When
you get finished, there are new clothes on the counter
for you.  Feel special, I'm sacrificing some of my clothes
for your use.  When you get done, come on down to the
lab.  Your car is outside.  I'll meet you there.  I'll explain
the accommodations as well.  By the way, you gave the
officers a pretty big scare yesterday..  You'll probably enjoy
having a bit more respect coming out of this.  I'm glad for
you.  Now hurry up and get down here, this note is getting
long and it's wasting time, which is scant as it is. 
Tick tock, tick tock.

Elwood Lecter

P.S.  Your gun is in your car.  Don't go rooting through
my stuff looking for it.  Thanks.

Well, didn't I feel sheepish.  Never assume, Kira.  You'll make an ass out of you and me.

…Where did I hear that before?

***

I walked down the halls of the clinic wearing one of Elwood's neatly-pressed white button-down shirts and a pair of too-big navy slacks.  It clashed with the pumps I'd been wearing earlier, but hey.  Some sacrifices must be made, and there was no way my size 6 feet were fitting into Elwood's size 12 loafers.  Nope, sorry, not doing it.  I have my boundaries.  Leave me alone.

I got to my office and found another note taped on my door, telling me to go to Lab #2.  Ah, Rook's lab.  Fun.  I got to the lab in no time, and found both Rook and Elwood leaned over a microscope.  Elwood looked up as I entered, and flashed me an amused grin.  I suddenly had the urge to smack it off of him.  Gritting my teeth and clenching my fist, I smiled weakly and walked over.

"Morning," Elwood greeted brightly.  "I see they fit.  Those are the smallest clothes I own, so you should be thankful you have anything at all."  He looked thoughtful.  "Of course, that wouldn't have been too-"  He was cut off by Rook's head snapping up into his jaw.  Thank you, Rook.

"Dr. Devereaux!  Good morning, ma'am!"  Rook was looking up, the same spunky, 'I'm a morning person, tra la la la la' look on his angular face.  The grin vanished as he eyed my getup.  "Um…ma'am?  I've never seen you wear men's clothes before…"

"They're mine," Elwood groaned, massaging his jaw.  "Her clothes were too dirty, so when she was sleeping, I gave her new ones Considerate of me after a night like last night."

"Yours-…Oh…You two-…oh, my."  Rook's eyes got wide, and he developed a look of pure scarring.  I knew just what Elwood was thinking: 'Look, I broke his brain.  Isn't it funny?'

I felt an angry blush creep into my cheeks.  "That is NOT what Elwood meant, Rook, and you know it."

"Sure, sure, whatever you say, Doctor," Rook donned a sloppy grin.  "You could have just told me, you know.  I'd have been happy for you and all that.  But really, I never really saw it coming!  You and Dr. Lecter?  Well, it's just downright-"

By this point, I was lunging at Rook over the countertop and had pinned him to the floor, screaming curses and threats.  Elwood was doubled over with laugher, and so was Rook.  I quit cursing for a while and somehow the rage of the misunderstanding seemed stupid.  I started to laugh as well.  About five minutes later, after everyone had composed themselves, Elwood and I explained what had happened (rather, Elwood explained, I listened).  Apparently when I had fainted, since there was nowhere for me to go, Elwood volunteered his house for refuge.  Rook seemed to understand, though he kept giving the both of us knowing looks.  I still wanted to smack it off of him.  I almost did, until Rook handed me a picture of the symbol I found.

"What is this?"  I studied the picture.  Yep, the triangle within the circle, with all the funny markings.

"That's what you get to find out today."  Elwood interjected.  "The body found has already had an autopsy- Angela Orosco, dead by burns and knife wounds, White Claudia in her system, probably suicide.  It's all in the report, there's a copy on your desk if you get a chance to read it.  You get easy work for a while, sweetie, so be glad.  Angela…wasn't a pretty sight, if you know what I mean."  He winced.  I did know what he meant, and I mirrored his expression.  I put the picture in my pocket.  Great.  I get book work now.  Eh, I wasn't complaining though.  It got me out of the office and away from implications and speculations.  And frankly, I was thinking that Elwood wouldn't have minded if the implications were true.  What was sad was that I almost agreed with him.  Stupid, STUPID Kira.  You meet the wierdest people in the wierdest places, but the good thing is they're all attractive.  All the men, at least.  Babes, all of them.  Hey, I wasn't complaining.  But I had a feeling Dr. Proudmoore was.  It was common knowledge that she had a bit of a crush going on with Elwood, and he had no clue.  Oh well, what you don't know won't hurt you.  It might kill you, but never hurt you.  And there is a difference.  I knew that for a fact.

***

I flipped through the pages of a symbol dictionary and sighed in disgust.  Nothing, after 4 hours of hard looking in the largest library in the county.  I shoved the book aside and buried my face in my hands.  Well, considering I had nothing to really look up, and you can't search with a symbol, I was sort of S.O.L.  So I let my mind wander.  Clues clues, any clues wandering about in my brain?

Suddenly a name flashed into my mind.  Samael.  The name that had flashed though my subconscious on more than one occasion, and was mentioned at several times by several unbalanced people.  One had shot me, the other had scared me.  Same difference.  Eh, what the hell.  I walked to a reference computer and typed in the word 'Samael'.  The computer beeped compliantly.

ONE MATCH

REF 734.29 ANCIENT GODS AND DEMONS AND THE RELIGIONS ASSOCIATED

ONE COPY  CHECKED IN

Hot dog.  I raced to the reference section, almost knocking an aging librarian down the stairs and bumping into several people on the way.  734.29…Got it.  A black, leather-bound book was half-sticking out of a shelf, a string bookmark strung in place.  I opened the book to the marked page, and immediately my jaw dropped.

The symbol I'd been looking for was emblazoned across a two-page spread.  The caption beneath read, The mark of Samael.  Nothing more.  Huh.

There was a bit of red scribble on a corner.  Ball point pen.  An address.

312 Raegan Boulevard
Brahms
The Mercifully Damned Bookstore

Hot dog.  Strike that, rephrase it.  Can we say, "hot lead", children? 

I sure could.

~~~

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