Disclaimer! I do not own Bungou Stray Dogs. The characters are owned by Kafka Asagiri and illustrated by Sango Harukawa. The only things I own are my storyline and OC's. I am not making money off of this story, nor do I plan to.
This story takes place sometime after season 3 of the anime. This can be seen as canon divergence as I do not follow the manga nor the light novels.
*TRIGGER WARNING for this chapter, it deals with suicide mentions*
…...
Charlie wasn't quite sure what to expect when the mafia executive set to escort her pulled up to the morgue. Perhaps she was expecting some sort of limo or dark vehicle with blackened windows, maybe someone in a business suit surrounded by guards. But she certainly wasn't expecting a young man with blazing ginger hair astride a crimson motorcycle that looked like a death trap.
However, her eyes were drawn to the tall, pale figure with long dark hair standing beside the man, his blank eyes exposing himself as a ghost. Ghosts did this at times; after death, some ghosts would linger around people of importance in their lives. Some would follow a loved one, like parents following a child. Victims of murders often followed around their killer, weeping and wailing and trying to attack the person who wronged them. Some would follow around those who had found their bodies. She had seen one too many burn victims floating beside the firefighters who had pulled their corpses from burning buildings.
This ghost seemed to be a victim of some sort, and if the crushed chest cavity was anything to go by, he had most likely died of blunt force trauma. He was dressed in a long coat, boots, gloves, a scarf, and some earmuffs as if preparing for a blizzard. He stared curiously at Charlie as she very obviously took notice of him when no one else would. She blinked and glanced at her satchel safely strapped across her chest, then to the card in her hand with the supposed executive's supposed name and number. She felt like she was calling a taxi or an Uber.
"Um… Nak-"
"Get on." His voice was different than she was expecting; he still had a youthful look on his face despite the large overcoat and a black hat with a red rim. His gloved hands were tight over the handlebars of the rumbling vehicle.
"Excuse me?"
"I said get on. The Boss is having me escort you to the crime scene, we better hurry."
"Hold on what? On- on that?" Rudyard was snickering behind her, taking great delight in her hesitation to get on that two-wheeled monstrosity. Now the man looked exasperated,
"Yes, now get on-"
"I am not riding on that death trap. Does it look like I have a death wish to you? No, I don't. I'll walk to the crime scene. Thank you very much. I've seen what accidents on those freaks of nature do to a body." She snapped and watched as his face soured more and more until she was worried it was going to stick like that. Instead, he pinched the bridge of his nose and took a breath, held it for a moment, then exhaled slowly.
"It'll be fine. I can promise you'll be one hundred percent safe." He said, sounding as if he was gritting his teeth. Charlie narrowed her eyes,
"One hundred percent? That's an awfully high bet you're placing in a vehicle with no seatbelt." She grumbled, tempted to make a run for it but eventually swallowed her (perfectly rational) fear and descended the steps to the sidewalk where the man was waiting.
It was awkward, trying to adjust her bag while she sat on the bright red bike, trying to make sure it didn't get in the way of anything. She sat uneasily behind the young man, chewing on the inside of her lip.
"You have a helmet or anything?" She asked and could almost hear the smirk in his voice.
"Don't need 'em. Hang on tight."
…...
By the time the man slowed his bike to a halt, Charlie was ready to rip his hat off and clock him in the face with her bag. There was a reason she hated motorcycles and speed demons like him.
"Never again!" She spat angrily and jabbed an accusing finger at the ginger man before stalking angrily towards where the supposed crime scene was. In an attempt to fix tame her windswept hair, she ran her fingers through the wild curls. She heard the sound of the motorcycle rumbling to a halt as the man killed the ignition.
"You hate motorcycles that much?" He seemed curious, standing a few paces back as Charlie - who didn't respond - reached the entrance to the building. It was a massive abandoned warehouse with several mafia thugs stationed outside the doors to prevent anyone from wandering inside. She set her satchel down and opened it, quickly donning her gear to go inside to investigate the crime scene. First, it was the white suit, then the mask and goggles, and finally, she worked her two pairs of nitrile gloves over her hands and finished with slipping her shoe coverings on over her boots. Finished with getting ready, she picked out her voice recorder and camera and started towards the door.
Only to come to a complete halt when she saw the ginger following her (she really had to learn his name. This was getting exhausting).
"No." She said curtly, jabbing the voice recorder in her hand towards him. He stopped and raised a brow, slipping his hands into his pockets.
"Pardon?"
"You aren't coming in. Not unless you put on a suit and protective equipment like mine." Her voice muffled beneath her mask, and she adjusted her goggles over her eyes as the man's eyes narrowed and his lips curled slightly into a snarl.
"Excuse me?" He tried to take a step forward, but she jabbed the end of her recorder into his chest.
"I don't need you and your fancy shoes ruining my crime scene! Who knows what you've stepped in or who you've stepped on. Mori hired me for this case, so you have to follow what I say if you want me to take a look. Either stand out here or put on equipment. I have an extra suit, booties, and gloves in my bag. Throw on a mask too, while you're at it." She shot back and was quite delighted to see he angrily took position outside the door to the crime scene. Now she wouldn't have to worry about him hearing her talk to ghosts.
…...
The inside of the warehouse was musty and thick with the scent of cooling blood. Charlie shuddered as the morning air cooled her skin through her white suit. It didn't take long for her eyes to catch on the bodies she was supposed to investigate. She pressed the button on her voice recorder and got to work.
"This is Charlie Dickens. Investigating the deaths of four Port Mafia members discovered earlier this morning. The time of death is estimated to be approximately three AM on April 22nd. Further information will be recorded when an official autopsy is performed." She walked closer to the bodies, thankful that her mask was muffling the horrific smell of blood in the air. It was so potent she could nearly taste it. With a swallow, she picked her way around the blood pools and studied the bodies the best she could without getting blood on her booties.
Her lips twist in a grimace once the severity of the fatal injuries came into view.
"Victims were decapitated, and their heads were then placed on their chest. The bodies don't seem to have been moved from the looks of it—no signs of livor mortis at present." Charlie made another circle around the bodies and a few more notes before investigating the rest of the warehouse. The smell of gasoline permeated the air as she glanced over the rest of the warehouse. The killer had most likely wiped down the bodies of fingerprints. More investigation would have to be done later. The Port Mafia's forensic team could comb through it more thoroughly after she was done; she was just here to look at the corpses and maybe talk to some spirits.
Just as she had approached the aforementioned bodies, a ghost appeared above the corpse closest to her. Perhaps in his early to mid-twenties, the young man had sandy blonde hair and blank, empty, white eyes. He was holding his head in his hands, excess blood dripping to the floor. Considering he had been brutally decapitated, he didn't look too bad.
"Um… Hello, my name is Charlie; what's yours?" She asked quietly of the ghost so as not to spook him. He turned and looked directly at her,
"Am I dead?" His voice came out in a raspy whisper, and bits of blood and spit dripped down his chin.
"I'm afraid so. You were murdered, and I've been tasked with solving it. Can I get your name, please?" The ghost blinked several times and started to flicker in and out of the visible spectrum as he grew more and more antsy.
"B-Bones. People call me Bones… What about my comrades? Katrina? Crane? Diedrich?"
"Alright, Mr. Bones, I don't know when or if your friends will join you. You're the first one to come back in a way."
Bones blinked several times and reached up, putting his head back on his severed neck and looking towards the bodies of his dead friends. Almost as if on cue, two other ghosts began to sit up from their bodies. They all were similar to Bones as they cradled their heads in their hands and flickered.
One was a taller, older man, perhaps in his sixties. His hair was salt and pepper gray, and he wore a pair of trousers and a simple turtle neck that hid the bones and muscle of his severed neck.
The other ghost was a girl, probably close to Bones' age. Her hair was long and curly and jet black, obviously dyed at some point. In contrast to the men's shirt and trousers, she wore something akin to a business suit. Sharp blazer, pressed pants, shoes with a modest but wedge heel. Out of the three of them, she resembled what Charlie expected a mafia member to look like the most.
"Bones? Diedrich? What- what happened? Why are you- did we die? Where's Crane?" The girl demanded, her form fizzling the most.
"This girl here says we died, murdered in fact. I don't know where Crane is." Bones held his hands out and helped the woman put her head back on her shoulders, speaking in soft tones to soothe her.
The older man turned to Charlie, his head tilting in his hands in a sort of questioning glance.
"You can see us, girl?" At this, Charlie nodded,
"I can. It's my ability. It's called the Haunted Man and the Ghost's Bargain. It allows me to see and interact with the spirits of the dead. My name is Charlie Dickens, by the way, what's yours?"
"Call me Diedrich, the woman is Katrina, and I suppose you already know Bones. Now I must ask, what came of our last comrade? His name was Ichabod Crane." To this, Charlie glanced towards the last body,
"Sometimes ghosts don't come back. It's entirely possible he-"
"He wanted to die." Katrina cut in, and Charlie felt a sinking pit in her stomach. Of course, that's why he didn't come back.
"He told me once; he told me that he wanted to die but was too chicken to do it himself. That's why he joined the mafia. He figured that was the quickest way to get killed if he was reckless." Katrina crossed her arms, looking towards the decapitated corpse of her friend. Charlie cut back in, clicking off her recorder as she did so.
"So he fulfilled a wish he had. That's why he didn't come back. Most ghosts pass on after fulfilling a wish they had in their life. In his case, he wanted to die."
…
FairyTailWzard's OC's (these are mine! Do not steal them!):
Charlene "Charlie" Dickens: Sleep-deprived 23-year-old medical examiner works to solve homicides and perform for the police, Port Mafia, and the Armed Detective Agency. Ability: The Haunted Man and the Ghost's Bargain; allows her to see and interact with the spirits of the dead.
Rudyard Kipling: Deceased Englishman in his 30s, unknown background. Ability: The Jungle Book; he can manifest his tattoos into real animals. Has tattoos of a python, Bengal tiger, and a large bear.
Jacob Marley: Charlie's assistant in the morgue and during autopsies. Lives with his nephew Tim Cratchit and businessman Ebenezer Scrooge.