Guest: Thank you very much for your review! :D
After much discussion with NothingFancy (my wonderful Beta Reader), I've decided to do something out of the norm which is to update on a schedule. Post Mortem will be updated monthly unless certain situations arise. Expect to see new chapters between the 23rd to the 27th of each month!
**** Chapter Warning - This chapter contains a reference to a very real and very lethal drug. This drug (Krokodil) is not common due to its outcome, and it is known as a flesh eating drug. I highly recommend that you do not search for information pertaining to this drug if you have a weak stomach. I wanted to reference this drug for toxicology, as the chemical found is used in the named drug which is why it is initially thought of by the medical examiner. This series is rated M for reasons involving violence, drug and alcohol use, and other adult/suggestive themes.
TWO - TOXICATE
Recommendation: Murder Song (5, 4, 3, 2, 1) Acourstic by AURORA
The bitter taste of coffee did little to quell the exhaustion that brimmed from Pipit's eyes. With mug in-hand, he leaned over Link's shoulder to watch the Ghoma footage for what felt like the two hundredth time. A sigh resonated beneath him, a mutter followed after, "This just doesn't add up Pip." Link paused the footage and finally drew away from the screen. Unlike Pipit, he was wide awake.
"You're telling me. I still don't believe it… even after the…" Pipit's eyes slide to the time display on the desktop. His eyes squinted against the harsh light of the monitor, mouth twisting into a grimace, "nine hours of scrubbing through footage. Damn, nine hours?"
Link mimicked his displeasure with an equally disgusted face. The perplexing video had already taken up too much of their time, precious time that they could've been using to find and pursue witnesses. Granted, they had already created a timeline and analysis of her life and routines thanks to social media, just not the timeline surrounding her death.
Link sighed, his fingers gripping the bridge of his nose as he continued to run the footage over in his mind, "and we're no closer to finding out what happened to her. There's no way it's as simple as an OD."
Pipit took another audible sip from his mug before finally setting it down on the desk. "Well, let's verify that with Valoo. Surely they're done now," he said. "I'll give them a call if you update the Chief on the evidence." Lack thereof you mean? Regardless of his internal snark, Link nodded, but Pipit had already taken the initiative and was heading out of the office.
As soon as Pipit walked through the door, the office plunged into distorted silence. It wasn't deafening if Link considered the computer hums that took the place of his partner's voice. Nevertheless, it was still unnerving as he turned back around in the chair to stare at the frozen image of Ghoma's bar counter. It'd been paused just as Runa Lara had gotten up from her barstool, and the more he stared at her blurred figure, the more he felt his focus drift to the file somewhere to his left. It burned, this slender caress of premonition that rode up his spine. Tickling each vertebrae, one at a time. Maybe it was from a dream he had before he'd come across her crime scene, maybe it was the nightmares, or maybe it was from experience in dealing with cases that involved a deceased victim. Regardless of the reason, he found himself slowly moving his hand over to the minala colored folder in front of him. The soft sound of the cover hitting the desk snapped in his ear like a gunshot. He'd opened it absently, but he could neither stop himself nor stop the violent thumping of his heart against his ribs.
Runa Lara's snowy face, peeled and withered, stared back with eyes that he'd seen way too many times in dreams that plagued him at night. The next photograph was of her hands, the fingers appeared jagged from either broken bones or a case of rigor mortis, and the nails looked ripped up to the lunula [upper white part on nail]. Then there was that black ichor, an ooze that had accompanied his nightly dreams just as much as the eyes of death. The premonition he'd felt only intensified as he finally snapped the folder shut, and collected it up alongside their notes and printed screenshots into a large stack. He'd paused once more to stare at the screen before turning off the groaning desktop, and hastily making an exit for the Chief's office with evidence in hand.
The Chief wasn't in his office, but Link found him in the poor excuse for a kitchenette next to the coffee maker that had surely seen better days. It was as old, if not older, as the bulky computers. It had once been made of translucent glass, but age and use had long ago stained it yellow. The kitchenette was likely six by six feet, dusted with age bleached blues and grays. It was just enough room for a chest freezer, a stove, and a counter and a half. It had once held a fridge, but that appliance had broken years ago and had just recently been replaced with the miniature freezer. Thankfully the stove top had always worked, especially now as the Chief babysat the yellowed percolator that steamed above the stove.
Balding head glistened sharply underneath the single light of the kitchenette when Chief Bo looked up. He glanced at the stack of papers and a folder tucked between Link's arm and ribs before addressing him, "Need some coffee?"
"No, but I would like to go over what Pipit and I found on the Lara case."
The pectoral began to boil, and the Chief moved quickly to dial down the heat. "You make it sound like she didn't overdose."
Forest green linoleum and chocolate brown walls, accompanied by a fair-haired receptionist click-clacking away at a computer, and a small section off to the right filled to the brim with dark gray chairs greeted the two investigators as they sauntered through the rotating doors of Valoo Hospital. Link had to pause, trailing behind Pipit, as the assorted smell of acrid disinfectants took his senses by the reins. The receptionist sat at a counter that arched against the ground, creating a semi-circle that connected to two pillars. Valoo's name swept across the counter's front in thick font, and Link had to stare at it long and hard, drawing his thoughts away from the suffocating smell of chemicals.
His partner leaned against the desk while he gradually stepped up behind him. The gingered officer smiled kindly to the woman who had only glanced up from her monitor once at the sound of the door. "Hey miss, Link and I are from FCPD, and we're looking for Runa Lara's medical file."
Her eyes were an ethereal green, the color of dew on leaves and grass in the spring, as she briskly pulled her gaze upward. Pale face twisted into what Link could only determine as concern as she stood up. "Yes, we've been expecting you all. I'll let him know that you're here. Give me one moment." She held up a dainty finger as she reached for the corded phone underneath the reception counter, and she dialed with a free hand before turning away from them. It was then that Pipit glanced at him with an arched brow.
In minutes, a presumed doctor garbed in dark green scrubs stepped out of the bend in a hall that connected to the lobby beyond the reception desk. He maneuvered quickly as he rounded the desk. Long black hair was tied back in a bun, a stethoscope hung from his sun-tanned neck, and a manilla folder rested between his thumb and pointer finger. In his other hand is a clear bag containing various tubes and marked bottles. Link recognized him almost immediately as one of Malon's friends, Renado. The man's last name escaped him, but the flash of a carded name tag caught his attention as Renado stopped a few feet before them. Diener [autopsy technician] Renado Saman.
"Hello gentleman," Renado smiled kindly and spoke with a voice twisted with an accent uncommon in Farore. It was a mix of Goronian and Gerudian, two native races from Eldin, Hyrule, clipped at the beginning and drawled out at every vowel enunciation. He waved the file in hand until his smile dwindled, "I'm afraid you won't find the toxicology report very helpful. There are subtle signs of Desomorphine, and it is speculated that Runa Lara had ingested Krokodil. Of course, considering her state of decay and the amount of Desomorphine, that's unlikely. It could have been remnants of another opioid. Whatever it is, it was mixed into the black liquid substance that we found to be on Lara's body as well as in her intestines, lungs, and pulmonary valve of her heart."
"How long until we can get the black substance tested by Hyrule's forensic lab?" Link asked.
"As soon as you give me the necessary paperwork, or I can give you a sample and you can send it off yourselves. Either way, it will probably take the lab a month or so. I hear that Lanayru's crime rate has gone up significantly in the past year and their constant drug cases have been swamping the lab."
Pipit folded his arms against his chest. "Can you give us your opinion on what the black stuff could be?"
Renado's arm settled back to his side, file still in hand as his eyes drew to the floor. "It reminds me of ink, but it's thicker. Maybe thicker than molasses. We did find particles, grains of some sort, in the same black colored substance inside her body. However, the substance on the exterior is a finer liquid, no grains."
"Grains?" Pipit's nose wrinkled.
"We attempted to clean them off, but it was… strangely difficult. They were very sensitive to temperature. I cannot be for certain but it looked like remnants of glass."
The three stood in silence then as the newfound information pushed against them. A premonition lingered in the antiseptic ridden air, curdling the longer the quiet remained. A new drug, possibly, or maybe something else entirely. Regardless, it was clear, Runa Lara's death was an impossible conundrum.
Quiet follows after the officers as Pipit takes the file and bag of additional evidentiary items. It's only when they step out of the hospital that Link audibly cursed. Pipit nodded subtly as they crossed the street to the blindingly white Crown Victoria cruiser, the bag rustling as they walked.
"Yeah, this is definitely shit. No leads thus far, but at least we know the cause of death. Whatever she swallowed or shot up flooded her lungs." The ginger officer slipped into the driver's seat, placed the bag gently between the seats while Link slipped in on the passenger's side. "Here's to hoping there's something useful in the bag." Pipit peeled back his sleeve, glancing at his watch as he sifted through his key ring with a freehand. "But first we should hit up the businesses by the crime scene." The cruiser stuttered to life.
Recommendation: Way Down We Go by KALEO
Mold and staticy folk music enveloped Link as soon as he stepped into Farore's one and only Malo Mart. Cracked linoleum of olive green and unrecognizable stains stared up at them as the bell overhead chimed in greeting.
Malo Mart was a small drugstore off Ordona Avenue with a set of windows that looked out onto the street. Windows of which were plastered with expired ads and a single, faded store hours sign that was almost as illegible as the storefront signage. The store sign was sun bleached, blues and reds worn and weathered down to shades of gray. Its words barely legible even with the string of flickering lights that aligned the bold font.
Dilapidated shelves sat across the small expanse of the floor, barely four feet apart from one another. Shelves of which were sparsely stocked, coated in a visible layer of dust. The register counter was on the far-side, the space beyond the counter hidden mostly by the displays and the countertop candy-dispenser that had an equal layer of dust as the shelves.
Pipit had claimed he'd come to Malo Mart many times before. The owner of the small store had been known for his drug usage in the past and thus he'd had many run-ins with the law. Pipit had been only one out of many officers the owner had the pleasure of becoming acquainted with. It's why Pipit took the lead, Link following close on his heels as they neared the register.
Malo was a short, stubby man in his late thirties with a rather large head. His dark hair balding in the middle. It created a barren circle of skin at his crown which reminded Link of a monk's balding head. The man was garbed in what looked to be blue and white golf pants and a hard-collared, buttonless shirt of gray that looked much too small for him. He sat atop a stool facing the store as without it he'd likely be no taller than the counter. His attention had been on the money in his register's drawer when they'd entered. That is, until Pipit tapped against the counter.
Malo looked up once before sharply sliding his till drawer closed. When his gaze returned, he only looked at Pipit's hands. "We're not here to buy anything." Pipit explained briskly as he motioned to the silver badge clipped to his belt. The gesture didn't do him any good though. Malo was too short to see the police-issued badge, but he caught on quickly enough. In fact, Link watched as the man's recognition evolved into sudden, defensive tension. He reared up atop his stool, straightening uncomfortably.
"Then what do you want? I haven't done anything. I'll have you know I've been clean-"
Link's partner shook his head, waved a hand dismissively, "No, Malo, we are not here for you." The emphasis did little to assure Malo as he still remained as tense as a bowstring.
"Then whom are you here for?"
"We would like access to your CCTVs that look out into the street, if possible."
Link watched with fascination as Malo's face changed from cloudy white to tomato red. Honestly, he would never understand why it was so hard for businesses to give up their video footage. Most notably, it was from local businesses. Chains didn't much care unless it involved one of their employees, but locals always acted as if they had shifty workings under the table. "We just want to be sure that Runa Lara passed through here." He added, and watched as Pipit fished out his cellphone.
"Runa Lara was found dead," Pipit informed as he held his phone out to the store owner, "in the alleyway off of Yeta Street." His tone had softened considerably, a sudden change that Link surmised was from watching the short man before them visibly deflate.
Malo reached for the phone, fingers brushing at the case's edges as he studied the picture of none other than Runa, and let loose a haggard sigh. "Oh, Ru." The alias was spoken softly, barely heard above the hum of store music. "I knew those drugs would get the best of her one of these days…" the graveness was shared as Pipit hesitantly drew his phone away and met Link's eyes.
There was a question there, should they share their speculations? A question to which Link subtly shook his head. No, adding inconclusive speculation would only make the poor guy even more depressed.
As the two communicated in small gestures, Malo's gaze had fallen to his shoes. Poor Ru, he'd tried to help her. He really had, but she'd been stubborn and weak. The withdrawals, she claimed, were just too much to bear. Yet surely those withdrawals would have been much easier to handle over death. "I saw her yesterday. She looked completely fine then, her usual self…" his voice withered. Maybe he should have been harder on her, been more supportive. If he'd done more to help her, maybe she'd have cleaned up. Maybe she'd be alive.
"Did she happen to say anything to you like if she was going somewhere, seeing someone?"
Malo didn't look up from his sneakers. "Not really, no. She had only come in to by her usual, a wheat bagel with goat cheese spr-wait! She did mention a new drug on the street. I forget the name of it though. Ru is typically a meth user, but the drug she'd talked about was something else… an opioid without a doubt."
"Do you have any recollection of how it may have sounded? And did Lara ever mention if she tried it or where the drug could be purchased?"
"I don't know, I can't remember. I barely remember what I ate for breakfast."
There was a shared sigh amongst the officers, and Pipit pockets his phone and wraps a knuckle on the counter. "Were you working here for the whole night or did you close up shop earlier than usual yesterday?"
Malo's head snapped up then and he cocked an eyebrow, "Are you asking for an alibi? Of course I was here all damn night. My cameras can attest to that. Besides, why should I need an alibi if Ru ODed!"
"Ah, you're right on that. Thanks." There was a flash of a smile, a parting, before Pipit drew away and briskly headed for the door. He brushed past Link who waved with an accompanied, "Thanks for your help," before falling into step behind his partner.
The bitter air that greeted them past the door of Malo Mart made the coffee from this morning seem much sweeter and warmer than it had been. It's only when the storefront door closes that Pipit begins to grumble a few choice words, most of which Link can't quite piece together except for the "lying ass" bit. He dove into the street, spurred on by the cold air, and left Link to travel behind and burrow deeper into his tent-like sweater.
There's a chilled breeze that brushes by, a teeth clattering one that curled underneath Link's exposed chin. It ripped a bodily shudder out of him, and it urges him to move a step ahead of his partner. The chill doesn't subside though even as the breeze dwindles into silence. A chill that ebbs over his skin through the layers of autumn clothes. A cold that fuses onto his bones.
It's when he adjusts his beanie that he realized that Pipit's incoherent muttering has stopped, and the silence… it's thick and threatening. A throb at the back of his mind, an itch at the back of his palms. There's something that feels wrong, ominous. Something-
"I'll be driving this time." Link startles himself, his voice sounding painfully distant. The attempt to draw his mind away failing miserably as the throbbing consumes his thoughts.
Something.
"Maybe we should go get some more coffee. I feel like we'll need it."
Incredibly.
"And get a list of the drug CIs [criminal informant] in the area."
Wrong.
Each attempt to dissuade his paranoia is extinguished as his own voice sounds less and less to his ears. It forces him to a standstill, right before the cruiser, and once more he tries to speak loud and clear. Maybe he's just speaking too softly? "Yeah, get a list of the drug CIs in the area. Maybe they'll…" Link knows he's speaking at a normal level, he must be because Pipit is at the passenger side door nodding his head. He even speaks, but whatever he says is pushed away into that stomach churning silence.
"It's those eyes of yours." Link jumps at the voice as it resonates all around him, through him, loud and clear. "That heart of yours." It floods his senses until his thoughts are muddled, until the cold takes him hostage. Until the throb becomes a pull and he's pulled into a direction that nearly made him trip. He spins around, eyes zeroing in on a spot across the street.
It's where eyes of blue fall into pools of large vermillion. It's where he finds the old woman garbed in a ragged cape of gray and blue. The large cloth enveloped her, obscured everything but her wiry hands that clung to the cape's hem and an ancient, weathered face. Her red eyes seem to glow the closer he's pulled toward her, legs moving on their own accord.
"Even the soul. Marked from head-to-toe." The voice is crinkled leather, a crackling fire, a flash of fire against a flash of ice. Yet her lips aren't moving. No, she's only smiling as a nonexistent wind coaxes out wild strands of silver hair. "A spitting image of something lost long ago, but you're broken. Something missing. Something forgotten."
His legs freeze in the middle of the street, and it's then that she stands up. Her movement is languid and the cape flows like silk from her decrepit frame. Silvery hair falls out as the cape slips away from her head, and her smile simmers. "Give it time. Fate and fables. You'll look better in greens than you do in blues. This simple life, it's not meant for you. For a Hero-" Link grimaced, a clawing burn edging its way up his back at such a simple word, "like you."
Maybe the evidence bag had been opened, maybe he'd accidentally gotten some of the drug on him? Because this whatever this was, it made no sense. Yet on the other hand, it made perfect sense. Nostalgic, something he felt that he knew but he couldn't place it.
"Give it time. The dreams are not just dreams. They never are for a Hero," that word again, it sparks a burn in his chest that he quickly places a hand to in an effort to silence it, "such as you."
For a Hero such as you.
Piercing agony, a drill through the head. It forces him forward on stumbling legs as both hands press against the burn that licks along his chest. An agony that eats away at his senses, contorting the woman before him as her eyes begin to not just blink, but to drip. He thinks its tears for a moment, but then he distantly registers that the tears are as red as her eyes. Yet as he blinks, fighting against the pain that burrows into him, the red flutters in and out. It's there, dripping from her eyes in a fine line, and then it's not. Each blink silencing and reviving what he hopes is a mirage, a drastic sign of lack of sleep.
It must be because of the lack of sleep. Yes, because nothing else makes sense especially when the flesh around her face begins to slip away along with the vermilion tears. Flesh that melts, flesh that peels away to reveal the skull. A skull with a single eye socket that sinks into the abyss and a single, glowing eye of red.
Link staggers a step back, nearly tripping on his heels, and moves his hands up to cover his eyes. Because this isn't real. It can't be real. But as his hands cut off his flickering gaze, he feels a cold wetness. Hears a wet squelch, and it startles him, urges him to pull his hands away to find bloodied palms.
He needs to wake up.
Wake up, Hero.
But his body acts on its own accord. He turns his hands despite their evident shaking, and there on the left hand is a symbol etched in black. It looks like a gruesome burn, infected skin boiling around it as it glows dimly.
Wake up, Link.
A pair of hands grabbed his shoulders and yanked him backward. The gesture pulls him back into reality, a whiplash of hallucinations vanished underneath the jarring movement and the rush of wind that greets him. A short semi-trailer plows through ahead of him, startling the still autumn wind and throwing him and his saviour back onto the ground.
His back connects with the ground, head smacking into something hard yet cushiony. "Shit!" The curse is instantaneous, and the pair of hands still at his shoulders shake him roughly, "What the hell was that, Link!" Pipit's exclamation urges him up, jerking away from his partner's grasp in the process. "Do you have a death wish or something? I called your name over a hundred times!"
Link barely hears him, just as he did before, as his gaze settles over the expanse of sidewalk across them. There is no woman garbed in a cape of blues and grays.
Recommendation: Sirens by Fleurie
Black curtains whispered over porcelain skin. Venetian mask of obsidians and golds glistened underneath the soft glow of the afternoon sun. A mask of descriptive detail, folded around the eyes and curved about the shape of the nose in such a way that it appeared as a second layer of skin. It fanned out, obscuring the sides of the head and spiraling out at the back in sharp waves. A mimicry of the sun with long, dull blades of gold striking out around the covered crown.
The wearer's eyes are unseen, cast in shadows except for the occasional twinkle of sea-blue. Lips hidden away from the curtain of black that covers what the mask cannot. The fabric, layers of cashmere, cover up to the collar of a long, wavy blue dress. It's the color of dawn, accented with gold swirls at the hems. It's loose on its wearer, but the fabric is tight around the bosom, defining the wearer as a woman.
The masked woman stared at the aged book that rests before her, gloved hands caressed worn pages. A stack of books align the writing desk, all aged and weathered with time and past wars. Yet like the book before her, they are unseen as the voices that pile up against her continue to break through her thoughts.
Premonitions that speak in ancient tongues, much older than the books. They'd once been helpful, but now they were nothing but a hindrance. Voices countering one another, clashing and struggling until their sound buzzes in white noise. It, along with her very existence, must be a curse. A sort of punishment that she was meant to undergo for the remainder of her life.
Yet these voices, for once in what felt like an eternity, had cleared. They dipped into one another, clinging onto each other until a single voice resounded in her mind. A heavy voice that left a hotness inside her, a feeling that she had not felt in years.
The Hero is awakening.
It was a declaration that would have lit her up with hope. The goddesses had left them long ago. As did their Hero. But as time marched on, she'd begun to grow weary of hope. It's intoxicated feeling had long since dried up, now as dry as the bones that rested within her. Even at this news, her brows furrowed. Perhaps she was willing her premonitions to speak, to bring forth something to hold onto, to look forward to. Because honestly, this life… this curse… she needed it to end.
Oh goodness, it seems Link is starting to hallucinate... what ever could be triggering these dreams and hallucinations? huehue And what's this, a new character has appeared?!
I hope that this chapter was as good if not better than its predecessor. For some reason, I found this chapter extremely difficult to write! That and the tense that I am attempting is not something I am accustomed to. I have gone over this chapter a bunch of times so hopefully I've caught most of the instances where my tenses switch. I have noticed how Google Docs accepts certain words until I post them here... then it's all like, "NOPE NOT TODAY."
