Keeping an iconic character from an iconic franchise in character is always a challenge, as I believe I said before, now that this focuses on the Re-Animator himself as well as the girlfriend of the man who was the mad scientist's reluctant sidekick. However, I also believe it's worth it even if it's not wholly perfect. :) Enjoy more police investigations and some more tasteful loving!

Chapter Eleven

Night Encounters

"Megan Halsey?"

"Yes." Meg stared at the man on her doorstep with a perfect expressionless mask but managed a small, polite smile to avoid suspicion. He was of average height, built quite stout around the middle and in the face, giving him the look of a man who'd seen serious shit in his time and it had stunted both his abilities and possibly his heart. He was dressed quite well in a neat, dark gray suit, complete with a slightly wrinkled white shirt and dark tie. He was a bald man, with hair white as clouds around each ear and behind his head. And he held out the gold badge. "Oh, police. Is there a problem?" she asked sweetly.

He gave her a smile in return, though she knew it was a fake sort of politeness. Already she knew he wasn't going to be good news. "So so," he answered. "But I really do have some questions to ask you and your housemate…Dr. Herbert West." Meg pursed her lips in a firm line, her smile threatening to slip away as a bad feeling overcame her like a gray cloud threatening a storm. "Do you mind if I come in?"

"Please." She stepped aside and watched as he found his way to the living room without asking her, which was very rude of him. What business did he have anyway? Only she had a feeling that she already knew that answer. He must be the policeman Shelley was talking about.

"Who are you?" Oh, thank God, Herbert. If anyone else knew how to talk someone out of their way and take charge of the situation, it would be him. The policeman – lieutenant, actually, from what she saw on the ID card beside the badge – turned his attention from checking out the luxurious surroundings with a half-critical eye and landed directly on her housemate. He gave a sickening grin.

"Dr. West." He said the name as if it were something that tasted bitter on his tongue, overshadowed by his pretense of civility. He held up his badge yet again. "Lieutenant Leslie Chapham, Arkham Police Department. And, uh…" He gave the living room another sweep. "…quite an old place, but nice."

"Used to be a mortuary," Meg answered, wondering how much longer she could keep herself from collapsing with anxiety. "After the cemetery filled up, it was the caretaker's house. Been up for twenty years now."

"Hmm." Chapham gave her a wary gaze paired with slow nods of the head. "Odd place to live," he said, though it was clear he didn't mean any sympathy for either of them or the house. And then Herbert was there for her.

"It has its advantages." He was surveying the lieutenant the way an undercover spy would their suspected target.

Chapham was looking down, and Meg followed his gaze. One of Herbert's medical textbooks was resting on the coffee table, opened to a page showing the anatomy and illustrations of the human arm – and a structure of the insides of the shoulder. "Pretty morbid stuff," he observed with a slight curl of the lips.

Herbert gave him a reproachful glare that clearly snapped "Get to the point already!" "I don't consider science morbid."

"It was pretty morbid the night Dr. Carl Hill died."

Meg felt her blood run cold. Herbert's cold glare remained, but she knew he was thinking the same as she: He knows the case isn't closed. She nearly flinched when the lieutenant's gaze removed itself from the text page to her. "And Dean…Dean, um…"

"Halsey," she answered calmly, though her cool threatened to give way. "Alan Halsey, my father."

"Dean Halsey, yes. And, um…Daniel Cain." He closed the book and put it back down to where he'd found it. "Do you mind if I sit down?" He was already down on the red brocade loveseat before Meg could tell him yes. He then reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small notepad, a show of "official" police interrogation. "Dr. West," Chapham started to say, locking eyes with Herbert, who had begun to move around the table so he was looking down on the older, larger man, "what kind of problems did you have with Carl Hill?"

"Dr. Hill and I had professional differences," Herbert answered, his eyes hard and slightly narrowed. "It was nothing personal." His tone turned from composed to impending frustration. "I've been all through this. It's in the police records which I am certain you have access to."

Chapham looked fazed by the snide remark, however, chose not to say anything, opening the notepad in his large hands. "I understand that you have some…radical ideas about…" He briefly looked down at whatever it was he'd written. "…the re-animation of dead tissue."

"When I was in medical school, I might have had time to discuss the theory. I don't anymore." Herbert was good at raising his unlimited defenses, but this one wasn't giving up without a fight.

"And I suppose those poor souls out at the Sefton ward of the hospital are a theory?"

As far as Meg knew about the aftermath of the investigation, there had only been three of the re-animated from the morgue that had been taken into custody, but with their known death certificates – and that information could not be released to the public – it caused confusion but ultimately ruled that it had been a mistake, and since they were too "insane" to stand trial, the Sefton Psychiatric Ward of the Miskatonic Hospital kept them under lockdown without the possibility of release. "I don't know what you're talking about," Herbert lied, good as carpeting that couldn't be removed.

Chapham looked like he didn't believe him – obviously, he didn't – and looked up at Meg, seeing her well-composed expression of faked ignorance. "Well, then, one more question. I don't suppose you know anything about the missing body parts at the hospital?"

"Missing…body parts?" Meg asked innocently, looking up at Herbert, getting a "no" in a second. That just about called off the interrogation. Lt. Chapham closed the pad and put it back into his jacket pocket, standing up and holding up his hand to Meg.

"I can find my own way out, Dr. Halsey." He gave them both the dirtiest look she'd ever seen in her life, but Herbert was used to looks like that, even when he vanished out the front door. Once he was gone, Meg turned to Herbert.

"You said the police would never come here," she said, lowering her voice in case the fat man happened to still be outside and overhearing them.

"And I'll make sure he doesn't find out," Herbert returned, walking over to the door and locking it swiftly and securely. "He's onto us, yes, but I'll lead him away. We've come too far to stop just to keep him off our tail." He stopped right there. "He's putting two and two together with his wife, at the hospital ward."

Meg raised an eyebrow. "His wife…Elizabeth Chapham? Died a year ago, resulting in a supposed fall down the stairs? Multiple contusions to the head?"

He whirled around from the door with a furious expression. "The one and the same. Think about it, too, Meg: multiple blows to the head from a mere fall down the stairs? The autopsy has all the details; multiple blows to the head, the cerebral hemisphere damaged by excessive force."

He was right; a number of strikes to the brain causing death were the results of… "He beat his wife," she whispered. "He beat her to death, and tried to cover it up." As much as she hated to admit it, perhaps that was one thing she should thank Dr. Hill for. The poor woman she didn't personally know but suffered an end she didn't deserve to begin with earned her sympathy. She knew there was something about Leslie Chapham the moment she laid her eyes on him. She knew he was trouble. And now he was after her and Herbert because he was angry that his wife was brought back from the dead – and knew that they had something to do with it.

You didn't directly bring her back, her subconscious reminded her. HILL did that. "So what are we going to do now?"

"We carry on," Herbert answered. "You know me, Meg. I won't stop what we began. I already have two items from the morgue as the start-up, but I say we lay low for now until the next right parts pop up."

~o~

In his room, Herbert tugged off his tie and tossed it over the back of the only chair he had in the space. His room wasn't stored with much besides a few shelves filled with thick textbooks, anatomical posters all over one wall, and the four-poster bed with the makeshift study desk at the foot; the latter had been his idea upon moving in. Meg had already gone to bed half an hour ago; two had passed since that nosy police lieutenant had come and tried prying. His lips drew back into a snarl; the fatso better watch out or else he would end up way too deep with the sharks. Herbert was angry for not being careful enough, but he never much cared about walking the safe line to get what he wanted. Everything in life required risk, so he had no guilt.

Meg had cooked them dinner – just steak and potatoes, nothing too fancy – in the kitchen that was a tad size smaller than every other room in the house but to see her bustling around in an attempt to calm herself down after the "unexpected" interrogation was nothing short of sweet. Yet Herbert could see the weight it had put on her psyche. She barely spoke the whole time they seated down at the soft oak table in the same room, and only nodded when he'd offered to clear up for her, leaving without one word.

He wondered how he could take her mind off of tonight for just a while longer; she'd just been greeted with his new ideas on bringing her Dan back through this new one in the making. When he stopped in front of her room, the door was slightly ajar. She liked having her door open unlike himself, which allowed him to peek inside and find her asleep with her back facing him...or was she pretending to sleep in an effort to try to succumb to slumber? The moonlight streamed across her as she lay in the brocade-sprawled bed, the dark velvet window curtains drawn back on either side. Heart thundering, Herbert stepped softly into the room, taking care to not let his shoes creak the floorboards.

"I know you're there." Her voice startled him out of his gentle padding; he froze where he was, his body going rigid and straight. She then turned over and squinted in the darkness. "I can't sleep. I can't stop thinking about..."

"It's putting the weight on your shoulders," Herbert spoke walking over and sitting beside her. "But we're going to be all right, Meg. I promise."

"Really?" She stared hard, not blinking. "He knows the truth. He's bound to find out eventually." Herbert snorted and grasped her hand in his, massaging the back with his thumb. He'll answer to me if he does, he silently swore.

"But if he does, I'll take care of him."

Meg jerked her hand out of his. "Herbert, he's an officer of the law. If you –"

He silenced her with a finger held up. "I won't let him catch up to us, Megan. He's a thorn in our sides, but he won't win this round." Herbert lowered his hand to his side. "I didn't come here to fight with you about Chapham. I came to help you feel better after that."

She sighed and turned to roll onto her side. Herbert heard what she said as he, too, turned his back to her, but only to reach down and remove his shoes and socks. He heard her right but knew she would eventually give in. "I don't know if I'm in the mood tonight."

He turned back and smirked at her even though she couldn't see him. "I can get you in the mood." He began to crawl up the length of the bed so he covered her body. Beneath him, Meg rolled back onto her back and looked up at him. She said nothing as he began to unbutton his shirt from the top down and exposed his chest to her. He shrugged off his shirt as he held her gaze with his, seeing the growing hunger in hers. He smiled broadly down at her, slightly baring his teeth at his success. He slid off the bed as he loosened his belt and shoved down his trousers, baring his obvious erection to her. She giggled and held up the covers to cover her chest briefly; he could tell from the sight of her bare shoulders that she was as nude as he was. Herbert reached down and tugged the covers down, baring her breasts resting against her chest like two Indian domes, as well as a firm, flat stomach, flared waist, and the dark blonde forest between her thighs; her skin glowed pale ivory turned silver under the moonbeams streaming through the window. He felt himself getting more excited downstairs and returned to covering her body with his.

He admired the beautiful woman beneath him, his hands skimming across her luscious chest, her nipples hard and teased, making her gasp softly; this was one of his favorite parts of her even though he never settled on just one specific in mind. There was always more than just one to indulge in. Caressing and briefly fondling the woman's breasts was an act of appraisal. Traveling lower, Herbert skimmed over his lover's abdomen, the place where a child was known to grow. Another important and interesting factor about a woman which always intrigued him was her ability to conceive life in her body. He imagined this happening between him and this wonderful but suffering woman beneath him, though responsibility came with raising a child. He wasn't an expert on the subject, though his experience with being raised by Hans Gruber was enough to fill him in. And he doubted she would want a baby with someone she didn't love the way he did.

"Herbert..." Meg shifted her hips upward, urging him to continue. He was aching hard enough, his length gently parting the pouting folds and drawing a small drop of her arousal onto his. Without waiting or preparation, he eased himself into her, gritting his teeth and grunting softly.

He thought about going rough, but at the same time looked down at her because a more tender side of him wanted to make love to her slowly and passionately, because from one of the lessons on the birds and the bees that Hans taught him as a teenager was that being slow and gentle made you and the other want it more, made you feel better than before. He thrust his hips against hers, the feel of Meg's wet sex around him prompting him to pick up speed the same time he leaned down and kissed her firmly, hungrily, and then pulled back to switch to her neck, biting the place where her jugular vein throbbed between his lips. She moaned like a little kitten, her cries getting louder with each thrust, and finally called out his name upon reaching the end with him.

Herbert lay his head against her chest, listening to her rapidly beating heart...the rhythm at which Daniel's heart will soon beat again. He said nothing to her when she thanked him and began to run her fingers through his hair. The feeling was pleasant, the massaging of his scalp, but he should know better than to assume it was a loving gesture. No one has ever said those three words to me in a long time, so I won't presume to think she ever will. All she ever loved was the man whose heart I returned to her.

But if there is ever a chance the process is a success, she WILL love me for it. His hands itched to grab her and hold her close to him, never wanting to let her go. Ever.

Another story, partly, inspired for this was another by contre la montre, "Piece of Work", which is also used in another chapter in the event of time. Herbert's views on women, in his own scientific way, make sense, as in a couple of other stories I read before, in almost the same manner...or maybe it IS the same as them. Because he's never been physically attracted to the female side of his species, it'd make sense that the conception of life in the woman's body - a child - would fascinate him in the name of science, but what about if he actually BECAME a father?

Special thanks to BlueMilagro's "Uninvited" and its continuation "The Scavenger Bride", as well as "On the Subject of Love" by The Smiling Shadow for this theory on how he sees women and conception.