If I have anything to say, I don't know what it is. XD But here is the other chapter inspired by "Piece of Work" by contre la montre on Livejournal. Regarding the workings of the Groom.

Chapter Fourteen

Risky Procedure

A week had gone by since that night Herbert finally told her about the family he'd lost. They'd been closer than ever, moreso than when Meg herself lost those she loved most; she felt like she was getting to know Herbert more along the lines of like she'd known him forever –

But what about Daniel?

God damn it! Every day was the same as ever whenever she thought of how to pick between the man who was her lover and housemate – and partner in crime, now that she could safely say it – and the other man who gave her his former flame's would-have-been wedding ring and confessed his love for her. She still hadn't been able to tell Daniel the words yet, because how could she explain her reason to him without giving anything away?

Scavenging with Herbert for the next parts didn't distract her much even though the process was almost complete. Two days before, a lawyer had been murdered while presenting his case to the court. He'd gotten the guilty convicted and locked away, but in return paid the price with his own life. Someone from the witnessing audience had stood just as the perp was led away for a life sentence – because he'd raped and scalped a young woman – thrown acid to the lawyer's face and burned him alive; by the time he was brought to the hospital, he was already dead and taken to Graves' pathology room...which also led to a shocking discovery after the doctor had been missing for less than a week, since the day – well, night actually, given she saw him during the day – Herbert acquired the legs and arms of their new "Dan". Dr. Graves had been locked in his own autopsy room, not seen in days, and almost dead of dehydration and starvation, as well as bowel issues for being imprisoned.

But by the time he was revived and questioned as to who did this, he went into a rambling mad tale of a "headless doctor come back to life". Meg thought she would faint because there was only one "headless doctor" she could think of. No, it can't be him! I saw him die; Daddy crushed his head. She thought about telling Herbert, but before she could have her chance, Herbert had gotten them both the hands of the lawyer, which he thought were "excellent for discipline". That happened the same day Graves was questioned and eventually confined in the hospital for further analysis of his current mental state.

And now, two days later, Herbert was ready to get the next specimen. After taking care of Daniel, she joined him in the crematorium with a wheelchair at his request. She was utterly shocked. He's taking the WHOLE body home?! How can he without anyone noticing?! Even more when Herbert applied sunglasses to cover the eyes and wrapped a scarf around the bruised and visibly broken neck. The young man was a model for Calvin Klein, but he'd been in a car accident that broke his neck and left the rest of his body intact. "His torso, pelvis, and whole genital area are perfect," Herbert had said while they loaded the much heavier corpse into the wheelchair.

Meg moaned softly as she walked beside him and their "patient" in the wheelchair. "Not out the front door." If something happens while we're out there, people will notice. If someone approaches us, it's worse.

Of course, Herbert brushed it off as ever. "Just the doctor taking the patient out for a little air," he stated casually. The head slumped forward; people were bound to notice that definitely, but Herbert had to keep it up with one hand grasping the head without making it look like it actually was.

It was a warm yet mild day, with a gentle breeze that swept the stray strands of hair into Meg's face. There were a few people out, including doctors bringing the patients out for air, as Herbert pretended to do with their latest "patient". However, Meg could not help but feel worried as she felt the tremors that she would get upon realizing that they were being watched…

And then she looked down, startled, when she felt something run into her legs and nearly knock her off her feet. A medium-sized, well-muscled Berger Picard had pranced out of nowhere in front of her to the point of stopping in front of her and sitting down on its backside, whimpering and panting as if to grab her attention for reasons she didn't understand. Herbert looked down at the animal with his impassive glare. But Meg smiled and knelt, running her hand along its head, relishing the feel of the high-set ears and elegant, silken fur. "Hi, pooch," she cooed.

To her surprise, the adorable creature turned and ran away from her…and met with a pair of long legs covered with dark navy capris and short black heels. The person knelt and brought the dog over into her arms, laughing and receiving a lick for a kiss. "Yes, you said hi to her."

"Francesca!" Ignoring Herbert for the moment, Meg rushed over and stopped in front of her friend, throwing her arms around for a hug. "Oh, God, I'm glad to see you. What are you doing here in Arkham?" She hadn't heard from her old friend much since Peru, assuming the fighting was still going on.

"Oh, I heard about the lawyer and will be here to do the interview." Francesca's face then dropped. "But the poor man had no family to collect his body, from what I found out."

"He didn't. And Dr. Graves – oh, God!" The blow of sickness was back, coming without a signal of warning, and she fell forward onto Francesca for life support. I've been like this for a week, but what the hell is wrong with me?

"Meg?" She grabbed her. "What's the matter?" The dog gave a curious, concerned sniff in addition. Herbert came up to them.

"Meg, are you all right?"

"I'm fine." The words were too forced. She steadied herself in Francesca's arms and smiled weakly. "Just…nausea. Maybe the smell of death is finally getting to me." She laughed weakly at her own joke, hoping Francesca wouldn't catch up to it, and Herbert watched her with pure skepticism, knowing full well she was lying. She wasn't sure she believed it was just plain nausea herself, based on experience. But he gave a simple nod and said "hmm" before nodding to Francesca and leaving them alone, taking the "patient" in the wheelchair with him.

Francesca looked after him and scoffed, shaking her head. "What, no asking if you'll be all right?"

"Oh, he knows I will…" Meg stopped herself. "But he knows I'm lying. Fran…" She lowered her voice. "Is there any way you can stop by the house tonight for dinner?" The sooner the words left her mouth, she almost berated herself. Girl, what are you thinking?! It's too risky; she's bound to find out about your little basement activities…

Francesca gave her a long, considering gaze before nodding. "Only if you let me cook." Her face split into a bright smile. "Real Italian style. And, um, I haven't been able to find a place to stay, so do you have an extra room at your place?"

Damn it, now she was asking for a place to stay…at her house. It was Herbert's, too, and he conducted his work down below. If she said yes, then Francesca was bound to find out with her pet here sniffing around and finding out what that decaying smell was… "Yeah, we have an extra room for you."

Francesca gave her a broader grin. "Wonderful. I have my things at the motel, so I'll have to check out first. The place really isn't my style."

"Great." Meg quickly pulled out her notepad she kept in her lab coat, wrote down the address quickly, and handed it to her. "See you tonight, and…please bring a…tester," she whispered. "I can't tell Herbert just yet." She had a feeling she was right about her suspicions, but at the same time, she prayed to God that she was wrong…

~o~

Francesca Danelli watched Megan go back into the hospital with concerning suspicion. She had only arrived at the hospital in time to interview regarding the murdered lawyer at the trial, at least getting information on the autopsy report, and now that she'd run into her good friend again, Meg was telling her to bring a…tester when she came over tonight for dinner and crashing the house until the interview was over before the week ended. Francesca did not need to ask what kind of tester it was. She wasn't married yet – no boyfriend yet, either, not in a long time – and that meant definitely no kids, but she knew the symptoms from research.

And it made her wonder who the father was.

Kneeling beside her precious new pet she'd brought from Peru, she felt like her core had been ignited like the heart of a volcano naturally rising to wreak havoc on the land. Is it…could he be…? "Well, Angel, what do you think?" she asked, accepting another kiss and returning it. Perhaps after they were finished, they ought to go back to the motel now and get ready for dinner tonight and bring what she'd lightly packed. She'd been in Arkham for barely a day, and already she was making the decision to move to Boston, just south of Arkham; it was necessary and safe enough after what happened in Peru, mostly because she had wanted to be closer to Megan, never mind one arrogant doctor whose tail she followed like an obedient little puppy.

Francesca knew she didn't like Dr. Herbert West the moment she laid her eyes on him, the moment he gave her snide remarks and attempts at making her back off with the coldest glowers which would work on a small child easily intimidated, but she refused to be intimidated by the small man with his attitude and ability to alienate everyone around him. How Meg put up with him, Francesca had no idea. And as much as it sickened her, she wondered if those two were actually closer than she thought they were…

Instantly became aware that someone was towering over her, looking up, she saw a man of middle years, balding but with white hair around the ears and behind his head, and rounded in the middle. His saggy features told her that, behind the polite yet smug smile, he was someone who'd been through a lot in his life. There was always a second story to everyone; experience taught her that.

"Hey, pooch," he greeted Angel, reaching down and scratching the dog's chin. "Where did you come from?"

Francesca knew that this man, whoever he was, had to be here for more than to just praise her pet. But she answered him anyways, "From Peru."

"Is that where you met Dr. Halsey?"

She jerked her head up at the mention of Meg's name. Regarding the mysterious man with furrowed brows – and a number of questions suddenly abuzz – she slowly stood up and held her ground. "Why do you want to know, Mr.…?"

He gave a half-hearted laugh as though he'd forgotten his manners, and reached into his jacket, pulling out a badge and ID. "Oh, I'm sorry. Lee Chapham, Arkham police. Lieutenant," he added, putting it away. "I'd like to talk to you about her. And about Dr. West." He nodded for her to follow him into the hospital. She knelt to secure Angel's leash to a pole so he wouldn't run off before she returned, and followed Lt. Chapham into Miskatonic Hospital.

The elevator dinged to let them know they were at the level of the Sefton ward of the hospital, where Chapham informed her and the receptionist – who gave them both visitor name tags and permission to go to said ward – where they would be heading. Once the two of them were off, he asked her, "Did you ever hear of the Miskatonic Massacre?"

Francesca frowned, her memory gathering none of the sorts as she looked at her surroundings. "No, I haven't."

"It happened here at the hospital," the lieutenant explained as he led the way, her by his side and keeping up. "A little over a year ago, the department got a call about a homicide at the Miskatonic University Hospital. The whole place was in a panic; it was down in the morgue. And there was blood all over the walls." He stopped abruptly and turned her way, looking her down intently, which made her wince. "Have you ever been around dead bodies, Miss Danelli?"

She lifted her chin at him. "Lieutenant, I'm an investigating journalist. Of course, I have." Get on with it, if you please. I want to know what Meg has to do with any of this.

He chuckled humorlessly and shook his head, resuming the walk. "Then you know that stench of decaying flesh. Anyways…" His voice dropped to a somber, repressed tone. "…out of the darkness, we were attacked by a naked maniac. He jumped right on my partner and bit his arm." A shudder was heard then. "Nothing could make him come loose. Tore the muscle right off the bone before we pumped enough lead in him to make him stop."

By then, they had reached the entrance door to the Sefton Psychiatric Ward, and Francesca was feeling that foreboding sense of dread. The story itself was making her skin crawl, which she didn't understand why because she had been through worse. Or so she thought. And Lt. Chapham was still speaking as he opened the door for her and let her go in first. "The dean of the medical school, Alan Halsey, was down there…in pieces. Earlier that evening, he had gone insane in the morgue and was reported to mutilate a corpse and was detained. And also present that night was a prominent physician, Dr. Carl Hill."

They stopped right in front of the desk where the orderlies were in charge of overseeing the "criminally insane", in which two moving figures could be seen through the glass window behind them. During the whole time, Francesca was working to piece what she'd heard together. The dean that the police lieutenant spoke of, Alan Halsey…Halsey, he had to have been related to Meg, so could he have been her father? And this Dr. Carl Hill…how does he fit into all this?

"We found only his head," Chapham said, interrupting her thoughts. "The rest of his body was a part of the muck." He paused as if deep in thought, remembering the condition they'd found his…head. "And the funny thing is," he said, voice lower, barely audible, "his head, when I found it, was still…twitching."

"Twitching?" Francesca raised an eyebrow. In the past five years of journalism and being in the coroner's office, never had she heard of such a thing as a "twitching head". Yes, there was such a thing as post-mortem involuntary spasms, also known as cadaveric spasms.

Chapham seemed to read her mind. "The doctors had a lot of highfalutin explanations. Post-mortem involuntary spasms, I don't know." He looked past her shoulder, face blank as if lost in thought again. "But I've seen my share of the dead…and I never saw it twitching like that before."

Now she knew he was trying to scare her. Francesca did not scare easily, especially by not what so many called "ghost stories". Not even whispers of unnaturally moving body parts.

"We blamed it all on Dr. Hill, for there were his fingerprints all over the place, and evidence including the obsession of Megan Halsey. We found a file in his office, containing photographs of her, as well as some hair." Francesca cringed; ugh, older men going after a young woman like that? Not that it was of any surprise, but still. "But since he was already dead in the chaos, we also blamed it on these ones in here." She followed Chapham around the desk and through the door that was opened for them. "And another funny thing is that the hospital had their death certificates."

"Death certificates?" Francesca repeated in disbelief. Did that mean that these two were…dead when all of this happened? None of this made any sense.

"Meaning they didn't get to the morgue on their own two feet."

"Has there been a mistake?" The door slammed shut behind them, making her jump.

"The hospital might have made a mistake about those two…" One of the men was of malnourished build, wearing a straightjacket, with long hair and a long beard like that of a wizard in the stories, looking up at the ceiling and making horrible, hollow gasps like he was suffocating; the other was African American, arms crooked in front of him, fingers gnarled into claws, and his eyes were rolled high to show the whites, and dried vomit trickled down his front. If these two were supposed to be dead, and there were death certificates, then why were they up and walking around…?

"But not this one."She was directed to the third sitting cross-legged on the ground, wearing a light blue robe and with thinned white hair, showing stitched wounds on the skin and multiple bruises. "This one here…" Chapham sounded like he was struggling to get the words out, nearly choking on them. The mere sound made her heart crack a little. "She was my wife."

"Oh, I'm sorry." She didn't get the chance to receive a response before she felt herself being pulled down to the ground – and found the old woman – Chapham's wife – dragging her down to the ground. She screamed.

"ELIZABETH!" she heard the lieutenant shout. She was too distracted by the crazed faces leering down at her as they closed in on her, the stench of them making the bile rise, and she struggled to fight her way out, the feel of hands closing around her throat.

"GET OFF ME!" Francesca howled.

She felt hands pull her off the ground and away from the three crazies, the door slamming shut and locked. She struggled to catch her breath as she was seated down, joined by Lt. Chapham, and a handsome, kind male orderly handed her some water. "Are you okay?" She nodded and accepted the water, giving it back to be taken away. Once he was gone, the lieutenant was by her side again.

"She's never done anything like that before," he tried to explain, but Francesca held up a hand for him to keep away from her, still struggling to regain herself.

"What does…what does all of this have to do with Megan?" she demanded, looking up at him and finally seeing a look on his face she'd never seen before. It was of angry determination as he answered the question she had wanted the answer to.

"Dr. Halsey and Dr. West were the only normal survivors of that night. Megan was the dean's daughter, and her boyfriend was Daniel Cain, a top student who also died that night. And Megan was found with his dead body in her arms."

~o~

Man is such a special work of art, Herbert thought. Everything that a God is: graceful, strong as a bull, powerful than any king on earth. But small-minded, once thought to be great and now reduced to the lowliest of caged animals, proving they are no better than the caged beasts. Mankind is like the primitive cavemen centuries before our time, attacking at the first sign of trouble and not once stopping to think about what they've done.

But not this one. No, this one will not be singular to the other males of this earth. He would be beyond that, beyond the ordinary taste of man. Herbert was impressed with how his partner handled the rubbery red tendons and veins. Caring for this was not to be taken lightly, for if one slip-up was to occur, "Dan" was in jeopardy.

She was looking at the assembly so far – including the torso and groin area of the model himself – as though in a pleasant dream only to wake up and find herself bleeding as though her menstrual blood lost control overnight. But they were getting closer to the end; all they needed was the head to finish the masterpiece that was their "Dan".

He was skilled as a surgeon himself, but Meg was better than him as it was more of her field than his; she'd been teaching him as often as she could spare time. His own private practices included the various body parts, his "rejects" as they were now called, confined into the crypt, behind the secured steel door. If Meg saw them, she would flip out on him and call it what she'd called the first night: morbid doodling with human body parts. But Herbert was proud of the progress so far.

The chest was still open, but all the organs had been placed in along with the one that made an absolute difference. He watched as Meg pinched tendons closed with pliers, then tested carefully, moving the "arm" – metal bar carefully attached to solid bone – to make sure that once motoring properly, there would be no coming apart. Once sure it was perfect, she turned around and picked up a beaker of re-agent and began to apply a small amount into the part she connected. "Be careful to not use too much of that, Meg," Herbert instructed. "We wouldn't want to have any premature re-animation."

She rolled her eyes at him. "Thank you. I've never done this before."

Herbert moved over to the IV and began to press the bag and the button to get the blood flow moving; they'd inserted plastic tubes inside the body to serve as part of the veins and arteries as the actual ones wouldn't always be of help for circulation and flow. Together with Meg, he watched as the desired red fluids began to flow throughout the system as they should. "Yes," he murmured. "Good. The circulation is going to work."

However, what neither of them anticipated was the sudden burst of blood onto the lower abdomen, just above the pubic area, yet to be attached to both legs. "Oh, God damn it, Herbert!" Meg spat, picking up the pliers and closing the end of the tube, picking up a clean white rag to mop up the mess herself. Throwing it down once she was done, she questioned him once more with the same tone of frustration. "What are we doing here anyways? Why don't we just publish our findings? We could get grant money."

Obviously. "Because they would never understand our methods, you know that good and well. Besides that, they would steal the work."

Meg took one more look down at the almost finished ensemble with her lips set in a tight line. "It's never going to work," she said flatly. "He's going to be uncontrollably spastic. And unless we re-animate all the limbs at the same time, they'll separate."

Herbert smiled tightly. "And that is why we inject directly into the heart. The circulatory system should distribute the re-agent to all the various limbs and effect re-animation concurrently." Just like the living heart in general serves as the main power generator in releasing blood throughout the body.

Meg gave him a look of blatant distaste. "You've never done that before."

"I know that," he snapped. He hated it when she corrected him.

Silence passed between them for a moment before she spoke again. "No. I don't want to gamble with Dan's heart. What if all of this goes wrong without a test?"

The suggestion took him by surprise utterly. This was the first time that she'd ever brought up the idea of a test. Well, now that she said it, she was right. They needed a full human specimen to test the re-agent, injecting it as he'd said. Through the heart and let it flow through the veins. And he already had one particular in mind, but with no idea of how to obtain him…

And then the alarm blared again. Herbert bit back a growl as he suspected the snooping lieutenant himself was probably back. If he was, then he was making a big mistake coming back here, because he stuck his nose into their business for the last time. Meg then stood from the stool she sat at beside their creation. "It's probably Francesca. I told you she was coming."

Herbert watched her go without a word. He was fuming with anger that Meg had gone ahead and invited her friend, the Italian bimbo, to be staying with them. She was making one of the biggest mistakes of her life.

~o~

She felt both frightened and excited at the same time. While she was happy that the house would finally have a third occupant who would have nothing to do with death and bodies, she feared about her only, first real friend in months finding out about Herbert's activities in the basement. She had a feeling, if Francesca ever did find out, she wouldn't dare go to the cops on her own friend, but she probably wouldn't speak to her for an extended period of time. Or EVER.

Meg tried not to think that way. The dress she'd put on was a knee-length black number with a ruched front, elbow sleeves, and a subtle V-neck. She kept her hair in a simple ponytail for a change as this wasn't a fancy dinner. Which would have to wait for now because one important thing came first.

"Ciao, bella," Francesca greeted her happily as she walked in, wearing a pretty floral dress, and Angel the dog trailing in after her. There was the sound of Éclair's meowing, and both women turned to see the feline atop the sofa, back arched at the sight of the large beast in its home. Francesca laughed as she set down the grocery bag, rummaging through it until she found what Meg had asked for. "So, um, here it is. And if I may ask…when was your last…menstruation?" she asked awkwardly.

"I'm a month late," Meg answered.

Francesca handed her the small, slender box and followed her into the kitchen, bringing the food in for dinner. "Tell me as soon as you find out," she said nervously, watching as she disappeared into the washroom adjacent to the kitchen. "And please tell me everything."

For ten long minutes in the washroom, Meg did nothing but sit there and stare at the instructions after reading them, her mind dead at the present because of the horrible possibility, and when she finally followed through with the rules... "Oh, God, no..."

"Megan?" There was a knock on the door, and thank God it wasn't Herbert. YET. But that did not calm her down at all. Hesitantly, she opened the door and peeked out. Francesca looked at her with wide eyes, and down at the narrow stick with the dreaded pink plus Meg held out. "Oh, my God…"

"Yes." Meg nodded, feeling like she wanted to pass out. "I'm pregnant."

So Francesca is officially in the storyline, Meg's pregnant with Herbert's child, Lt. Chapham is catching up, Dr. Hill is once more plotting, AND the Groom making excellent progress. :D Things are getting hot now.