A/N: Well here we are again. I thank those who reviewed my last chapter and I only hope that you will enjoy this chapter as well as you did the last.

Disclaimer: I don't own Tru Calling or its characters. They belong to their respective creators.

No more waiting, here we go.

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Blood of A Stranger
Chapter Three: Imprint

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The low humming of the television attracted Tru's attention and she was drawn into the small office she shared with the other morgue attendants. The morgue was quiet as expected. A deathly calm, Tru liked to think of it as. It was the calm of the ocean that hid a vicious rip underneath, ready and willing to pull any unwary victim down in a heartbeat. Any moment, that calm could change and become a flurry of movement as a body came wheeling in, ready to be examined.

This particular day was an exception. A cold Saturday morning. The leaves outside on the trees were frozen, their tips dripping with melting ice. The snow was thick this year, early and almost unbidden after the Christmas break.

Tru ignored the echoes in the hall where Davis paced, crouched over a book in typical fashion, engrossed completely with its content. Instead, Tru watched the small television screen, mesmerised to hear what was being said. There was a news report, live footage, of a crime scene. Yellow tape surrounded a series of trees and lampposts outside an apartment building not far from the morgue. The woman reporting looked cold, her lips blue from the bitter air. She spoke slowly, almost unable to form the words in her mouth. But what she said held Tru captive.

"…and this wasn't the first killing. Two nights ago there was a shooting similar to this one which led to the death of a woman in her late twenties. Police have warned locals to beware of a possible serial killer, targeting young women so far."

Davis walked into the room, his head down over the book he was still reading. He looked up expectantly when he noticed Tru standing below the television.

"Since it's quiet," he murmured softly, "why don't you go home and study for your exam tomorrow. I can handle everything here."

Tru stared at him incredulously. "Did you know about this?"

Davis blinked and glanced up, turning away immediately. He sighed and ran a quivering hand through his hair. "Tru…I didn't want to alarm you…"

"Have they been brought here?" Tru demanded, an anger slipping into her at Davis' omission.

Davis expelled a nervous breath. "Yeah, they're in the back. The second one was brought in here early this morning. You were still at home."

Pausing for a moment and gathering her thoughts, Tru composed herself calmly. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I didn't want to worry you," he replied evenly. "This guy seems to be targeting girls around your age and I thought it would be best if I dealt with the examinations without you knowing about them."

Tru frowned, her face lining with a look of disbelief. "You do know there might have been a possibility one of them asked me for help?"

Davis sighed again, a silent strain of his breath. "That was just a sacrifice I had to make. Serial killers are dangerous, Tru."

Tru was quick to retort. "I've come across one before."

"Not like this," Davis replied seriously, his face full of concern. "This is different. I have a really bad feeling about this, Tru. I didn't want you getting involved."

Tru wondered at his serious tone. Did he know something? No, he couldn't. Not Davis. But he said he had a feeling. What did that mean? Could this killer really be coming after her next? Tru shuddered at the prospect, her head pounding with the possibility. It made her feel uneasy that such a thing could happen, that such a person would do something like that. How could anyone be thrilled at the thought of killing someone? What made someone like that?

-

He was in disarray, completely out of his comfort zone. It was broad daylight and he was strolling through the streets like he had the previous nights. He followed a tremendously thin girl, her arms folded as she walked briskly along in front of him. It was a busy street so he had to be careful. He needed to catch her at a corner, or deep in an alleyway. Not like this; walking down the street with people bumping into him without a worry. No, he didn't like this. It seemed out of place, challenging and almost impossible.

Still, he couldn't ignore the voice inside that called him forward, showed him his duty in his mind. He visualised the kill, fresh and satisfying in the glory of daylight. The light made him look innocent and sweet, casual during the day. Like he hadn't a care in the world.

The thin girl turned a corner and rounded into a smaller, narrower and much more intimate street. She turned back for a fleeting moment to make sure he was not there. She became agitated and fretful at the sight of him. He made no attempt to hide his following of her; he announced it with a gleeful pride.

He could tell he was worrying her. She wasn't older than he was; younger perhaps. She looked like a college student, though, with her stressed eyes and lean appearance. Probably studying something challenging, like law or medicine. Something he used to care about. But that was before. This was now. He no longer worried about those sorts of things. They were trivial, insignificant and uncontested with his new way of life.

She tripped over a mound of snow and stumbled into the ground, the cobblestone cold and wet beneath her from the snow that had been ploughed since its arrival. She grazed her palms when she slid over the ground, the sting affecting her immediately.

She looked up frantically, aware of the pounding footsteps advancing towards her. She tried in vain to pull herself up but she couldn't; her ankle was hurt, most likely sprained or rolled. She gave a small cry of desperation and began to plead with him.

He wasn't listening. Why did she plead? It didn't make sense to him. Most people should be pleading for their lives to end, not for them to be spared. He knew he would be pleading for someone to take his life. But he had been devoured and spat out by the mouth of death, rejected and punished. He knew not why.

He had been denied the taste of death, but she wouldn't be. He held the gun to her head, pressing the tip gently to her skull. He could smell the tears she expelled, the small droplets sliding down her cheeks, teasing him. He couldn't cry anymore, not like that. It had been taken from him, the ability to express tears.

The gunshot was loud, however the street was abandoned. It would be a while until anyone found her lifeless body, cold and at peace with itself. She didn't have to worry anymore; no more troubles would bite at her. She was free.

He wanted so much to be carried away to that place again, on giant white wings that rustled in the silence of eternity. He envied her now, gone to that place he was denied to stay. He smiled, though, a small twitch of the lips. He was happy for her, now that she had found true happiness and peace with herself. He longed for that. And soon it would be his.

-

Tru glanced haphazardly towards the clock that ticked monotonously above her, its hands almost overlapping. It was just after two in the afternoon. He was late. It wasn't like him. He usually kept to the time, especially when he was meeting with her, but he wasn't there like he should be. Tru began to worry. He was supposed to be there half an hour ago. He wouldn't just lose track of time like that; there had to be a reason, a real solid excuse. Like heavy traffic, or an accident. Or something of the like.

She looked down at her coffee, growing more anxious as each minute ticked slowly by. She could feel the heat seeping out of the small cup, the coffee losing its taste as the warmth disappeared. Still, she couldn't drink without him there. It wasn't right.

The door of the diner announced the arrival of another customer as it swung open with a small chime. Tru looked over and immediately sighed with relief. Jensen sauntered over to her booth, smiling apologetically.

"Sorry," he crooned as he slid in beside her, "traffic was murder. Couldn't catch a break."

She leaned over the table, catching his lips in hers for a fleeting moment. "Doesn't matter. As long as you're here now."

Jensen shrugged beneath his long, black coat, hoping to produce warmth from the movement. "Yeah, and I'm not going anywhere."

Tru felt something familiar tickling her leg and she cringed, pulling her phone out of her pocket. She quickly read the message and glanced up ruefully at Jensen. "Sorry, that was Davis. He needs me at the morgue; another body."

"And I guess you need to go," Jensen assumed with a quiet sigh.

Tru shrugged her way out of the booth, flashing Jensen another sorry look. A thought suddenly crossed her mind and she hurried into her jacket. "Hey, did you know there's a serial killer on the loose? Two bodies so far."

Three.

Scratching his head casually, Jensen nodded slowly. "Yeah, I saw it on the news this morning. Pretty scary. You should be careful; he's targeting girls around your age."

"So I've heard," Tru whispered under her breath. She offered Jensen a small kiss before fading out of the diner.

A man sitting alone on a stool at the counter waited until he was sure Tru had gone before swirling around and striding over to Jensen purposefully.

Jensen glanced up on cue and rolled his eyes, clenching his jaw when he caught sight of Jack Harper strolling towards him. "What do you want?"

"To talk," Jack replied casually. "If I recall correctly, the last time we sat down to chat, you were almost flattened by a big car. Almost being the operative word."

Jensen blinked, his mattered blonde hair falling across face, unbridled without the restraints of being behind his ears. "Yeah, all thanks to Tru."

Jack managed a small smile. "Don't you find her timing extremely impeccable?"

"I'm grateful for that," Jensen rorted calmly.

"Are you?"

The younger man was silenced by Jack's abrupt question. It sounded harsh as it echoed through his mind. He wasn't really. A part of him was, being saved from certain death. But there was that side of him that resented Tru for her help. Since when had he asked her for it? He knew she was responsible for him being ripped away from death to suffer the endless torment of living. It was her fault.

Jack spoke again, this time softer as he slid into the booth, "She has a special gift that allows her to know these things. When people are going to die, how their lives will end. And she tries to prevent it all when she really shouldn't. Don't you agree? People should die how they're supposed to, and when they are called to. Not when she chooses them to."

Jensen blinked. Stared straight ahead. It was like his spine had been struck by Jack's words. He couldn't move; he just stared. It was how he knew he felt. Something inside of him swelled with an overwhelming sorrow and grief. He had been ripped away from that place that seemed so enticing to him. It haunted him, relentlessly, aware that he couldn't go back. Not yet. Because she had chosen it to be so.

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A/N: Done. Reviews are much appreciated :)

Peace