Title: Cause of Death

Word Count: 506

Genre: Angst/Drama

Rating: T

Warnings: Angst, Autopsy talk, Major character death

COD: Asphyxiation.

It was clear what had happened; the victim's neck was bruised in varying degrees of red, blue, purple. It would have been beautiful were it not the hand prints of a strangling, but perhaps as an abstract artwork with colors that faded and blurred together.

The eyes had been closed, hair combed, corpse redressed.

It was a little unnerving how peaceful he looked, lying on her table with the life squeezed out of him.

It had seemed so routine, until she noticed the careful inscription on the inside of the wrist.

She mentally began analyzing it for cataloging. Ballpoint pen, blue. Even lettering with distinct tilt to the left.
Then it hit her what it actually said.

"Hello, Molly."

COD: Gunshot to the head.

The victim was female, as yet unidentified. Mid twenties, 5'6", 152.4 pounds.

A single bullet hole was all that marred her features. She looked calm, staring at nothing with clouding eyes.

Molly wondered if she'd had a boyfriend — there was no ring on her left hand. What her job had been. The body had been dressed in casual clothing, but it seemed clear it had been redressed. There was no knowing what she did. She snapped photographs of the bullet wound, and began pressing the fingers to an ink pad, and then an identification card.

She noticed something on the inside of the wrist, and had to stop before she turned it over.
"I miss you."

COD: Blunt force trauma to the skull.

She ignored the fingerprinting for as long as possible, and then turned the wrist before doing anything else. She had done this with each corpse for weeks, dreading another message. Her stomach felt tight and roiling when she saw the telltale handwriting.

"Me, missing you. Imagine that."

COD: Punctured lung due to fractured rib.
Identity: unknown
Male. Teens. 5'10". 145 lbs.

It had been weeks since the last, but she no longer jumped when she realized the body held a message for her, directly from the killer.

"I know better than to flatter myself that you do the same."

—
COD: Overdose of prescriptions.
Identity: Sloane, Eliza
Female. 50's. 5'4". 212 lbs.

All doubt of whether it was accidental, suicide, or homicide was eliminated when she read the latest message, penned in blue, fading ink, on the inside of the wrist.

"But I still find myself wondering."

COD: Sharp force trauma to the skull.
Identity: unknown
Female. 74. 5'3". 102 lbs.

"It's a little laughable, that."

COD: Decapitation.
Identity: unknown
Male. 56. 6'1. 165 lbs.

"But you always could make me laugh."

COD: Axsanguination
Victim: Jones, Jeffrey
Male. 9. 4'2. 95 lbs.

"I wish I could do the same for you."

COD: Severed jugular.
Victim: Prisilla, Dian
Female. 43. 5'10". 172 lbs.

"But it doesn't really matter now, does it?"

COD: Suicidal gunshot wound to the head.
Identity: Moriarty, James.
Male. 36. 5'8". 140 lbs.

"I'm sorry."

A/N: Extra points if you listen to one of the following while reading: Setting Sail, Coming Home from the Bastion Soundtrack, Tattoo by Maroon 5, or Honeybee by Steam Powered Giraffe.

Enjoy your tears.

- ACG