I didn't actually know if I'd continue this one, but I got the urge. ENJOY!
II
The problem with small towns- well, besides the blatant bigotry, of course- was that everybody knew everything about everybody else. Sometimes, it was a blessing. Information flowed freely when you gained the trust of the town gossip or the town drunk. However, gaining that trust was the issue. No matter how drunk, or how loose-lipped, outsiders (especially ones of her shade) weren't particularly welcome.
She let out a soft sigh as she walked through the doors of Mountain View Funeral Home. A few mourners stared openly, but she was actually glad for those who were too caught up in their own grief to notice the stranger that crept in. She had intentionally missed the service and skipped to the reception. She singled out the Oscawitz family right away, the dead girl, Georgiana, was the spitting image of her mother. She walked timidly to the gracious, grieving couple.
"Hello, Mrs. Oscawitz, Mr. Oscawitz. My name is Martha. Martha Jones. I'm an old friend of Georgiana's. I just wanted to offer my condolences."
"Hello, Miss… Jones, did you say? Thank you. I'm sorry. I don't think I ever remember meeting you. I'm sure I would have remembered." The mother said, not unkindly, but uncomfortably.
"Internet… Facebook friends. We were sort of close that way. I traveled a long way to see her off properly." Martha said. By this point she'd become an expert liar. Learned from the best, she thought as she easily lied her way through the conversation. Soon she found herself in deep conversation with Mrs. Larabee, who, according to her 'knew everything about everything in this little squat of a town'. And who apparently made the best pies in the Carolinas.
She learned that "Georgie", as she was called, wasn't the first to go. She was the third person in the town to die that way: tortured with a knife wound to the heart. Martha knew it wasn't that simple. She'd read the coroner's reports and the wounds matched no knife that anybody had ever seen. But she'd seen more in her 25 years than most had in their entire lives. She knew claw wounds when she saw them. And she knew she was close. She was so close. She had to stop the maniacal smile from spreading over her face, especially at this most unfortunate time. But she could feel the excitement settling in the pit of her stomach.
She had been tracking the Multi-form since Alabama, and it wasn't just hiding out like malicious Multi-forms usually did. This one was feeding on the people it was psychically linked to and moving on. He was going rogue. Not only that, but it was growing stronger. All signs pointed in the direction of the Multi-form linking to the dead, or the undead. He was linking to spirits- making otherwise benign spirits into deadly ones. Not vengeful spirit deadly, killing innocents deadly.
Being in this line of work, she'd come across many things. She'd crossed paths with hunters: bedded a few, almost wed one, outdrank a lot of them, and stole from almost all. Freelance alien hunting and demon hunting had its crossovers. Most of the time the demons were the aliens, but somehow being an alien hunter was a bit harder to believe.
She stuck around for another hour, chatting up the mourners and indulging in the nibbles, avoiding the eyes of those who whispered. She made her way back to the motel, thinking the sooner she could get out of this town the better.
It was moments like this that she loved The Doctor. One of his many random gifts had once again proven useful. The issue with being a high-ranking official of not one, but two secret organizations was that they were… well… secret. Therefore, her UNIT and Torchwood badges got her nowhere. Psychic paper, on the other hand, got her anywhere and everywhere she needed to be. In this case, it was morgue. The fourth victim had just been wheeled in.
"Ben Connors. Age 54. Same M.O. as the others. Is this what you were looking for, Doctor Jones?" She pulled on her gloves as the coroner continued to talk. The day after Georgiana's funeral, Martha examined the fourth dead body, already knowing what she would find. Nothing. Not from the body at least. As she was on her way out, two men were on their way in. She could tell hunters from a mile away. And she could swear that she could feel the one on the left checking out her ass.
Review! I'll continue!
xoxo,LPL