William forbade Grell from staying at the hospital while surgeons worked on her husband. Grell had one of two things to say to him; If you think it's best or That's my husband! I better damn well be allowed to stay until he wakes up! But neither rebuttal gave Grell the allowance and she was ceorced to leave. William promised he'd return home with news of the mortician's condition. Upon arriving at the house, however, the red reaper did not stay in her room. She snuck out the window and rushed to the stable, where she untied a horse and got on his back. She then whipped the reins and they were off. A dark, black cloack covered her body, even her face, from the people she passed upon entering the frozen, dead garden that surrounded the hospital. Despite what her superior told her she would not make her presence idle by making light of her husband's condition. She knew it would rise supiscions about the father of her child but certainly the board would see a professional concern in the Undertaker's condition? She still was the Warden of the Labyrinth after all, even if she was on sick-leave, and she did have a 'paper work' relationship when it came to the execution and cremation of her inmates. She'd never really interacted with the mortician until he appeared in Michaelis' cell that night, but she knew there was a mortician who dealt with the corpses. Surely, since her reputation was much better among the board, they'd see it was merely concern for her own work force.
"Gregory," a male nurse greeted as the Labyrinth's physician walked in, "You're just in time,"
"What happened?" Gregory asked, "It's very rare I'm called up here, something must be wrong,"
"Something is," he informed him, "We found the mortician's body in the snow. Well, Ms. Sutcliffe did, and he's dead. But when we looked under the microscope though and ran some medical tests, the strangest thing came up. Since he was Labyrinth employee, and since you are as well, we thought it'd be best if you concluded the autospy for us by taking a look at these specimens. We think he might've been attacked by a demon, but we want to make sure before we put it in wirting. The Levels are so bizarre,"
"Where are the files?" Gregory asked, putting on a pair of rubber gloves.
"I'll go retrieve them, you take a quick look at the body," the male nurse told him before leaving the room. Gregory began his examination shortly after the nurse left. There was a moment of silence before the doors burst open. That quick? He turned around, "Ms. Sutcliffe?"
Tears and snow ravaged her face; a storm had brewed and the melting snow soaked her black cloak, made her hair stick to her face, and perhaps those tears were streams of the snow that had melted and frozen on her face, "Gregory?...Please, tell me he's here. Is the mortician here?"
"Mrs. Sutcliffe," he approached her and touched her cheek, "I'm sorry, he's gone..."
"No, he's not," Grell bit back her tears, pushing him aside to get a better look at her husband's corpse. She tore the sheet off that covered his naked, stiff cadaver. Her hands were on him immediately, she examined his stiff, cold carcass through touch. She was certain she knew every aspect of her husband, the length and depth of his scars, the angel they stitched their was around his body. Oh, she loved those scars so much; each had been a mantra written in some sort of Brail, just waiting to be touched and stimulate the nerve endings. Oh, she loved to kiss along those scars-if not for the fact they were so cold they'd be as they were when he was alive. Grell then examined his wounds, which had been thoroughly cleaned out. As she looked closer she found she would've much preferred them crawling with maggots. Gashes on his legs were now revealed to be claw marks, obviously made by a demon, and that parts of his body were missing. His limbs were intact but it was obvious muscle had been chewed away and when she looked at his abdomen (which bore a large gash just above the hip and under the right ribs) that some of his internal organs had been pulled out. This was common in demon attacks, only toward reapers though.
Back in the war, in order to assure that the male reapers could not revive their female counterparts, the demons ate their souls. Now, it was very hard to find and acquire a reaper's soul. Reapers did not have souls, technically at least. They were not designed to experience death and therefore had no reason for a soul since they were not going to pass on to the next life. However, reapers did have a sort of immortal essence that smelled so good to a demon they just had to devour it. The essence was hard to find since there was no telling where reapers had it inside of them. It varied from reaper to reaper. Thus, demons would often disembowel their victims in order to get their soul, all while keeping the reaper alive long enough to hsrvest their soul. Humans had a much less painful execution since their soul was designed to leave their body while a reaper's was not. Some demon had torn her husband open and reached in to harvest his soul, pulling out intestines and parts of his lungs, liver, and so on to find the organ that bore it. So it was true...She fell to her knees...He was gone.
"Ms. Sutcliffe," Gregory touched her shoulder, "I'm sorry, he's gone...If you like, we won't perform an autopsy...I don't think there's anything left to find..."
"I...I...H-He was there when I was raped," she held her husband's hand to her forehead, weeping softly (as if she was in sorrow to ressurect her husband's body. Oh, she prayed for those fingers to wipe the tears from her face,) "H-He tried to save me...And that demon did this to him..."
She grit her teeth, kicking a table of medical tools over as she stood, pushing Gregory aside, "Who did this? Who dare ruin my life like this? Who dare?"
She picked up a scalpel from the floor, pointing it at Gregory. Before he could blink an eye, Grell had him pinned against the wall and the scalpel up against his throat, "Did you fucking check? Is there a forensic test?"
"Ms. Sutcliffe, please!" Gregory tried to push her off, she was abnormally strong. Pain, rage, and adrenaline were a dangerous mix. They were even more dangerous when Grell Sutcliffe was under their influence. There was no telling what she would do in this position; she was a victim to the passion of soulless rage. She grit her teeth and pressed the blade into his neck, momentarily a drop of blood trickled down his neck and onto the razor when suddenly Grell gasped and dropped the blade and backed away. She grabbed her stomach, there was the sound of some fluid dripping on the floor. Gregory looked down, blood was running down her legs.
"Gregory..." she fell to her knees and then to her side, the bloodloss making her dizzy, "S-Save the baby..."