Omniscient POV
20 days after Dean's death
East Windsor, CT
Trevor McMillan was only four months into the job as East Windsor chief coroner. He was the youngest in the town's history; 31 years old. The most he'd dealt with was a murder a few weeks ago, and the wife had already confessed to it before he got Mr. Talbot on the slab.
The Jane Doe had came in four days ago. Hikers found her at the trailhead to the Appalachians. It was just before dawn; her body was still warm. Trevor had never worked on a warm body before.
He had to cover her face when he attempted to make a Y-incision. It was difficult because there was so little of her chest left.
She was so young; she couldn't be more than 26. To be so young and killed in such a gruesome way...
Trevor used his elbow to turn on his recorder; he was bloody up to his elbows.
"Dr. Trevor McMillan reporting the findings of Jane Doe's autopsy." He started. "Ms. Doe appears to be in her early twenties...No older than 26 years of age."
"170 centimeters tall-that's about 5'7". Brown eyes, dark curly hair...Tattoo on her left side. It appears to be a pentagram within a burning circle...Tell police to investigate possible Satanic cult connections."
"Cult isn't likely though..." Trevor trailed off thoughtfully. "She was found with a necklace around her neck. It had two pendants; patron saints. One, if I'm right, is for soldiers...Remember to submit photo and prints to the police to check for military connections."
The young coroner took a deep breath before continuing. "Massive trauma from pelvic region to upper abdominal...It-It appears to have been caused by several sharp blades...The savagery of the attack suggests an animal attack, but there would be more tearing of the intact skin...The wounds suggest a knife...Or...A lot of knives..."
Trevor pulled off his gloves and ran a hand down his face; his dishwater blond hair was a mess, and his face had spattering of blood that he didn't really care about. He laughed once.
"It's like this girl had a run in with Freddy Kruger...Crap...That was so insensitive..."
"It appears several large sections of bowel from both large and small intestines are missing...Stomach, liver, pancreas and both lungs show sharp force trauma...Most likely from a knife-like object...I found no evidence of an appendix or gallbladder, nor evidence that either organ was removed...It's possible that she was born without these organs...Unlikely, but possible..."
"Her shoulders are severely dislocated. Both clavicles are fractured...Fractured is putting it lightly," Trevor paused and chuckled lightly. "It appears to have been snapped like a twig...The sternum is was ripped out from the ribs...The ribs were then bent outwards, snapping at their respective midpoints..."
"Both lungs sustained massive sharp-force trauma, the left was ripped completely from the body...As was the heart..."
Trevor had to stop. He'd done extremely well in medical school; he never had a problem cutting open young female cadavers. Hell, one time, he ate a sandwich while working on one. But this young woman wrenched him emotionally. He pulled the cloth off her face, and looked down at the pale, lifeless face of a girl cut down before she even reached her prime.
Her face was purple and black from deep bruising and blood pooling. If she wasn't dead, Trevor had no doubt that she was be a beautiful woman.
He glanced at the recorder and cleared his throat.
"Jane has defensive wounds." He stated, frowning as he leaned on the table, looking at the woman's closed eyes. "Several broken fingers and fractured knuckles on both fists. Bruising on her forearms, knuckles, knees and shins shows she put up one hell'a'va fight...I've scraped under her fingernails for blood and tissue...The lab should have results in a few days..."
"Cause of death is exsanguination." He finished.
Trevor turned off the recorder, and began cleaning up the station. Once all the bloody tools were in the medical waste bin to be sent off and cleaned, he shed his medical coveralls and pulled on his suit jacket. Trevor put a handful of files in his briefcase and reached for the recorder; it was still on the table next to Jane Doe.
He walked over, put the recorder in his pocket, and began to push Jane's door shut. Trevor paused, and squinted at one of Jane's dark curls. He ran to get an evidence jar and a pair of tweezers.
Carefully, Trevor pulled a silver shaving from one of the thick curly. He dropped it in the jar, and held it up to the light.
He took the recorder from his pocket and pressed record.
"I found a small metal shaving in Jane's hair." He stated, closing her drawer. "I have a feeling this isn't as open and shut as the police seem to think."
Present
When Dean got to Bobby's after digging himself out of his grave, one of the first things he asked was Where is Nik? Bobby said she left with Sam a few weeks after Dean died, and he hadn't really heard from either of them since then.
At the hotel where Dean and Bobby found Sam, Dean almost hugged the brunette girl who opened the door; it was only after she spoke that he realized it wasn't Nikki. Whoever she was, she looked enough like Nikki to be her sister.
Now Sam, Dean and Bobby were in the panic room in Bobby's basement. Dean was pacing around, and Sam was waiting for Dean to start yelling at him.
"Dean-"
"What the hell, Sam?" Dean finally yelled. Bobby was letting two brothers go at it; butting in wouldn't help. "What was that?"
He was talking about what happened just a few minutes ago in Bobby's kitchen.
5 Minutes Ago
"Sam-Not-Sammy."
Slowly, Nikki slid off the counter. Sam took a few stumbling steps back, looking at her wide-eyed. The iron bar slid from his hand.
She smiled as she waltzed around the kitchen on her tiptoes. Nikki's slim fingers trailed over the counter, the chair backs, the table; anything they could touch. "Aw...Not happy to see me?" She asked coyly, looking at Sam out of the corner of her eye. '
All Sam could do was swallow.
"If my memory serves me..." Nikki said, a mock-thought look on her face; a finger tapping on her cheek for emphasis. "The last time we saw each other, you were very happy to see me." She gave him that little half-smirk. She giggled and twirled on one foot; the shirt she wore flared up and gave Sam a good peek at her stomach.
At the bruises along her ribs, and the four thick scars that crossed her stomach.
"I-I burned your bones." Sam got out; his throat got dry suddenly. "You...Nik, you can't he here."
Nikki sighed, and stopped twirling around the kitchen. She laughed lightly; just a breath through her nose. "C'mon Sam, you're smarter than that."
She took a step towards him. "You saw how easily Jane managed that demon in the afterlife. I'm twice as powerful as her...Do you really think that burning my bones would keep me in Heaven?"
Sam said nothing.
"You know, I'm supposed to hurt you." She told him; a casually coy look on her face. "Smack you around a little...Kick you in the jewels, dislocate your shoulder, yank your hair." Nikki paused briefly.
"But I think we both know you kinda enjoy that last one."
"Nikki don't do this." Sam said slowly. "You...The real you wouldn't want to hurt me."
"Didn't you hear me just now?" Nikki huffed, crossing her arms. "I don't wanna hurt you."
"But I can make you feel bad." She added, walked towards Sam, who'd pressed his back to the wall. Nikki put a hand on his chest, and raised the other one up to brush over Sam's cheek.
His eyes fell shut as her warm, small fingers trailed over his hairline and played with a few strands. They moved down his cheek; her thumb brushed over the bridge of his nose. Sam's mouth fell slack just as her thumb moved off his nose to graze his lips.
Sam's hands shakily raised up to rest on Nikki's waist. He flexed his grip briefly; feeling the warm flesh on her sides, pressing his thumb to her pulse and trailing his fingers over the cloth-covered scars.
"I miss you, Nik." He opened his eyes when he said her name, and watched her pink-hued cheeks raise as she smiled.
"I missed you too." Nikki said earnestly, her voice soft and heartfelt. She brought her other hand to Sam's face. It carded through his lengthy hair before it came to rest, cupping his jaw. "I used my last breath to scream for you."
Sam pinched his eyes shut again. He had to keep telling himself that this wasn't Nikki.
"I was thinking about you while I had my insides ripped out," Nikki continued in the soft voice. "I was praying that you would...swoop in like a superhero and save me."
Sam used his grip on Nikki's hips to shove her backwards, away from him.
Nikki wasn't done though.
"As I had my heart ripped out, I was screaming for you, Sam." Nikki half-yelled from her place now by the counter. "You said you'd protect me!"
"I tried to," Sam insisted. "I got there as fast as I could."
"Well it wasn't fast enough!" Clearly," Nikki yelled, gesturing to her whole body.
"Hey Sam! What's takin' you so long?" Dean called, poking his head into the kitchen. His eyes widened, and he smiled when he saw who Sam was in the kitchen with.
"Nik...God it's good to see you," Dean said, walking towards his brother and best friend.
Nikki raised an eyebrow, and looked back at Sam; she seemed to be having a hard time controlling laughter. "You didn't tell him?" She asked Sam.
Dean's brows furrowed. "Tell me what?"
Sam was frozen against the wall as Nikki walked closer to the kitchen table. Sam had dropped his iron bar there earlier.
Nikki had her typical mischievous half-smirk on her face as she looked at Dean. With one finger, she touched the iron bar.
She disappeared with a puff of smoke.
Dean looked at the spot Nikki formerly occupied with horror. His head snapped to his brother when Sam took a sharp breath; it looked like he was trying not to cry.
"Sammy..." Dean managed to get out. "What the hell happened when I was in Hell?"
Dean's face was an angry mix of horror, betrayal and down right sadness as he half-glared at Sam. "These people are the ones we couldn't save, Sam. What the hell is Nikki doing there?"
"Because she's dead Dean!" Sam finally yelled back. Dean looked at his brother in shock.
Bobby slowly turned around, a similar look on his face. "Last I talked to you, you said she was in Oklahoma." He said lowly.
Sam nodded, and began fiddling with something under his shirt. "It's my fault."
He pulled a chain from his collar; two pendants hung from it.
St. Martin of Tours and St. Jerome Emiliani
"She tried to take on a werewolf on her own." Sam explained. "And...And she died."
22 days after Dean's death
Trevor was dreaming.
He was walking down a path in the woods; it was night, and a full moon lit the sky.
Suddenly, Jane Doe was there.
She was on the ground, blood pouring from her stomach. Jane was gasping for air, her hands were pressed into her own abdomen.
Trevor dropped to his knees, his eyes wide with panic. He yanked off his button down, and pressed it to her stomach. "Hey...Hey, look at me!" He yelled, making Jane look at him.
"I'm not going to let you die!" He vowed, pressing his shirt to her stomach. "I just have to find the source of the bleeding. Then we'll get you to a hospital, alright?"
Jane looked up at him with scared eyes. She began coughing up blood. It started to come from her nose as well.
As Trevor blindly felt inside Jane's abdomen, he watched her face. "What's your name?" He asked her. "C'mon...Just-Just tell me your name!"
Jane said nothing, she just looked to the left.
Trevor's brow furrowed, and he put both hands into her stomach. "I'm going to save you, you hear me?" He felt for major arteries and organs; desperately trying to stop her from bleeding out.
He noticed a man at the trailhead.
"Hey!" He yelled. "Hey, call an ambulance!"
The man slowly began walking towards Trevor and Jane.
"I need towels...Shirts, a jacket, anything! I have to stop the bleeding!" Trevor yelled, finding a bleeder. The major artery was cut clean in two. As he tried to pinch the slippery artery closed, he looked towards the man. He was standing a few feet away, looking down at the two of them and not moving.
"Why aren't you helping her?" Trevor yelled up at the man.
"You have to let her go, Trevor." The man said, moving a little closer.
"No! No I can't!" Trevor yelled, shaking his head. He yanked the string from Jane's sweatshirt and used it to keep the artery closed as he looked fore more. "I don't want her to keep suffering! I need to find out what happened to her! She-She doesn't deserve to be a Jane Doe!"
The man squatted down on the other side of Jane. He had shaggy brownish hair, and a sympathetic look in his eyes. "She's already dead."
"I'm not letting her die." Trevor insisted, looking back at Jane's stomach. His shirt had long since been soaked through; it was sitting on Jane's chest. "She can't die twice!"
"Trevor!" The man said, grabbing his wrists out of Jane's stomach. Trevor looked up at the man with determined, wide eyes.
"Let me save her!" Trevor yelled, trying to yank his hands free.
"She's already been saved!" The man yelled back. Trevor frowned; his eyes confused.
"She's dead! How is she saved?" Trevor yelled, looking down at Jane. She was staring at the sky and gasping for air as blood poured from her stomach and soaked his pants.
"Trevor! Listen to me!" The man yelled. Thunder clapped over them.
"I'm telling you, you need to let her go!"
Trevor gasped awake, staring at the white ceiling of his bedroom.
The man's words rang in his ears. You need to let her go.
Jane's file was on his side table. He grabbed it and opened it up; he stared at the bloody, fearful face captured by the crime scene photographers.
The sheriff had closed the case the day before, he was supposed to get on with Mr. Quinn; an elderly man who died in a car accident the day before.
The lab refused to give an analysis on the metal shaving for a closed case, so Trevor took it to a jewelry shop in town. The old jeweler man told him it was sterling silver. Not quite jewelery grade; it was probably melted down from a few spoons or an old candlestick.
You need to let her go.
He couldn't, though.
Trevor couldn't let her go.
After pulling on a pair of jeans, Trevor found a flashlight in the back of his closet and got in his car. It was a short drive to the trailhead where Jane was found.
Using his flashlight, Trevor made his way to the side path where he found a massive pool of dried blood in the dirt.
He remembered his dream.
Jane looked up at him with scared eyes. She began coughing up blood. It started to come from her nose as well.
As Trevor blindly felt inside Jane's abdomen, he watched her face. "What's your name?" He asked her. "C'mon...Just-Just tell me your name!"
Jane said nothing, she just looked to the left.
Trevor's brow furrowed, and he put both hands into her stomach. "I'm going to save you, you hear me?" He felt for major arteries and organs; desperately trying to stop her from bleeding out.
He noticed a man at the trailhead.
"Hey!" He yelled. "Hey, call an ambulance!"
"She...She looked to her left." Trevor mumbled. He searched the grass, to the left of the blood pool, but found nothing.
"This is gross..." He groaned, carefully maneuvering himself so he was laying in the dried blood. "Gross gross gross..." Trevor groaned as he put his head where Jane's would have been on the ground.
Briefly, he looked up at the sky. The he looked to his left. The beam of his flashlight followed his gaze, and stopped under a bush.
"What the...?" Trevor trailed off, getting up from the dirt. He felt around under the leafy shrub. His fingers brushed against something cold. He grabbed it, and held it under the light of his flashlight.
A car key.
A shiny silver car key on a ring on a dirty, threadbare lanyard. It was blue, with 'YALE' in white lettering.
Trevor ran back to the parking lot, and began looking at the cars. It was probably an old one, since there wasn't a fob on the ring.
In the back of the lot, there was a black Mustang with two orange stripes from the grill to the back bumper.
"C'mon..." Trevor said under his breath, pushing the key into the lock. He twisted it, and heard the lock click.
The door creaked as Trevor fell into the driver's seat. He smiled for a second; he found her car when the cops couldn't. After he was done with his moment of pride, he looked around the car.
There were dog tags hanging from the rearview mirror. They belonged to Captain Christopher Harper.
There was a plastic bag full of trash on the floor by the passenger's seat; mostly Chinese food containers.
A pocket knife on the dashboard.
The glove compartment was most interesting; it was locked, so he had to use the key to get it open. The first thing he noticed was pictures.
A picture of Jane sitting crosslegged on the hood of the Mustang. She had a Chinese food container in one hand, chopsticks in the other. She was smiling wide, her nose wrinkled when she smiled.
One image of Jane between two tall men. One with shaggier hair, one with blond, cropped hair. She had an arm around each of their broad shoulders. Jane was enthusiastic about the picture, while the men looked like they were tolerating it.
A smoke damaged, creased photo of Jane and a taller blonde man. The blond was in blues; maybe he was Cpt. Christopher Harper. Jane was in a pretty green dress as she held a medal with a purple ribbon.
Trevor put the photos back in the glove compartment, and turned around in the seat. There was a military-esque bag in the back seat.
There was a phone in the pocket.
Trevor grabbed it, and flipped it open. Trevor praised a God that he didn't believe in when it lit up; the phone was charged. Jane had a lot of missed calls from 'Sam.'
He pressed speed dial one.
"This is Dean. Leave your name and nightmare after the beep."
Trevor pressed speed dial two. It rang and rang, then it was answered.
"Nikki? Where are you? Are you alright?" A deep male voice answered.
Trevor blurted out the first thing he thought of. "Her name is Nikki?"
Silence.
"Who is this?"
"My-My name is Trevor McMillen...I'm the chief medical examiner of East Windsor, Connecticut."
"She's in Connecticut?" The voice demanded.
"Uh...I-I think so." Trevor said, frowning. "Can...Can you tell me what Nikki looks like?"
"Brown eyes. Curly brown hair. Tan skin. Beautiful. Why?"
Trevor closed his eyes and took a breath. He was a medical examiner. When people came to him, the family usually knew they were dead. He'd never had to tell anybody they're loved one was dead.
"I-I'm sorry for your loss."