Author's Note: This is a complete overhaul of the previously written story from , "The Miseducation of Leah Uley." Although I love the story dearly, I've decided to rewrite it with a different approach.

Rated for language and violence.

Enjoy!


PART ONE:

Chapter One


Can we talk?

Ah, there it was. A text message. The text message. Not a call. Not a visit. But a text. It was funny how something so simple managed to toss her mind into a tailspin. A three-word text message, all that was needed for those conflicted emotions, so expertly buried for weeks, to rise to the surface, making their presence known with flashing neon signs.

Conflicted. Perhaps that was the best way to describe it, to describe everything. Everything was just so… conflicting. Him. her. Them. This entire situation. She was so conflicted about how she should –

How should she feel? Annoyed? Very much so. Frustrated? She had every right to be. Helpless and hopeless? Unfortunately, she'd have to admit. Pissed off? Hell yeah, she was. Relieved that after an unnecessarily long bout of radio silence, she finally received a response, despite it only being in the form of a text message comprising of three monosyllabic words?

She didn't have an answer for that.

"Can we talk?"

At least, it was straight to the point. Surely, three simple words couldn't possibly convey some hidden, profound meaning.

Though, maybe –

She tossed the phone to the opposite end of the couch.

No, she wasn't going to do this to herself.

No.

Not tonight.

No, she refused.

She already had her mind set; she already made plans for the night. She was going to lounge across this leather couch. She was going to finish her greasy yet gloriously delicious shrimp fried rice from the neighborhood fast-food Chinese spot, and she was going to continue imagining that everything was and would always be okay.

Reality, be damned.

Can we talk?

She briefly closed her eyes and deeply inhaled, all in an effort to steady her heart rate, stabilize the blood pressure that was threatening to spike through the roof and suppress the impending headache that was sure to make an unwelcomed appearance.

She slowly exhaled.

"It's not what you think."

Those were the words he had the nerve to say to her face on that dreadful night; the very words said while completely nude under the sheets, sporting an expression full of absolute shock and horror. Next to her. Of all people. Her cousin. The sister she wished for but never had. The one she grew up with, confided in, and pledged to always be there for.

The feeling was supposed to be mutual.

She had loved them both – still, much to her dismay – and neither "loved one" could bother to do the same.

Over seven years of marriage down the drain.

Over thirty-five years of sisterly love down the drain.

Was it worth it?

She could've killed them both. One bullet between the eyes, and it'd be over in a blink of an eye. Both gone. Out of her life. Out of everyone's life. Of course, doing so would certainly result in an arrest and likely conviction, but she figured if she could pull enough strings and garner enough sympathy, she could avoid being put away for life. She could –

She placed a hand over her forehead and groaned. Goodness, how pathetic she must sound, thinking about potentially ruining her life (and the lives of others). Committing double homicide wasn't worth the trouble, wasn't worth thinking about, and should never be a topic of discussion.

No, her focus should be on the mindless reality show currently playing on the television in front of her. But despite her efforts, all she could see were blurred images; all she could hear was white noise.

She reached for her third can of Ginger Ale of the night, popped it open, and guzzled most of it down.

She didn't deserve this. She wasn't perfect, never pretended to be, but damn it, no one could say she wasn't trying her best. She shouldn't have to be in this position. She shouldn't have to continue distressing over an incident that had occurred a month ago.

More than a month ago.

Maybe she should take a break, give herself time to breathe, and assess the situation of her… everything. Nothing too long, perhaps for a few days. Her captain of one month wouldn't give her a hard time; although it was doubtful he would truly understand her plight. In his eyes, she was one of those people, the ones who could handle anything under any circumstances. Nothing could faze her, not those unpleasant rumors swirling around the police department regarding her alleged prickly personality and collapsing marriage, not an uncooperative perp (or former partners), and certainly not her husband –

Her husband. The love of her life. A thoughtful, intelligent, wonderful, handsome man, who should've been the best to have ever happened to her. Goodness, he used to make everything better. If this were a couple of months ago, if things had been different, he'd be sitting right next to her, doing everything in his power to draw her out of her somber mood. He would've wrapped his comforting arms around her while whispering sweet nothings and assurances in her ears, and she would've believed every single word.

But now?

That bastard could burn, right along with that –

Her dangerous train of thought was interrupted by the loud jingle emitting from her phone. That specific ringtone didn't belong to the device currently abandoned on the opposite of the couch. No, it belonged to her work-issued one.

She glowered at the device that was vibrating along the glass coffee table, wondering what would happen if she hurled it out of the window of her third-story apartment. She considered testing it out. For a moment. Or two. Perhaps three. In the end, she would decide that engaging in property damage (and dealing with the subsequent paperwork) wouldn't make the situation better.

She grabbed the phone.

Damn it.

This particular call couldn't be ignored.

After taking one last sip of her pop and spoonful of the fried rice, she set aside the half-full container and finally answered the damned phone before its last ring.

Hm, just as she expected.

She rose from the couch.

"I'll be down in twenty."


"You know, despite the inconvenience, I usually don't mind getting the call in the middle of the night, but… tonight? Of all nights? The one time I needed to… Damn it, of all nights, why did it have to be this one?"

Leah didn't immediately respond as she rolled her shoulders a few times before settling into the front passenger seat of the Ford SUV. With the back of her head pressed against the headrest, she turned her attention to the man to her left:

Detective Jacob Black. Her partner of a little over three weeks. Her seventh in three years. A seasoned detective, whose tenure with the Chicago Police Department lasted just as long as Leah's and, based on the past twenty or so days, an absolute breath of fresh air.

Despite the initial concerns, Leah had a strong feeling that the new arrangement might work. Both detectives seemed to complement each other rather well (though, admittedly, twenty days didn't produce the largest of sample sizes). It was a kind of a yin-yang thing: Jacob was the 'good cop' to Leah's 'bad cop,' with his relatively chill personality and knack for deescalating a situation with a small talk and a well-placed joke. He got along with most people at work, which in the world of CPD, meant he got along with everyone – Something one might not have imagined at first glance.

Jacob didn't have a menacing look to him, but then again, he kind of did. It was his large, strong frame that did most of the intimidating; add that with a well-placed scowl, and he could be easily mistaken for an enforcer.

One could say Jacob was roleplaying as one tonight. He was not in the best of moods, somehow managing to be even more aggravated than Leah, who still had her bastard of a husband's text message fresh in her mind.

"Especially after the day we had," Jacob finished off with a grunt as he merged the police-issued, unmarked vehicle onto Lake Shore Drive, heading southbound towards downtown Chicago.

The "day that they had" hadn't been all that terrible. Extremely busy and, at times, headache-inducing? Sure, but that came with the territory. Their most recent homicide case, officially closed only hours before, had been rather straightforward: it concerned a professor, who had decided it was a good idea to get rid of his student lover, fearing the outing of their controversial relationship would mark the end of the academic's illustrious career and marriage.

He ended up taking a plea deal.

That meant no trial.

That meant the case was settled.

That meant the detectives could move on.

In truth, it could've been a lot worse.

"It comes with the job," Leah said, using the edge of her right coat sleeve to wipe the condensation off the foggy passenger window; her dark brown eyes followed the rapidly moving lights emitting from the streetlights and buildings. The night was cold and peaceful with skies so clear that stars shone bright in spite of the urban pollution.

"Yeah, but still…"

If Leah were to be honest with herself, a part of her was grateful for the late-night call. She needed the distraction. "It's fine," she maintained, hoping Jacob would simply take her word for it. "It is what it is."

"Yeah," Jacob mumbled. Tightening his grip on the wheel, he proceeded to glare at every surrounding car as if they had all personally offended him. "I knew I shouldn't have taken Lake Shore Drive." Due to the late-night construction, the expressway's southbound side was reduced to one working lane. "It's ten thirty on a Monday night. Shouldn't people be home?"

Leah looked straight ahead through the windshield, then behind through the rear window. The traffic wasn't ideal, but it was far from being bumper-to-bumper.

She turned back around.

"It's fine." Leah placed a hand on her partner's right arm; she gave it a gentle squeeze and a rub, actions that unsurprisingly caught Jacob off guard. Comforting folks the conventional way wasn't exactly Leah's strong suit, but she was working on it. And she was hoping it was working on him. "It's not like the crime scene's going anywhere."

Her words seemed to do the trick. Jacob relaxed his hands and took a deep breath. "No, it's not. Sorry, it's just that…" He took another deep breath. "Bad timing."

Leah drew her hand back. "Bad timing?" She tilted her head as her mouth slowly curved into a smirk. "Sounds like you were interrupted in the middle of a hot date."

Jacob cracked a smile for the first time since picking up Leah from her Rogers Park home. "It's nothing like that." He then checked the digital clock on the car's dashboard. "Ten thirty-three," he read, "to be more exact."

It was late. However, "At least, it's not midnight."

Jacob gave a short nod, then muttered a curse as the car rolled to yet another stop. "I should stop complaining. I know it's not the end of the..." He stole a glance to his right. "How's your night been?"

"Changing the topic, we are?" Leah teased. "C'mon, I wanna hear about this hot date you're supposedly not missing."

Jacob chuckled. "I promise there was no 'hot date.'" He changed the radio station to something more upbeat. "Just asking a question to pass the time." He glanced at Leah one more time before returning his attention to the road. "So?"

"My night?"

Jacob nodded.

Leah lifted her left shoulder. Her night? Unproductive, at best. She had spent most of the time inhaling artery-clogging food and washing it down with pop all the while wondering why her personal life had to turn into complete, utter shit.

Not that she was going to tell Jacob that.

"It was fine," Leah replied, though her tone revealed the truth. Which Jacob unfortunately had clocked. She frowned when he let out a rather loud, obnoxious snort. "What?"

"Oh, I know what that means."

"It's not like that."

There was a pause.

"You're good, then?"

Leah eyed the man next to her. "Yeah, why wouldn't I be?"

"I dunno. You… don't seem like yourself?"

"And in what way exactly?"

"More… quiet, I guess?"

Leah had a feeling he wanted to say something else entirely.

"I've been talking this entire time, haven't I?"

Jacob didn't take Leah's defensiveness to heart; he never did. "Yeah, I guess you have," he said. "So, long night then?"

"Not as long as it's going to be," Leah lamented. It had been a while since she worked late evenings. She and Jacob were typically assigned to the day shift, while another crew covered the night. Despite the second shift not being as experienced, they could certainly handle a crime scene.

But Captain Morris had specifically asked for Detectives Leah Uley and Jacob Black.

Leah tried to stifle a yawn.

Yeah, it was going to be a long night.

"Nothing?"

Leah ran a hand across her forehead. Well, fuck it. The ride was going to take some time, and Jacob clearly wasn't going to let the topic fall by the wayside. Though, she could simply tell him to mind his own business and – Well, fuck it.

"He wants to talk," Leah muttered under her breath.

A part of her hoped Jacob hadn't heard her.

"Called?"

"No, texted."

"Tonight?"

"Not long before you called."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

Another pause.

"So?"

Leah considered responding to her husband's message, but she almost immediately rebuffed the idea; if Sam had truly wanted to talk, he would've called her. He would've shown up at their apartment despite the fact that Leah had "unofficially" kicked him out a couple of weeks back. He would've put in some effort.

Not send a goddamn text.

"So?"

"I mean, you're going to have to. Talk. Eventually," Jacob said. He was purposely choosing his words, perhaps regretting his decision to ask Leah about her night. "It's not something you can ignore, as appealing as it sounds."

Leah wished she could; she wished she could live in another world where December 8, 2017 never existed. Then she would've never found out about Sam and Emily. Then she wouldn't have to feel so… Ugh.

"I know. You're right, but I don't want to deal with him tonight."

"Fair enough." Jacob stole another glance. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have – "

"That's not necessary."

If anything, Leah should be the one apologizing. She hadn't meant to drag Jacob into her personal drama. She hadn't meant to spend most of their drives around town complaining about a fellow detective, and a man Jacob knew and had worked with only a couple of years back. A man, who, according to basically everyone, was a good, level-headed man, who was damn good at his job and never gave law-abiding citizens any issues.

Anyone not named Leah Uley née Clearwater, apparently.

Leah didn't even know why she had mentioned anything in the first place. Despite the rampant and salacious rumors spreading around the police department like a raging wildfire, Jacob hadn't initially asked about the affair. It technically wasn't his business, and she appreciated that he understood that fact, but there was just something about him that made her – Hell, she didn't know.

"I still can't believe it. Well, no, of course, I can. People do it all the time, but I didn't expect Sam to be one of them. Now, I can't even look at him the same way," Jacob said with a hollow chuckle, but then the next second, he cursed and gave Leah a look full of remorse. "Sorry, I should honestly stop talking about – "

"And I should've honestly kept my mouth shut," Leah interjected with a hint of amusement. That was how it worked, right? Laugh in the face of tragedy. "That's my fault."

Jacob's chuckle was genuine this time. "Yeah, perhaps." He tapped the top of Leah's left hand a couple of times with his free one. "It'll be fine. This, too, shall pass."

"Got no choice." Leah let out a drawn-out sigh. "Alright, I'll talk to him," she decided, "when I don't have an overwhelming urge to throw something at him." She quietly snickered to herself. The situation was such a shit show that she couldn't help but laugh. "But I will. One of these days."

"Good."

Relieved that the topic of "Sam" was tabled, Leah leaned back in her seat, closing her eyes. She hoped to rest for a few before the action started.

"So, LaPush, hunh?"

"Afraid so."

"How bad?"

Jacob was hesitant with his response.

"Heard of the Black Dahlia?"

Leah's eyes snapped open.

The Black Dahlia, the posthumous nickname given to Elizabeth Short, a 1940s aspiring actress and unfortunate victim of one of the most notoriously brutal unsolved murders in US history.

Of course, she had heard of her.

"You're fucking with me," Leah accused. It wouldn't be the first time; Jacob liked to mess around with her, though never maliciously. Generally, she didn't mind his antics, but this was not one of those times. "Dispatch must be pulling a fast one on us."

It would be cruel and very much against policy, but a trick would be welcomed; it was certainly better than the alternative.

"I got a feeling they're not."


Located a couple of blocks east of Hancock Tower, The Grand LaPush was one of the most popular luxury hotels in all of Chicagoland. The hotel, known for its celebrity encounters and hosting of local political and corporate conventions as well as minor entertainment premieres, boasted amazing amenities and interiors so grand that one might think they were standing in the middle of the Waldorf-Astoria during the height of the Gilded Age.

If it weren't for its out-of-budget pricing, Leah would've considered hosting her wedding reception inside one of the two grand ballrooms – Perhaps, something similar to the event occurring at this very moment.

"It's like nothing's happened," Leah observed in awe as she and Jacob weaved through the crowd of well-dressed wedding and hotel guests. The vibe was too bright, way too calm, and way too merry to be in the vicinity of a crime scene. "Incredible."

"Ain't complaining."

"Neither am I."

At the corner of her eye, Leah could pick out several uniformed officers patrolling the elevator banks. One might think their presence would alarm the guests, but then again, it could've easily been written off as an extra security measure.

After all, this was The Grand LaPush.

Leah tapped Jacob's shoulder and jerked her head to the left. "Maybe they can fill us in?"

The detectives were soon approached by Officer Carl Lawson, who would introduce himself as the first cop on the scene and the one who had requested dispatch to contact Violent Crimes. After engaging in the usual small talk, Lawson led the detectives away from the crowd and towards a secluded elevator bank traditionally reserved for hotel staff, but for tonight, strictly reserved for police and medic use.

"Not gonna lie," Jacob said as he scanned the lobby around him; it was hectic because of the gathering in the ballroom, but nothing the cops couldn't handle. "From what dispatch had told me, I was expecting a lot worse."

Lawson glanced behind him. "Worse?"

Jacob gave a half-shrug while Leah answered for him, "We're used to the chaos." A sad reality. "It's practically a party over here."

"A wedding reception," Lawson said, gesturing at the corridor leading to the main lobby. A few guests were lingering around, too engrossed in their conversations and cocktails to pay the cops any mind. "Nobody wants to cause a scene. Apparently, the happy couple knows the mayor."

"Well, we certainly wouldn't want to hear any complaints from the Mayor's Office," Jacob said, his tone mixed with humor and sarcasm, causing both Lawson and Leah to crack a smile. "Alrighty then." He had his notepad and pen ready. "What do we have?"

Leah retrieved her notepad from her inner coat pocket, flipped opened to a clean page, and hastily scribbled down: LaPush. Late Monday. January 15, 2018.

"Caucasian female. Brown hair. Brown eyes. Young, I'd say in her twenties. Petite. Slim build," Lawson provided as he entered the elevator. He pressed the button for the 29th floor. "I'd say quite a looker if she weren't in that… state."

Leah frowned. "A looker?" She didn't consider the victim's attractiveness as an important piece of information at this point, and from the way Lawson's face turned red, he realized he might have misspoken. It wasn't necessarily a big deal. "In what kind of state?"

The officer puffed out his cheeks, then loudly exhaled.

He didn't want to answer.

"ID?" Jacob tried instead. "A name?"

Lawson took a couple of steps back and slumped against the dark wooden panel that made up the elevator interior wall. "Nothing found inside the room, but registration confirmed it was booked under the name Jessica Stanley. We haven't been able to confirm if it's a positive ID." He paused to swallow. "The maid found her."

"When?"

"About a couple of hours ago."

Jacob glanced at Leah.

"Huh."

"Housekeeping at this time of night?" Leah questioned. "I thought that they usually come around in the middle of the day?" She took a peek at the elevator message board. 20th floor. Nine more to go. The contraption appeared to be taking its sweet time. "Did someone call her up?"

Lawson thought for a moment, then shook his head. "From my recollection, not recently," he said. "The housekeeper said she stopped by to drop off an extra pair of towels. The request was made sometime before."

"Who called 911?"

"The hotel manager."

"Available for questioning?"

"We already got a statement," Lawson said, "from the both of them."

Leah nodded.

"How bad is it?"

The officer dragged both hands from his forehead and down to his chin. He then loudly cleared his throat when the elevator doors chimed open. He walked out. "You're gonna want to see it," he told the detectives as he led them down the hallway. "See her. For yourselves."


The scene of the crime was located inside Room 2916, an ornate presidential suite fitted with two bedrooms, two baths with a Jacuzzi, a large balcony overlooking Lake Michigan, and a kitchenette featuring a fully-stocked bar.

An untouched bar, Leah noted as she walked with Jacob further inside the suite, leaving behind Lawson.

From what the detectives could see, there was no indication that a crime had been committed. Nothing was broken, not even the glasses. Nothing seemed out of place. No visible signs of a struggle.

So, the victim most likely had known the killer enough to allow him (it was usually a "him") inside the room, Leah deduced. Or maybe she had been coerced to do so without causing a ruckus? Maybe the unsub had confronted the victim at the door?

It wouldn't be until the detectives reached the master bedroom that they realized why Captain Morris had specifically wanted them at LaPush.

"Damn," Jacob remarked, grimacing as they carefully moved around the mess and sea of cops, CSIs and medics. Everything was in disarray. And there was so much blood. Blood on the king-sized bed. On the plush, cream, and black patterned carpet. Spatter on the dandelion-colored walls. Spatter on the ceiling.

Jacob looked over his shoulder to his partner, who had stopped a few steps behind him to take in the unpleasant sight. "I don't – " He stopped as his grimace turned into a full-blown grin. "Dr. Swan!" he called out from across the room.

Leah turned around to find Dr. Isabella 'Bella' Swan maneuvering around the wide space between the king-sized bed and the window. The medical examiner turned her attention to the detectives and gave a short wave; it was more directed at Jacob. Leah wasn't offended. The two women barely interacted outside of work. On the other hand, Jacob knew Dr. Swan quite well. They were friends; although, rumor had it that Jacob wanted more than friendship.

But that was a story for another night.

Jacob walked to the other side of the bed to where Dr. Swan stood. "So, Doctor, what brings you – " He stopped as terror washed over his face. He took a tentative step forward. He removed his hat, holding it tightly against his chest. "Jesus Christ."

Leah rushed to her partner's side.

She drew in a sharp breath.

Displayed before them, in a pool of blood, was the naked, lifeless body of a young woman. A young woman, who, to everyone's horror, was bisected at the torso with her arms and legs spread apart. Her ankles were marred by cigarette burns, arranged into three lines.

And then there was the face. Leah thickly swallowed as she dared to take a step closer; there was a distinct mark across the victim's jaw, reaching from the corners of her mouth to her ears. A Glasgow Smile.

Just like the Black Dahlia.

Leah used the back of her head to wipe away the perspiration forming on her forehead. Stunned into terror, she couldn't possibly handle – For goodness' sake, what was she doing, hesitating at the sight of a body? For goodness' sake, she wasn't a damn rookie. She had spent years in Vice and Special Victims. She had been working in Violent Crimes for quite some time. She had seen and dealt with some shit.

Though, nothing like this.

"I know," Dr. Swan said solemnly while carefully stepping around the… pieces and strategically placed yellow numbered cards. She stopped for a moment and lifted both shoulders, dropping them slowly as she took a series of short breaths. "I was not prepared for this." She shook her head. "Something out of a horror movie."

"I guess they weren't pulling a fast one on us after all," Jacob muttered to Leah, referring to the police dispatch.

"Evidently not," Leah quietly returned, turning her face away from the disturbing sight. She should leave. She should – Hell, she didn't know. Just not be here. No, she couldn't leave. She had to look. She had to job to do, so she asked Dr. Swan, "What do you have so far?"

"Based on preliminary examination, estimated time of death… this must've recently happened. Cause of death not determined, but I can confirm that it wasn't from a fatal gunshot. No defensive wounds found. Nothing under her fingernails. No bruising," Swan explained. "The dismemberment likely occurred post-mortem." She bit her bottom lip. "There's something else you should see."

Swan bent down and pointed at the junction between the victim's left neck and shoulder. She looked up at the detectives expectantly. "What do you think?"

The detectives knelt along opposite sides of the victim's top half and zoned in on the pair of puncture marks pierced into the trapezius muscle, right behind the clavicle bone. Each puncture was about two inches apart; each surrounded by a small ring of raised, reddened skin.

The detectives glanced up at each other, both seemingly arriving at the same conclusion.

As Jacob deeply exhaled, Leah turned to the medical examiner. "A bite mark?" she suggested. It made the most sense. But then again, the mark seemed too clean and too conveniently placed to be the result of an animal attack. Perhaps something less animate? Perhaps a sharp, two-pronged utensil?

Or… it could be from something else.

From someone else.

Leah's mind flashed back to a few weeks before, to the moment Jacob had verified the rumors spreading around the force about the supernatural. Vampires, werewolves, shapeshifters, fairies. About how they existed and how some preferred to live among humans while others preferred to spend the rest of their days in the shadows.

He was one of them, Jacob had inexplicitly confessed to her on Christmas Eve, not long after officially being designated as partners. At the time, Leah had brushed it off as a joke, but it wasn't until Jacob mentioned it again the following week over a round of drinks and greasy bar food that Leah realized that her partner was dead serious.

Detective Jacob Black was a shapeshifter, possessing the ability to turn into a wolf with no full moon necessary. To her surprise (and Jacob's relief), she had taken the news relatively well. In retrospect, Leah supposed what had astonished her the most was Jacob's decision to come out of the proverbial supernatural closet in the first place.


"I figured it would make life a bit easier to be upfront about it," Jacob told Leah, keeping his voice low. Thankfully, no one seemed to be paying them any mind. Seconds passed; he locked eyes with the flabbergasted woman before looking away. "Just in case," he added, chuckling nervously. "I guess," then, "Just in case."

Silence fell between the partners as they both finished the rest of their beers. As Leah tried to gather her thoughts, Jacob wordlessly motioned the bartender for another round. It wasn't until after Leah had her second beer placed in front of her, did she finally speak up.

"Are you always this…" Leah stalled, trying to find the right words. She reached for the new beer. She needed a drink. Or ten. "Forward?"

Jacob ran a hand down his face then shook his head. "No."

Not the response she expected.

"Then why tell me?"

Her question was met with a simple shrug.


With the roll of her shoulders, Leah returned to the present. She watched on as Dr. Swan continued her inspection, poking at the wound in the least intrusive way possible. The detective slightly scooted to the side when a CSI requested to take a photo of what was left of the poor woman.

"What do you think?"

Swan put aside her tools. "Not too sure," she admitted. "At first, I figured it'd be from an animal. Something with a pair of sharp fangs, perhaps from a poisonous snake with terrific aim, if that makes any sense. This is only speculation, of course."

"Hm." Leah quickly scanned the room. "So, we can assume that the blood on the walls and ceiling occurred post-mortem as well?"

"Yeah, I assume so, but I'd have your people double-check," Swan said in a strained voice. "Either the killer was very sloppy with his work, or he knew what he was doing and is simply a sicko."

"Understatement," Leah said. "Gross understatement."

Jacob muttered a string of expletives as he stood up. He looked down at his partner, then back at the victim. "A snake?" He pinched the bridge of his nose. "I can't believe this," he groaned. "Not even a month since the transfer, and I gotta deal with – Bella, Dr. Swan, when can we get some answers?"

Swan rose from the floor and observed the victim's corpse from above. "A couple of days," she decided, though not definitively. She looked up at Jacob. "I should be able to provide, at the very least, a more concentrated estimated time of death along with some test results by Thursday."

Jacob accepted Swan's response with a nod, but Leah wasn't nearly as satisfied. It wasn't the medical examiner's fault, but a few days? This was going to be a major case, the kind that attracted the media and immense pressure from the brass. After all, this was The Grand LaPush. People were going to need answers ASAP, starting with the results of an autopsy.

When she told Swan this, she was met with a forced smile followed by a barely-veiled sarcastic response, "Of course, I will personally make sure – "

"Reporters!"

Everyone's attention was turned to an exasperated Lawson, heavily heaving under the threshold of the bedroom door as if he had just finished a marathon. "They want a word," he said, "and not leaving until they get one. The guests are starting to notice."

Not ideal.

"So much for not causing a commotion." Jacob looked over to his partner. "Hey, I don't mind going."

Leah shook her head. "No, I'll handle it." Her response surprised everyone within earshot who knew of her. She was not as personable as her partner and was far from being a media-savant, but she would rather deal with the press with their never-ending questions and their irrational belief that the police would have all the facts so early in the game than stay here.

Jacob agreed to stay behind.

It was fine, perhaps better that way.

She needed to get out of Room 2916.


Leaning against the wall as the elevator rushed to the lobby, Leah took a series of deep breaths in an attempt to suppress the nausea threatening to travel up her system. She thought about the killer. The bastard. The sadist. The monster – he, she, it, whatever.

Who would do something like this?

When the elevator doors opened, Leah stood up tall, muttered a small prayer under her breath, and walked into a group of reporters crowding the restricted elevator bank. They all turned to her, with their smartphones out, fighting amongst each other to get in front. All eager to get the latest scoop.

They would all be sorely disappointed for there was not much Leah could or, rather, was allowed to say.