July 1st, 2021
0600 hours
Quinn stared unblinkingly at the files strewn before him. His eyes had long gone into robot mode and scanned the pages mechanically, automatically taking in every detail on the lengthy reports.
Suspicion in his mind had begun to form tangible possibility now: every detail in this case was quickly confirming his doubt that this was a homicide. It was a notion he didn't entertain lightly. Reality seemed to move swiftly toward preposterousness, and being an incredibly realistic individual, it challenged Quinn's beliefs. However much he tried to deny it, things were beginning to feel very supernatural, and he hated it. Perhaps confusion was overtaking his intellect, but he chalked it up to sleep deprivation. It sounded less insane, to assume such plausibility, than to admit his imagination was building a terrifying possibility in his mind.
He sighed heavily, eyelids drooping. He was barely aware of the words he was reading. It had been a long shot, requesting for Shepp to procure these records. Having not made head or tails of the events up until this point, Quinn decided to branch out in a mad scramble to find anything of use. Failure to move forward sent his investigation backward, literally, to the past. Sorting through the last ten years of strange deaths along the gulf coast proved to be a massive needle in the haystack sort of endeavor. Having removed boating accidents, shark attacks, and accidental drownings still left him with hundreds of files to scour. In particular, he was interested in those that involved severe trauma or mauling. Entertaining the small, incredulous impossibility that these might indeed have been some sort of animal attack wasn't something he was overjoyed with, but even the slightest of chances indicated it was there: his answer, somewhere in these files.
Quinn hated probability and odds. It generally made him question everything he knew, or thought he knew, anyway. Yet, he never failed to solve a riddle, even one like this. No matter how crazy the outcome, he always learned, and he always won.
His tired eyes fell on the cover of a report. It looked to be promising as he scanned the cover.
Accidental Dismemberment
Male, age thirty-two. Bi-racial. Brown hair, brown eyes. Approximately one-hundred forty pounds, five foot seven inches. Mutilation of right forearm, partial severing of the joint at the elbow, complete perforation of the brachial artery. Cause of death-exsanguination by canine attack.
That wasn't it. Quinn pulled the file and placed it in a stack labeled 'utter dung'. The pile was mounting fast, while the meager stack beside it of possibly helpful files wasn't. It seemed to be shrinking, along with his spirit. There was a particular clue he was looking for, and so far, nothing had really fallen into the parameters.
Hispanic female, age two. Brown hair, brown eyes. Approximately twenty five pounds, two feet. Multiple lesions on extremities. Nematocysts present on affected area. Venom tests reveal the culprit as Physalia physalis. Official cause of death-anaphylactic shock and cardiac arrest.
Quinn realized he should have specified to have jelly-fish stings removed from the search records. He wondered how many he would have to go through to find what he was looking for.
Caucasian male, age six. Blond hair, green eyes. Approximately forty pounds, three feet two inches. Severe abdominal trauma. Slight defensive wounds on the hands and lower arms. Abrasions radiating vertically from the left elbow to the wrist, penetrating the through the dermis and underlying musculature. One hairline scratch along the ulna, approximately three inches in length, ten millimeters in width. Slight widening at the middle juncture, tapered at the ends.
This one seemed interesting, and Quinn was determined to thoroughly examine all the records before him. Despite exhaustion, he read on, muscles in his eyes straining to focus. The words were becoming increasingly blurred.
Small, semi-circular indentations along subject's right wrist and fist. Presumed to be defensive wounds.
The candles in the office began to flicker, and his eyes hurt as they tried in vain to adjust to the dim light.
Skin, or scale-like residue embedded under victim's nails on the left hand.
Scales? Quinn jerked awake, body aching with fatigue. What the hell were scales doing under the victim's finger nails?
Sliced through upper left pectoral, continuing through the lower abdominal minor and penetrating through the fascia, resulting in complete abdominal dissection. Vital organs, including heart and brain intact. Stomach, intestines and liver sliced cleanly, no serrations or rotational force indicated. Several meters of small intestine and pancreas cleanly removed, neither were recovered in the vicinity of the body. Presumed to be washed away or eaten by scavenging marine wild life.
That didn't make sense to Quinn. The body had only moments from the time of death until discovery by the boy's mother, according to the police report.
No abrasions present on lower extremities. Likewise on chest and head. No other significant reported trauma. Damage confined to the abdominal and pelvic areas.
Quinn's eyes were beginning to glaze over slightly. He shook his head resolutely, focusing on the minute black print before him.
Complete dissection of abdominal cavity is the only present cause of death. Partial disembowelment evident, small serrations along connective tissue. Severe damage to stomach and liver. Small circular excavations of both organs, resembling suction marks. Tubular canals present in liver. No known disease or disorder present to cause such anomaly. Small object discovered lodged in the victim's liver tissue, foreign in nature.
He jerked at that: similar objects had been located in Stan's remains, but he was sure he'd seen that before. He absentmindedly fingered the old file to his right, mind spinning with information, weaving together pieces of the puzzle, as a spider would build a web. The similarities between this autopsy and Stan's were becoming startling.
Likewise, three similar objects were observed in subject's stomach.
Two additional foreign specimens were located within victim's abdominal cavity, one transverse to the bladder near the colon and the other adjacent to the gall bladder.
Halfway through the autopsy report his head shot up, searing pain running down his neck from the jarring movement. What he thought he just read chilled him to the bone, and Quinn Jones wasn't one to become skittish.
His sharp eyes scanned the same sentence again and he froze, the smallest inkling of what he knew to be fear tickling the back of his subconscious.
Upon investigation of the subject's abdominal cavity, Doctor Morris discovered six small, grayish white orbs, approx. 2 cmx1.5x1cm, with a slightly darker center, located in the liver and gastric organ. Surface area malleable, yet firm, and maintains a protective atmosphere.
Further discovery and testing revealed the specimens contained, within each, a singular, oblong secondary specimen, roughly one half centimeter by one centimeter by one third centimeter. Specimens were removed from outer protective layer. Upon inspection, ocular, nervous, and vascular systems were observed. Specimen appears to have several in vitro similarities to that of reptiles.
Scientific analysis of the liquid surrounding secondary specimens proves amniotic in nature.
Quinn's breath caught in his throat. That sounded an awful lot like-
"Eggs." He breathed. "They're freaking eggs!"
Long, pale fingers quickly flipped open his cold case file, grey eyes scanning frantically, widening in comprehension as it dawned on him that he had, indeed, seen this exact autopsy report before. Perhaps his memory wasn't as eidetic as he assumed.
Anger at himself burned in his soul: he shouldn't have missed that detail in the cold files. Years had been spent chasing the most heinous serial killer he'd ever pursued, and yet, the truth was there all along. To think another killing had to occur for him to connect the dots caused him extreme anguish. Had he been more observant, quicker in jumping to a ludicrous conclusion, Stan wouldn't be dead. In effect, he caused an innocent man's death, something that he couldn't bear. Never in his life had he made such a disastrous oversight.
"Gordon!" He bellowed, his voice unusually frantic, though still demanding. He stood abruptly, sending his chair toppling into the multitudes of boxes behind him. They fell to the floor in disarray, papers scattering and littering the tile. The door flew inward with a crash as his agent busted in, wildly scanning the room for the cause of the panic. His movements were even and controlled, but his chest heaved visibly with worry.
"Damn it, Quinn." He murmured and holstered his gun, having found no reason for upset.
"Shut up." Quinn replied, furiously highlighting the last portion of the autopsy report. "I need you to gather all the files that any of us have on this case."
"Sir. Did you find something?"
"Now, Gordon!" Quinn's eyes flashed seriously. He ran a shaky hand through his hair, eyes flicking back to the files. Breath rushed out of his lungs in bursts, and he struggled to control the heaving of his chest. It would do no good for him to hyperventilate.
"Yes, Sir."
"And get me Dr. Bourke immediately!"
"What does she have to do with-"
"We don't have time for imprudent questions. Do it!" Quinn positively screamed.
"Yes, Sir."
"I need Robyn here now." Quinn steadied himself on his hands, resting himself on the table, propped up. He wasn't naïve enough to think she was beyond double crossing him again and continuing research on her own. He needed to know what she knew, but he hoped beyond all hope he was wrong.
"On second thought, get the chopper ready. Tell Garcia and Dr. Bourke to meet us at her lab. Inform nobody else about this."
"Right away." The manic terror on Quinn's face frightened Gordon considerably. He fought to keep his thoughts calm as he backed out of the room, leaving a distraught Quinn standing over the small table, hands clenched on the sides in a death grip.
Damn it, Quinn thought ruefully, I killed him.
I killed Stan.