The illusion of an impassive day had been shattered in an instant; all sense being lost as I slipped my arms around her, checking for any signs of life. There were none to be found; her eyes were wide open, but her irises had lost all glossiness, her body unable to hold any form against my limbs; lifelessly collapsed against them. The only trace of blood was the straight line that ran from her ear to the base of her neck; the rest of it quickly drying onto my skin.
The light was beaming down on me as the day continued to tick onwards. I pulled her into my chest, gripping around her back and thighs. I couldn't help but grip tightly into the fabric of the scrubs, hoping the closer she was to me the more likely she'd come back. I couldn't help but think of those stories, where still-born babies come back to life after lying against their mother's chest. I carried her away from the front of the teashop and into a nearby alleyway, hoping to avoid the glaring eyes of the public on their morning commute.
There was little I could do as I sat there in the darkness of the alley against the cobblestone ground, a choice that was surely going to cause me pain later. The sun was unable to breach the wall height surrounding us, a mere glint of it breaching the street entrance. I had rested her head against my shoulder as I stared towards the tower of garbage cans opposite me, barely registering the sounds of laughter from the apartment just across the alley from the teashop.
She seemed even smaller in here in the dim light and foetal pose. It began to gnaw at my stomach as I banged my head against the wall behind me a few times. Eventually, I found myself grinding my head into it, staring up at the guttering against the roof and listening to the footsteps on the street. If I focused on the peeling paint above me for long enough maybe all of this would go away. A hope too pure for inception, I suppose.
It only took four minutes for the drive of stampeding masked men to invade the alleyway with Cassiel in tow. He muttered a meaningless apology as he knelt to take Georgia's body from me. For a moment I hesitated, gripping onto the fabric a moment too long; the pressure in my fingers releasing at the same time my eyes gave way to a few tears. He placed the body on the stretcher two of the masked men had brought over and averted his eyes back to mine. His scent had attacked my senses as he leant down to wipe the few tears from my cheek; coffee mixed with something sweet, strong enough to make my nose twitch. I didn't hate it. It was comforting to bask in it once again.
Something about it made me not want to move. To pull him beside me and just sit here for a little while longer. Pretend it hadn't happened. Instead, he ruffled my hair and pulled me to my feet.
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It was a cracking sound.
He'd eased into her skull with precision and care, but it still cracked. A sound that put every hair on my body on edge, a tingle sensation running down every single one of my limbs. I couldn't watch the process after I'd heard that sound. Physically turning my back and staring into the white wall.
She'd been dead for less than two hours. Less than two hours ago she had been wishing me off and running off to a job where she'd be helping to do what was being done to her. There wasn't time to process any of it at that time. I'd been ushered into the morgue despite my vague protests; all energy I had maintained depleting the more I thought about her collapsing to the ground.
They all stood arms-crossed on the balcony that ran around the morgue, watching as Cassiel investigated every nook and cranny of her brain. There was little to be heard from any of them, not a single complaint or groan to be found. Smith looked bored, Franklin merely curious and Priestley had modified her usual persistent anxiety into a more palatable cross-over of nerves and concern.
"I would say a man-made brain haemorrhage," He said as he took a step back from the body and placed the scalpel he'd been using to the side, staring at the blood coating his blue gloves. There was little recognition on our faces or not enough for him to leave it at that as he continued, "It's a type of stroke caused by an artery in the brain bursting and causing bleeding. In this case, multiple arteries burst at once, so the blood pooling occurred at a faster rate. Whoever engineered this must have spent a long time researching the human brain; it's sort of astounding."
He sounded almost impressed. Whoever had done this had impressed him. Whoever had murdered this harmless, do-good woman had impressed him. He had said it so forcefully, not pausing for a moment to understand what those words meant; or what he was buying into by saying them. I forced myself to bite my tongue; an action the team had followed as they shifted uncomfortably in place.
Perry had begun to walk down the stairs back into the main ring of the morgue, taking each step with ease as he allowed Cassiel to read the room. He'd gone sheepish quickly, going back to staring Georgia in the face, the pride vanishing as Perry stood beside him. Luckily for him, Perry was quick to continue the conversation, "How would you achieve something like that without her knowing?"
Cassiel pauses, his eyes darting over the body quickly as he ponders the answer to the question. It wasn't necessarily the first question I would have asked; I couldn't help but wonder if there was a way, I could have saved her; I felt I could do nothing but hold onto her tightly. But what if I could have done something?
He begins to cover her upper body with the sheet, he'd long ruled out any effects on anything but her head, "There's a good chance she did know." There was a slight smile as he spoke. The kind of smile that was born out of pure apologetic energy; I couldn't help but feel the two would've meshed well had they met.
"There were probably signs of elevated anxiety in her day-to-day life that wasn't picked up. When you consider where she worked, there's a good chance everyone around her had either vanished or been replaced," I couldn't help but swallow hard as he said this, knowing fine well that even I'd noticed an almost heightened anxiety permeating from her; I'd just assumed it was a fear of authority figures.
Cassiel had gone back to his tray where he'd thrown the scalpel and picked up a small set of copper tweezers and carefully began to, as best as I can describe it, dig through her brain, "In regards to how though, this is the culprit right here," He carefully pulled out a small chip, and as he held it up to the light I could see it barely matched the size of a phones SD card. I could feel myself squirm under the harsh lights of the room, I'd never felt more uncomfortably violated; there was a reason the medical profession had never been my destined path, and this exact situation was one of the reasons.
"Why would they do that?" Priestley manages to squeak out a question, her complexion pale and uneasy. I imagine the more she watched, the more she worried something to this effect had happened to Matthew. There was something more human in that than I first realised.
"This was probably implanted months ago, hopefully under anaesthetic because the placement is deep and precise. Due to its recent activation, I'm going to deduce that she knew too much and was removed; whether they did this for convenience's sake or because they knew of her meeting with Bastian, won't be easy to determine." He had looked up at me on the balcony, a warmness to his face that seemed to say, this wasn't my fault. Yet I couldn't help but feel it was, there was an itching feeling that wasn't the case.
"I see," Perry mumbled. He decided to cover the rest of the body in the white sheet, pulling it gently over her head as he bites the inside of his cheek.
"What I would say..." Cassiel had started, his eyes dragging between each of us individually but resting them on me, "Bastian especially, our involvement did not directly cause her death. It's clear they were planning to do something with her, and death would be the final outcome. Whether she did that final thing I also can't determine just from the body."
His eyes left mine finally. I didn't realise I had been holding a single breath for so long, as soon as his eyes landed on me, I had lost the ability to breathe, a realisation that left me gripping the bannister with my free hand for balance. Thankfully, someone had noticed, because Smith had gripped my arm and dragged me out of the morgue.
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We'd gathered again in the IT suite; Smith had led the charge, returning to her cultivated spot at her desk; her hands beginning to type before she'd even fully sat down. Cassiel had pulled off the gloves and changed to another white coat; the old one having been covered in a few splashes of red. He'd stood in front of Perry, a folder in his hands and a pencil being twirled between his fingers.
He cleared his throat; which I could only take as an indicator that what was in that room was now a finished discussion. That other things were now taking precedence. Georgia was not as important to him as someone like Marie or Banks. I couldn't even resent him for it.
"I've been working with the syringe since Franklin brought it back, and I've begun to break down its patterns and dynamics, but honestly, we need a specialist. This isn't my direct area and alien DNA is an entirely different sport, never mind ballpark." He admitted.
"I can check our database and connect with some more specialists. Cavendish has a variety of sources, but I don't want to put her in a position to reveal them if there are others we've verified." Smith replies, already rapidly opening folders on her screen; her eyes seemed to scan the information in front of her before the computer could catch up with her clicks. I could only substantiate that by the few tuts she made when the small red circle in the centre of her screen appeared.
Perry looked at her screen for a moment, then back at Cassiel. It seemed as a person he was unsure of how to proceed. But as a leader of this team, they were looking at him for guidance, even when they didn't outrightly ask for it, "You can work on that Smith, the faster you work the better. Darwin, I want you to make sure this body hasn't been tainted any further than the chip in the skull, and then complete as much research on the syringe as possible. Understood?"
The two had nodded simultaneously; Smith fully turning into her desk and putting her head down, while Cassiel rushed down the stairs again and back into the morgue. Franklin himself seemed content with his orders, beginning to leave the IT suite's platform and head towards the kitchen.
"Sir, what do you want me to do?" Priestley had called after him, rushing down the stairs; I couldn't help but walk down after them, unsure of my position currently but knowing enough that I might regret following along.
"I want you to go home, Priestley. You haven't slept in three days. There's nothing else you can do." She'd stopped dead in her tracks. Her head tilts as he reaches the kitchen and begins to boil the kettle. He'd clenched his shoulders, waiting for the onslaught of unhappiness that was about to come his way.
"That's ridiculous Franklin, put me in research or get me to help Smith. There's no reason to leave me out here." She'd yelled her words at him without any hint of regret. I could tell from the beginning she was the type that had to be doing something. Especially when it came to the ones she cared about; this was no different.
"You make mistakes when you're emotional. I will not continue this conversation. Go home." He grunts, slamming the mug against the counter so hard I can't help but be surprised when it doesn't shatter. Priestley, on the other hand, doesn't even flinch. She barely replies with an audible grumble as she turns and takes her leave.
He sighs as she disappears upstairs and out of earshot. He had to play the boss in that situation, but it didn't seem to suit him. His attention had turned to me, and that's when I regretted following him down the staircase. I could have just disappeared to the library as usual. Ridiculous decision.
"Bastian, despite not being a fully-fledged member of the team I'm going to have to ask you to do something all of us hate equally." I unconsciously begin to grit my teeth, a whole manner of actions coming to mind; body disposal, blood clean up, alien roundup, information compiling, garbage removal. I watched as a small smile appeared on his face, easing my concerns slightly.
"Paperwork. There are report guidelines on each computer, so ask Smith for their location. I just need your understanding of what occurred during the body discovery of Miss Elizabeth Baxter and Mary-Anne Winden, then the attack of Cavendish, and finally, your understanding of what happened today," I couldn't help but flinch. I had spent every second since each of those events happened trying to remove the images from my mind; distracting myself with basic sudoku puzzles, solitaire and even baking muffins, much to Smith's dismay; rock hard and pretty much inedible apparently.
He must have sensed my unwillingness because he placed his hand firmly on my shoulder, clutching a mug with the other and holding it out to me, "I understand you might still be shaken by the events, but those emotions will provide realistic information of them; the more we know, the more we can improve and detect such things in future."
"I'll try my best," I mutter as I take the mug from him. He evades further questions by dashing upstairs in the direction of his office.
sanguine - optimism, or something relating to blood