Chapter 12: Chapter 9

Kevin whistled as Colin caught him up to speed, leaning back into his chair. “Sounds like I’ve missed quite the party. So, what’s the plan? Start kicking down doors until you find both our ghoul and this maybe-ghoul of yours?” 

Colin rubbed his palms against his temples, fighting off the headache creeping in. “I don’t know yet. My last lead was torn through a window, and sleeping on it didn’t reveal any clear plan of action. All I can do now is wait for the autopsy results and hope something new comes my way. Would rather not wait until the next murder, but if that’s how it has to be, then so be it.” He shrugged, glancing over at the Chief’s office, feeling his superior’s glare even through the closed door. 

“Well, can’t say things have been quiet here, but for once I’m glad not to be the one rifling through the garbage. Sounds like trouble is stirring.” Kevin nodded to himself, thinking his words deeper than they were. 

“There’s always trouble stirring,” Colin said. “We wouldn’t have jobs if there wasn’t. Though I’ll admit, I prefer when the Enforcers do their jobs. Haven’t seen the lazy bastards anywhere beyond acting as doorstoppers.” 

Chuckling, Kevin shifted in his seat, grunting as he put pressure against his ribs. “Well, I’m sure they got enough trouble without having to go out and look for it. Never envied their positions, I’ll say that much. Especially not the big ones. Poor bastards rarely live past thirty.” 

Colin nodded to this, having never really thought about it. Their world just wasn’t the same as his, and he preferred to keep it separated that way. Bit hard to do so lately, he thought drily. Looking over as Sarah walked Caitlin over, her voluminous blonde hair tied into a bun contrasting against the half-breed's wiry snow-white, that thought became ever more present. He caught Sarah’s shimmering blue eyes, her soft smile able to melt many a man’s heart in moments. Colin shrugged the feeling off, nodding as the two ladies reached them. 

“Detectives,” Sarah greeted, nodding to each of them in turn. “I’ve completed Ms. Graves’ examination.” 

“Anything wrong with her, besides her pension for using chairs as a weapon?” Kevin asked, a crooked smile directed at Caitlin. 

Giggling, Sarah looked at her clipboard, flipping through several papers. “No immediate issues, far as I can tell. As for the chair throwing, she seems to think it was well within her rights to do so.” 

“I, and my ribs, would disagree.” Kevin lightly patted his bandages, hidden beneath the white button-up currently choking him. 

Raising an eyebrow, Sarah turned her attention towards Colin. “Mr. Black, if you would come with me, I need to examine you as well.” 

“I’m fine,” he said flatly. 

“He had his mask off and stuck his head out of a window,” Caitlin retorted, “Like an idiot.” 

“Come with me, Mr. Black.” Sarah took his arm, leaving his old and new partner alone together. 

“Make sure she doesn’t break anything,” Colin called over his shoulder, glaring at Caitlin as she waved him off with a smile. He sighed as they turned a corner, “You sure she’s okay?” 

Sarah glanced at him with her smile, always with a smile. “I’m more worried about you at the moment, Colin. Breathing in the toxins clouding the slums is, to put it lightly, the dumbest thing you’ve ever done.” 

“Well, I thought showing my face would make it easier to convince the girl that I wasn’t a threat. Useful as they are, the masks make us seem less... human, you know?” Colin matched his pace to Sarah’s, standing up straight, even as she continued dragging him through the halls. 

“I understand, but your health comes first before impressions. Besides, the people down there...” Sarah paused only a moment, her placating smile never faltering. “They’re used to people who aren’t entirely human. So, please, for everyone’s sake, keep the mask on.” She stopped suddenly, grabbing ahold of a door and throwing it wide. 

Her office was warm, yet unwelcoming, white walls without decoration housing a plain desk with a typewriter, and an examination table. Next to the table was a two-layered stroller, the silver trays covered in a collection of medical tools. Two auburn chairs were nestled next to the window, a small, wooden table sat between them. The baby-blue carpet felt like clouds beneath bare feet, though rarely did anyone deign to do such a thing. 

Colin did so only once, and it was long before Sarah had taken her place in the building. A better time, he thought, the furniture too familiar to relax. 

Sarah tugged his arm, pulling Colin into the room behind her. “Now, Mr. Black, please sit on the table, and let’s see what the damage is.” 

* * *

Colin took the cup she handed him, the tablets dissolving quickly, turning the water into a bubbling white juice that tasted like chalk. It slid down hard, taking every ounce of strength not to gag on the foul tincture. Slapping his bare chest, he swallowed, coughing immediately after. 

“Some toxin residue, a few bruises, and of course all that tobacco clogging up your lungs.” Sarah read from her clipboard again, tapping it with her pen as Colin coughed all over her office. “Honestly, sometimes it feels like you’re trying to die young.” 

Colin hacked up one last time before raising a finger, mocking condescension. “I’m thirty-four, Sarah... wouldn’t consider myself so young anymore.” 

Huffing, she slapped his shoulder, resulting in another fit. “You could live another thirty if you took better care of yourself. Now get up and get dressed. I can’t imagine Kevin’s company is keeping the little one entertained, contrary to what he believes.” 

“Hey, Kevin’s plenty entertaining.” Colin hopped off the table, pulling on his shirt. “You ever see him wrestle a bouncer to the mud while muffled jazz plays in the background? It was pretty funny.” 

Rolling her eyes, Sarah made her way for the door. “Just make sure I don’t catch you wrestling in the mud any time soon, you got that?” 

Slipping the last button into place, Colin saluted, lips spread into a crooked smile. “Yes, ma’am. No mud wrestling for this soldier.” 

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Sarah paused as she turned the doorknob, looking back at Colin. “Oh yes, and the coroner has your autopsy report. I’m sure you’ll want to look at that before heading out.” 

* * *

He very much did not want to look at it, he decided, her wounds extensive under the dress, her internal organs blackened with disease. “I thought slummers had a natural resistance to the factory waste. Why are her insides so... gross?” Colin looked up from the polaroids he was shuffling through at the coroner, the other man’s hawkish figures shaking his head. 

“A common misunderstanding,” the coroner, Clive Booth, waved his hand vaguely towards the sky. “Those who reside down in the Slums often suffer from mutations that gift them with some resistance or even immunity from the toxins, but not every one of them suffers from a mutation. This... Alexia, was one of them. She was, by every physical measure, a typical teenage girl.” He scratched his hooked nose, shrugging. “Now, what interests me is the external damage.” 

Colin nodded, flipping through the photos until he found one focused in on her wounds. Burn marks, flayed skin, scars from both blade and whip – at least Clive’s notes suggested so – covering her torso. Hidden, not meant to be seen. “We theorized that it might have been domestic abuse. Seeing this, I’m willing to put that down as my main theory.” 

“Well, that’s your job, Mr. Black.” Clive pointed down at the burn marks, his tone flat and cold. “Chemical burns; acid and industrial cleaning products, mostly.” Then the whip scars, “Multi-pronged, given the varying width.” Then to the ones committed by blade, “Scalpels, kitchen knives, and several other unidentifiable instruments, maybe an old-styled dagger. We can assume that the flayed parts of her body were done with one of these other instruments. The latest of her scars was given to her months ago, so take that into account.” 

“Her father died months ago,” Colin mused. 

“Fascinating,” Clive said in a tone that made it evident that it was, in fact, not fascinating. “Well, that’s all that I have for you, detective.” Slicking his salt-and-pepper hair back, the coroner waved him off. “Now, please, leave me be. I have other bodies to attend to. Ones that don’t ask so many questions.” 

“Can I-” 

“Yes, yes, keep the photos, I have the originals filed away. Now go.” Clive waved Colin out of the morgue, shutting the door behind him. 

“What an ass,” Colin muttered. 

* * *

“What an ass,” Caitlin exclaimed, jumping as the buggy hit a bump. “He knows someone died, yeah?” 

“Oh, he knows better than most, trust me.” Colin nodded along nonetheless, “But it is his job after all, and he’s been at it for decades at this point. Can’t imagine another body does much to his conscience.” 

Growling, exposing her fangs, Caitlin shook her head. “Unbelievable.” 

“I would assume that someone in your situation would be used to death.” 

“People dying is nothing new to me, obviously,” Caitlin crossed her arms, claws digging into flesh. “But she was murdered. We aren’t the most helpful bunch, I’ll admit, but we don’t kill each other, and certainly not like that! And... and she was like...” 

“Like you, I see.” Colin nodded. “You two were the same age, I’ll give you that. But you have a fire in you she didn’t. She was scared, and in a bad way. While her death wasn’t a good thing, she at least won’t be feeling any pain where she is now.” 

Biting her lip, she gripped her arms tighter, drawing blood. “Do you think her father did it to her?” 

“I do,” he said. “And I think we need to take a trip back down and visit his shop. I don’t know if that’ll lead to anything, but at least it’s something to do. Maybe there’s a clue waiting to be found.” 

“Or maybe the killer will jump us and we can take him out then and there.” 

“I don’t think that would...” Colin raised an eyebrow, “Him? You got that good of a look at them?” 

She turned her eyes on him, blood-red orbs gleaming like rubies. “No, but... I think I know who that was.” 

Colin kept his eyes on the road, sweat running down his cheeks. “Please tell me it wasn’t a friend of yours, because that would complicate things to a degree I am not prepared to deal with.” 

“No friend of anyone’s, if I’m right. I’ve heard... stories. Of a man. One arm longer than any Enforcer, with a face like a dog and a temper far worse.” Her sallow face scrunched up, sharp nose wrinkling. “They call him Jackal. Parents use these stories to keep their children behaving, and to get them inside when it's dark.” 

Colin sighed, pulling out a cig and slipping it between his lips. “You said rumours. So, you don’t actually know if that was him?” 

“Well, I can’t imagine that arm belonging to anyone else,” She shrugged, “And I also can’t imagine that people just... made him up. I’ve heard that he used to scavenge corpses to sell to people, from the cemeteries. But, for whatever reason, he needed fresher meat. That’s what I’ve heard, and I believe every word of it.”

“I see...” Pulling out his lighter, Colin flicked a flame to life, lighting his cig. Gripping the lighter, he rubbed the etching, sweat sliding into its crevices.

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