Post by Jordanna on Feb 7, 2006 19:22:14 GMT -5
Miriam Van Linden strode down the hall with her typically reluctant step. She hadn't slept well the night before. The previous day had brought her a murder victim, whose particularly ugly and violent final memories lingered with her more strongly than usual.
In fact, it seemed as if most of her visions were more intense lately. It wasn't that the crimes were worse than they had always been; it was something within herself. She didn't know if it was merely psychological or, God forbid, a change in her powers--but whatever it was, she didn't know how much longer she could take it. The physical toll was going to kill her one of these days, if she didn't break mentally first.
Gordie Spake, a disturbing little orderly known behind his back as "the Ghoul", was lurking at the night desk like a jackal crouched over a zebra carcass. His slightly cross-eyed gaze latched onto Miriam as she passed by, and he stood up.
"Guess what? They brought in another one of those internal-injury cases. Just like that hooker they pulled out of the river--y'know, the day you passed out."
Miriam's blood ran cold and her stomach turned. "No..."
"Oh yeah. Only this one's some rich guy's wife. I heard she's even got connections to the mob." Spake grinned. "My bet is, those creeps finally found out a way to kill people without leaving a trace."
Swallowing hard, Miriam forced everything within her to remain steady, and turned a weak grin to Spake. "Maybe so. Excuse me, I... think I'll have a look."
She was torn between approaching the decedent now or first calling Regina Dawson. Daws hadn't contacted her since their first meeting, and between moments of grisly fear that something had happened to the detective, she worried a little that the mutant had simply patted her on the head and thrown the case into a "human--low priority" file. It was becoming difficult to wait for a word, and she had nearly called Daws' office several times in the last few days.
On the other hand, it would surely be a good thing to have all the details of this new death first. Resolved, Miriam made her way toward the morgue, trying with difficulty to clear her mind. As difficult and traumatic as her visions were, she had to be ready to notice everything, because she only got one chance.
Her hand was on the door of the morgue when she felt her perceptions begin to roil. Quickly she leaned against the door--almost bracing herself against it--and let it come.
Although she knew what to expect, it still hurt her savagely... and the face she saw, this time quite clearly, terrified her more than any serial murderer whose handiwork she had ever encountered. She gasped and raised a hand to her mouth, stifling a cry that emerged only as a soft moan.
This time, mercifully, it had been quick. Whatever Tiernan had done to this woman, he had snuffed out her life like a candle flame; he hadn't tortured her like the other one.
It was no comfort, especially with the echo Miriam sensed of the woman's last thoughts--of a husband and children.
Gulping in a breath of air, Miriam brushed away unrealized tears and pushed herself away from the door. She composed herself and looked up...
And saw Gordie the Ghoul hovering in an adjacent doorway.
"I'm... not feeling well," she murmured, even as her heart skipped a beat. How long had he been standing there?
Spake squinted at her in an unpleasant manner, but he held out a slip of paper. "Jody told me to give this to you. Somebody wants you to call this number."
Miriam's crashing emotions rallied into hope; perhaps it was Daws at last. She stepped forward and took the note, unconsciously careful not to let her fingers touch Spake's as she did so. "Thank you," she said quickly, and hurried away, to track down the decedent's case file and make an illicit copy before returning the call.
Gordie the Ghoul watched her go. Then, arching a brow over his slightly misdirected left eye, he took his own cellphone out of his pocket--and dialed a private extension at the phone number of Tiernan Enterprises.
"Yeah... it's Spake. Listen, something kinda interesting just happened here..."
With a copy of Caroline Rosenstein's file tucked into a newspaper under her arm, Miriam stepped into an empty conference room and locked the door. She dropped the paper on the table and sank exhaustedly into a chair, then took out her cellphone and the note Spake had given her. Anxiously she dialed the number written upon it.
Please, please let it be Miss Dawson...
In fact, it seemed as if most of her visions were more intense lately. It wasn't that the crimes were worse than they had always been; it was something within herself. She didn't know if it was merely psychological or, God forbid, a change in her powers--but whatever it was, she didn't know how much longer she could take it. The physical toll was going to kill her one of these days, if she didn't break mentally first.
Gordie Spake, a disturbing little orderly known behind his back as "the Ghoul", was lurking at the night desk like a jackal crouched over a zebra carcass. His slightly cross-eyed gaze latched onto Miriam as she passed by, and he stood up.
"Guess what? They brought in another one of those internal-injury cases. Just like that hooker they pulled out of the river--y'know, the day you passed out."
Miriam's blood ran cold and her stomach turned. "No..."
"Oh yeah. Only this one's some rich guy's wife. I heard she's even got connections to the mob." Spake grinned. "My bet is, those creeps finally found out a way to kill people without leaving a trace."
Swallowing hard, Miriam forced everything within her to remain steady, and turned a weak grin to Spake. "Maybe so. Excuse me, I... think I'll have a look."
She was torn between approaching the decedent now or first calling Regina Dawson. Daws hadn't contacted her since their first meeting, and between moments of grisly fear that something had happened to the detective, she worried a little that the mutant had simply patted her on the head and thrown the case into a "human--low priority" file. It was becoming difficult to wait for a word, and she had nearly called Daws' office several times in the last few days.
On the other hand, it would surely be a good thing to have all the details of this new death first. Resolved, Miriam made her way toward the morgue, trying with difficulty to clear her mind. As difficult and traumatic as her visions were, she had to be ready to notice everything, because she only got one chance.
Her hand was on the door of the morgue when she felt her perceptions begin to roil. Quickly she leaned against the door--almost bracing herself against it--and let it come.
Although she knew what to expect, it still hurt her savagely... and the face she saw, this time quite clearly, terrified her more than any serial murderer whose handiwork she had ever encountered. She gasped and raised a hand to her mouth, stifling a cry that emerged only as a soft moan.
This time, mercifully, it had been quick. Whatever Tiernan had done to this woman, he had snuffed out her life like a candle flame; he hadn't tortured her like the other one.
It was no comfort, especially with the echo Miriam sensed of the woman's last thoughts--of a husband and children.
Gulping in a breath of air, Miriam brushed away unrealized tears and pushed herself away from the door. She composed herself and looked up...
And saw Gordie the Ghoul hovering in an adjacent doorway.
"I'm... not feeling well," she murmured, even as her heart skipped a beat. How long had he been standing there?
Spake squinted at her in an unpleasant manner, but he held out a slip of paper. "Jody told me to give this to you. Somebody wants you to call this number."
Miriam's crashing emotions rallied into hope; perhaps it was Daws at last. She stepped forward and took the note, unconsciously careful not to let her fingers touch Spake's as she did so. "Thank you," she said quickly, and hurried away, to track down the decedent's case file and make an illicit copy before returning the call.
Gordie the Ghoul watched her go. Then, arching a brow over his slightly misdirected left eye, he took his own cellphone out of his pocket--and dialed a private extension at the phone number of Tiernan Enterprises.
"Yeah... it's Spake. Listen, something kinda interesting just happened here..."
With a copy of Caroline Rosenstein's file tucked into a newspaper under her arm, Miriam stepped into an empty conference room and locked the door. She dropped the paper on the table and sank exhaustedly into a chair, then took out her cellphone and the note Spake had given her. Anxiously she dialed the number written upon it.
Please, please let it be Miss Dawson...