November 29, 2002.11.29.02. - lead on, dr. slaughter [imogen] *fv[north jersey]
(imogen)
It had been a relatively uneventful week, especially in light of recent occurances, one that was nearly welcome, and nearly abhorred. Between the regular vigours of autopsies and crime scenes and difficulties, many of her evenings (and late into the night) had been spent, searching through the ineffective filing system of the morgue.Somewhere, in there, there was a file she wanted. And in that file, would be one piece of information, that would lead her to a funeral home where a child was supposedly buried. Once the funeral home was found, she could actually attempt to find out the information she wanted, which was the burial plot of a little boy who apparently died of sudden infant death syndrome.
So far, the results have been distressingly fruitless, nigh depressing. So, on this long weekend, she turns her attention to another little child, another body, one who's tangibility would perhaps make things less frustrating than the smoke trials she was chasing in the sub-basement of the morgue.
She takes the stairs up to Rune's condo two at a time, noting the windows replaced, and the general return to normal appearances. One hand digs through her racuous mass of titian hair as she raises the other hand, fingers loosely curled, rapping lightly thrice on the door.
The weather is cold and her breath hisses past her lips as she weights for whoever it is to answer the door, hands dropping to her sides, digging into the pockets of her jacket, trying to find what warmth she can from the thin wool.
(james)
eyes dark as Gaia's rich soil swing towards the sound of footsteps over the low tv
myriad colors form the screen reflecting in that dark theater
by the time the knuckles sound against wood
his body was beginning to unfold
back stretching in feline lengthening of form
beer settled on the coffeetable
socks sinking into the plush carpet in their path towards the doorthe last of the workers had gone home hours ago
glass fully replaced, the condo warm by its own means
he had begun to relax
he wasn't expecting anybodyso its with some apprehension that the tall Gnawer peers through the peephole
brows lifting beneath heavy jungle vine dreads to see whom it is
deadbolt throws, and the door swings open"Imogen....."
needless to say he's a little surprised
not only by seeing her, but at the blast of cold air that smacks into his chest beneath only a t-shirt
stepping back with a halfnod"Common in."
(imogen)
He steps back, and she steps in, as he offers, hands still dug into her pocket as her eyes pass across him, and then beyond in the condo, the replaced windows, the mostly replaced decor.Her boots remain on the inner mat, that most people (and certainly Decker) would ignore, as she tilts her head faintly, eyes sweeping back to the Gnawer, "Rohl wanted me t'take a look at the uh," a moment's pause, because sometimes the impersonal words one can use are hard to grasp immediately, "trunk from th'house; an' it's contents." Without even a hint toward the body. Instead, focus on the trunk. It might be because she hates it when it's children, or it might because when you spend so much time around bodies, they cease to be anything more than their defining features. "And, really, the only way I'll be able to do anything, is if I can get it into the morgue."
Her weight shifts faintly, "Long weekend seemed like the best time to try it." Reserved words, quietly spoken and lulled by her thick accent as she explains why she's here, without preliminary or dancing around, skipping all preamble and cutting straight to the guts of the matter.
(james)
again, that brow climbs slightly higher
he had barely gotten the door closed behind her
and she had begun her.... speel....to the point, as always
inside of his lower lip nibbled in thought"....good evening to you too...... so, uh, what's the plan for me to get it inside for you?"
he's already sinking back into the plush leather
pulling on his boots
zippers thick growl to join leather
(imogen)
A smirk curves her mouth, amusement flickering in dark blue eyes. "Evenin'," she responds ruefully, before the amusement dies, and her shoulders lift, slightly, one hand leaving the pocket of her jacket, to lift up and push away a half coiled corkscrew of flame, tucking it behind her ear. She's glad he's simply agreed to do this. She's relieved she didn't have to ask."Unless you have a better plan, we'll drive up to th'morgue, and I'll park and go inside, while y'go around, for me to let you into the back. Nobody's 'ere this weekend, with the holidays, 'n' all, 'cept for a security guard. He won't follow me to the back, and he sure won't come downstairs to the autopsy rooms while we're there."
The hand falls to her side, long delicate fingers brushing lightly at a spot on the thigh of her jeans, real or imagined. "As far as I know, that will give you the least chance o' bein' seen."
(james)
he can't help the rueful chuckle that answers her response
she wouldn't have come by if she didn't need someone's help
he could guess how heavy it was from the way Decker had to move it
he may not have her college education
but he can put the facts togetherchin dropping in a bit of a thoughtful nod, but then a shake of his head
dreads dancing over shoulders in the rise to find his coat"You know the place better than I do.... I trust your judgement."
fabric mutters in shrugging heavy coat on over the tee
whatevers in his pockets jumbling and clinking before settling to gravity
shoulders tilt, following his head in question"You want another layer? We're gonna have to drive to the other apartment to pick up the.... trunk."
she may think of it as only a body, only a box, because it's easier
he can't think of it in any other way that by what's inside
he wonders if she knows the sole reason he's even going to put himself through this(imogen)
For a moment, she looks at him, a wordless glance. She may not know why he's doing this, but there is at least some suggestion that she might know that he doesn't want to. Reluctance. It's a feeling she can sympathize with, what with the white scars of the body's possible sibling still fresh and visible on her white skin. She shakes her head slightly tendrils of chaotic hair quivering with the movement."No," she says, a shrug punctuating her words, "I'll just turn on the heat in th'car. I'd rather not dawdle, if at all possible." A faint smirk, brief on her lips, "Little cold never killed anyone."
She turns slightly, fingers curling around the door knob as she pulls the door open, stepping out and aside, one hand holding the door so the bone gnawer can follow.
(james)
there's a bit of a nod
it's just his way to offer
he didn't have to rely on heightened hearing to catch the near chatter of her teeth
it's brisk, baby
flicking the controller on pass-by to turn off the tv
offering a smile as he passes through the door
heading towards what he knows is her car"Nah.... quick is good, in this case."
he was relaxed
shoulders already beginning to wench tighter(imogen)
"I agree." For a moment, he might possibly think she would rather be doing anything, but this. Then the moment is passed, the words already disappating, and he may have imagined it.She shuts the door behind them, hunching her shoulders as a particularly firm breeze runs down the half open collar of her jacket, one hand reaching up to zip it up the last few inches, irritably, before being replaced into her pockets, quickly following in the wake of the Garou.
The SUV clicks as the locks open, and chirps as the alarm is disarmed. She rounds to the driver's side, pulling open the door, and entering. The engine is turned on first, with it's heaters full blast, the wash of air still warm, because she's only been out of the car maybe ten minutes at most. Her seatbelt is drawn across her slender frame as he enters, and by the time he's safely inside, she's turned on the SUV's headlights. Before placing the vehicle into drive one slim hand lifts, held lightly over the heater, as if trying to absorb some of the warmth, before dropping down, to shift gears, pulling the car from the parking space.
"Where'm I going, exactly?" as they approach the entrance/exit of the condominium plaza.
(james)
for a moment
a lot of things can happen in a moment
lives begin and end
a thousand thoughts ebb and flow
she would rather be doing anything, but this
he's right there with herRohl wanted me t'take a look....
that's all that needed to be said
she's not pack
but she's Decker's girl
and he wanted it donehe doesn't even question why he's doing this instead of Rohl
he could answer himself with a dozen answers"Take a right."
pointing over the leather dash
the directions contiue, softly, through the winding streets
taking her to the pack apartment fairly nearby
convenient enough for them
far enough away for Rune's convenience
weaving through the parking lot towards the parking space for 204"Pop the back.... I'll run up and get it?"
dark eyes glancing
maybe watching more of the firey red than deep sky blue
maybe it wasn't as much of a question as it seemed
he's already out of the car(imogen)
He doesn't even question why he's doing this instead of Rohl. She doesn't even question why she's doing this at all. Someone needed to do it. She was there, and James was there, and so she takes a right, following his directions as he navigates through the winding streets. Conversation is a long dead subject for her, so it's only the sound of his soft words, and the faint echo of quiet music, barely audible through the stereo system.The parking lot is full of cars, many of them misparked and careless, so the SUV is parked crookedly in the centre of two parking spots. He speaks, and she glances sideways at him, her hand lightly tapping against steering wheel. "Right, then," her accent makes the first word almost "roight", as she slurs it, carelessly.
He departs, and she gets out, as well, beginning to go around to the trunk, keys jangling as she finds the one that will pop the trunk.
She watches him as he walks toward the apartment buildng, a faint frown touching her brow, before starting to pat her pockets for a package of cigarettes, searching them effeciently until she comes up with a packet of Camels.
(james)
he doesn't think about it
he doesn't think about it
he doesn't think about ithe -won't- think about it
boots climb the steps
keys jangle for the door
breath held as the door swings open
avoiding the blast of dry dust rot air that creeps out sentient to twist and tangle through his dreads
gaze sweeping the apartment for the dented trunktwo steps cover the floor
the ungainly box swooped into long arms
something in his gaze hollowing to ignore what's cradled agaisnt his chest
edges of the box digging into muscle ove rhis ribs, biceps
door slamming in his wake
trench tails billowing behind himthey're not wasting time, right? right.
moving down the stairs and back towards the SUV
not a damn word passing clenched jaw
dumping the trunk into the state vehicle
reaching over to snag the pack before she slips it awaybetter for his sinuses to burn from cigarette smoke than what was in the trunk
(imogen)
Her fingers fall open as he snatches the cigarette package from her hands, and she glances up at him sharply, startled, "Thought you didn't smoke," uttered without thought, mouth shutting around the final syllables pratically cutting them off, as she shakes her head. She turns around, walking back toward the SUV, cigarette still burning sullenly between her fingers. She hates smoking in her car, in her home, the smells that cling and remind her of smoking when she's stopped again.Better the musty smell of cigarettes than the smell of decay, old skin, and dried out flesh. Rot. She should be used to the smell. For the most part she is, beyond a small section of primal animalism that recoils at the reminder that she is mortal.
She enters. He enters. The engine starts and she starts to back out of the parking space, cracking a window to allow cigarette smoke to curl out into the cold brisk air. This time she doesn't need directions, as she follows the twisting roads to reach the freeway, SUV speeding up to reach speeds that will draw them to the morgue as quickly as possible.
(james)
"I don't."answered as thoughtlessly as she had stated the observation
the door closes
the seatbelt clicks
the Gnawer stares out the window at the city passing them bysure she knows why he stole the Camel
sure he knows why she hasn't quit yethe watches the freeway in silence
he watches the streets in silence
he watches her pull into the familiar avenues around the morgue in silencedead silence
just like the long dead child not even five feet behind them(imogen)
It's not a silence where there is nothing to say. It's where nobody wants to say anything. Silence broken only by music, the rare click of the signal, and both of them inhaling and exhaling poisonous fumes.She reaches the parking lot and stops at the gait. There is no security guard, only a scan. Her weight shifts in the seat, hips twisting to reach into her backpocket. A badge is scanned, and the bar lifts, and she drives on, into the empty parking lot, finding a place close to the door.
Silence is broken as she turns to face him, breaking the silence for the first time in nearly forty five minutes. "Give me five minutes to get inside, and get around back." A hand gestures, lightly in the direction she needs him to go, "Go around there. There's a ... driveway of sorts, and a large door. I'm going to open that, to let you in. I'll be as quick's I can."
The seatbelt releases, and she is out the door, walking briskly through the cold air toward the front door, scanning her badge again to get inside.
Five minutes will seem like a long time, now. Seconds crawling by as James is stuck near a body he stayed on the streets for two days to get away from.
(james)
there's a curt nod
dreads jumping across the lapels of the patchwork coat
snagging another cigarette from her pack before she leaves him with the bodythe very thing he did everything within his power to get away from
he slept in the uncertainty of the streets for two days
he slept away from the comfort of the waterbed
he slept away from the safety of his pack
he slept away from the safety of his family
not even getting within a mile of the condoit wouldn't have been that bad
if he didn't have the reason to stay away
if he just did it of his own choicethe door opens
the Gnawer switches over to the driver's seat
in any other situation, there would be amusement that he, of all people, was driving this car
but it was all he could do to force himself to get back insideit's easy enough to find his way around the back
and once again the door opens
the smoke smell was dissipating and vestiges of the dry musty rot were creeping back into his senses
soon his hip is leaning against the SUV's fender
soaking up the warmth rolling off the engine
car's lighter igniting the cigarettegood enough excuse to be waiting, right?
can't smoke inside
pointedly looking away from the car while he waits(imogen)
She left him the pack, on the dashboard, not bothering to bring it with her.Seconds become minutes. Finally, minutes become five. There is a creak and a whirr, and the large garage-like doors shudder, beginning to raise with agonizing slowness, creeping up to permit assumedly, large vehicles entrance. Delivery vans for bodies. She steps outside, her jacket abandoned and replaced by a lab coat, mostly out of habit and for the simple fact that more than likely, someone would notice if she wasn't wearing it. If anybody showed up at all (though if that were to happen, lab coats would be the least of her worries).
The cold smacks against her flesh a hard slap of crisp air, a fine shiver running across her form, and then suppresses it as she turns her eyes to the Gnawer who leans smoking against her SUV. It must still be shocking that she can meet his umber gaze as she holds out her hand for the cigarette, "There's a gurney inside. If you want to put the trunk on there, I can probably do m'work, and call someone when I'm .. .done. 'Less y'want me to burn it."
Her tone carries a certain reluctance. Be it for placing her position (tenuous as it is) in jeopordy, or suggesting that he leave her alone with several year old corpse, when really, taking the fragile bones and rotted flesh from the trunk should be a two person job.
(james)
there's a smooth arc of hand moving from his mouth
arm stretching to hold the Camel to her
it may be a shock to others, but he's used to it
(one thing Gnawers are good at is accepting)
half the exhale is smoke, half the exhale is his breath fogging in the chilled airand his head shakes
"What..... and miss out on our earthshattering conversations?"
there's a grin that rakes across his features
half his mouth pulling up
it finds a place in his eyes
some shine in the darknessa packmate wants her to do this, he's here to help until the end
because he knows that both of them don't wan to be here
and it's not in him to abandon her with the task, in any shape or form"Gurney, right?"
a bit of a nod up
now or never, eh?
and she's got the cigarette.... so.....
he moves within the garage
wheels rattling on asphalt
pulling the gurney to the back of the SUV
and dragging the trunk on its padded surface"Lead on, Dr. Slaughter."
grip knuckle white on the push-bar
(imogen)
A brief flicker of amusement at his quip, more subtle than his, a twitch of her mouth, half hidden as she raises the cigarette to her lips, a momentary flash of dark blue eyes. "Gurney," she affirms, taking another deep drag of smoke into her lungs before exhaling it slowly, pinching the end of the cigarette, extinguishing the cherry between her fingers, before pocketing the butt into her pocket for later use.She turns, grabbing the other end of the bar, helping him to pull the gurney up the small ledge that seperates the parking bay from the outside, the tips of her fingers tinged pale white-blue with cold. Once inside, and one person can handle the weaving motion of the gurney, she lets go, hand thumping the button that sets the bay doors into motion again, slowly creaking down toward the ground.
The docking bay has two levels. One presumably used to put vans, and other vehicles (including a black state behemouth parked in the left hand corner), and remove bodies from their backs and trunks. The other is led to by a ramp, the cement worn from years of usage, bumpy as he navigates the gurney up, following in the wake of Imogen's steps, as she leads up to the door.
Her security badge again lets them through, holding the door open for him to pass her, "Go left," she informs him, and as he follows her instructions, he can see the elevator at the end of the hallway.
Grey tones, depressing lack of colour, it's all familiar to her, and certainly remembered by him. Worn walls, worn floors. It is, as promised, empty. They meet no one going down the hallway and into the large service elevator where her key is inserted and turned, allowing them to proceed down to the first level basement. The morgue.
Doors open, revealing more bleak hallways, almost the same colour as the one's they just left. She begins to walk first, leading the way past the room he'd been in first before, a room where Rune had chased a small hand skittering across the floor, before shoving it in a wastebasket. Not quite as far as the crematorium, two doors away, as she opens the door, leading them into a large room, with great vents for ventilation, and large metal sinks obscuring pratically every wall. Above them cupboards with locks and presumably keys, and below them, more cupboards. A telephone with a stern message in both english in spanish to please not wear gloves when answering the phone. Other messages dot the walls. Wash your hands. No Smoking. Please wear gloves and safety glasses at all times. 6 steel tables, cold and bare, 3 of those with wheels, for easy movement. What is presumably a freezer rests in the far wall.
Her hair is a beacon in all this grey, all this bleakness, vibrant and shocking against the lack of colour, as are her eyes, a deep night sky blue as she turns to face him, her head tilting toward one of the gurneys. One with wheels.
"We need to get it on there. I'll start with x-rays."
[pause]
Posted by james at November 29, 2002 12:00 AM
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