[h3][u][b]Part One - Masks[/b][/u][/h3] [i]Chicago - Autumn 2016[/i] The tape recorder clicked to life, it's dark black wheels slowly spinning the tape from one spool to another, etching them with the memory of sound. It was an old fashioned sort of thing. These days they had expensive equipment with sound compression, auto to text transcription and every modern convenience, but death was, at least in Ellie Tregellan’s learned opinion, a conservative business. [b]“Are you sure you want to stay for this?”[/b] she asked one the room’s other occupants and not for the first time. Her voice was cultured and held the slightest hint of a foreign accent, perhaps Welsh or Cornish, but long diluted by prolonged exposure to America. Ellie was an attractive woman, fair of skin and dark of hair with the athletic build of a woman who jogs or swims regularly. Gold framed rectangular spectacles sat on the bridge of her freckled nose giving her a professorial quality. So far she was fighting that mid thirties slide into middle age on all fronts. Two other women shared the small sterile room with her. One was a small mousy brunette with watery eyes, pinch faced and world weary, the other one was, of course, a corpse. The room itself was a wonder of the modern medical mind. Sleek stainless sinks and table tops lined the walls, instruments of all kinds were stacked neatly in their places waiting to be put to use, touch screen monitors hung by adjustable arms, waiting for data. In the wall a large air recycler worked tirelessly to whisk away the melange of unpleasant odors and replace them with cool crisp recycled air. The effect was vaguely unsettling, as if by removing the expected odors it separated the examination room from consensus reality. [b]“Y.. yes.. I need to know that I, you know, did everything I could,”[/b] the brunette responded. Ellie did know, she had been here many times, with people just like this woman. Sometimes people just didn’t want to believe it, death was a hard thing to accept. The brunette looked a little green in the face and Ellie quietly upgraded the likelihood of the woman throwing up to seventy five percent. Both living women were dressed in scrubs. The brunette wore an ill fitting set of a light blue color printed with the words - Chicago Forensic Institute - as well as a matching face mask, hair net and booties. Ellie also wore scrubs, but hers were blue and black in the fashion of a Star Trek medical officer, complete with pin on silver insignia from ThinkGeek. She had been told in no uncertain terms that her favorite set, bright pink and emblazoned with the words ‘I see dead people’, were inappropriate. The face mask and hairnet were standard though. The corpse on the steel table was naked, as was the custom, it’s only decoration where the spattering of gore where its right eye had been and the neat sutures which marked a curious death in the modern age. [b]“Alright, but don’t say I didn’t warn you,”[/b] she said skeptically and pulled on a set of blue non latex exam gloves with a snap. “This is Dr Eleanor Tregellan, performing autopsy on Cassandra Holt, previous autopsies performed by Drs Alexander Cameron and Roger Brioche. Miss Madeline Holt, next of kin, present as an observer.” Ellie picked up a scalpel and began to stalk around the unmoving corpse on the table. [b]“Subject is a caucasian female late twenties to early thirties,”[/b] she noted. [b]“Her name is Cassie,”[/b] Madeline breathed, tears welling up in her eyes. Ellie paused in her examination and arched an eyebrow in gentle rebuke. Madeline fell silent and wipes at her tears. [b]“Close range gunshot wound to the right anterior of the head with significant cranial penetration. Point of entry, anterior head, just above right occipital lobe,”[/b] Elliespoke with practiced detachment, leaning close to press on the edge of the horrific wound with the dull edge of the scalpel. [b]“Bullet appears to have caused patchy skull fractures, patchy subdural hemorrhage, generalized subarachnoid hemorrhage and extensive damage to brain tissue, consistent with small caliber deformed round recovered during previous autopsy. Generalized zone of soot around entry point, consistent with a close range discharge.”[/b] Ellie looked up at the quietly weeping Madeline. [b]“In conjunction with the positive GSR on the victim's right hand, this would tend to suggest the wound was self inflicted.”[/b] [b]“NO!”[/b] Madeline snapped through her sniffles, suddenly furious. [b]“That’s what the others said but Cassie would never kill herself, never!”[/b] Upset she might be but the woman’s voice rang with conviction. Ellie sighed inwardly, so much for dinner plans. [b]“Oookay,”[/b] Ellie replied, drawing the word out like an exhalation, then she lay her scalpel at the top of the Y shaped incision in the naked Cassie’s chest and began to cut. The room filled with the smell of formaldehyde and death as the corpse opened like a flower. Madeline made a choking gagging sound and Ellie made a gesture towards one of the large sinks against the wall. A moment later Ellie’s predicted vomiting odds rose to one hundred percent. Almost two hours later Ellie emerged from the autopsy room her hands still pink from from the vigorous scrubbing. The well lit hallway was empty at this time of night, uncomfortable chairs lined the institutional beige wall, interspersed with occasional artificial plants to brighten the place up. Madeline looked up from the cup of cold cafeteria coffee, her eyes desperate and pleading. She stiffened as she met Ellie’s gaze. [b]“You found something.”[/b] It was not a statement, the woman was suddenly more energised than at any point since she had called to ask for the third autopsy. Ellie looked around the empty hallway making sure they were alone and then she reached into her pocket and produced a printed business card. [b]“Get some sleep Miss Holt, but in the morning, I think you should meet with some associates of mine."[/b] Without another word Ellie turned and began to walk down the hallway. Shivering with relief Melissa Holt look down at the business card and read the words in large neat font. The Sunday Group. ______________________________________ From: ETregellan@Sunday.Com To: KCarter@Sunday.com; Occultman19@gmail.com; isiis@saivmalone.ie; FGrant@Sunday.com; LSmith@Sunday.com; MBlackwood@Sunday.com CC: BCC: ASunday@Sunday.com Subject: Morning Meeting The prelim I spoke about yesterday panned out after all. Meeting the client 8am tomorrow. Better pack a travel bag, I can feel the miles on this one. E ______________________________________