Witches and Stitches

Chapter 2

Chapter Two

A chill runs down my spine as I step into the morgue. While I’ve seen plenty of these places on TV, it’s so different in real life. The smell is similar to a hospital’s, but not quite the same. It’s whatever they’re using to sterilise their instruments, it has such a unique, sharp odour which prickles my nose.

Instinctively, I gravitate towards Ambrose. It’s not like there’s anything to protect me from but being near him makes me feel more reassured. He’s done this plenty of times, he’ll know what to do.

What's it like to meet a pathologist? Do I need to tone myself down for it? I'm not sure I can do that, but it feels as if I should at least try.

"Just through here," Ambrose says, indicating to a metal door with dangly plastic bits. I think they're used to keep dust and birds out.

I make my way through them with Ambrose following behind.

The room beyond is full of metal and looks as if it's popped up straight out of a horror movie. I can't say I'm a fan, even if I know it's like this so it's easy to clean.

A woman with two ponytails and a pink dress greets us with a bubbly wave. “Hey hey!”

Ambrose gives a little wave back. “Hey. Stacey, this is Amethyst. Amy, Doctor Stacey Barnes. She’s the medical examiner.”

I can’t stop staring at the blonde woman with a pink streak in her hair. Actually, it's not just her hair that has some pink in it, everything about her is pink. Even her lab coat seems to have a pink tint to it.

She’s the medical examiner? How cool. Something tells me that I don't need to tone myself down at all.

“Nice to meet you, Doctor Barnes,” I greet, not able to keep myself from smiling. Maybe a lot of people would consider her outfit outrageous considering the tragedy of death but who cares what a person looks like? If she's good at what she does, who cares if she wears pink dresses with little flowers.

“Please, Amethyst, call me Stacey,” she chimes.

“Only if you’ll call me Amy.” It's still odd to have all these people calling me by my full name all the time. The more of them I can get to stop, the better.

She chuckles. “Deal.”

“I like your dress,” I compliment.

“Thanks. I like your nail polish.”

I flash her a grin in return and just like that, I know we’ll get along splendidly. At this rate, the whole PPD is going to love me.

“Ahem.” Ambrose clears his throat. “What did you want to show us?”

“This way,” Stacy instructs, waving us along through the bare hall. The smell of disinfectant intensifies as we step through a set of double doors and into what I assume must be the autopsy area. If Stacey stood out before, she stands out even more between the shiny instruments and pristine white walls.

The metal autopsy tables are all empty except for two. White sheets respectfully cover the bodies and I’m not sure if I’m all that keen to see what’s underneath now I have a chance. Death is much less exciting when it’s real.

Stacey grabs one of the charts and directs us to the body on the right. She looks at me, her expression kind. “This woman was found a couple of days ago near the river. After some tests, I’ve concluded she’s a witch but haven’t been able to establish her identity. The covens keep mostly to themselves so we don’t have a lot of data to go on. I know this is a long shot, but I was hoping you might be able to identify her.”

Her serious voice is a stark contrast to how bubbly and warm she was just minutes ago. If I hadn’t been convinced by her competence already, this would have done it.

She snaps on a pair of latex gloves as she reaches for the sheet. “You can say no,” she informs me gently.

“I can handle it,” I answer. I’ve seen or heard from everyone in my family recently enough not to have to worry about them, but I know plenty of others. If this is someone I know, I owe it to them to bring them home.

I nod to signal I’m ready and Stacey carefully peels back the sheet to reveal a pale face. Her eyes are closed and her expression is serene, considering she’s dead. There are some bruises on her skin but she looks pristine.

Wanting to be sure, I take my time to study her features but I knew my answer the moment her face was revealed.

“I don’t know her,” I say, earning a disappointed look from Stacey.

“I assumed as much. We’ll figure out a different way to identify her,” the medical examiner promises.

“Have you reached out to the Hexagon?” I inquire.

“Yes, but they haven’t got back to us. They don’t acknowledge the authority of the PPD.”

“Right, of course.” I shoot her an apologetic smile. I dislike how little witches want to work with the other paranormal types. “Sorry I couldn’t be of more help.”

“No worries, thank you for coming down here anyway.” She covers the witch with the sheet again, letting her rest in peace once more.

“That’s it?” I ask, glancing at Ambrose. It seems strange that she’d call us both down here for just this.

Stacy shakes her head. “No, I need Ambrose’s assistance with another case. If you wouldn’t mind waiting at the reception?”

“Or I could help?” I suggest, a little too eager. I know I can’t work on every case that comes across Ambrose’s desk but even he has acknowledged my input was invaluable on the ones I do.

“Amy is good,” Ambrose adds.

I’m touched that he’ll vouch for me just like that. This is why we’re such a good team.

The medical examiner hums. “That’s not my call. Call Detective Dean, he’s the lead on this case.”

At least she isn't saying no.

An uncharacteristic groan emits from Ambrose. “Ugggh. Dean is the lead? Why him?”

Stacey shrugs. “I don’t know.”

I don't know Dean very well, I've only met him at the station in passing, but it seems as if Ambrose doesn't like him. I wonder why since Ambrose is such an easy person to get along with. If he doesn’t like dealing with Dean, I don’t want to be the reason he has to.

“I can just wait at the reception,” I suggest, gesturing to the doors. As much as I want to help with the case, I don't want to put Ambrose in a difficult situation to do it.

“No, give me a second. I’ll call him,” Ambrose says, barely sounding annoyed as he reaches for his phone.

He steps out of the morgue, leaving me with Stacey. She smiles at me, some of her bubbliness breaking through again.

“So… How are you finding being a consultant for the PPD?” she inquires.

“Fun. I’ve helped Ambrose with a couple of cases, mostly to do with witches and wands. I’m a wandmaker, so that’s my expertise. What about you?”

Stacey chuckles. “My expertise is death. I’m a necromancer.”

“Oh, really? That’s so cool. I’ve never met a necromancer. At least, I don’t think so.”

“You probably have, you just didn’t know. Most of us don’t like admitting what we are but I’m proud of it.” She shrugs as if it's no big deal, but I can see through the pretence.

“Interesting.”

She hops onto a stool with wheels and gestures to a free one. “Why don’t you have a seat while we wait for Ambrose. He might be a while considering his history with Dean.”

“What history?” I ask as I sit down opposite of her. I want to seem as if I'm asking for a casual reason, but really I want to know so I know whether or not I need to go on a warpath for Ambrose. The morgue seems like a weird place for some classic female gossip but it must be normal for those in the death business. It’s not like the dead can overhear us.

“Dean and Ambrose have a longstanding rivalry. Not sure what about but they don’t get along which is surprising. They’re very similar, actually.”

I glance at the doors Ambrose disappeared through. “Do you think he’ll allow me to consult on this?”

Stacey nods. “I think so. He can’t afford not to.”

“What does that mean?” I ask

Before she can reply, the doors open and Ambrose strides in. He pockets his phone and waves at me. “Dean agreed to the consultation.”

I cheer, only realising how inappropriate that is after my scream is echoing from wall to wall. Oops. I’ll have to adjust my behaviour before they throw me out for being disrespectful.

Satisfied, Stacey hops off the rolling stool and approaches the second body. She reaches to pull off the sheet but pauses. “I have to warn you, this is… It’s disturbing. And I don't say that lightly. I've seen my fair share of weird, but this is beyond that.”

“I can handle it,” Ambrose says as he worriedly glances at me.

Not wanting to lose face when I was the one who asked to help, I nod too. “I’ll be fine.”

Stacey reaches for the sheet and pulls it back, uncovering the whole body. At first glance, it just looks like any other dead body. And I should know, I've seen one now.

Whoever it is lies there, pale, motionless, and caught in eternal sleep.

But if that's the case, what's Stacey talking about when she warned... Oh.

It takes me a moment to spot it, but there are neatly sewed lines along several parts of the body, mostly where it connects to other bits. At first, I assumed it was all part of Stacey's autopsy process. Except I doubt she'd cut off someone's face and sew it back on.

My first thought is that the killer has done a post mortem of their own, but I dismiss that notion as I study the body more and realise that the skin tones and proportions don't match as perfectly as they should. They're close, but they're different enough to make looking at the corpse uncomfortable.

Well. Looking at the corpses is uncomfortable. Wait, is it still a corpse if there's only part of it there?

“Yikes… So let me get this straight… Someone killed…” I count the separate body pieces. “Four people? Cut them up in pieces, stitched them together?”

“Five people,” Stacey corrected. She takes the woman’s head and gently tilts it to the side, exposing the subtle stitches along the ear. “She’s got a new face too.”

That turns my stomach. A wave of disgust rolls over me and I try not to gag.

“Gross. What kind of person does that?” I asked.

The doctor looks at Ambrose. “That’s his job to find out.”

I glance at him too. “So, we’re working this case?”

Ambrose seems unsure. “I thought Dean was the lead?”

“He is, but you’ll be working together with him. When the body came in, I took DNA samples from the various parts and ran them through the system to see if we’d get a match.” Stacey reaches for a closed file on the side and hands it to Ambrose. “I’m sorry.”

I watch Ambrose in silence, not wanting to disturb him. His eyebrows knit together in a dark frown, which can’t mean much good.

“That bad?” I ask softly.

He releases a tense breath. “Damn.”

“Ambrose?” I place a careful hand on his arm. “What is it?”

He shakes his head and covers his mouth with his hand. I don't think I've ever seen him this upset about one of his cases, and that's even having worked with him on several and talked to him about even more.

I need to get him out of here so I can get him some coffee and a chance to collect his thoughts. Maybe then he'll be able to fill me in on what's going on.