Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

There was a glowing orb in your room, high up near the ceiling and floating lazily about in a soft yellow.  Despite it's small size and dim light, it still seemed to brighten up the darkness pretty well.  It's lethargic movements would drift high and low for a few moments while it's fluorescence seemed to gradually go out, making it invisible in the shadows before it suddenly reappeared in another part of the room, bright and luminous as before.  The light did this for a while, going in and out and hovering gently in the air before landing on your vanity mirror and brightening up it's gold frame.

You watched it with a frown, eyes still bleary from sleep and mind running at zero percent.  Your alarm clock was blinking near your head, it's spot on your nightstand flashing a series of red numbers at you and making you flinch.


...3:13AM...3:13AM...3:13AM...3:13AM...


Two hours before you had to get up, three hours before you had to leave for work, and four hours until you had to deal with people.  To you, that was too many hours of time you could be sleeping instead of watching some stupid lightning bug glide around your bedroom.  

Your eyes flitted to your window and narrowed, seeing it cracked open just as you had left it last night.  There were more of them flying close by, glowing between the leaves of the solid oak tree outside your window and waiting for their friend to give them the okay to come inside.

Why the hell did you leave it open again?  Surely you would've learned by now that all sorts of critters liked to slip their way into your house without invitation.  Remember the snake?  I'm sure you don't want a repeat of that.

"It'd felt so good outside," You muttered out loud, flinging a weary arm over your eyes so you could block out all distractions.


Does it feel good now?


You frowned, rubbing your legs together and feeling the perspiration practically drip off you.  What had been a wonderful, breezy night had turned into a humidity clogged morning, the disgusting heaviness of moisture blanketing the air and making you sweat like crazy.  Your hair stuck to your face in damp strands and made it seem like you'd just hopped out of the bath and plopped down for a nap, you skin feeling icky whenever you moved to brush a strand away.

Sometime during the night you'd kicked your blankets off, not liking that they'd clung to you in the heat and forced you to lay spread eagle for any kind of cool air you could get.  You glared down at your sweaty limbs, feeling like a damp sponge left in a shower.  At least you had the sense to wear next to nothing to bed every night; whether it be short shorts, tank top, giant t-shirt, or butt naked - it was barely enough to fight the gross Louisiana weather.

You glanced back at your clock, scowling when you saw that three minutes had passed.  Three precious minutes of wondrous sleep, gone.

Groaning, you sat up and tugged at your tank top, feeling it stick to your skin for just a moment before it pulled away from your flushed body.  A sigh of relief slipped past your lips as a small brush of air passed between your damp clothes, finding yourself much more awake and resigned to waking up ungodly early.

Your eyes strayed back to the lightning bug, the little insect resting on your mirror and lighting up every few seconds.  You stood and padded over to it, bare feet curling on the hardwood floor and feeling the wood slightly swollen from the thick humidity clouding the room.

Don't leave the window open.  
Don't leave the window open.
Don't leave the window open.

You said this over and over in your head as you cupped your hands around the bug, watching it's light color your fingers in a delicate yellow.  The bug didn't seem to mind your presence, crawling over your palm and fluttering it's tiny wings as you started to move across the room.  These were one of the few insects that never seemed to bother you, with their lazy flying, unobtrusive size, and light up butts; they were cute.

"Hard to believe you guys are cannibals," You yawned, pushing your hands out the window and shaking them until the lightning bug took the hint and flew away.  You then pushed down on the window frame, the white wood almost too swollen to move until you used your full weight.  It shut with a loud thump and you stepped away while fanning your face, the room feeling a million times more stuffy.

You turned to look at your alarm clock.


...3:21AM...3:21AM...3:21AM...3:21AM...


You sniffed in annoyance, wiping the back of your neck of any moisture lingering beneath your hair.  Gross.  You needed a shower.

Not bothering to turn on the light, you padded around the room and looked for a set of clean towels along with your cigarettes, which were slightly crushed in your jeans pocket.  You looked at the crumpled package and sighed, feeling like it was going to be one of those days.

Y'know, where everything just sucked.

You opened the door to the large hallway and immediately stopped, a habit as old as this house making you refuse to step out of your room until you made sure nothing tripped you.  You looked down and sighed, spotting the large lump of orange fur spread out and in your way.  His pointed ears twitched when you nudged his back with your foot, the tabby cat looking up at you with large, green eyes.

"Orange Juice, you fat bastard."  You slowly stepped over him, his head following your leg movement while his tail flicked leisurely and curled.  He meowed that sweet, baby meow of his and you to replied back.  "You're gonna be sorry when I step on you one day."

He stood up and arched into a big stretch, his back fat effectively hiding any signs of him having a neck.  Once he finished he slowly turned to slip into your room but you stopped him by closing the door behind you.

"No."  

Orange Juice sat down and stared at the door, watching your hand leave the knob before he pushed his paws beneath the wood, pitiful looking as he tried to push it open.  You rolled your eyes at the hefty feline and proceeded down the hall, glad to feel that it was slightly cooler then it'd been in your room.  

Tussling your hair and airing it out, you walked past a few ornate looking doors and by the large staircase that led down to the main floor of the house, wide and fancy like the stairs from Gone With the Wind; not the ones from the first house, but the Atlanta home where Scarlet lived with Rhett Butler and their daughter.

...But not as gaudy.

Or red.

You walked past the staircase and looked down, seeing the front door just at the end of the stairs and noting the porch light was flickering on and off again.  Nothing new, you'll fix it whenever you had the time.  Just like you'll fix the window screen in the sun room, the leaky pipe in the kitchen, and the chandelier in the study.  Not at all perturbed that your house was in need of some repair, you made it to the bathroom at the other end of the hall and felt around the left side of the wall until you found the light.  Your fingers found it easily and flicked the switch, eyes squinting and blinking when you were blinded by brightness hitting the white tiles and baby blue wallpaper.  

It was an average bathroom with above average furnishings; hand-carved cabinets housing a modern sink that had been a bitch to install and a large mirror sitting on it's surface and making the area look twelve times bigger.  The room was already big to begin with without the added reflection, it's wide space leaving enough room to house two wardrobes on the other wall that held different kinds of bathroom products for both men and women.  The actual toilet wasn't even in here, instead it was located in a decent sized closet against the wall where one could close the door for extra privacy.

The room was built to center around the classic, clawfoot tub.  Looking like something out of an old documentary, the bathtub was stationed near the back wall in pristine white porcelain with brass lion feet coming out of it's base, the metal paws glinted a brownish-gold against the tiled floor along with it's telephone style faucet curving up over the back.  There was a bit of space between the wall and the tub, leaving enough room to open the balcony doors that led outside to the terrace that stretched all the way to the other side of the house and to the second set of balcony doors that opened to your bedroom.

It was overly extravagant and stupid, but you couldn't help but be fond of the idea that you could go outside right from this bathroom and walk right back to your room, completely naked.

You've done it, of course.

These were the pros to owning an old, plantation home.  Fancy living, lots of rooms, crazy old furniture and appliances; not to mention the wealth of history that seemed to settle over this place.  It wasn't an Oak Alley Plantation or Evergreen Plantation, but it was still incredible.  

The home was built around the 1840's with a large amount of land for farming, raising animals, and other old practices.  The original family had lost it sometime around the Civil War and was passed around a few hands before your late grandmother bought it and moved in with you and your older brother.  About a year or two later, the old biddy had passed away and left an eight year old you in the care of seventeen year old brother who was only a few months from graduating high school.  What made it worse was that you'd still be trying to settle in this new state, it's humid weather, melting pot of cultures, wild parties, and strange ghost tours mixed with voodoo magic had completely thrown you for a loop.  You hadn't made it easy on your sibling during those years, especially not when you turned into a teen yourself.

Adam had taken the responsibility of the home quite well, skipping college to work and pay off repairs to keep the place in good shape.  He had updated the bathrooms and kitchen, fixed up the garden in the back, converted the old barn a few yards away into a makeshift garage and sold off the farmland to the state before it had slowly turned into a swamp.  Money hadn't been a big problem after that, enabling him to find a job he loved at a car garage where he'd met a dozen of amazing people who still came to bug you on your days off.

It was understandable, the house was located in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by swampland and an hour drive from town.  There were no neighbors to visit and deliver pies, no locals nearby to wave hello to when you went out to get the newspaper that will never be delivered, and all sorts of wildlife walking around sticking their noses where they didn't belong; you couldn't blame them for worrying.  But you were tough, what with only a teen brother to raise you and most of your high school years being a complete mess, you were pretty sure you could handle any shit thrown your way.

And your reward?

Why, taking a long relaxing bath then walking out onto the terrace completely nude and no one around but you to enjoy it.

You washed yourself lazily in the tub, taking as much time as you needed to get rid of any sweat and lingering mugginess that had soaked into your skin.  Once you were satisfied, you rose and pulled the plug on the bath before grabbing your pack of cigarettes and your lighter to head outside.  You opened the doors wide and gave out a long, relaxing sigh.  Despite the disgusting humidity outside, you still enjoyed the air against your naked, wet skin.  It was always a thrilling experience to walk out like this, so high up and looking over most of your land with nothing to cover you or keep you from prying eyes.  It was a great way to break the monotony of your everyday life without doing anything too crazy.

You leaned against the white railing and pulled out a crumpled cigarette, careful not to scratch any sensitive areas on your body against the wood but still pressing close so you could relax.  Once lit, you placed your lighter on the banister and blew out a long puff of smoke, mind blank as you gazed over your property while the crickets chirped out whatever music they had left before sunrise.

There was a long gravel drive just out front of your house, stretching and curving slightly all the way to the old iron gates just half a mile away.  On both sides of the gravel driveway was a sporadic placement of evergreen trees, their limbs and brush draped in live moss that hung down low and swayed in the slightest breeze.  A few oak trees were sprinkled here and there among the evergreens, one of them by the barn holding an old tire swing Adam had set up when you were younger.

It too swung lazily against the breeze, twirling and twisting on it's rope while the old oak's branches leaned a little too close to the barn.  You wondered if this was the year that damn tree would finally fall onto the building, it's branches scratching against the shoddy roof while also chipping away at whatever red paint was left on it's walls.  You inhaled, hoping the building held up for just another year so you could get the money to upgrade it.  It was the only place you could store your vehicles during the harsh hurricane season and you rather not have your means of transportation destroyed.

You scowled and took another hit, smoke forming a little halo around your head as you wondered if you could ask for more hours to get the money quicker.  Many plans formed in your head as you finished up your cigarette, from asking for a raise to finally opening your place to the public for little tours, whatever it took to get cash fast.  Though, you would prefer to keep your home off the tourist map and plantation tours, knowing you would lose all semblance of privacy if you did so.  People would come and go in droves, asking questions you knew nothing about in a home you've only had for a handful of years.  

You stubbed out your cigarette and huffed, wishing this place was haunted so you could just have people stay the night for a good scare, much easier then a historical tour.  Going back inside, you grabbed a towel and patted yourself dry as you tried to think of different ways to beg for overtime, knowing it was the only doable option you had left.

Maybe they'll let you drive the van like old times...

Walking back to your room, you pushed Orange Juice out of the way and stepped back into your room and grabbed a clean pair of jeans and a t-shirt before looking at yourself in the mirror, noting your hair was dry before you'd had time to style it.  It looked pretty messy so you ran your hand through it a few times, the hair looking slightly frizzy and rumpled despite your grooming.  When your hair refused to settle how you wanted it to, you kind of shrugged and left it alone, knowing there wasn't anyone you were really trying to impress.

With that in mind, you went about your usual make-up routine, which consisted of a tube of cherry-red chapstick and a few pats on the cheeks.  Simple and effective.  You pressed your lips and smeared the lipgloss around until you were satisfied then walked back out of your room, narrowly avoiding the orange tabby who was sitting right outside the door.

"God damn it, OJ!!"

He ignored you, getting halfway into your room before you snatched him up and walked back out.  You gave the cat a good scolding as you closed the door and headed downstairs, knowing he was too lazy to try and squirm out of your arms like most cats would do.  He knew he was getting a free ride to the kitchen anyways, a place where he could bury his nose into whatever food you decided to eat.

Spoiled bastard.


~


You unlatched the lock to the barn and pulled at the large doors, grunting as the door refused to open for a few moments until the hinges finally gave way.  You almost stumbled backwards as the doors swung outward, their wide sweep dragging gravel, pebbles, and bottle caps with them as you propped them open.  The motion sensor light immediately switched on, lighting up the double-wide building and it's tools inside.

The old building had been falling apart when you all first moved in, mold eating at the walls, creatures living in it's burrows, roof caving in, everything that could be broken completely useless.  Your brother had had his work cut out for him, but he took on the challenge with his usual positive attitude.  It'd taken Adam his whole sophomore year of high school to get the building safe enough to use, most of it sporting rotten wood and weak boards that would cave as soon as someone so much as looked at them.

Once he'd managed to get the building useable, shelfs and a little loft were installed and converted into a makeshift work shop.  Many items ranging from hammers and screwdrivers to buzz saws and a nail gun now littered an entire interior wall while in the back was a ladder that led to the loft, this area holding most if not all the work tables where Adam would spend hours tinkering.  



You ran out of the house and felt a blast of the summer heat hit your face, sweat already forming at your forehead as you jumped down from the front porch and just barely stuck the landing.  Stumbling up, you wiped any loose gravel from your palms before you went back to running towards the barn.  You were just on the verge of hitting puberty, legs growing out like string beans and making it hard to find your balance while bandaids littered your knees where you'd accidentally bumped into furniture; no corner was safe from your knobby legs and hissed curses during these first few years at the house.

Only one door was open, signaling that someone was still inside.  Rushing in, you looked around until you saw a head of hair the same color as yours, bobbing up and down to the radio blasting next to him.  Queen's "Under Pressure" vibrated throughout the room and you could vaguely hear a second voice singing along with the lyrics, extremely out of tune and hilariously cringeworthy.

"Adam!!"

The second voice stopped while the music went on without him.  A thin teen poked his head out from the railing in the loft, scanning the room before they landed on you.  His face was covered in oil and grease while a bandana was wrapped around his head to keep sweat from pouring into his eyes.

He grinned widely, eyes crinkling and blue pupils shining bright with cheerfulness.  

"Hey, Sunshine."



You smiled, staring at the loft as a sense of nostalgia flowed through you for a few moments before you walked inside.  The middle of the barn was taken up by your black Volvo 740, affectionately named Betty.  It was an old car and pretty banged up, but she was reliable and got you where you needed to go.

Next to her was a 39 Knucklehead motorcycle, an antique bike your brother had found in a junkyard and spent years getting it back to working condition.  The vehicle looked good as new and much more fancier then Betty, it's maroon and banana yellow paint shining under the barn light.  You walked over to the bike and gently slid a finger over one of the handlebars, frowning as a light layer of dust rubbed onto your skin.  You'll have to clean it when you got home.  You checked your watch and sighed, knowing it would take a good hour to get to town and another fifteen minutes to set up your station.  

Let's see, keys, wallet, sunglasses...shit.  You needed to grab your jacket, it went everywhere with you no matter how hot this damn state got.

You went back to the house, jumping over a few dips in the ground where giant puddles would form when it rained, even forming into a moat when it really poured.  

The outside of the house wasn't in any better shape then the grounds, moss and entwining vines climbing up the sides and coloring the white paint with dark greens.  Most of the foliage was out of control and would take a solid week to fully clean off the property, especially the vines that seemed to twist around the four thick pillars that started at the top of the porch and stretched up to the base of the roof.  Some of the greenery was even starting to grasp onto the catwalk, moss hanging down on different spots of the balcony like a thick curtain.

The porch light flickered when you skipped the first two steps, heavy footfalls making it swing on it's long chain that connected to the bottom of the terrace.  You pulled out your keys and unlocked the front door, stepping aside for Orange Juice who trotted past.  You looked around the grand entrance for a moment before spotting the jacket hanging off the stair railing, just where you'd last left it.  

It was a high school letterman jacket, it's torso a cardinal red while the sleeves were white with their cuffs striped in both colors.  The coat was a zip up instead of buttoned like most you've seen and had a big white A embroidered on the right breast.  You walked over and grabbed it, feeling the worn wool between your fingers and glad that it was as soft as ever.  You slipped it on and sighed, feeling at ease when the sleeves stopped just at the tips of your fingers and the hem reached down below your butt.  It was obviously too big for you, but you liked it that way.

Satisfied, you walked back out the front door and called out a "Be Back Later", despite knowing no one would answer back, then locked it.  You could see Orange Juice out of the corner your eye, the big lard trying to find the best spot on the porch for when the sun finally came all the way up.  He ended up settling in front of one of the rocking chairs and plopped right down, stretching out and looking long like a fat snake.

You waved at him before jumping off the top of the porch, clearing all five steps and landing on your feet without trouble.  You gave your legs a bit of a stretch before going back to the barn.  In the distance, the sun was starting to peek over the trees and glare into your eyes.  You held up your hand to block the light and sighed, knowing you were running behind schedule now.

Wake up early, but still arrive late.  Sounds like an average day.


~


About half an hour into your drive did you come to a fork in the road, the right leading through some backroads and past a few swamplands before one was an hour away from New Orleans.  The left road was twenty minutes out from town and where you worked.  The name of the little city was a long, complicated french word that roughly translated to "The King's Paradise"; something no local ever called it.  Instead, everyone referred to it asBackwater.  

You all called it that because your town seemed to always get whatever tourists New Orleans couldn't hold.  If most the hotels or inns were booked then Backwater got whatever was left over.  It was good for the economy and kept most of the local shops up and running, but it wasn't nearly enough to keep the place up to date and nice looking like New Orleans.

Whatever, at least you didn't have to deal with the hassle of too many tourists.  

You turned left and blasted the radio, knowing you were coming into range of some of the local stations.  Crackling music came out of the speakers as you drove for another twenty minutes before switching over to local news.

It wasn't long before you were pulling into a parking lot of a boring looking building, red bricked and unassuming in the dim light with only a couple of cars parked.  You parked near the two cars you recognized and sighed, trying to pat down your hair a little before getting out.  You searched your pockets for a second, making sure you had your keycard to get inside and quickly found it in your left pocket.  Once located did you lock your doors, letting out a small yawn and a scowl as you walked up to the side doors that led to the back offices.

Swiping your card, you waited for the little light on the machine to turn green before turning the knob and stepping inside.  Cool air brushed over your skin and made you visibly relax, glad to be out of that horrible humidity before you melted like the Wicked Witch of the West.  You could always count on your workplace to be cold - no matter if it was summer or winter.  It had to be.

Or else the bodies would start to smell.

You worked at the town's coroner's office as a Morgue Assistant, helping prep dead bodies for autopsy and even performing a few yourself.  You'd been working here for a good seven years, starting out as a van driver who went to go pick up corpses, then to filing paperwork and observing the Pathologist as they did their job at studying the organs and identifying diseases.  It had taken a bit, but you were this close to getting your very own office, having proved your worth (and strong stomach) by performing the best quality cuts and filing anyone ever has.

It'd been really weird at first, but you caught onto things quickly and found yourself enjoying your job, no matter how morbid it seemed to be...

You walked past a few offices, most with their lights off and doors locked while the few that were open had a handful of people too busy to look up from their papers to talk.  After a few more steps, you made it to a large room that had most of the desks arranged in neat rolls, looking bland in the white light with the room's eggshell colored walls and cold tile floors.  It looked nothing like the movies, just a plain office that gave the interns and assistants a place to work.  

You walked to your desk and turned on your computer, letting it boot up before checking your emails for what you had to do before the Pathologist came in.

Clean the tools.
File organ weights and sign transfers.
Wait for the funeral home to come pick up a body.

"Oh," You grinned at one of your tasks for today.  "Autopsy~."

Looks like you were cutting up someone today.  You opened the file attached to this email and read over the report, learning that it was an adult male found dead and washed up with some of the exhumed remains that had just been mentioned on the radio.  How lucky for you.

The male was currently named "John Doe" due to him having no identification on him.  It listed his weight, height and appearance in a small paragraph, along with all of the belongings found on him that was stored away in a locker.  You read over what you had to do before putting your computer in sleep mode, then you searched around your desk until you found your mini-tape recorder.  You didn't really need this, but you felt it helped filing away information a lot easier and you didn't have to worry about remembering measurements to write down later.

Once you had all that you needed, you left the office area of the building and made your way to the freezer where all the bodies that came through were kept.  You stopped by the supply closet and grabbed a pair of gloves, goggles, a smock and apron knowing things can get pretty messy; you even had to wear little booties on your shoes or else they'd get ruined.  Putting all this on over your clothes, you proceeded to the freezer and used your keycard to get inside.

The first thing you saw was a few metal tables arranged in a row, much like how your desk was in the shared office.  Most of the tables were empty, while two actually had human remains, both in black body bags and zipped up from view.

You blinked and walked over to the closest one, unzipping the bag and found yourself looking at an old woman who was already stitched up and waiting to be shipped off.  This was probably the body the funeral home was going to pick up later, so you zipped it back up and went to the other corpse further down the row.

Hanging off the side of the table was a clipboard with most of the subject's information that had been listed in the email, along with a signature on who signed off on what and who had stored away the belongings.  You were thankful you didn't have to undress the guy alone, seeing as the night shift assistants had taken his stuff and locked it up as evidence.  Dead bodies are super heavy and annoying.

You reread all the information before turning on your recorder, "Testing testing."

You pressed stop then rewound the tape, waiting just half a second before you pressed play and heard your voice through the speaker.  You brought the recorder back to your mouth and started your report.

"Case number 2-981.  Subject Name: John Doe.  Date: March 16th, 2016."  You spoke into the recorder all the information relevant to you on the chart, taking a good ten minutes before you finally unzipped the bag and got a good look at your patient.

You were surprised to find a handsome face beneath the black cloth, expecting to see an unknown corpse who'd just been pulled from his grave by rising water levels.  He had a stern looking face, sharp and angled like a bird while his ebony hair looked permanently wind blown.  You noted his hair was short and still had a soft gleam to it, much like healthy living person.  He had thin sideburns that met with a neatly trimmed beard and mustache that looked exotic and well maintained (not many guys could pull this look off).

"Subject is male with black hair and beard."  You reached forward and pushed back one of his eyelids, frowning when you couldn't figure out his eye color due to his eyes being rolled all the way back.  "Eye color unknown.  Male is...mixed Caucasian, most likely with Spanish and...Russian ancestry?"

Russian wasn't quite right, but you weren't an expert on this kind of thing.  You just cut people open, not track their family tree.

"Appears to be healthy."  His skin had a slight grey tinge to it though, so he was most likely starting the decomposing process.  You stared at his face again, feeling like if he were alive he'd be giving you a stern lecture on proper identifying procedures. 

You zipped the rest of the body bag down past his torso and waist then all the way to his feet before pulling it off.  Then you stared for a very long time.

"Holy shit..."  You muttered, feeling a bit thrown off at how great he looked.  

His chest seemed wide but so lithe too, muscles hardened and sculpted like a greek statue while his abs looked exceptionally firm.  You couldn't help but stare at his torso for a while, noting that you could probably do an amazing load of laundry on those washboard abs.  

"Subject most definitely worked out in his spare time."  You didn't record that, but you felt like it needed to be said.  You set the recorder down and making sure it kept recording, needing both hands now to start the process but still take notes.

In order for one to make it as a Morgue Technician, one had to look at the all gross things as interesting.  Like, "It's interesting that this guy died of unknown causes" and not, "Ew, there's a dead body in front of me".  Or, "I get to look at things most of the population has never seen in real life" instead of "Oh god, those things are insideme?!".  It was kind of like...imagining people in their underwear when making a speech, it made things easier on your psyche and stopped you from becoming an anxious mess.

The first thing you did was check his body for any marks that may help you find out how he died, things like bullet wounds, cuts, bruising, possible gun residue.  You finished this check up at his neck, looking carefully for any bruising that may link to strangulation before deciding it was something internally.   You took a few hair and blood samples to be looked at later then picked up the scalpel on the tool table, checking it's edge to make sure it was properly clean before you put it at the base of the dead man's neck.

You took a deep breath, making sure your hands were steady before pushing the blade semi-deep in his throat, watching drops of blood spill out.  You frowned, unsure why he was still bleeding if he was already turning grey but proceeded to cut his torso from his collar bone and all the way to his naval, his chest opening wide and allowing you a view into his body.

With one of the more nerve-wracking cuts finished, you set down your scalpel and studied the contents of the body, taking note the heart seemed to look about normal size then leaned closer when you noticed something off.

"Subject's ribs are cracked in six visible places.  Possible blunt force to the chest as cause of death."  You reached in and ran a latex finger over one of the rib bones, seeing a crack running up it.  You studied the other areas of the chest and stepped back, looking thoughtful as you planned the next step of the autopsy; organ removal.

You went to a shelf and pulled a plastic bag out of a box, airing it open and taking it back to the body to put the organs in after you weighed them.  You were just about to pick up the bone saw to cut open the ribs when you kicked something with your foot.  Thinking you dropped a tool, you looked down and noticed something gold gleaming under the metal table.

It looked like a...necklace?  You bent down and took off one of your bloody gloves before picking the item up, giving it a good long, narrowed eye stare.  The item was in the shape of a cross, thick and large and hanging on a gold snake chain.  You rubbed a finger over the smooth surface and scowled, knowing exactly what this was.  One of the assistants must have dropped it when they were bagging this guy up and now it had to be locked up or get your ass chewed for "stealing".

"Damn it," You muttered under your breath as you took off your other glove.

You had to get this to filing before anyone misses it.  You checked the clipboard carefully and made note of who had been the one to lock up the belongings so you could give them a little warning so it wouldn't happen again. Stepping out of the room, you made your way down the hall with the necklace in hand, drops of blood staining the front of your apron and smock and making it look like you'd just come out of surgery.

Deciding it best to keep this quiet, you slipped towards the office part of the building to store the necklace in your desk where you could file it after you finish the report.  You didn't want to get anyone in trouble and you really didn't want to deal with the paperwork you'd have to file on the assistant.  You remember very well how the former Morgue Tech had tormented you when you were just a van driver, calling you out on the stupidest shit until they finally transferred and you promoted.  

No way were you going to be that guy.

You made it to the shared office and was relieved to see no one was in yet, still just a little too early for the rest of the crew.  Swinging the chain on your fingers a little, you walked to your desk and opened the bottom drawer, pushing aside some files and a rubix cube before dropping the jewelry inside.  You closed the drawer with your foot and left the room, now more inclined to finish the autopsy quickly so you could avoid more people when you filed the object away.

It felt like the trek back to the freezer took forever, having to take a different hall the second time through when you saw the janitor start to clean up your usual route.  But you finally made it after your stop by the supply closet for more latex gloves, even avoiding a conversation with one of your more annoying coworkers in your office when you waved them off and pointed to your bloody clothes.  The man had visibly paled at the sight and went back to staring at his computer, making you snicker under your breath that he couldn't handle the morbid side of the job.

You swiped your keycard when you made it to the entrance of the lab, waiting for the little light on the machine to turn green before stepping inside.  You hummed softly to yourself as you pulled the clean gloves on, going through the usual motions of picking up the bone saw over on the counter and taking it with you to the empty metal table.

...

...Wait.

Empty?

You blinked and stared long and hard at the gurney, wondering if your eyes were playing tricks on you.  Then you noticed your tool table had been knocked over, scalpels, syringes, and everything all over the ground, contaminated with blood and dirt.  You looked back at the empty table, bone saw clutched tightly in your hand as you wondered where the dead body had gone.

"...What the fuck."