11:25pm, 143 Crown Way



"Sirs?" Her words echoed in the sterile waiting room of the hospital. The sheen of white tiles decorated the floor and half-way up the wall before egg-shell colored wall paper ascended to the cast ceiling.



Her hands raised to cover her mouth as three officers entered from the cold and dreary rain that perpetrated the streets of Rookhelm. She hoped that some Doctors had not already left for the evening. The officers, three of them that gathered in the sitting room, were each soaked through their coats. Their eyes were heavy, dark circles that spoke of late nights and gruesome work.



These were the typical folk that Lillian would see in the late hours. However, what set them apart was the heavy weight that they carried themselves. The two men in the back carried a stretcher with a white tarp thrown over it. A cadaver, undoubtedly. The older of the three, perhaps the most senior of the officers, stood with hands folded behind his back. He puffed his chest as he looked down his nose at the secretary.



"Sorry to disturb you at such a late hour, Miss." The senior officer bowed his head towards her. "Is there a Doctor in house? We-" The officer paused, and cleared his throat. "I am Officer Daubin. We are returning from an active crime scene, and are hoping that a Doctor may be able to shed some light on it."



Lillian blinked, and took a deep breath. "Of course, Officer Daubin. I will go see if we have any residents in house." She collected a series of papers, stacking them on top of one another before passing them to the officer. "If you could fill those out, it will make the process much easier."



"Of course, Ma'am." Officer Daubine collected the stack of papers along with a pen, getting to work.



Lillian smoothed her skirts as she stood, walking around the curved edge of her desk and making her way down the hallway. She passed by the resident's wing, where a handful of Doctors were chatting among themselves over some fresh coffee she brewed no more than thirty minutes ago.



The look in the officer's eyes and the lack of any crimson stain on the sheet told her of the doctor she should seek out. This was the third in the last month and she thanked her lucky stars that they were not the same officers as last time.



She turned down a hall and knocked at a heavy wooden door. She waited a moment before hearing a man's voice within, 'Enter'. She glanced at the plaque on the door once, reading the name quietly before entering. The plaque on the door, a decorative piece of brass on a dark wooden door, read Doctor Percival Zachariah Livingstone.



"Doctor Livingstone?" Lillian stood at the precipice of his office, her hands gathered neatly in front of her skirts.



"We have another one."





Click, pop and spark. The room was quickly illuminated in the soft-orange light of the gas lamps. The sheen of metallic lockers decorated the wall as Doctor Livingstone took the handle and opened one. In a swift motion, the tray slid out for the officers to lay the deceased upon.



"Thank you for seeing us so late, Doctor Livingstone," Officer Daubine held his hat in his hands, fingers nervously creasing its edge. "We would not have come in if it was not so urgent."



The Doctor stood at the other side of the tray, his longer dark hair was slicked back in a professional manner. He had the complexion of a man who spent much of his time indoors and studying. "No issue, officer. It is what I am paid for, after all."



"Yes, of course sir- Doctor." The Officer fumbled over his words.



Doctor Livingstone held up one hand, a coy and almost playful smile on his lips. "No need for the formalities such as that with me, officer. I know who I am, and I do not need others to stroke my ego to reinforce that."



The officer let out a nervous chuckle. "Right. Of course sir." He cleared his throat. "Boys? If you would."



The two other officers carried the stretcher over to the tray, gently laying her down before stepping back behind their superior officer. Each had their head bowed in either reverence, respect, or general unease. The Doctor's gaze was a piercing one that carried very little emotion.



"We was hoping that you may be able to help us pinpoint the cause of death. When we arrived, we found her… Well," He paused, taking hold of the tarp. "You'll see for yourself."



With a swift movement the tarp was lifted away to reveal the still terrified and pained expression of the young Octavia Halliwell. Doctor Livingstone looked over the paperwork that the Officer filled out when Lillian summoned him. He hummed quietly as he took in the details - Name, occupation, address, and everything else that the officers managed to get from an undoubtedly hysteric relative or friend.



He glanced at the gaping wound across her neck.



"So, what do you think Doc?" Officer Daubin spoke, a nerve to his voice edged with impatience.



"It was a suicide," He stated simply. He glanced up towards the officers who gave him blank stares, almost shocked at his explanation. He saw one move to speak before he held up his hand and gave an exasperated sigh.



"Here," Doctor Livingstone took his pen, gesturing towards the wound at the side of her neck. "From what I can gather, this is the initial puncture wound. The blade was well pointed, clearly, but it was not sharp. She must have quickly realized what she had done, the pain and shock of her own actions taking hold, and tried to rip whatever blade she used out. Something caught," His pen followed the length of the wound that opened her neck.



"Cutting her anterior and interior jugular, she might have thrashed about as her blood was leaving her at an astonishing rate that not even the greatest of Doctors could have saved her from." He paused, taking his pen and setting it to the side, eyes cast up towards the officers.



"Were you able to find her blade?" His voice was low.



"Uh-" Officer Daubin blinked and quickly shook his head. "No, Sir."



Doctor Livingstone sighed heavily and shook his head, "Then head back to the scene of the crime and do a thorough search!" There was an annoyance to his voice. "If you are able to find the blade she used, it'll help me greatly in making her autopsy report."



The Officers paused, and quickly nodded. "Of course sir. Right away."



The trio of men collected their hats and placed them atop their heads once more, bowing to the Doctor before quickly making their exit from the room. A moment passed as Lillian stood in the corner and quickly approached. Doctor Livingstone took a deep breath before looking towards her. "Wire Richie immediately. I need him at the scene before those Officers. Dull but pointed knife."



"Of course, sir." Lillian bowed her head and quickly made her way to the communications hall. It was going to be a long night.

Chapter Two



6:22pm, 143 Crown Way



The carriage rattled over the uneven cobbles of the street, coming to a stop at last in front of Rookhelm's hospital.



The door opened immediately with a squeak of resistance. Georgiana stepped down without assistance, the dark navy of her skirts swishing around her. Her hair was caught up in a simple but elegant way, hanging down the back in long curls.



The hospital rose from the street; a massive, two-story brick structure with many windows and a wide stair leading to the large oaken double doors. Behind it, the sky was a darkening, smokey gray, any blue drowned out by heavy clouds. It smelled like rain.



"Don't wait," she called. The cabby nodded, and with a snap of the reins, the horses clopped on down the street, the carriage rattling along behind.



She marched up the steps to the doors, only glancing over her shoulder once. The gas street lamps down the street were being lit one by one, and evening was settling over the city in earnest. Georgiana only hoped she wasn't too late.



The doors were heavy, but gave under her push. Inside, a massive desk was centered in front of the door, with room for several staff behind it. Given the hour, she wasn't surprised to find only one.



She approached the desk with a brisk step, leaning over it slightly to look at who she was addressing. She wasn't a remarkably tall woman, but the structure itself was solid and reached chest height even on her.



"Good evening, which way to the morgue?"



The young man at the main desk looked up at her, shuffling some papers into a more or less organized stack. A typewriter sat next to him. His hat hung on the back of his chair, and his reddish hair was unruly. It seemed a tad out of place considering that the rest of him was neatly put-together; from the pressed trousers and crisp white shirt, to the evenly space suspenders and watch chain peeking from his pocket. Spectacles sat on the bridge of his nose, and he only gave her a cursory glance before pointing down the hall.



"Down that hall until the end, then take a right. Can't miss it." He pulled a fresh form from a stack, eyes flicking up to her again. "Miss…?"



"Fletcher."



"Reason for your visit?" He sounded bored.



"My friend- she died. I'm here to see her before the funeral."



"My condolences Miss Fletcher." He nodded distractedly, typing away. After a long moment that had Georgie examining the wood grain of the desk, he cleared his throat. She looked up expectantly, hands stilling their fidgeting.



He handed her a paper and a fountain pen,"Sign here, and give it to Miss Lillian at the Morgue entrance. She'll let you in."



A scrawled signature and several moments later, Georgie found her way down the hall. They smelled of ammonia, sickness, and cleaner. She stopped when her path was obstructed by yet another desk.



A young woman with light brown hair and intelligent eyes manned this one. She had glasses and a long braid down her back. Lillian, presumably. Georgiana prayed that the process would be as easy as the first attendant said.



"Good evening, I was told to see you about morgue visitation." She stepped up to the desk, sliding the form across the top. "I won't be long."





Lillian saw the flicker of movement in her periphery, fingers typing away at her typewriter. The mechanical clacking and snapping filled the silence that would have been pervasive in such a space. She adjusted her glasses as she looked up towards the new woman, and the already filled piece of paperwork in her hands.



Lillian simply raised her finger, silently asking for a moment. Ding. She slid the paper back to the other side and began typing once more. She filled out an entire line before glancing up towards Georgiana. Lillian simply held out her hand for the paperwork, a soft smile on her lips as she looked it all over. Seems that Reggie was bored.



He always filled out the paperwork when he was bored.



"Miss Fletcher," Lillian smiled. It was a smile that was well practiced. Georgiana Fletcher was a name that stuck to the forefront of her mind. Lillian gathered some sheets of paperwork, stacking them neatly atop one another before pressing them along the smooth stone surface of the desk in Georgiana's direction.



"I'll have you fill those out - Name, date, and who you are seeking to visit," Lillian stood, her hands smoothing her skirts as she did so. "In the mean time, I will have the Doctor prepare for your arrival." She stepped away from the desk, heading towards the familiar double doors and down the hall.



Without hesitation she made her way towards Doctor Livingstone's office.



After several minutes Lillian returned and gathered Georgiana's finished paperwork. She glanced over the information she already knew to find that the visitation was for Octavia. Of course it was.



"Right this way, ma'am." Lillian turned, leading Georgiana to the mourge.





Georgiana had never been to a Morgue. She'd never even been to the hospital before today. Her family had a personal physician, and if anyone was ill, he came to their home.



Still, as the door shut behind her and Lillian, the room felt exactly as she'd expected. Cool, dark save for the gas lights flickering about the room, and sterile. The walls were lined with metal cabinets, and her boots clicked on the white tile floor. A table occupied the center of the room, with a rolling cart nearby set neatly with surgical implements.



The table was clean metal, reflecting the dim lamplight.



There were not however, any bodies that she could see. She swallowed, part of her glad that she wasn't immediately met with her best friend's lifeless body. She needed answers, but Octavia's dead eyes were still burned into her memory. She wasn't going to enjoy this.



Georgiana glanced about the room, taking a few steps further in. The instruments on the cart were clean, and arranged very precisely on the top shelf. In the corner of the room, a detailed diagram of the human body hung on the wall.



She turned to Lillian, "Where is she?"





Lillian took hold of her clipboard and adjusted her glasses as she looked down. "She is in one of the lockers there. Doctor Livingstone will be in momentarily to help you." She held her clipboard to her chest, but did not move. She stood at the corner of the room nearest to the door. Her bodice was a simple designed vest with a matching skirt, her sleeves puffed near her shoulders and came down in neatly folded pleats.



If not for the woman leading Georgiana to the room it would have been rather easy to forget that she was even there. A wall-flower.



A clock somewhere in the room ticked, echoing in the small chamber that was the mortuary. Several minutes would pass in the silence before the resounding sound of footsteps approached the room from the hall. The door clicked and slowly swung open.



A tall man stood in the doorway, his dark hair combed and slicked out of his face cascading behind his ears. He lacked any facial hair other than the typical sideburns that were in fashion for the time. His nose was angular and long, giving the impression of a bird of prey. His jaw was set at a sharp, but strong, angle. The large round glasses that sat on his nose gave him the impression of an academic. To add, there was a tired expression to his eyes that was belied by the sharpness of his gaze.



"Miss Georgiana?" Doctor Livingstone entered. Like a shadow behind him, Lillian stepped out of the room. He undid the buttons of his coat and hung it on the nearby rack. "I am Doctor Livingstone. It is to my understanding that you wish to see Miss Octavia Halliwell." He rolled up his sleeves as he walked over towards one of the lockers, taking hold of the handle and opening it.



Slowly the metal tray slid out of the locker's mouth. A body lay on the tray, covered with a white tarp. "Are you sure you wish to see her? I remember reading in the papers that you were the one to find her, no?"





The young woman nodded. Her eyes fell on the cloth-draped form, and a lump formed in Georgiana's throat. A lock of dark hair peeked out from the covering. She felt the grief that she'd been tamping down for the last few days rising in her chest, constricting her breathing.



Not yet. She bit back the sting of tears, schooling her features. She could grieve once this was done. She swallowed hard, and nodded.



When she finally spoke, she was proud of how steady her voice was. "I was dragged away when the authorities arrived." She looked up to meet Doctor Livingstone's eyes. There was something there she couldn't place there, beyond the tiredness.



"She is—was— my best friend, and I didn't get to say goodbye."



Dr. Livingstone nodded, and reached to lift back the cloth. As he folded it back, Octavia delicate features came into view. From where she stood, Georgiana could see the elegant slope of her neck, and the dark hair pooling on the tray beneath her.



The young woman hesitated. Some part of her wanted to leave. To live in denial that Octavia was gone. But denial wouldn't bring her back.



So she crossed the room. Slowly, cautiously. The lights flickered. She stopped beside the tray, letting her eyes peruse her dead companion. It took everything in her not to flee the room.



Everything was as she remembered it, from the unnatural white of Octavia's skin, to the way it seemed to cling to the muscle beneath. Except- Georgiana's brows drew together, and she froze. Very gently, she reached one gloved hand to brush her dark hair to the side. The wound she'd first seen along the side of her throat, the gaping, ragged tear in the skin, was gone.



In its place, a what looked like a botched knife wound, starting clean near the nape of her neck, and then becoming rougher as it went. It looked nothing like it had before. Georgiana knew what she'd seen. This wasn't it. Even with the amounts of blood covering it when she first found Octavia, it wouldn't account for how visibly different the torn flesh was.



Georgiana took a half step back, staring with wide, confused eyes. She circled the tray, trying to adjust her view. As if a different angle would change what she saw. When she finally tore her gaze from it, she shook her head. She turned her eyes on the doctor, looking for some explanation.



"That's wrong." It came out almost as an accusation, like he'd shown her the wrong body. Anger began to bubble up within her. What was going on? "That's not what it looked like before."





Doctor Livingstone stood above the form of Octavia, his eyes scanning the woman's features as he did that night he received her. Her pale skin was cleaned of whatever blood remained, and her hair had been brushed down. Save for the large gash of a wound across her neck, she was entirely presentable for a funeral parlor now. His eyes rose towards Georgiana as she looked upon the deceased form of her friend. He did not speak, however. This was, after all, her chance to say goodbye.



His eyes lingered on her, watching the mounting fear and horror that rose on her features. Livingstone saw as she tensed, her muscle bounding up like winding springs. To him, this was just another body. To her, this was her best friend. He took a step back, giving her a modicum of privacy, but then he saw something else in her.



The horror was slowly being replaced by confusion, her eyes wide in a small shock. Quickly the woman circled the tray to examine her from another angle. Doctor Livingstone's brows furrowed. Of course it wouldn't be that easy.



Georgiana spoke, an accusatory tone to her words. He could hear the emotions in her voice, the slight tension in her throat as she tried to force the words of anger through the grief and sorrow that filled her from the loss of her friend. Doctor Livingstone took a deep breath, stepping back towards the tray to the other side. Quietly he took hold of the white sheet and lifted it back to cover Octavia's face.



"I do not mean to cause you distress, Miss Fletcher. Perhaps what you saw that night was incorrect. The eyes and the mind can often play tricks on us during moments of great stress and anguish." Livingstone's tone was one of both sympathy and academia, feeling for her loss but filling that space with simple book knowledge.



He quickly added, "That is not to say what you saw was wrong, but it was at night you saw her, yes? The lighting, or lack thereof along with all these factors can cause one's mind to do terrible things."





Miss Fletcher's eyes narrowed, a hardness entering them.



"I know what I saw." She didn't stop him as he covered Octavia's pale form again. She'd seen what she needed to. Why did everyone seem to think that grief would cause hallucination? She had never been a fanciful child, had never been prone to lies or pranks.



"Respectfully," There was a distinct lack of respect evident in her tone. If everyone was going to treat her like a child, she didn't need to bother with formalities. "There was a full moon, Doctor. Her window was open. I could see her quite well."



She remembered the slippery blood on her hands, the exposed viscera as she tried desperately to check for a pulse, some sign of life. Instead, her hand had sunken into the wound, and she'd almost thrown up. Georgiana had cleaned the blood from her hands that night through tears.



"I know she was murdered." The announcement came out all at once. "Octavia would never kill herself. Especially like this."



She was at a loss. Why did no one believe her? The news painted it like a suicide and her own brother told her she was seeing things. Even this doctor seemed to be in on it.What were they so desperate to hide that they would cover up a murder? Better yet, how had they tampered with the wounds?





"Grief," the Doctor sighed, "Can mess with our minds in ways that are not easily explainable." Gently he took hold of the handle and pushed the cadaver back into the locker and closed it. He brushed his hands off on his pant legs before clasping his hands together.



"We do have a few people onboard here at the hospital that may be able to help. Many patients have come forward with their grief and melancholy to a," He paused, waving his hand to use a far less technical term for someone who did not work in the field as he did, "Compassionate shoulder."



He crossed the distance to the rack and lifted his coat. It was a finely creased piece of charcoal-black fabric that was the height of fashion here in Rookhelm. "I am sorry that this did not bring you more closure, Miss Fletcher." He moved towards the door, opening it and gesturing for her to follow. Standing against the far wall in the hallway was Lillian, her clipboard still against her chest as she gave Georgiana a gentle smile.



"Is there anything else that I can help you with, Miss Fletcher?" Livingstone stood in the doorway, holding it open for her.





"I think not." Georgiana smiled politely at Lillian, but the expression dropped like a facade when she met the doctor's eyes. She stepped through the door, keeping well away from him. Even the thought of his suggestion made her uneasy. She'd heard what they did to women who were regarded as emotionally unstable.



"I won't be squirreled away to some alienist to never be heard from again."



The halls were truly dark now, night having fallen in earnest. Only the occasional light fixture along the wall between the windows illuminated the space; little pools of light pockmarked with shadows. It had begun to rain, the heavy downpour clear even through the windows.



Help her? She paused at his question, turning on her heel. Soft green eyes swept over him, considering. Thunder cracked outside, and lightning illuminated the hall for a split second. The Doctor and his secretary flickered to life in the sudden flash, cast in sharp lines of shadow and light.



"Evidently not, Dr. Livingstone." A sardonic expression flickered across her face. Clearly the last thing he wanted to do was help.



She nodded politely to both of them as she turned to leave, her social ettiquette still intact. Her heels already clicked along the floor before her words reached back to them.



"Good night."





"Good night."



Miss Fletcher's words echoed back down the hall towards them. There was a heavy downpour outside, and a crash of thunder as lightning illuminated the sky. Lillian and Livingstone did not move from their spot as they watched Miss Fletcher turn a corner and disappear from sight. The secretary released a breath she did not realize she had been holding, her shoulders slumping slightly.



Doctor Livingstone adjusted his coat, and began making his way to his office. Lillian was in his shadow as he walked. Wordlessly he held out a hand towards her and she placed the clipboard in it. His eyes rapidly scanned the sheet, landing on her address.



"Planning on making a social call, sir?" She glanced up towards Doctor Livingstone, marking his gaze and where it was arrested. The Doctor simply made a noise as a response that was neither a yes or no. Reaching his office, she opened the door and gathered his overcoat, offering him each sleeve. Wordlessly he slipped his arms into the coat and gathered his hat. The outfit was a pride of his, making sure to keep up with the latest fashions.



Well tailored coat and vest, white undershirt, creased black pants and fine leather shoes. A dark leather overcoat with matching mantle. He flared the collar outwards and placed the low top hat on. He adjusted it until the brim hung just above his brow.



"If anyone comes looking for me, tell them I have turned in for the night. I had some friends come down from the Bollerin Highlands and it would be rude for me not to taste some of their famous whiskey." Doctor Livingstone finally collected his cane. A silver handle depicting a shape of a crow with its wings folded, its beak making a sharp tip.



He felt the weight of the cane in hand and nodded. "Do not expect me back until tomorrow evening."



Lillian quickly nodded, flipping over a sheet on her clipboard to make an excuse for the Doctor's absence.



"Be safe, Sir." She quietly spoke as she moved to clean up his office some. He simply bowed his head and stepped out into the hall. He wondered if Miss Fletcher had already taken a cab, and if he could outpace it.