NaNoWriMo - Swordless Stone - Ch2

An unusually large wolf sat regally before a small figure. He was completely dark-gray, almost black, with feral eyes the color of fine white wine. From the crown of his skull to the tip of his tail ran a darker section of fur that looked like a horse's mane or maybe a lizard's spines. It was hard to say if it was because he was large or because the girl was small that they were the same height. Her hair was the same color as his but hers shone like buffed hematite. The brilliant luster was dulled by a disregard for hygiene. Shorter, gently wavy locks framed her face while the longer locks fell about her shoulders and the longest reached the middle of her back. She wore only a tunic and loose breeches. Her feet were bare and her hands cradled something to her stomach.

"Amaryllis. You are still unable to look yourself in the eye." The wolf was soft and chiding but firm. When he raised his chin a little, a brass collar showed beneath his scruff. It was ornate all around and decorated with an intricate pattern of thorns. He shook himself while she stood fearlessly. If he wanted to, he could snap her thin body in half. "You cannot continue to run from your problems."

She didn't stir a hair. Everything about her was so monochromatic. Her dark-gray hair contrasted starkly against her ice-white skin. Even her lips were not pink but pale like her face. Only her eyes were bright. The irises were unusually large and champagne pink. Her pupils were dark-rose, not black. It gave her the glassy-eyed expression of a doll.

The wolf shifted his tail from the right side to the left with all the patience of a mother. "You have the talent of Haus-Karna. It is in your blood. But talent will not be enough if you wish to serve Her Majesty." He sat up a little straighter. "Amaryllis. What is it that you mean to accomplish?"

She hesitated. Slowly, she lifted up her protected prize. Sticky, partially dried blood crumbled and flowed like goo down her wrists. Something swung and dangled and dripped, carrying a scent of rot. Amaryllis let her left hand fall to her side while her right hand held out the strange prize. It was someone's windpipe.

Frei rolled out of bed and hit the cold ground with a groan. She couldn't get up. Her stomach whined piteously for her to feed it but she was too hungry to get up at all. With the smallest effort she could muster, she uttered a mutinous whisper, "Why... why in the name of all that is good did I not eat last night?"

Was it because you were promised cake today

She jumped so hard she stood up. "Who's--"

Oh, please! We just met yesterday! Don't get your knickers in a bunch. Go eat your porridge. I put in extra sugar and blueberries.

"I'm not getting my anything in a-- porridge?" She smelled it coming from the stove simmering it on low-heat. When she confirmed she wasn't dreaming it, she also saw that it was thick and filling, just the way she liked it... but it was also purple.

Took the liberty of making it while you were resting. Think I did pretty good at it.

Frei winced silently as the turned the stove off. "You put the sugar and berries in after it's been cooked." From the kitchen cabinet, she fetched a bowl and a ladle and began to help herself to the mess. It smelled alright. She hoped it tasted alright. "If you snooped around so much in my head about the Yard, couldn't you have figured that out?"

Oh, er, well... you can't be good at everything, I suppose.

She let the voice brush the humiliation off while she blew on a spoonful of the stuff. "So what are you, then? You're invisible. You move things around with your mind--"

I never said anything of the sort, I'm no telepath.

"So how did you...?" She stuck the spoon into her mouth only to sputter it right back out. It was still too hot.

Why, I took the liberty of animating your lovely, sleeping self--

"You can move my body?" Frei nearly dropped her bowl. It clattered on the counter and spilled a few drops. She was staring at the ceiling again, expecting something to be hovering over her head. "Oh sweet mother of jeebus, I don't need a split-personality disorder!"

Only when you sleep, sweetcakes. Quiet down and eat. My being here means you need to feed twice the people you usually do. You'll pass out otherwise. The voice growled a grating snicker. Don't be a grouch, now. Just think of how many people there are that don't realize your exquisite knack for drama.

Obediently, she stirred her purple porridge into a swirl, the front half of her sprawled over the counter. "Oh yes. I find that so very amusing." As she ate, she felt her head clear and cool. She could think again. Control felt good. For the time being, she figured she was stuck with whatever insanity the doctor would diagnose for her. As long as no one else knew about it, she would be safe. "If you're going to be there, you ought to have a name."

And I do. Call me Freud.

"You're making it awfully hard to distinguish me from you." The sound of the spoon clinking against the cheap, glass bowl calmed her. "I think I shall call you Ernest."

Ernest? Why would you ever do that?

"I met a boy named Ernest once in primary school," she said chipperly. "And he'd play tricks on all the other boys. Then one day, the boys all got together, cornered him in the school yard after classes, and robbed him of his trousers and slip. He had to run home through the woods behind the school and got his legs all over with poison ivy, even the parts that dangled."

There was a long, uncomfortable pause before the newly-named Ernest replied in the most courteous, genial tone his growl could muster. It sounds like a lovely name. I will do well by remembering it. With that, she was able to eat the rest of breakfast in relative peace and silence.

Frei brushed her teeth and combed out her bed-head in the bathroom mirror. Her blue-green eyes were not vivid, dreamy hues but glittered with hardened intelligence. She had to stoop to see reflection straight-on. She picked this room for its unusual cheapness. There was a hotel by the same name as her apartment, St. James Residence, and not too far. Tourists often took their anger out on being misled by giving false, negative reviews of the building though they'd never been in it. Still, the landlord refused to change the name of the complex, and continued to enjoy the view of confused and frustrated visitors to London whenever he came to show the much price-reduced rooms. The place was both old and dirty but she needed a home at the price, especially in London. It was a steal! Even now, Frei didn't mind the cockroaches or the cobwebs.

She selected a plain, black shirt from her closet and a pair of comfortable gray denim jeans to go with her boots. There wasn't enough time to shower if she wanted to catch a ride before morning high-traffic. Picking her still crumpled jacket off the bed, she shook the garment half-heartedly and pulled it on one sleeve at a time. The days grew colder and grayer. The sky looked like a widow in mourning. Frei grabbed her British Flag umbrella just to be safe.

"You said I'll be needing you for the case." She said, packing her things into a black knapsack. "What do you know that I don't?" Frei was not a stupid girl. She decided there was no struggling against what she didn't know how to change except to obtain more knowledge. His patronizing attitude last night was completely different to his attitude toward his new name. He also couldn't see and/or remember everything in her head or in her past. He had no body of his own either. From this, she knew that Ernest needed her. For whatever reason he claimed he could help her, he was here to use her as much as if not more than she was going to use him. What she wanted to know was the reason.

First, the nature of the murder. It sounded like he recovered from his disgrace. There was business in his voice and an air of professionalism she didn't expect from such a joker. It looked like he was serious about helping her, and probably, himself. It was not done by a human.

"We already know an animal's involved." Hoisting the knapsack onto her back, Frei left her apartment and turned to lock it, fumbling with the key with one hand  while getting the other shoulder strap of her bag with the other. "But the closest match I can think of off the top of my head is a monkey or... or an ape. I'll need to meet with a professor at the university about it."

They won't be able to give you an adequate answer. He sounded sure.

"Then what do you propose?" A basic flip-phone was unusual in the time and age. Almost everyone seemed to carry smartphones or tablet phones or whatever else was available. Frei used a battered old model that looked like a war veteran of the dot-com era. She flipped it open, dialed nothing, and put it to her ear as she descended the stairs.

Don't prioritize identifying the killer from a pool of suspects. Prioritize identifying her escape route. She can't have gone too far.

Cold wind blasted into her face. London was in the right colors to welcome a bitter winter. She felt faint raindrops hit her face but saw no darkening spots on the pavement. There was no need for the umbrella just yet. Frei turned left at a power walk.

From her stop, it was about forty minutes bus to Scotland Yard. She kept the phone to her ear as she talked. "Why do you say 'her?' You are certain it is a woman?"

A girl, and not much older than you at that. Ah... but maybe she is younger. It is hard to say.

Frei raised an eyebrow. Underground traffic covered her talk and no one else close. She wasn't afraid of being overheard. "If you know the killer, you couldn't just tell me who she is? And a girl? Not a 'human' girl? How? Why?"

If I told you everything, you'd certainly dismiss me, won't you? He chuckled again. The more Frei heard him laugh, the more irritating she found him. It got hard to tell when he was joking and when he wasn't. I won't risk for that yet, my lovely lady. It'll be no good looking at motives or connections either. I assure you'll find nothing with the clues you have at present.

"Blimey, you sound so certain. So why won't you tell me anything about her?" A dull headache began to envelop her skull. No one would blame her if they knew what she was juggling. She didn't even have a chance to look through the security tape yesterday. Now she was to believe there was a voice named Ernest in her head, telling her that she needed him for her case. Frei learned something else too. Not only did he need her, she seemed to have some sort of power over him that she did not know about yet. He did not try hard to hide this from her. She wondered if she could simply dismiss him, but concluded it wasn't worth her time to experiment with the idea. She had her own work and her own pride. If Ernest would help her defeat Warding, then so be it.

Quite simple. If you pull leads out of thin air, people will wonder about your sources. If your source sums up to be a voice in your head, what would happen? Even if you lie about it, if they found out your sources are fake, you won't get away with just a slap on the wrist, even if your suspect confesses. Worst case, they think you're in cahoots with the crime. Then you get to be on the receiving end of an investigation for a change. Did not want to think of something so obvious?

"I'm starting to hate it when you're right," She growled under her breath. The tube was full for a quarter past seven. She found a steel rail and held onto it, not bothering to look for a seat. There was plenty more time to sit when she was plopped into an office.

I'll teach you a thing or two about tracking if you don't mind. It just so happens to be my specialty. He continued. As I see it, you've got a good head on your shoulders but not enough information in it.

"That's how this line of work ticks, Ernest." Feeling like she was explaining things to a fresh greenhorn didn't help her headache. Trying to look at the bright side of things, she thanked herself for never going into education. She'd make a terrible teacher. "You gather the pieces. You get specialists to figure them out for you. You put the figured-out pieces together. You solve the case."

If you can get a specialist to tinker an answer for these pieces, I'll eat your boot, he jested jovially, since we share the same body and you happen to be the one with boots. I'd eat my own otherwise.

"Quite right. I'll be sure to step in some horse dung before you do."

It's been bothering me a while now, but why are you holding that contraption to your ear? If I understand correctly, that is a device for communicating here. You're not talking to anyone else, are you? Because if you are, he'd only hear your side of the conversation.

Frei's patience wore threadbare by the syllable. She spoke through her teeth as if forcing the sounds between each tooth would make it fly with more pressure. "If I'm going to keep talking to you, I better keep up the appearances or else people will think I'm batshit mad."

You couldn't just speak to me in your head? Even if you ARE crazy, you'd be able to manage that.

"Well--!" Her ears went hot. She knew her cheeks would flare up at any moment now. Even her neck flared with fire as she flushed pink. "Well, why didn't you tell me?!"

Frei felt Ernest shrug. You never asked me. Isn't it common knowledge?

She put her phone away and clammed her mouth shut for the rest of the ride.

Frei got off at St. James' Park station and strode down Broadway. The stone buildings had pretty masonry and lovely shops on the first levels. She glanced at the window fronts in passing. From time to time, curiosity abetted her to buy the perfumes and make-up she saw in the storefront displays. Her logic always overrode it but her curiosity didn't fade easily. If she was to be a real investigator someday, she should always have curiosity.

The Yard was a structure of glass. Its gated front was watched by a guard in a neon traffic vest, name Billy. She knew him. He'd been working the gate since she was a primary school girl. The first time he let her in, she was escorted in vehicle by Warding to be questioned. He was much friendlier the second time.

"I hear you've been put on a hard one again." He checked her pass as a formality. "And with you working a second job, they're not paying you enough!" Billy's hair was graying like London. He had a fine smile that put her at ease whenever she came by. Normally, he shows only a gruff expression. When Frei asked him about it before, he said it was just to scare the 'young folk doing drugs, for their own good.'

"They're not paying me at all. I owe Commissar Warding too much." Scratching her head, she absentmindedly spiked her hair on end. Frei's mother often told her that if her face was prettier, she'd be fit to model with her height. Stout and short Billy had to tilt his head back a bit to look at her. "Besides, I'm technically an intern. I'm observing and shuffling papers more than anything. It's just to get me used to the work."

"From the looks of it, you're plenty used to it already. How old are you this year? Twenty-two?"

"Twenty-three. I had my birthday in August."

"Twenty-three!" Billy declared it pompously. "Twenty-three and starting to sport crow's feet. You take better care of yourself or you'll look like me by Christmas!" Cackling, he went back to his station and allowed her to pass.

He's right, you know. She felt Ernest nod.

Don't you get started again. It's going to get busy. Thinking instead of speaking was harder than she imagined it. Books always made it out to be easy but formulating the words smoothly required practice. It took her a few tries to get all her ideas in the right order and speed that Ernest wouldn't miss it. Even then, it sounded choppy, like every word had the same cadence. It didn't flow.

She checked in silently at the front desk, trying to get the clues of the case in line. This was a major case. Warding had some of the best investigators in London working together on it. She was as she said, just an observer... on the outside, at least. Warding wanted to see results and reports from her observations. To him, she was a giant diamond in the rough. If he could cut and polish her into something, he would gain, but if he accidentally marred her, he could be content in that no one else would want her. Frei ground her teeth. She scanned her pass and descended to the laboratory and autopsy chamber.

The others were already in the conference space in the lab commons. She quietly slipped into the cold, undecorated room and found herself a seat at the far end of the table. Warding greeted her with a nod. She didn't recognize three of the four investigators gathered but the one she did recognize had his brows knitted so intensely together she thought they'd magically join into one. He worked on the previous case she observed. They pored over the papers strewn across the table. The sixth person present was one of the in-house pathologists who was in charge of the autopsy itself. Dark rings around his eyes said that he didn't sleep.

Seldom were autopsy permissions so easy to obtain so quickly. Because the crime occurred at an internationally renowned exhibition, the world was waiting for an answer. The guard had no close family. His parents had passed away and he never married. His older sister's whereabouts were unknown and his next of kin as his uncle on his mother's side who did not oppose the post-mortem exam. A judge was able to issue the formal permissions and the pathologist labored over it from dusk till dawn, dissecting and documenting while his assistants supported from the lab.

Warding flicked his head toward the neat sheaf of documents left over. A yellow sticky note with her name hung off the front page. It was secured by a black binder clip at the top. Frei didn't unclip it like everyone else. She read the abstract and flipped through for the autopsy analyses. Photographs were attached, printed in color and high resolution. Frei squinted.

Seven ribs were either cracked or broken. The first impact was to the chest, strong enough to crack the sternum. Minor fragments of the broken ribs splintered into the lungs. This was disconcerting. The British Museum held a treasure trove of artifacts. They had better than good security. Who would dare to attack a guard from the front?

In addition to the chest injury deep nail marks scored the corpse' throat, four marks on the right and one on the left. Right-handed... Frei flipped the page. The neck muscles showed strain and the tissue between the spinal plates showed slight swelling. He was still alive when she attempted to twist his neck.

Take a look at the head trauma. Ernest prompted. Frei obeyed without thinking. The back of the skull showed heavy impact to the ground. He was either knocked down or thrown down. A concave fracture accompanied by hemorrhaging was not the type of wound that came with a basic fall. The analysis concluded that the cause of death was not bleeding but the crushing of the trachea. The stab wound in the guard's side was done after his death. In addition,

The liver is missing. The cogs in her brain spun and squeaked of excitement and confusion. This was a key piece of the puzzle. Why would the liver be missing? If you're going to attack someone for his liver, you don't sneak into a museum to do it. The only reason anyone attacks from the front is because she is already being apprehended. But the guard's sidearm is still in its holster. He didn't even try to reach for it. His hands don't show anything except normal wear and tear. He clearly didn't see it coming. But how did she get in? And why is his liver missing?

Livers are nutritious. Maybe she was hungry? Said Ernest. Frei made a face.

"Sir." She stood up. "If it's alright, could I take a look at the physical scene again?" The three investigators she didn't know turned to look at her strangely while the pathologist continued to look tired and the remaining man only looked thoughtful. He knew she had no trouble making such requests and he also knew Warding spoiled his pet intern without hesitation. Warding reached into his pocket and held out one of the yellow cards, access passes, that granted people entry to crime scenes. Frei walked to him and took it from him.

"Return it by noon, if you please." He dismissed her with a nod.

"A prodigy?" One of the skeptics asked. Frei could hear their voices behind her when she left, documents in hand.

Warding's voice sounded terribly old to her today. "Not at all, no. Freuja is much more than a mere prodigy. It's not because she has a knack for it or because she was born with a talent for it. She does it because there is a need for it to be done, despite that she is an ordinary human being. That type of dedication isn't something geniuses can understand."

The door to the stairwell closed and shut out the sound. Frei listened to the sound of her own breath. Her heart ached with that familiar feeling of sickness.

You feel guilty for hating him. He has such words of praise for you. Ernest slinked back into jester mode. His voice plucked her heartstrings irritatingly. But he was right. You know he doesn't actually want you to stop snooping, even if he's trying to save his own hide by making you stop.

"That doesn't make an ounce of difference, Ernest." She snapped back out loud. There were no other footsteps in the stairwell so she knew it was empty. White teeth closed over her lower lip. It wasn't something she could put into her head and think to Ernest. If she thought about it, she wouldn't be able to say it from her heart. She would be forced to say it from her head. "That man broke mother and doesn't show a drop of remorse for it. I won't let him have satisfaction."

And what will that do for you?

"I'm not doing it for me." Frei forced her voice to become soft and even against her racing heart and blushing cheeks. Fire flowed through her veins. "I'm doing it for mother."

And what will that do for your mother? Will it mend her mind and bring her back to normal?

"It'll bring her to justice." She answered the rhetorical question defiantly. "After all she's done for me, justice is the least she deserves." The familiar ache of guilt twisted inside her body. She thought she heard Ernest purr.

And what will justice do for your mother?

"It'll..."

Tell me, Freuja. What is it that you mean to accomplish?

Frei searched her head. She opened the door to the front hall and took her naturally long, brisk strides through the door. Somehow the sky was more blinding in an overcast. The clouds diffused the sunlight until it spread evenly overhead like a meticulously buttered slice of toast. She shielded her eyes against the cold wind. Traffic became heavier. If she took bus 24, it would take about thirty to forty minutes to reach the British Museum, the same amount of time as if she walked. Walking past the bus stop, she thought it was a good decision on her part to get some exercise and put fresh air into her head.

"To be honest, I don't know, Ernest." She said not caring who would hear her over the sound of bike bells and car horns.  "I don't know what I mean to accomplish, but that's something I'll figure out myself. That's what growing up is about, isn't it?"

She got a chuckle out of him again. A not-so-annoying one, for once. I asked someone else that question before. I wish that person could give me the same answer you did just now.

"And what if she did?"

Ah... and what if she did, indeed. She felt him turn around once... twice... three times... and lie down with a sigh. Frei couldn't tell if it was a sigh of contentment or a sigh of regret though she thought it was longing for something impossible. She couldn't get mad at him for not giving her a straight answer.