Indeterminate Cause [Infestation aftermath]

[vesta]

Alexander sits on his couch, watching the TV. Warm sunlight streams in through the uncovered windows but the chill in the room doesn’t really seem to fade. A half-finished mug of coffee sits on the coffee table, long since cold. The TV doesn’t get turned on often, but today there is something specific he wants to see. He’s flicking between the local news channel and stops on one of them as the news ticker at the bottom shows:

Breaking News: Several bodies found at South Platte Reservoir after anonymous tipoff.

The footage cuts from a politician trying to dodge accusations of a certain indiscretion with a certain lady of indeterminate repute to an area of forest near a large body of water. Several police cars and vans are parked nearby, lights throwing red and blue streaks through the undergrowth. Tape, guarded by beat cops, cordons off a large area. The cameraman can’t get close enough to pick up much in the way of detail, but several paper-suited CSIs are hovering near one obviously-dead body. Others move between their van and a cave by the waterline, carrying various pieces of evidence-gathering equipment. A couple of detectives – obvious from their lack of uniform but their presence beyond the cordon – speak to one unformed officer to one side. Presumably the first on scene. Officially on scene, anyway.

*-*-*-*-*

Alexander had been far away when the call had been made, out at some ramshackle Ma-and-Pa diner in the middle of the Colorado plains. The ride there had taken a good while - time which he would normally have revelled in the pleasure of mile after mile of asphalt passing underneath him. There was no thrill of adrenaline this time, no breaking of the speed limits on the long, straight, unpatrolled areas; only ice inside. He pulled up outside, the engine of the bike dying out with one last roar, and headed inside while pulling off his helmet. Alexander sat at the counter and ordered a coffee. His appetite had been somewhat lacking recently and the thought of eating just then turned his stomach. Other than the Ma, nobody else was in the place. It was between what could have been the breakfast and lunchtime rushes, assuming the place ever had them.

A cloth bag was laid on the counter and opened up. Alexander fished through the contents without pulling them out, not letting Ma see what they were. The names of the dead were read again, to be remembered. Having barely touched the coffee, Alexander waited for Ma to head back out in the kitchen. He grabbed the bag and returned it to a pocket, then moved over to the payphone in the corner. The payphone receiver wasn’t picked up straight away, though. Instead, Alexander pulled out his mobile phone and opened up a newly-installed app. Although not massively technical, he knew enough to find and install useful software on his phone. It had never crossed his mind that he’d need something like this, though. He tapped away on the mobile’s flat surface, stopping a couple of times to revise what he’d typed. Only then had he picked up the payphone receiver and dialled. The ringing ended after a few moments and a female voice asked,

“Denver Police, which department please?”

Alexander tapped a button on his mobile and held the phone up to the payphone receiver, letting the synthetic female voice tell its pre-programmed tale.

“Look at South Platte Reservoir. The victims are there. You will not hear from me again.”

The receiver was replaced as soon as the message had been delivered, and Alexander moved back to where his coffee was sitting on the counter. He threw a few bucks on the counter and walked out, an engine roared and then faded away into the background shortly after.

*-*-*-*-*

Alexander stays sat on the couch watching the footage. The only difference is that he pulls his legs up and hugs them, feet flat on the couch. The contents of the cloth bag have been spread out on the table.

He sits there, rocking gently.

[vesta]

Investigations take time, especially those where there is so little actual information to go on. A number of bodies were found and recovered. All were studied, autopsied, tested, and examined. Blood, skin, residue, fibre, and hair samples all taken and analysed. Again and again, the medical examiner’s office returned the same finding.

Cause of death: indeterminate.

Even the man who had been neatly sliced in half had already been dead when it had happened. No cause of death, no weapon, no motive, no suspect. No idea what had happened to all those people.

The mundane world, at least, has no idea.

Earth to earth

The mood is sombre, and the only sound is that of footsteps along the gravel path. A small procession of people, dressed mostly in black, move towards a waiting priest. Several seats have been laid out, for those who may need them. The group is met by a waiting man, dressed in black with a white collar. They assemble to watch, to listen, and to remember.

A gentle breeze causes the trees to sway, the clouds in the sky to drift along. Otherwise there is little movement. The single man is speaking, reading from a book held in his hands. Or at least the book is held, and he recites without reading. Some of the others are crying. Some hold each other for comfort. One or two try to keep their emotions under control, not wanting to give in and let their sorrow show.

Ashes to ashes

The monologue is brief, unheard from a distance. And it’s at a distance that Alexander is standing. Matching the others, he’s also dressed in black. He doesn’t really know the person that the others are saying their goodbyes to. There was a name on a piece of ID, date of birth, address. The photo on the driver’s licence showing her in her prime. Before a spirit of corruption had ended her.

He stands, watching, unwatched. He’s far enough away that the group’s focus, along with his tendency to blend into the background, leave him unnoticed. He watches the family and the close friends, watches their reaction. Watches as the coffin is slowly lowered into the ground. Watches as each person takes their turn to throw a little soil, or the flower they had brought with them, into the grave. Watches as they begin to drift off, to head elsewhere to celebrate her life and mourn their loss. Watches as others come to remove the chairs and the other paraphernalia that is no longer needed, and watches as they walk away with the priest.

It’s then that he approaches. Others will be along shortly to begin the work of filling the grave, leaving its occupant to her eternal rest. He takes a little of the soil himself, then throws in onto the coffin. Something is pulled from his jacket pocket – a driver’s licence. This, too, is thrown into the grave.

Alexander speaks quietly, not that there’s anyone around to hear. It just feels right to do so. “I’m sorry I couldn’t do more for you. I hope you find your rest, and that your family find some peace.”

That done, he turns and walks away. This isn’t the first of these funerals that he’s appeared at, and it won’t be the last. Not until all the victims of the spirit have been interred.

Dust to dust