Her Name was Cassandra

The lot at the coroner's office was empty today. No one seemed to care who the newly found victim was. Allie walked into the building. The lights were dim. She opened the door to autopsy.

"What's with the lights? Is the county trying to save a dollar or are you hungover?"

Makayla looked up from her desk.

"I can't get county maintenance out here to change a fucking lightbulb. I would do it, but I have yet to get new bulbs. They are the big fluorescent ones, so I must accept that we don't rate high enough to get that small courtesy.

"I assume you're here for the Euclid victim?" she asked. "Damn, I was hoping you brought the eye candy."

"Curtis sent him back to the Castle, and he pissed me off. I don't want to see him for a while," she was clearly annoyed.

"Just because you had a hiccup doesn't mean you have to deprive the rest of us. I'm not going to ask what hap--"

Allie had cut her off before she could finish her sentence.

"A suspect called me a cock sucking bitch while I was conducting an interrogation."

"Okay? So, he knew your name," she said as a matter of fact.

Allie gave her the middle finger. "I got one of these as a free gift."

"Allie, we are the reason God created the middle finger," she said.

"No, the gesture is actually made by the middle finger is the penis, and the curled fingers on either side are the balls."

"How the fuck do you know this shit."

"So, what is this horrible hiccup that happened that is depriving me of my Hercules?" Makayla asked.

"Oh, so get this shit. Dean came charging--"

"Dean? When did we start calling him Dean, not Dan or Cowboy?"

"Don't read anything into it," she said. "So, COWBOY came charging into the interrogation like he was there to save me from the mean man who called me a bad name," she sounded condescending.

"Holy shit! NO WAY! What an asshole being all concerned and considerate. I can see how you would need a break from that," she said thickly with sarcasm.

"You know I don't need saving. I've been doing this for years. I can handle myself. I have been called worse," Allie said. "And in more languages than just English. Plus, he only called me it ONE time!"

"Allie cat, you know you're a badass, and I know you're a badass. Does Dean know you're a badass? Does he know anything about you?" she asked.

"I mean, it's not like we have sat and had coffee and conversation."

"Perhaps you... Why are you all dressed up? Oh my God, do you have makeup on? Your hair is straightened. Who died?"

"Fuck, no one died! You people are so morbid! I had to go to court.

"Sorry. Normally, someone has to die or get married," Makalya remarked. "Don't you know remarkable things can only happen when we leave our comfort zone? Does he know ANYTHING about you? Does he know you are an ex-Marine?"

"He knows I'm a RETIRED Marine; he's perfectly aware of that. Bruss, let that cat out of the bag." she replied, "

"Does he know what you did when you were in? I'm going to say no. I barely know what you did, and it took me half a bottle of tequila to pull ANY information out of you. For all you know, he may think you sat at a computer all day or just sat in a room all day cleaning your gun."

"They're called Rifles or pistols, not guns," she said.

"Does it matter what they are called?"

This is my rifle. There are many like it, but this one is mine.

My rifle is my best friend. It is my life. I must master it as I must master my life.

My rifle, without me, is useless. Without my rifle, I am useless. I must fire my rifle true. I must shoot straighter than my enemy, who is trying to kill me. I must shoot him before he shoots me. I will...

My rifle and myself know that what counts in this war is not the rounds we fire, the noise of our burst, nor the smoke we make. We know that it is the hits that count. We will hit...

My rifle is human, even as I, because it is my life. Thus, I will learn it as a brother. I will learn its weaknesses, its strength, its parts, its accessories, its sights, and its barrel. I will ever guard it against the ravages of weather and damage as I will ever guard my legs, my arms, my eyes, and my heart against damage. I will keep my rifle clean and ready. We will become part of each other. We will... Before God, I swear this creed. My rifle and myself are the defenders of my country. We are the masters of our enemy. We are the saviors of my life.

So be it, until victory is America's and there is no enemy, but peace

-Major General William H. Rupertus (USMC, Retired)

"Wow. Okay. That was... interesting," Makayla said. "Please don't go all Full Metal Jacket on me again."

"Every night in boot camp, we had to say the creed. So yes, it does make a difference. That was our nightly prayer. As it says, my rifle is my best friend."

"Now I know why you have difficulty making friends. How are we, friends?"

"Because Makayla, you're a pistol." She laughed.

"I see what you did there. That was good."

"Did you like that?"

What about me, Caretaker?

"You. You were the love of my life. Having you as a friend was a bonus."

"What about Bruss?"

"He's my brother in arms, and he always has my six," Allie said.

"What about Alex?"

"I don't know. Shore leave?"

"Oh, you are a naughty girl," Makayla said with a wink.

"You know we name them."

"Name your gun? I mean rifle, or would you prefer I call it your BFF?"

"BFIW."

"BFIW?"

"Best Friend in War. For 12 years, I had the same one. Mine was named Parabellum. I took diligent care of him," she said. "There you go. A little more information, and you didn't even need a shotglass."

"Follow-up question. What does Parabellum mean?"

"I get asked that a lot. I should have just named it Kevin," she said. "It's Latin. It's the second part of Si vis Pacem, para bellum."

She looked extremely confused, "What is it with you and Latin?"

"I like Latin. If you want peace, then prepare for war. Para Bellum, prepare for war," she explained."

"See, I didn't know any of that. It bothers me that you don't talk about it. You hold everything inside. Shit, you average what? Thirty hours of sleep a week? Did you ever wonder why? You don't want to face it; you're so guarded. Look what you named your rifle. Prepare for war," she asked earnestly.

"Makayla," her tone turned profoundly serious.

"If I told you ten percent of what I did, what I had to do, you would never look at me the same."

"Can't I be the judge of that?"

"You are one of my remaining two friends. I don't have the luxury of losing one. I had to turn in my rifle, and you know Alex and I can't be friends."

"Okay, I won't bring it up again. Not until I buy the good tequila," Makayla said. "Did you ever think that maybe if you told him ten percent of what you had to do, he might process it a little differently? He's an FBI agent."

Allie threw her hands up in the air. "Wow, you waited less than two sentences before you brought it up again!" she exclaimed. "An FBI agent who had never smelled a dead body until a few weeks ago. How is that? Don't they do that in the academy?"

"Maybe he was out sick that day, so he would not end up getting sick that day," she said playfully. "Seriously, they do not use bodies that are in full-blown decay. They use ones that are fresh. I mean, do you know anything about him?" she asked. "Maybe he sat all day in a room cleaning guns."

"As a matter of fact, yes. I do know something about him."

"Well, enlighten me," she said.

"His body is as hard as titanium; he is the greatest kisser I have EV-ER locked lips with, and the size of his..."

Then she realized exactly what she had said and to whom she had said it. Fuuuuuuuck.

Good job, Caretaker. She's going to chew on that tidbit like a dog with a bone.

Makayla's eyes grew wide, and an evil smile crossed her lips. "What? The size of his what?"

"Heart; the size of his heart. He is the nicest guy you will ever meet."

"You lie like a rug," she exclaimed. "Tell me everything."

"You first, what do you have for me?"

"Argh. Fine. Her name is Cassandra Caine. 23, lived in Akron and worked at a local college. She was raped, her Achilles tendons were severed, she had a broken coccyx, was dehydrated, malnourished, and died of exsanguination. She bled out from the abdominal trauma, slowly."

Allie looked at Cassandra. She was an average-looking girl. Her short brown hair was wet from being washed down. She had hazel brown eyes behind her closed eyelids. Her lips were full, like she had them filled out recently. Her clothes and belongings were in a plastic bag on a chair in the corner. They were torn and stained with dried blood and waiting to be logged into evidence as Makayla had signed for them when the body was brought over.

Makayla continued, "I found some particulates in the wound, but she was in an abandoned house. It could be environmental. I sent them to BCI anyway. You know how backlogged they are. Then again, maybe with the Chatman girl being part of the investigation, they'll bump it to the front of the line," she said. "I doubt it because she's not the Chatman girl. Maybe you should ask Hercules if the FBI labs are available to us."

"Have you shared all this with Euclid yet?"

"No. I just finished up about an hour ago," she said slowly, shaking her head. "Wasted youth. When you are young, you think middle age is old. When you are middle-aged, you can only hope you make it old," she said with sadness.

"Murder is nothing but a twisted game. It's been boxed, sold, produced, watched, written, and read. Unfortunately, the best players tend to win. Whoever is doing this can't win," Allie said with frustration.

"Allie, this game is a puzzle. And no one can solve a puzzle better than you," she said sincerely.

"Makayla, you can call me Allie cat," she held up her finger, "except at a crime scene. I don't want others to hear it, and have it catch on," she said. "I've got a rep to protect."

Allie was thankful for the encouragement and faith she had in her.

"I need to get back to the station. I want to compare your findings with other unsolved cases in and around the area," she said. "Maybe he's been doing this longer than we think."

"You know, one reason it took so long to catch Bundy was because he was committing murders in different states. He may be moving around or has moved around a lot."

"That would be why I love you. I have to get back and tell Bruss about your findings."

"No. No, no, no! You said you would share after I was done."

"I didn't say how soon after you were done," she said, flashing a wide smile.

"Oh, that's not right, Alexsandra," she said woefully. "Bad form!"

"I like Jose," she said.

She walked out the door and headed down the hallway before Makayla could say anything else.

On the drive back, Allie thought about Cassandra. The name Cassandra is of Greek origin. She was a beautiful Goddess with the ability to see the future but was cursed so that no one believed her. Did she know she was being stalked or followed? Did she try to tell someone, and they thought she was overreacting or acting irrationally? Either way, her future had stopped short.

How did this asshole operate? What drew him to these girls? Were they just vulnerable? She knew he had to watch them before he would abduct them. His killing was personal. The girls had nothing in common. They were all different ages, sizes, hair color, and eye color; it made no sense. What is he looking for in these women? It just frustrated her. She was better than this. He has dropped three bodies.

She thought to herself, I need coffee, I need sleep, I need to get laid. Oh, shit, Bruss was right. Makayla checked her watch. She was off duty an hour ago. She was going to Jake's, do some shots, drink beer, play darts, and get laid. She thought of calling Makayla but didn't want to talk about Dean all night. She thought about Bruss, but again, she didn't want to talk about Dean. The first thing she had to do was get out of this God-awful outfit.

She always kept a go bag in her car that had a change of clothes in it. She stopped at a little corner store that she knew well. She had gotten to know the owner. He was retired Navy. He kept the place, as he would say, ship shape. She walked in with a change of clothes. When the little bell rang, the owner looked up.

"Gunny," he said.

"Master Chief," she said.

They both tipped their heads in acknowledgment and respect.

"You're looking nice today, someone die?"

"Nobody I know personally."

She walked to the bathroom in the back.

She took off the dress clothes and threw them on the floor. She slid on her jeans and USMC shirt that read, What doesn't kill me, better fucking run. The cuss word was blurred, but you could tell what it said with no problem. She sat on the toilet and put on her socks and sneakers. She pulled her hair up and gathered her clothes and dress shoes. She walked to the front of the store.

"Master Chief."

"Gunny."

Another tip of the head, and she was out the door.