Excerpt: Dachnomania

Willow tried not to growl at the FBI agent sitting in the chair across from her. He had been “interviewing” her since she had identified Lizzie’s body some two hours before, and his questions were getting repetitive. The initial shock at seeing her sister in the morgue at her work had worn off somewhere around the end of hour one to be replaced with the overwhelming need to get out of there. She did not really care where she went, as long as it was not the lab. First, however, she had to get rid of Special Agent Scott Bryant, who seemed determined to pin the murder on her.
“When was the last time you saw the victim?” Dear Lord, even the man’s voice was annoying her now. It was deep and rough and made her ears feel as if someone were rubbing sandstone on them. She fought back an angry retort: she had learned somewhere around an hour and a half that angry answers only egged the man on. She settled for mentally snarling at him.
“For the last time, I haven’t seen any of my family members since I was sixteen. I’m twenty eight now. You do the math.”
Her answer obviously did not please the burly man, who glared at her. Willow wondered mildly if he realized that his glare was nothing compared to Lynn’s or Soren’s. It was actually kind of entertaining. She suppressed what would have been a slightly-hysterical chuckle.
This would be the shock, then, she realized with a touch of amusement. Would also be the reason I’m not tearing up or throwing things around the room. Hmm. It was not the first time she’d been in shock, and she recognized the symptoms well enough.
“Why haven’t you been in contact with your family?”
“Hmm?” Bryant’s question forced her to return her focus and attention to him. “Because I didn’t want to be,” she replied. Obviously, you imbecile, she did not add.
“Why not?” Why would the man not let this go?
“Call it philosophical differences. It’s unimportant.” Willow waved a negligent hand in illustration. Bryant was apparently not amused.
“It is if I say it is,” he snapped. This time, Willow was not able to suppress her angry snort.
Egomaniacal bastard, she thought. Idly, she wondered when the hysteria would wear off. She was rather fond of it at the moment. Better than being an emotional wreck, at least.
“I fail to see how so. We had our disagreements, which we settled through my departure. Any more than that is none of your business.”
Oh, he didn’t like that…
It was true – Bryant’s ruddy complexion was becoming ruddier by the second. He growled at her, at which she manfully repressed a snicker.
“Miss Marchant,” he began, but Willow cut him off.
“Doctor, actually, Agent Bryant.” Her full lips twisted into a sneer. “I’m fairly certain I’ve told you that before.” Not that, as a rule, it mattered how people addressed her – hell, most of the lab got away with “Will” without bringing down any of her wrath. If it had not been for the demeaning manner in which he had said “Miss Marchant”, Willow wouldn’t have said a thing. Although she was rather glad she had: Bryant was turning an amusing shade of puce.
“Dr. Marchant, then.”
Willow’s lips quirked at the irritation he forced into that one word. This could prove to be an entertaining game – bait the federal agent. Hmm….
“Yes?” Her voice was intentionally mild and more than a little dismissive. It had the intended effect – puce started to become a lovely maroon.
“What conflict between yourself and your family caused your desertion?”
Desertion. Of course. Willow’s sneer, which had faded with her amusement, returned full-force.
“I would hardly call it a desertion, Agent Bryant. It was more of a disownment.” She watched the frown on Bryant’s face grow as she ignored the question. With a tired sigh, she relented. She did not truly care if he knew the circumstances surrounding her emancipation; it was hardly a secret. She was fairly certain Ben had guessed the why ages ago; Lynn, of course, knew all the gritty details. “I’m afraid I was caught rather in flagrante delicto, if you must know. They seemed to disprove of my choice of partners.”
Bryant’s frown did not ease in the slightest. “Would you care to elaborate?”
Perv, a small voice in the back of Willow’s head muttered. She shrugged.
“Not particularly. However, I get the impression that you’re going to be a right bastard about it until you know, despite the fact that it is neither any of your business nor of any importance to your case. If you must know, it was her gender to which they took offence.”
Ah, there it was. The flicker of disgust in his eyes. Willow took a perverse delight in eliciting that reaction in people. Really, they made it too easy.
“I see.”
Bullshit. I call bullshit on that. Willow halted her train of thoughts before she embarked on a full-fledged rant. Hmm. Anger. I think the shock’s wearing off. Damn.
“Can I go now?” she demanded. It was time to get out of there before she said something she’d regret. Or did something.
“We’re nearly finished.” Willow did not believe him for a moment. “Do you know of anyone who might wish your sister dead?”
“Agent Bryant, this is a serial killer.” Willow’s light voice had taken on a bored drawl. Maybe if she ticked him off enough, he’d let her go. “What makes you think he wanted Lizzie in particular dead? Could she not just as easily have been a target of opportunity?”
“Dr. Marchant, surely you know that you should never discount any possibilities when working a case.”
Willow supposed she should not be offended by Bryant’s patronizing tone. She had rather invited it.
“Then she is connected to the other victims?”
“As we have only now determined her identity, I don’t know how we could possibly know that yet.”
Damn. There went her chance to draw out information of her own. She was now desperately curious to learn the identities of the first victims, to see if they were, indeed, connected to Lizzie.
Though, how I would know if they were, I haven’t a clue.
“Agent Bryant, I have neither seen nor spoken to my sister in twelve years. How, exactly, am I supposed to know whom she knows or does not know, or whom she may or may not have antagonized? She is as much a stranger to me as she is to you.”
Though she had told nothing but the truth, Bryant did not look at all appeased. He did not, however, have any more reason to hold her.
“Very well, then. Be certain we’ll be in touch. You may go.” His glower as she stood to leave told her just how very much he did not want to release her. With a smirk, she dropped a mocking bow towards him.
“Agent Bryant, it’s been a pleasure, I’m certain. Enjoy your stay in Kansas City, my dear man.” With that, she spun on her heel and stalked out the door.

Willow did not slow her stride until she had reached the work rooms of the lab once more. With a quick glance to reassure herself that no one was around – it was nearly the end of swing shift and those on grave had not yet arrived, so the lab was remarkably empty – she ducked into an empty room and shut the door. With shudders wracking her body, she leaned against the door and slid until she was sitting on the floor.
“Fuck,” she breathed, wrapping her arms around her bent legs and pressing her face into her knees. She could feel the last of her control slipping from her grasp as the shudders turned into sobs.
“Damn it all, Lizzie.” Her voice was broken and hoarse; the sound of it in the otherwise silent room disturbed her.
It figures. Even her thoughts held a bitter, broken edge. The only decent one of the lot of ‘em, and look what happens. Fucking bastard. She was not quite sure to whom the last thought was directed – Bryant, the killer, or even Lizzie herself. She just knew that she was tired, and angry, and hurt, and it felt like a piece of herself had broken off and wandered away. She wanted it back, damn it. She hated this feeling – grief? Hatred? Both were certainly present, all tangled up in a wretched ball that seemed permanently wedged in her gut.
She was just settling in for a good bout of feeling awful when the door swung open behind her, toppling her backwards with a muffled “oomph”. She peered up at the figure standing in the now-open doorway. Dark hair and darker eyes gazed calmly back at her from behind oval glasses settled over a sharp nose and thin mouth.
“Lynn.” Willow avoided the other woman’s eyes as she pulled herself into a sitting position once more. “What are you doing here?”
“What do you think, you idiot? I’m looking for you.” Lynn knelt beside Willow and folded her legs beneath her. “What on Earth happened to you, hon?”
Willow shook her head. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“If you say so.” Lynn obviously did not believe her.
“Fucking hell, Lynn. I hate this.”
“Tell me.”
With a resigned sigh, Willow rested her head against Lynn’s shoulder. “You know the Jane Doe they found off the highway yesterday?” She felt Lynn nod.
“Mm-hmm. Ben was working that one, wasn’t he? With days?”
“Yeah. Turns out, Jane Doe is Lizzie.”
Lynn sucked in a breath. “Your sister?”
Now it was Willow’s turn to nod. “Saw a crime photo one of the feds dropped. Recognized her scar. The one from the tree, you know?”
“I know, hon.” Thin fingers pulled Willow’s hair out of its customary braid and began running through it, tracing soothing patterns on her skull. With her other hand, Lynn wiped away the tears that Willow had not even realized had fallen. “God, Will, I’m sorry.”
“Not your fault,” Willow murmured. She could feel Lynn’s hands pulling her out of the pit of angry emotions. “Unless, you know, you turned psycho serial killer on me without warning. We might have some issues if you did.”
Lynn laughed softly. “No, can’t say that I have. We should get you home, though. You can have your breakdown there just as easily as you can here.” She tugged lightly on the strands of hair she still held in her hand before pulling the younger woman to her feet.
“I’m not going to have a breakdown,” Willow tried to protest. Lynn silenced her with a disbelieving look. “I’m not.”
“Will, you were ninety percent of the way there already. You willingly let me hold you – you’re not okay.”
The glare Willow leveled at her failed to evoke the proper reaction. Instead of apologizing and backing off, Lynn just chuckled and handed her the tie that had been holding Willow’s hair in place not long before. With another glare, Willow pulled her hair back into a braid with the ease of long practice before tying it off with the elastic band. Lynn simply watched her in amusement. As soon as Willow looked presentable again, Lynn grabbed her by the elbow and steered her from the room.