Chapter Text
My coffee was black, brewing on the counter as I listened intently to the little television that was placed on the wall. Another robbery. I propped my elbow against the kitchen counter, my chin resting in its palm as the news reports continued to stream out of the speakers.
"-robbery last night in Curry county. Police say the culprit dug up the body of Freddrick Johns, age 94, before removing his spinal coard and leaving the rest of the body without alteration."
My leg began to bounce in anticipation, left hand going to tap at the isle's wooden surface. Grave robberies. An impressive string dedicated to stealing organs and bones alike.
All located in Oregon.
At first, the occurrence was local news in Wallowa county, sparked by the theft of deceased Margaret Joy's large intestines. It had hardly passed by my radar as supernatural or even interesting. Strange of course to the average male, but I was located in a town full of nut jobs. Not to mention the distance. Wallowa was miles upon miles from Roadkill county. It was beyond my jurisdiction.
Until recently.
The next day, a second robbery was reported, this time in Union county. Right next to Wallowa. The unburied body of Greg Simmons was found, emptied of his colon and, once again, left otherwise unbothered.
Thirty-seven counties in total. Thirty-four of which had been struck in a relatively organized manor. The trail seemed to begin at one end and slowly work its way to the other side of the state. Each county's police department was put on notice, although little effort was put into catching the culprit. It was a grave robbery, and not even one of jewelry or worldly keep-sakes within the coffin.
It was one of senseless theft that no reasonable person would ever commit. The news had covered what little information they had on the subject, and people quickly tired of the obvious pattern. The victims had all been dead before hand, meaning there was no murder. None of the bodies had been defiled, making the crime without sexual intent. From what everyone could tell, the graves were simply being disturbed.
They called him, 'The Surgeon'. Not out of fear, but out of mockery. Each case had been sloppily done, making it apparent this man had no real medical experience. It was sheer luck he even found the anus. No one was really interested in the case.
If anything, it was a foot note at the bottom of the news paper, outshined by amateur journalists writing on recipes and local gossip. None of my colleagues bothered to bring the case up, leaving myself the only one engaged.
Which only made the mystery that much more exciting.
I turned to my left, coffee soon rationed out evenly between two cups; One, a simple blue with the white outlining of a pine tree. The other, a monstrous concoction of glitter and glue, making it un-microwavable and depriving it of any real pleasure drinking from it. A poorly painted star sat frozen mid-drip in the center, proud and exaggerated. As I poured the remainder in her cup, she seemed to appear on cue.
"Good morning!" Mabel beamed, already dressed and clipping on her starry earrings. She was quick to swoop in and snatch the cup from my hands, moving to the cupboards to fetch some sugar.
"Morning." I responded simply, my attention soon being re-absorbed by the television, although monotonous in its information. The reporter droned on like a broken record, repeating the tiny bits of detail they had on the matter.
"-No eye witnesses to be sure, but detectives say they're on the case. I'm Shandra Jimenez, and you're-" The channel was quickly switched to a colorful cartoon about boys in bear hats and stretchy yellow dogs. I jumped at the slight shock before turning around.
"Mabel!" She sat at the breakfast table, legs crossed as she stirred her coffee, eyes glued to the TV.
"What? You've been watching the news channel all week! It's my turn." The volume was turned up, Mabel going to blow at her coffee before continuing. "It's boring, anyways."
"Yeah? Well, that 'boring' news coverage is part of my job."
"So you agree it's boring." Mabel quipped before taking a sip of her drink. I grumbled, trying to shake the comment away, only for it to sink in and sting a little. Not even Mabel found the grave robberies interesting.
"No." I reached for my mug's handle, coffee bitter and without topping.
Mabel and I shared virtually everything. From our womb to our childhood bedroom to our first car to our current apartment. Our differing taste seemed to be the last thing we felt individually split upon.
"Aren't you a bit old for kids' shows?" My voice remained indifferent, drawing away any signs of hostility or offence. I leaned against the kitchen counter, viewing the screen in mild amusement as the main character continued to swing his sword around. Mabel looked to me, seeing the slight smile that stretched across my lips before responding with one of her own.
"Aren't you?" I said nothing, simply enjoying the bit of nostalgia the cartoon provided me.
It's been a long time since I've felt like a kid.
The show continued for a bit longer, Mabel taking the liberty of pulling out a box of cereal and nibbling on its contents dry. Looking to my right, I duly noted the oven's clock with the clear glow of red numbers reading out '7:47.' My eyes pulled away from the screen, moving to the bedroom to finish dressing.
I had already suited myself in a pair of dark slacks, coupled simply by a white button up shirt that clasped either of my wrists. A black tie was slipped around my neck, Mabel taking notice and swinging around to finish tying it.
"You know, you might look good in a bow tie..." I scoffed, wiggling my tie as it hugged my throat awkwardly.
"I'm not trying to look dapper. Trust me, I'd be going to work in sweat pants if I could."
"Dipper, don't!" Mabel cringed, leaning back in her chair as she pictured it. "You look so handsome in your uniform!"
"Says the twin." She chuckled, sliding off her chair before patting herself of crumbs.
"What can I say? You've got perfect genes." She gave her shoulders a little shimmy as she spoke, posing herself in such a way I couldn't help but laugh.
We shared many things. From our womb to our childhood bedroom to our first car to our current apartment. To our faces.
Of course, anyone could tell I was a male and she was the opposite, from my broadened shoulders and flattened chest. But that didn't make us any less identical. My chin was slender. My lashes were long. My waist was thin. My hair was soft. My whole being was soft! And it never helped knowing that, a few years back, people had come to the overwhelming conclusion that I had a nicer ass than her...
Mabel was just as mortified.
Growing a beard didn't seem to be an option either, much to my dismay. I definitely didn't look like a women. I just looked... very, very pretty... for a male.
I rolled my eyes at Mabel, gagging at her statement before slipping on my police vest. A thick, sleeveless fabric with both my name plate "Pines" and an over worn badge pinned to my vest's breast. Although scratchy at times, there was a sort of familiarity with the thing. A kind of upgrade from my blue one, though mandatory of my uniform and demanding in authority now. Something I would have killed for as a child.
I looked to the window, a leaden sky of dull blues and greys that paused just for us. It would rain soon.
"We should head out."
"What?" Mabel whined, eyeing the television longingly. "But Princess Bumble Mug just made a cure for the zombies!"
I crossed my arms smiling, only to lean up and turn it off.
"We can watch it later." I turned to grab my keys.
"Laaaater?!"
"Mabel-" I cautioned, as though talking to a child. Which, in a way, I was.
"I have time!"
"No, you have a job. And if you wanna keep working at 'Granny's Crafts Imperium', you'll meet me in the car."
She let out a 'hmp', crossing her arms as I slipped my coat on.
"Come on." I tilted my head towards the door, nudging in its direction with a grin. "We can have a marathon after you get off. I'll buy snacks."
We reached the car in the garage, an 'El Diablo convertible 4 door sedan.' Which sounded luxurious until you realized it was just the car Stan used to own. A 'Stan-me-down' is what he called it.
I called it a piece of shit.
Mabel's job was about five minutes from my work at the police department. A quaint shop between a pie shop and the post office, with a little blue roof and a cutely carved door. It had dry, chipped paint curling off the walls as well as shiny little windows that showcased buttons and yarn and fabric patterns. It was once a relatively peaceful shop. One that old ladies grew accustomed to and nursing women enjoyed bringing their teething children into so they'd calm down.
I don't think I need to explain how Mabel changed all of that.