Captain Banks sank wearily into his chair, "Jesus Christ, I still can't believe it..."
    "Us either, Captain," said Ellison. "But it's not over... There's God knows how many people that are going to run with what Fiendish told them."
    "You say that like it's a bad thing," mused Sandburg. Simon and Jim stared stonily at Blair, who squirmed before saying, "Uh, right. It is. Sorry."
    Suddenly the phone rang. "Special Crimes, Captain Banks speaking," Simon said, still glaring at Blair. Then Simon's face changed to a look of stunned shock. "When?" he demanded. "SHIT!"
    "What is it?" asked Jim tiredly.
    "Those three that rode with Fiendish's body hijacked the ambulance. Forced the drivers out at gunpoint and drove off with the bastard's corpse."
    "What?" Jim goggled. "Why would they? He's dead. He's of no use to anyone anymore..."
    "Except as a legend," Blair said. "There's a theory that Christ's resurrection was a hoax, and that his disciples stole the body. I mean, it's all conjecture, but the parallel's amazing."
    "What are you saying, Sandburg?" demanded Simon irritably as he jumped to his feet. "Those three stole the body so they could pretend he rose from the dead? For what? There's no point to it!"
    "There is," Blair insisted. "Would Christ's message have been given it's weight today if he was just some carpenter's bookworm kid? No, I don't think so. But when you make him something otherworldly...? People have a natural tendency to make superstitions and larger than life events merge into something more than the sum of its parts. Makes the message attached to it - if any - stick better. You want proof, look at the Vatican."
    The knock on the door stopped Simon's shouting before it even started. "Captain?" said Henri. "UPS just dropped this off for you..." He then presented a small box, eight inches on all sides. "It's kinda heavy, but the dogs didn't register anything uncool, so here ya go."
    "Thanks," Simon said as he tore into it. Then, upon peering into the box, his jaw dropped and he fell heavily back into his chair.
    "What is it?" Jim asked worriedly.
    Without a word, Simon tipped the box over onto his desk. Jim and Blair gaped in horror as they registered the three items that spilled out:

    A small razor, stained with blood.
    A familiar metal gauntlet, sporting a dime-sized dent in the palm.
    And a bent bullet...

    She sat as she always had, aware of everything and nothing at once. The very fabric of existence was visible to her, and she was lost in the rapture of it. She had no idea how long she was here, or even where exactly here was - but she didn't care anymore. The very molecules of all things danced about for only her to see, and she was content.
    And yet, she felt aware of something else... Something echoing just beyond the glamour of the dance of life that was hers alone to see. Something that said just one thing, with a voice like a breeze through a graveyard... And what it said, she felt, was equally strange...

    "Hello, my intended...."