Untitled

John Edwards arrived at the crime scene panting and covered in sweat. Half jogging and half walking a mile will do that to you. Especially in the beginning of an Ohio spring-summer transition, where merely stepping outside means you are sweating. Especially in the beginning of one of the hottest summers in history. Especially if you have not gotten much sleep. Especially if you are still a little drunk.

John had been president of this university for five years now. He had started as a professor fifteen years prior at a major university in Arizona, moved up to dean, and was eventually offered the job out here. A year later, four years ago almost to the day, he started drinking again.

John's late high school and college years had been full of drunken stupors. His Catholic school upbringing had not been as strict as the stereotypical one is, but it was not a cake walk either. When he got to high school, and a car, and a school full of male students with similar backgrounds, he let loose. By the end of his first weekend in college, John was a full-fledged alcoholic. On a normal weekend evening, he was passed out by 2:00 am - often in embarrassing places, and embarrassing positions. Weekend drinking binges became weekday drinking binges. Evening beer runs turned into early morning beer runs. A B+ average was quickly flirting with academic probation.

And then New York City was nuked.

Overnight, literally, John's life changed. He had lost his parents to that attack, and a large number of friends. He swore off drinking. He changed his major to political science and brought his grades up. He was determined to become president of the United States so he could punish those that had ruthlessly killed so many people that he loved. And he was certainly not going to let America get attacked twice like that inept jackass former president had.

As a political science graduate from a good school with a fantastic transcript and glowing references, John had no trouble finding a job with a local senator's office. Splitting time between D.C. and Phoenix, John worked late nights making sure he got noticed. It only took a couple years for him to move from envelope stuffing to taking notes for the senator in meetings. Soon John and the senator were on a first name basis.

Unfortunately for John, the senator had a money problem. Once he started dipping into campaign contributions for drinks, cars, and sex, it was only a matter of time before the press got wind of it. And once they got the scent of a scandal, the senator's career was over.

As was John's. After the senator resigned, nobody would touch anybody from his staff. With no political prospects to speak of, John moved back to Phoenix to get his PhD while he reevaluated things. Six years later he still had not completed his self-evaluation so he started teaching. He got married. The teaching job turned into a dean's position. Then he was offered the position here, and he took it. It was only after being in that job for a year that he realized his dream was over. He was going to be stuck as president of a university, and would never be President of the United States. So he gave himself permission to start drinking again. And once he started, he could not stop.

"Long walk, sir?" Detective Barron asked. "Sorry about that. I wouldn't have had you come on all the way out here on a hot Sunday afternoon like this if it wasn't important. I know how you like your Sunday afternoons."

"No, Detective, it's quite alright. Duty calls, you know. And I'm feeling better than when you called earlier. I guess the walk did me some good." John paused. "So, I guess you should show me the body."

The two men carefully traversed the steep hillside together. John could see the area below, surrounded by yellow police tape. Inside the area, another officer walked around taking pictures. John caught a glimpse of a pair of shoes, but nothing else.

"I called for a transport, sir. It should be here soon. I wanted to get this area cleaned up before any media or gawkers get here."

"Thanks, Detective. I appreciate it."

As they ducked underneath the crime scene tape, John was struck by how un-crime scene like the whole area was. There was no blood, no weapon, no signs of a major struggle. Just a body - literally. That was what really got your attention when got close. Your brain instantly told you that something was wrong. This body had no head. And therefore it was not a dead body. John's already reeling head reeled some more.

"I need a drink," John mumbled.

"What's that, sir?"

"I just said: This is unbelievable. Any idea who she is yet?"

"No, sir. They'll do the wider ID scan on the transport, and then we should know. Assuming she's in the database, but she probably is, since she's been modded. Hopefully that will lead us somewhere new, because to be honest with you, I'm stuck at this point. We've examined the area and haven't found anything strange. Best I can tell is she fell from the road up there and rolled down here. Whether she still had her head at this point, I can't tell. Whether that fall killed her somehow or whether it was something else, I can't tell. But they should be able to hook her up once they get her in and play back the logs. Then we'll know for sure. Say what you will about body modding, but the things they stick in there sure make it easier to figure out what happens to people."

A voice called down from up the hill. "Hey! One of you guys Detective Barron?

"Right here! You my transport?"

"Sure am. We'll be down in a sec."

"Well, Detective," John said. "You seem to have everything under control here. I'm going to go meet with the Trustees. They're going to want to know about this."