Her phone was vibrating so hard, it fell off the bedside table. It landed on the hardwood floor with a sharp clunk. Miranda had been sleeping on her stomach; her hair twisted in knots and splayed out around her skull. As the phone hit the floor, the sound woke her with a jolt. She sat up, pressing her hands against the mattress, lifting her torso up, mumbling something inaudible. Sighing deeply, she lowered herself back down and reached an arm down to pick up the cell phone, flipping it open with her thumb and raising it to her ear. "Miranda Cerulean…" Her voice was scratchy with sleep, her tongue almost too thick in her mouth to form words. Miranda cleared her throat. At the other end of the line, the caller started to speak.

"Cerulean, you've been requested by Miami P.D. Something about a skeleton. They need your expert opinion. Report to 187 Baird Drive as soon as possible." And just like that, they hung up. It had been the receptionist at the hospital she worked at. Kate something-or-other. As Miranda flicked the phone shut, she processed. She was hardly ever requested by Miami P.D. Most of the bodies they found where fresh… Or at least still had meat on their bones. Miranda was a Forensic Pathologist. An expert with an expert opinion. The one they called when they dug up skeletons. And with Miami's 20 success rate with murder cases, they usually didn't find a whole lot of skeletons. When they didn't need her, Miranda worked at a local hospital, under a private practice. Most of the stuff she dealt with was small time. Private cases. Maybe working a face sculpture off a skeleton once and a while. She found work where she could, which also meant teaching a master class at the University of Miami once a week and several smaller lab classes every month. In Miami, she was a legend. Which meant paying the price every couple of months of dragging herself out of bed and trudging down to the police station or some middle-of-nowhere crime scene at all hours of the night.

Miranda slid out of bed, reaching over with a hand to push the bulky curtains that hung over her one and only window in the one bedroom of her one-bedroom-one-bath apartment. Light cut in through the glass of the window, slicing her sleep-sensitive retinas like a scalpel. She had forgotten it was three o'clock in the afternoon. Miranda had been on an eclectic sleep schedule ever since she had started teaching some lab classes at a body farm a half hour outside of the city. Her and her students had been out at the body farm every night for the past three nights. Lucky for her, last night was the end of the series. She had thought she would be getting some well-earned sleep right about now.

She had took a shower after getting home from the body farm early that morning so, after pulling on a long-sleeve button-up shirt and a pair of jeans, brushing her teeth and pushing the top layer of her long thick black hair into a silver clip, she was out the door. Miranda had thrown her keys and cell phone into her red sling back, which she threw into the passenger seat of dark red compact. Miranda liked red. It was also the color of her living room couch, comforter, and bed sheets. She always wondered what that said about her personality.

The engine caught and she pulled out of the apartment complex parking lot. Miranda blinked in the sun, pushing a hair of her cheek, pulling the address the receptionist had told her out of her groggy morning-memory. Even half asleep, Miranda had a strong memory. She always had. Especially with things that she tried to suppress. 187 Baird Drive. Miranda knew exactly where that was; right next to a park she used to go to with her family when she was little. Before she was adopted.

The street was packed with people trying to get a glimpse, cop cars with their lights and sirens going off, crime scene tape stretched around the empty lot. Because of the crowd, Miranda parked down the block and walked along the sidewalk to the lot. It was a residential area, lots of houses, probably lots of parks too, for families, but none of the parks were as big as Baird Park. Miranda and her family would come here on Sundays for picnics. She shook her head, running a hand over her forehead. Sometimes she wished she didn't have to remember everything.

Her I.D. was already in her hand by the time she reached the yellow tape. Flashing it to the officer monitoring the border of the scene, Miranda held up the tape and walked into the vacant lot. The lot was graveled in places, grassy in others. Not too different from any of the other vacant lots in any other residential Miami areas. Except this one had a body buried in it. Which, as Miranda considered it, might not be too atypical of other vacant lots. She smiled to herself as another officer approached her.

"Miranda Cerulean?" She nodded. The officer nodded too, as if mirroring her.

"We have a skeleton, possibly more than twenty years old. The reason we called you is because of the high profile circumstances the body was found in." Miranda must have looked confused, so the officer continued. "This lot belongs to Jacob Mare, the prime suspect for the Genna Baird Case twenty years ago." Miranda's breath caught in her throat. Genna Baird was the sixteen year-old daughter of the Bairds, a prominent Miami family with lots of old money. Genna Baird had disappeared in the mid-1980 and her body was never found. Miranda remembered the case clearly; she had been the same age as the Baird girl when it happened. It was the same year her parents died. Jacob Mare had been a 21 year old at the time and had had many links to Genna; several of her friends had identified him as being in a relationship with the teenager. But no substantial evidence had been found and Mare had never ever been tried in court.

The officer led Miranda into the middle of the lot where several investigators were surrounding a square hole in the earth. As she got closer, Miranda could see the hole was actually a cement bunker sunk into the ground. What looked like the cement top to the box was lying a few feet away. She turned to the officer. "Who found it?"

"Neighbors. They were digging for a well."

"On someone else's property?" The officer shrugged.

"Claimed they didn't think anyone owned it. Mare had it listed under his father's name, so it wasn't searched back when the case was hot." Miranda nodded, approaching the edge of the hole. Looking down into the dark cell, she bit her lip. Blood spatter patterns were all across the walls of the small cement box, dried into a dark wine color. In the center, the brittle bones of the skeleton were laid out in perfect order, as if the body had been straightened out after dying. Blinking in the sun and lifting a hand to shield her face from the direct sunlight, Miranda tried to get a better view of the body. Bone fractures all across the skeleton looked like stab wounds and it appeared there was a break in the neck, she couldn't really tell. The body must've been fifteen feet down and a man was staring intently at one of the walls, the one that looked like the main site of the directional castoff of the blood. His shadow was blocking Miranda's view of the skull.

"Looks like the apparent stab wounds on the body match those castoff patterns, huh?" She called down, sliding her bag off her shoulder. The man jumped, turning around. Miranda walked towards the ladder that was leaning against the side of the hole. She assumed that's how he had gotten down there. Before she turned around to climb down the ladder, she saw a confused look on his face.

"I'm sorry, what did you say?" Miranda heard him say behind her. She jumped the last couple of rungs of the ladder into the cement block.

"I said," She turned to face him. "I said that it looked like the castoff on the walls matches these fractures." She gestured around them, pulling a pair of latex gloves out of jeans pocket. The man nodded.

"Oh, huh, yeah. Looks that way…" His eyes remained on her. "And you are?" Miranda laughed.

"Oh, sorry." She held out a hand. "Miranda Cerulean." The man pulled off his own rubber glove and took her hand, shaking it.

"Dexter Morgan." As soon as he dropped her hand, he was already pulling his glove back on. But he didn't turn back to the blood spatter. "You're the skeleton girl, right?" Miranda nodded, snapping the wrists of the latex gloves against her skin.

"Yeah. I guess you could say that… " She kneeled down beside the skeleton, looking up at Dexter. "And you're the blood spatter guy, right?" Miranda smiled slightly. His mouth stretched into a smile, but his eyes didn't smile. Miranda had never seen anybody do that.

"Yeah. I guess you could say that." And with that, he turned back to the wall. Miranda took this as her cue to examine the body more closely. She took her time, running her eyes over every bone, brushing her fingertips across the outlines of the wounds, feeling the broken corners through the protective latex. Miranda didn't know how long he had been standing over here before she saw his sneaker next to her knee. She jumped a bit. "Oh. Sorry… I didn't mean to scare you." Miranda laughed softly, standing and brushing dirt off her knees.

"It's fine… Dexter was it?" Dexter nodded.

"Yeah." He exhaled loudly, pulling off his gloves and stuffing his hands in his front pockets. "So… If they called you in, you must have quite the expert opinion." He watched her pull her gloves off. "So, what is it?" Miranda looked up.

"What do you mean?"

"You're expert opinion? What is it?" She nodded, understanding.

"Oh. Yeah." Miranda arched her back, stretching her arms above her head. Dexter Morgan kept his eyes on the cement wall. She was impressed. "Well, he got her down here somehow… Drugged her, maybe knocked her out." She turned to stand beside him, shoulder to shoulder. "Then he cornered her…" Miranda gestured to a fan of blood spatter coming out across the wall in front of them. "He stabbed her. Multiple times." She gestured to the puncture wounds in the bones. "Until she was dead." Dexter was nodding.

"And after she was dead, he straightened her back out… Sealed up this cement… cell. And walked away." He looked all around them. "Genius…" Miranda turned her head, looking at him questioningly. Dexter shrugged. "So, what, are you going to be able to tell us if this is Genna Baird?"

"Well, we'll compare dental records, any identifying marks… That sort of thing. But the skeleton is female; she looks about the right age." She sighed, looking across the body. "This could be her." Dexter nodded again and opened his mouth but was interrupted by a shout. The officer that had led Miranda over was calling to them. The two of them turned in synch and looked up.

"Morgan, Cerulean, we got to get out of here so the coroner can take the skeleton back to the morgue. But you guys might want to go out and get a cup of coffee or something while you might. Might take a while, we don't want to break any of the bones. They're delicate." Miranda nodded, pulling off her gloves, turning the fingers inside out as she pulled. She was almost frustrated; she came all the way out here and now it would take at the very least an hour to get this skeleton out of here, piece by piece. She huffed, and then it occurred to her that the officer had suggested they get coffee. Coffee? Miranda looked up to find the officer had already walked away. Dexter was on the first two rungs of the ladder. He turned, catching her eye.

"So, uh, we really don't have to get coffee." He held up one hand in a half-shrug, keeping one arm around the rung of the ladder. Miranda shook her head slowly, then faster in confidence.

"Oh, no, we can go…" Raising a hand to push her thick bangs out of her eyes, she shrugged herself. "I mean, if this body really is the Baird girl, this could seriously be the case of the year. We're going to see a lot of each other." She smiled, trying to be friendly. Sometimes, she could really drive people away; she didn't have the best understanding of people and normal social behavior. But she really was trying to get better, trying to go out with her friends more, meet more people. Miranda pressed a hand to her forehead; the lack of sleep was really getting to her. "Plus, I probably will collapse if I don't get caffeine in the next ten minutes."

Within ten minutes, Miranda Cerulean and Dexter Morgan were sitting outside a coffee shop that had been just down the block from the crime scene, each with an iced-coffee in front of them. Miranda's had some sort of cinnamon syrup and an extra shot of espresso. Dexter just ordered black coffee. At first, she felt that he hadn't really wanted to come with her, but eventually, with the coffee in front of him, she finally got a good look at him. He gave off this weird vibe that made Miranda almost uncomfortable, but also slightly comforted; almost like he had a secret that separated them, but at the same time that secret kept her safe.

Miranda took the first sip of her coffee and exhaled, letting the cold caffeine mellow her out. She was running on four hours of sleep, after all. It wasn't until after setting the cup back on the table in front of her that she realized he had been watching her. They locked eyes for a second before she blinked, squinting. "What is it?" He smiled, but this time the smile had more substance, like he was actually and genuinely smiling. Dexter took a sip of his own cup of coffee.

"Long night?" Miranda smiled, leaning back in her chair.

"I teach a class at the University of Miami. This last week I've held classes at the body farm right outside of town. I didn't get in until five this morning." Dexter nodded, holding the cup of coffee in his hand instead of setting it back on the table.

"Oh, well then…" He raised his coffee cup to her. "You really did need coffee." Dexter laughed a bit too loud and set the cup down on the table, finally. "So, skeleton girl… Why dead people bones? Why not…" He shrugged here, searching for the words. "I don't know art school?" Dexter smiled and Miranda laughed, taking a drink before answering.

"Well, I've never really been that talented at drawing the human form…" They laughed in unison as she set her cut down on the table, just a short foot from his. "No, really… I guess this is what I do beause-"Miranda cleared her throat in hesitation. "Well, when I was almost fifteen, my parents were driving home from a little weekend vacation. When they didn't show up when they said they would, we started to panic-"

Dexter interrupted. "We?"

"Oh, me and my brother, Oliver…" Dexter looked at her for a second, thoughtful.

"Miranda and Oliver… Were your parents into Shakespeare?" Miranda cocked her head, laughing a little.

"Well… yeah." She smiled, shaking her head. "Hardly anyone makes that connection… "Dexter was nodding.

"The character Miranda in The Tempest and Oliver from-"

"As You Like It, yeah!" She was grinning before she caught herself, clearing her throat again. "Yeah… My father was a very prominent Shakespeare scholar and my mother was quite the Shakespearean actress in her day…" Miranda was smiling to herself. Then she sighed seriously the looked at Dexter. "They never came home that night. The police found their car a couple of miles from where they had been staying. The inside was covered in blood… But there were no bodies." Unconsciously, she reached up to rub a mosquito bite on her neck, lost in thought for a moment. Dexter sat silently. "They closed the case until I was nineteen-- Some company was clear cutting the forest near where they had crashed and had found the bodies. I was at the University of Miami studying Shakespeare; like my mom." Miranda had been talking to her cup until then. She looked up and caught Dexter watching her, so intently. "The police concluded that a semi-truck had hit them while they were on the way home. The driver must've freaked and buried the bodies. I changed my major after I got back from the funeral." Miranda broke her eyes away from Dexter's, taking a sip of her coffee. It was almost gone. He was nodding again.

"You didn't want anyone else to have to go through what you went through; how you didn't even know if you're parents were dead or alive." Miranda held her cup in midair, staring at him.

"Y-yeah… That's exactly right." She still didn't set her cup down. "Then, around the year anniversary of my parents funeral, one of my best friends, Elina, was found murdered." Miranda took a shaky breath in. "Elina had been one of my best friends since we were little; my brother took it hard, too. They had been dating for a pretty long time when she died." As she spoke, she had been looking straight ahead, staring past Dexter. After a while, Miranda shook her head, exhaling. "I don't think I've ever told anyone all of that in one sitting." She turned her head the slightest bit. "I don't know what it is about you, Dexter Morgan." Miranda laughed nervously. Dexter smiled at her.

"Well, I—"Something was vibrating against the metal leg of the lawn furniture they were sitting in. Dexter reached into his pocket to pull out his phone just has Miranda's started to go off. They caught each other's glances. It was time for Genna Baird to start talking.

Dexter Morgan slid into his desk chair, straightening up to look out over the edge of his plastic cubicle. Miranda was trapped in a conversation with LaGuerta, probably giving him enough time for a quick Police Database search: keyword, Oliver Cerulean. There were several hits, but most of them just off the last name; Miranda certainly had had a part in some of the most major cases the station had seen in the last couple of years. Finally, he hit the jackpot: Oliver Cerulean, murder suspect. Dexter quickly scrolled through the report. Oliver Cerulean had been a suspect, albeit a minor one. He was released on account of what appeared to be a solid alibi and no major evidence could be held against him. Just as he what about to close the window, Dexter caught a name from the report: victim's name was Elina Consuela. Hadn't Miranda said her murdered friends' name was Elina? Dexter frowned, staring at the screen for a few moments before closing the database. Had Miranda suspected her brother? She had mentioned her brother was in a relationship with the girl. Out of the corner of her eye, he could see Miranda waving to LaGuerta over her shoulder as she walked steadily toward Dexter's cubicle. For now, they had Genna Baird to deal with. But Dexter took one last glance at the computer screen. Mental note: Oliver Cerulean, potential problem.