Chapter three - Those left behind

No day is just another ordinary day. Each of them is the beginning or end of something; someone's heaven or hell. For Evelyn this day was like a bad joke, and like everything else in hell, it was deadly serious.

The dark-haired woman closed her eyes and put her hands into a bowl of boiling water, hoping that the pain would allow her to get away. Nevertheless, when she opened her eyelids and saw in the water a reflection of red spots that soaked her apron, she knew the worst was still ahead of her. So far she had survived only a few hours of surgery that, against all odds, had not ended in total fiasco. Thus far she had only ruined her dress and her shoes, from which blood would squelch with every step. And to think that all of it started so inconspicuous.

At first Evelyn had thought that the elegant, old Asian man lying on the operation table had been an assaulted foreign dignitary, or a member of the triad, but the hushed whispers of nurses and Osbert's screams from behind the door were confirmation of something else. She was busy as a beaver assisting Dr. Ericson with the procedure, but in the onslaught of tasks and increasing noise the girl managed to catch two words: Phantomhive and annihilation. As it turned out, instead of her nephew's birthday party at the Earl estate, Madam Red found a wild inferno that had consumed literally everything. The only survivor seemed to have been old butler, who miraculously managed to crawl out.

Dark blood from her fingers danced in the water, the uncontrolled twitching of her muscles pulled its strings like an evil puppeteer, whirring and jerking it around in a sickly waltz of horrid shapes that could have been spawned by hell itself. Evelyn focused her moonstone eyes, looking sternly at the bloodied water that started to burn her skin. Staring vacantly into mid-distance, she finally pulled her hands out. A single, unstoppable tear cascaded down her cheek in desolate realization: she would not be able to decide her fate. Whoever killed the Earl and his family had stolen her career, her choices, and her future.

"I understand that the butler is still among living."

Evelyn pulled away from the table with startled wide eyes, shaky hands jostling the bowl that with a dull bang fell to the floor. The water spilled, completely soaking her shoes, as the bowl rolled to the feet of the Undertaker who was standing in the doorway. He, however, did not grin or burst out laughing at the sight of her failure this time. His expression was hardened, morphed into a rigidness that tried hard to push out the dark emotions stirring inside him

"Why? Why do you always have to do this?" she huffed in an agitated voice, still shaken from his sudden appearance and from the chill that had begun to claw at her skin. "You keep sneaking up like a freaking shadow."

"Well, "sneaking up" is in my nature. I was a grim reaper once, remember?" he spoke, growling darkly.

"It's rather hard thing to forget," she mumbled, rubbing her hands. "And yes, Mister Tanaka is alive at least for now. Nevertheless, I'm not sure if he will survive, and even then I don't think he will ever fully recover. I suppose that a police want to question him?"

"Indeed, they're at the door like a group of vultures waiting for a piece of carrion."

"I am sure that's more out of concern for their careers than a sense of justice," she pointed out.

"Rather out of fear," he corrected ominously, and with his every word the bump of anxiety in her throat grew dangerously. "The death of the Phantomhives will affect not only the underworld, but also the lives of ordinary people. Inferior criminals will not feel a major force above them. No longer will they hide in a shadows. They will act in light of day, itching for more and more, not caring about the balance. Organized groups will fight for territory and influence; streets will flow with the blood of the innocent and criminals alike. There will be panic among ordinary people and traders. Prices will rise, further heightening the tension. London will become a battleground, the likes of which the city has not seen in decades. "

Listening to him, Evelyn did not notice the Undertaker begin to move. When he had finished speaking, he was already at her fingertips, in which he put a small, dark box.

"You should take care of yourself, my little missy. The world just got even more dangerous than before. "

Ω

Undertaker was right. Actually, it was strange how often the perpetually grinning lunatic usually was. With ensuing chaos, even the weather seemed to dance in one rhythm, like the flood of raindrops falling in the few last days from the sky. Drains choked up, constantly spewing silt, mud, dead rats, dogs, and any other gook anybody was able to think of. In those days, the world seemed to push on top all of the junk that people wanted to destroy or forget. White fluff, which at this time of year usually tried to hide omnipresent London filth, did not even try to appear, rightly assuming that in the end it will only help reveal more layers of grime.

A pair of horses pulling a posh carriage through flooded street stopped near a forged iron gate leading to the old town house, where hunched figure with a towel was already waiting at the door. The distance from the carriage to the building was not large, but it was enough for Evelyn to become completely wet. Water dripped down from her hair as she crossed the threshold. When Margery caught her with a towel, she just stood on the cold floor, shivering, replaying in her mind all terrible images from the past few days. She let the maid lead her to her bedroom and dress her in dry clothes like mindless porcelain doll. Then she finally was left alone.

Completely still, after unmoving for what seemed like an eternity, Evelyn finally didn't feel the chills, didn't see the horrors, and didn't hear the dark cries of pain. She observed her surroundings, eyes flickering from one side of the room to the other, until they encountered the small box that Undertaker had given her a week ago. It was not truly her's to have, but she could not bring herself to give it back, at least not yet.

The young woman took out something from her purse and walked out into the hallway, heading for one of the guest rooms. Before the room which she was interested was a small trolley with an untouched silver tray of dinner. Evelyn passed it with a sigh and knocked on the door, but did not wait for a reply. The bedroom door swung open, soft slippers moved silently on a polished chestnut floor as a scent of smoke and musty air swept through the barely lit room. She sat down on the bed as her pale moonstone eyes drifted to the side, stopping absently on a completely covered form.

"You should eat something."

Only silence answered her, but she had not been expecting anything else. For the last week that she hosted Madam Red (though perhaps "hidden" would be a better word) the woman had said next to nothing. Lady Dalles own house was being constantly guarded by Yard, but that did not stop the three attacks aimed at the Phantomhive relative. So far Evelyn remained unnoticed by Phantomhive's opponents, taken more as a curiosity and a whore of the deceased Earl than one of the major players, and she was immensely grateful for it.

"You know that you need to gather more strength for tomorrow," she tried again, but with the same result. The young doctor became concerned seeing that the sheets were not moving up and down to the rhythm of breath.

"Madam?" she asked frantically with unease. Her agitation grew when she found that the figure lying on the bed was in fact nothing more than few rolled up blankets and stacked pillows. "Dr. Dalles, this isn't funny."

"No, it is not," purled little voice from the floor on the other side of the bed.

The girl hearing it rolled over the bed, wanting to make sure that the red-haired female really was there. Seeing the usually elegant woman huddled in a corner in a nightgown, Evelyn sighed with relief, despite the pathetic scene before her.

"Truly, Madam, please don't scare me like that again. I was afraid you had disappeared."

"And where could I walk off to? You know as well as I that I have no place to go. No one can see me like this, even you shouldn't." Madam Red looked bitterly at a white wall as she sunk further into the shadows. She could not understand why she was so weak. She had tried to be stronger, to stop this madness, this sickness of mind and body but each time it turned fruitless. With every failure, it proved even harder to fight the desperation, the endless whispers, the insufferable weight of the overwhelming darkness that always followed. The voices, the ever present sinister voices, fabricated by depths of her own wavering mind, whispering, shouting, telling her to give up this hopeless struggle, urging to let go, amused by her useless resolve, her shattered will to go on, pointless refusal to accept the inevitable fate.

"How, how could you have handled it, the death of your parents?"

"True be told, I don't know," Evelyn responded sincerely. "It was different, you know, without the noise, or the headlines, or the overwhelming chaos. In one moment they simply disappeared, leaving only me behind. It was ill fate, nothing more. "

"But how…" her voice broke, chocolate eyes would well up with tears if not for a hand that suddenly appeared on her shoulder.

"You will attend the funeral, and bid them farewell. You will mourn, and then you will continue with your life. Sometimes the reality of their absence will hit you like a blow to the gut and you will cry. However, this will happen less and less as time goes on. They are dead and you are alive. You can do nothing more." Evelyn voice was detached, her eyes dark and hollow like depths of the Arctic ocean.

The girl stretched out her other hand in which was hidden a small package wrapped in brown paper.

"On the way home I stopped at Lau. You have to schedule the doses in a more reasonable manner. Opium is getting harder to get, and Lau doesn't know how long he will remain in business; he doesn't even know who will be his boss tomorrow morning."

The older woman greedily grabbed the package, tearing the paper with trembling from excitement fingers.

"Thank God, but ..." she paused, wondering for a moment if she should say aloud what really bothered her. On the other hand, what she had to lose? Miss Douglas was well aware of the wreck of human being that her mentor was, and yet she accepted it. Madam Red did not know why and prefered not to wonder about it for too long. For now, she had an ally in the young woman, which was more than could be said about anyone else. "What will happen tomorrow? I can't..."

Madam fell silent seeing two small vials of the drug, which almost immediately disappeared into Evelyn pocket.

"I'll give it to you tomorrow morning before I go on my shift."

The words of the black-haired girl drew her attention more than the sight of her liquid salvation.

"You will not be at the funeral?"

"I'm sorry, but I doubt it. In the current situation, all available doctors are needed in the hospital." She apologised as she was getting up and walking to the door. Evelyn wanted to leave, but was stopped by her name spoken by the chewed lips of her guest.

"After tomorrow, when it's all over, I'll try to pull myself together. Do you think I can do it?" The hope in her words was almost inaudible. It was as if she already knew the answer, and only wanted to be sure.

"No, you cannot," Evelyn replied, summoning to the older woman's cheek a single tear. "Not alone. A while ago, I read in a medical journal about a new method of addictions treatment. Apparently, the results are very promising. I'm sure we can arrange it quietly. And please," she added, "don't thank me."

Ω

The day came after a sour night of bright flashes crackling across the dark sky and the rumble of thunder plundering the silence. Evelyn jumped a puddle heading to the side, where amongst a group of ancient, magnificent oak trees, stood small but very well kept church, from which two coffins were being led out. They were followed by a procession of people in black, elegant, richly ornate and completely not matched for the mood of a funeral clothes. Ladies in muslins and silks gathered in small packs, quietly sharing their observations and scandalous speculations. Gentlemen were following their example, being at the same time a little more discreet.

Evelyn leaned against one of the oaks. Her scornful sneer betrayed her frail opinion of these self-proclaimed mourners. Each of them wore a mask showing pain, anguish or at least sadness. However, most of them did not actually care about the lost lives. It was simply another social event - one of those from which it did not seem right to be absent. Everyone who was somebody in society was here. And only the most important, the chosen ones, had the right to go to the ruins of Phantomhives estate where the bodies were to be buried.

Looking at Madam Red, raven-haired girl thought that the lack of the third grave was nothing more than unnecessary cruelty. The boy's body was not found, and although Undertaker was quite restrained in sentencing that the child was burned along with the rest of the household, Evelyn did not believe that a small Ciel might be found, and even if that could happen, she doubted that he would be the same sweet kid.

Unwanted thoughts began to flow into her head. She looked down at cuffs of her dress tinged with red. Five hours ago, in front of a bakery, an eight-year-old boy was shot. Two hours ago, they operated him. His chances were fifty-fifty and even she could not predict his fate because recently, she saw grim reapers at almost every corner of the hospital. They win some, they lose some - that's what it was all about, no promises, no guarantees of survival, no saints in surgical garbs. Their willingness, their experiences, their technique were not enough. Knives, guns and people that wielded them had more power to take lives than doctors had to preserve them.
When she looked up, to her surprise her eyes fell upon a small, blond girl. She was like a brilliant diamond, completely out of place. There was an air of sorrow and vulnerability around the girl, which made Evelyn feel the kid was not like the others, as they would never care for anyone or anything else apart from keeping their false image intact, at any price.

"Miss Douglas," it was said so tenderly she almost thought it came from some angel. "Aunt Ann wants to ask if you would like to join her in the carriage on the way to the cemetery?"

For a second her thoughts strayed to the possibility, but she disregarded them momentarily.

"I'm afraid I cannot. I must go back to the hospital." she paused and handed her a package. "Could you give this to Doctor Dalles for me? And apologize to her on my behalf. I should have given it to her at the beginning but… just give it to her."

Ω

Sometime later, Madam Red opened the package. She found in it a tiny box hiding the gold signet ring of Phantomhive family, and a copy of the Boston Medical and Surgical Journal, which described new, miraculous medicine that was helping to, among other things, soothe the symptoms of cocaine withdrawal.

Her eyes lit up with excitement.

"Heroin, interesting…"


A/N: Little explanation: At the beginning, a heroin really was considered a wonder drug, because apparently it didn't resulted in physical dependence. Admittedly it has been widely used a couple of years later than when the story take place in Kuroshitsuji, but hush, no nit-picking.