I am sitting now in Sutcliff's room by the window, waiting for him to awake again. It was two in the morning before I was allowed to see him last night, and when he awoke earlier this morning, not much was said. There wasn't anything to say. We simply acknowledged each other, and I asked how he felt. His response was dry and bitter, and rightfully so.
"I could be better."
There is no doubt that if I hadn't done what I did, he wouldn't be in his state right now. Indeed, he could have been much better off.
The doctors explained that it was a habit of Officer Sutcliff's to appear dead when he slept, having not to breathe, and he had simply passed out after cutting himself. The wounds were not particularly deep, meaning he hadn't meant to kill himself—not yet anyway.
This particular incident has convinced the infirmary staff to keep him under suicide-watch and not release him until Sutcliff's own psychiatrist releases him. I do not know how long that will take, and I already dread the amount of paperwork that will entail.
As I look around the room, I make not of only one bouquet of flowers on the night stand. They were from Mr. Humphries, and Mr. Knox had only sent a note. I had once been under the impression that Mr. Sutcliff had more admirers than that, but I have seen no other sign of friendship. The hospital staff has kept their distance, and only one secretary has told me to pass along a message. Perhaps, Mr. Sutcliff is not as well-loved as I once thought. I am unsure as to how to handle this news. Was this yet another reason Sutcliff has been acting odd lately? Was his strange behavior originated from…loneliness?
Surely, more than just Alan and Ronald feel friendship toward Mr. Sutcliff. I have heard of many reapers who brag of having one-night stands with him. Is it not curtesy for one to thank one for the pleasures they provide? Is it not respectful to at least show a little generosity toward the one that kept you company, no matter how frivolous it really was?
I am beginning to feel disgust for those who have treated Mr. Sutcliff with such disdain and disrespect. Although, it is partially Mr. Sutcliff's fault for sleeping around, it is not surprising that he has slept with a large number of employees as he has lived for several centuries. One cannot expect another to sleep with only five or six people who live in close quarters after nearly three hundred years. Even I can admit that I have had my own share of escapades; however, many have consisted of humans to avoid the talk of my subordinates. If word were to get out that 'Chilly Willy' actually had needs because (newsflash) HE IS A MAN, I would have a tyranny on my hands.
For now, I shall simply think of how to speak with Mr. Sutcliff when he awakes from his nap. There are apologies that must be said, despite my unwillingness to speak them. I must preserve one of Sutcliff's few friendships, if the madman is to not only physically heal but mentally.
William