~*Chapter Six*~

                The morning had begun silently enough; the wind blew through Quatre's open window as he arose and began to get ready, his spirits still a bit low from his encounter with Mueller yesterday.  He was worried that the lumbering man had done something even more atrocious to the young Irishman. He slipped on his trousers and a waistcoat; but as he was straightening his unruly blond hair into something more respectable, a blood-curdling scream made his blood run cold. Fearing the worst, he threw aside all other thoughts and rushed with abandon down to where the shriek had originated. He stopped in his footsteps as he took on the gruesome sight; and felt as though he might wretch from the sight.

            Lying in the center of the room upon a couch soaked of her own crimson blood was the ashen body of Dorothy Catalonia, her face forever contorted into a ghastly expression of horrified silence. Her neck had been carefully yet wickedly slashed from ear to ear, the last smile that would ever appear upon her. Catherine had stepped back and fallen onto a nearby chair, fainted from the shock of viewing her sister so brutally murdered.

                Merian stepped up to Quatre, obviously shaken; the tears were evident on her dark ebony eyes. "Wufei went to go find the police…the door to the asylum was swinging wide open this morning…we fear the murderer may have gotten to one of the patients as well…the smell of blood not only is evident in here…"

                Quatre nodded quickly, regaining some of his lost senses, handed Merian a small vial. "Here, these are smelling salts. Use them when the police come and take Miss Catalonia's body. I don't want Catherine to go through the same thing she had to again. It will only further her fear and might even put her mind off kilter. When the police get here, tell them that I am in the asylum checking on the patients. I will answer them any questions that I can."

                Merian nodded and slipped the small vial into her dress pocket, then went over and sat upon a couch, still trembling. Quatre hoped that they would be all right; Mueller had not been seen all morning and most likely wouldn't do much to calm them either. Gingerly, the doctor stepped through the doorway, light sweeping in from the poorhouse. Quatre saw at once the red stained water at his feet, and took a breath, already smelling the bitter stench of blood in the heavy air. The patients wailed at him as he past like banshees, their haunting cries chilling him to the bone. He cautiously turned the corner and drew back in absolute repulsion.  Directly in front of him, leaning against the blood-covered wall, was the cruelly mutilated body of what used to be Mueller. His entire throat was cut open, and a dagger had been driven deep into his chest cavity. His clothing, or rather, what remained of it, was slashed at random yet precise intervals; the blood no longer seeped from the horrendous wounds. His face was agape with horror, just as Dorothy's had been, and his mouth was covered in his own blood. And by judging the gaping hole in the man's neck, it was obvious even from where Quatre was standing that his vocal cods had been ripped out, a strangely appropriate death for one who had endlessly jeered and mocked at those he considered below him. The doctor approached the body carefully, his heart pumping swiftly. He nearly jumped when he got to Duo's cell and saw the Irishman standing unbelievingly close to the bars, his eyes staring down at the body. Then, as Quatre stopped at the door, Duo quickly reverted his gaze to face the one he had grown to admire with strange caution and understanding.

                "It's even worse than before…" Quatre muttered, horrified beyond belief. He looked over to Duo, who merely smiled strangely.

                "Yer one of us…aren't ye?" came the calm, almost amazed reply. Quatre looked at the Irishman with curiosity and confusion, sincerely not understanding where the young man was coming from. He turned to face him completely, and laid his gentle hands upon Duo's.

                "What do you mean, Duo?"

                Duo shook his head, then glanced down at the cold body of his former tormentor. "I bore witness to the act that ensued down here last night…the way blood flew…how Mueller's severed vocal cords flew from his mutilator's blade against my candle…I saw everything…"

                Quatre's eyes lit up. "You did? Well, don't keep it inside! Do tell me who it was!"

                A sad gleam wafted through the cobalt eyes for a few moments, but as he was about to speak, two pairs of footfalls echoed through the tiny corridor, and the two investigators from before, Heero Yuy and Trowa Barton, rounded the corner curtly, obviously meaning business. Neither flinched from the grisly sight of Mueller's maimed corpse; but went right to work in extracting clues from the site. White the taller one worked, the shorter, dark haired one approached Quatre and laid a firm hand on his shoulder.

                "Excuse me, sir, but do you have any information on this man," he began, gesturing to the remains of the former keeper, "that might be helpful in our investigation?"

                Quatre thought for a moment, trying to think of anything that might be useful. "Well, I do know about the ways he treated the people under his care, including those in this poor excuse for an asylum. The patients were beaten fiercely, and all those in this institution were horridly undermined. He especially went to horrid extremes in thrashing this young man here," Quatre said, motioning towards Duo. "I've had to heal his wounds on more than one occasion; both mental and physical."

                The inquisitor nodded, taking mental note of this. "Alright, sir. Thank you very much. Your aid in this investigation is greatly appreciated."

                Long after the two police had left with the bodies of the slain, Quatre remained in the asylum, conversing with an oddly quiet Duo. He spoke from time to time; but there seemed to be something that was terribly bothering him; as though something had taken a fierce grip on his heart and wouldn't let him be.

                "Duo...you've been extremely quiet…are you sure nothing is bothering you?" the doctor finally inquired; the night was coming on, and he would have to go bed down soon. He ran a hand in over Duo's hand, and finally looked up to face the doctor; sincere fright in his eyes.

                "I have this feeling of awful dread…the murderer…he will be coming back tonight…"

                "Let's just hope not; the police will be back tomorrow for more questioning, maybe he won't come back tonight."

                "No…" Duo said gravely, "I fear that I will be next…"