Note: Apologies for the error in the last chapter: Elsa's eyes are GREEN not BLUE. Thanks to Ophelion for pointing that out.

The Ghosts of Rome

A Gunslinger Girl fan fiction by:

Sintendo

Chapter 4

There are times when a person is pushed through his or her own mental limit, like when a person is forced to kill another, for example. Commonly, regular police officers go to see the district psychologist after they've been forced to use their weapons against somebody, with or without the end result of death. Fully understandable, in my opinion, and anyone and everyone in that predicament should see some sort of psychological help in order to remind themselves that they took the life of a person to save the lives of several others. A noble duty indeed.

Whenever somebody from my line of work has to see a psychologist, however, something extremely traumatic and life altering must have happened. Killing is nearly an everyday occurrence here, so that's not reason enough to visit the ₤600,000 an hour Doctor.

I see the district psychologist everyday (though I have to sheepishly admit, it's not for the latter reasons).

You see, I have been…, for lack of a better word, "courting" the district psychologist, one Tatiana Waldmann, for nearly 4 years now. We met under a strange circumstance that involved me pepper-spraying one of my best friends in the face in order to force him to enter her office. Afterwards, I learned that she was a strong mix of Russo-German descent and probably did not need any of my help. Fast forward years later, and here I am, once again before her office, ready to enter and talk over a small lunch.

How I wish it were so.

Last week's drug raid left me with an empty feeling in my heart. It's not the sight of the dead or dying children that froze my bones solid, no; I see horrific sights like that at least one a month. I really don't know what kind of emotions ran through my mind at this time, nor can any kind of words convey my feeling at this point, save for anxiety, and so I knew that talking to a professional, as well as my good friend, would help me get through this episode.

I had to remind myself that I was a patient today, so sitting on her chair was out of the question. It was the couch for me.

"I read the reports that Rico gave me," She said, "but I want to know exactly what happened in there that compelled you to come to talk to me."

"Other than finding an excuse to see you during work hours?"

"You're wasting taxpayer's money on this session if that's you're plan Guilio."

"I'm a taxpayer too, you know."

"Get to the point, please. What happened in Taranto?"

The rhythmic twiddling of my thumbs served as the only noise for what seemed like hours before I choked out an answer, "I don't know."

"Well at least you aren't lying," She continued before I could respond, "Rico said you were in a daze for a few hours. 'Frozen like an ice cube' he said. Do you happen to remember what you saw before you… blanked out?"

I didn't hesitate to answer, "I saw children."

"Children?"

"A huddled mass in the room; not even cowering at the sight of my weapon, my gas mask, the laser pointing at one of the boy's head… they just didn't care anymore; probably used to the sight of… people like me."

"People like you?" She asked, "You mean a soldier? You wield a gun for the purpose of saving lives. Those human traffickers wield guns for their own selfish goals; the complete polar opposite from you and your team."

She continued, "So why are you starting to doubt your line of duty now? Why not before you joined the Guardia di Finanza? Why question something you've devoted 10 years of your life to?"

"Maybe because it's the first time I-…" I chuckled at the amount of scribbling I heard from above my head when I hesitated, "Maybe it's the first time I thought about the victims. Like, what if those were my children?"

Tucked away into the corner of the public hospital lay what could be considered a ghost. It was covered in white sheets, moved only once in a while, and nobody dared enter the room it haunted. Of course, it couldn't have been a ghost because it still breathed. It still needed food, and needed its bed pan emptied, and needed desperate medical attention after its horrendous surgery. However, the little boy was fully ignored by everyone but a handful of nurses and the floor's doctor, they only paid him attention to quiet his crying when the pain killers wore off and he was able to feel the void in his belly; tranquilize him as quickly as possible then leave him to die.

As far as the world was concerned, he was only known only by me.

The hospital was not of poor quality. No, it was, in fact, the premier hospital in all of Rome, being funded directly by the government and all. One cannot say the same for its staff, though, but then again, the boy was a stranger to everyone. Having no name will have that sort of effect.

Whenever I stopped by on one of my daily visits, the boy would be asleep, meaning I never actually had a chance to speak with him. When I questioned his status, his nurses informed me that the boy rarely woke. They've never even seen his eyes open by his own strength. Shame, too, since he was only allowed a few more days until the funding that paid for his bed would eventually run dry and he would be, almost literally, thrown out on the street. Or euthanized…

There was no way I could afford his bills. All seemed lost until on the second to the last day of the boy's pre-paid treatment, Lieutenant Rico unexpectedly stopped by during one of my visits and had a chat with me.

"What's his name?" Rico asked.

"I don't know." I replied with a heavy heart, "How did you know I was here?"

He sighed, "I've been told by a little bird that you've been dropping by here after work everyday. What's up?"

"Somebody has to see this boy off," I shuddered at the words, "I… I don't… I won't feel right if he does."

"Why's that?"

"I think," I paused, but forced myself to continue, "I think this is the child I pointed my weapon at before I blacked out."

I could tell that Rico was searching for the right words to say (He does this thing where he closes his left eye and strokes his blonde chin beard). I gave his a moment to form his thoughts.

"Well, what are you going to do when the government cuts all funding for his life support?"

"I honestly have no clue."

Again, my best friend went into his thinking routine, this time closing the door shut.

"You know," he said, "I'm really not supposed to be saying this…"

"What?"

"Well," he hesitated, and then, "There's this new government program that's in the works that helps terminally ill people in need. They're making a new agency dedicated to finding these kinds of people."

My ears perked, "What? How do you know about this?"

He chuckled, "They're temporarily taking some of the extra space down at HQ until they're allocated some space of their own. Honestly, I don't know why some welfare agency would need an armed complex like ours, an empty office building would suffice, I think. But hey, what can I do?" He shrugged, "I guess they need that kind of protection because they have lots of cash? I don't know… Anyways, they're called the 'Social Welfare Agency'. If you want, I can go talk to their department head and make a suggestion for their first client."