"Insane Asylum"

Chapter 7

+++Taunting+++

AN:/ Thank you Vivacia18, again, for everything!

Reviews are hugs.

+++Taunting+++

"The Undertaker? Are you sure?" Sebastian stared in confusion.

"Immediately." Ciel repeated.

"...Yes, of course, My Lord," he bowed, leading the way out of the room.

The Earl grabbed a long coat and put it on over his nightshirt, more determined than usual to see the elder death god.

Of course, it wasn't necessarily a good thing to be so hurried. Before Ciel even knew it, he had fallen on the steps, only hearing Sebastian's worried call before his vision spotted and he blacked out.

Had he fallen? Why did he feel so awake? Daring, he opened his eyes. He was in a chair facing the Undertaker, with his wide grin and long cloak.

He sat behind a tall coffin, a row of pitchers in front of him.

"How did I get here already?" Sebastian was at his side, hand on his shoulder, looking at him. "What happened?"

"Nothing, nothing." the Undertaker leaned forward. "Nothing of importance. Earl, I just wanted-"

"I have questions of my own."

"Oh?"

"I do. I don't know how I'll pay the price this time but-"

"Drop the price." Ciel looked at him in shock. Drop the price? What was going on?

"...You're the only one who would understand what is happening to me."

"How do you mean?"

"... Madame Red..." he started, watching the silver haired man.

"Dead of course."

"Angeline Durless...?" Ciel tested.

There was that unsettling smile. Why? Why was he smiling like that?

The Earl felt a small twinge of pain, and wincing, grabbed the side of his head.

"Young Master?"

He held a hand out to tell Sebastian to stay back. He'd be fine, it was just a headache.

"Answer my question!"

"My my, so impatient. Well, I suppose that although Madame Red is dead-"

Ciel stared. He could see the silver haired mans mouth moving, but no noise came out... damn that man, was he teasing him?

He tried to scream at him, curse his own Death God name, but he couldn't hear himself! The room around him spun once more before he fell completely unconscious.

Sebastian bid farewell to the Undertaker, and carrying his sleeping Lord like a blushing bride, he hurried him home.

What was wrong with his Master? The illness was so sudden... but he wasn't dying. What could it be?

+++T+++

"London bridge is falling down... Falling down... Falling down... London bridge is falling down... My fair lady..."

Ciel could hear the music as clear as day. His eyes snapped open and he realized... he was back in his nightmare. Back in that god forsaken white walled room with his white bed that had white sheets, white pillows, and white cuff rings on its posts 'just in case'. Across the room was a small dingy nightlight that gave the dark ill-lit room a pale orange glow to see by.

"Build it up with mud and stone... mud and stone... mud and stone... Build it up with mud and stone... My fair lady..."

And oh that voice... he knew that voice. Even still, whether because he was still half asleep, or because he had been drugged, he stood hazily and went to the door, entranced by the slow music and its owner's song.

"Mud and stone will wash away... Wash away... Wash away... Mud and stone will wash away... My fair lady."

He hadn't realized he had gone to the leisure room that was once considered a sort of living or game room.

At the window seat sat the young man with brilliant orange doll-like hair, for once down and wet. His bare hand was winding a small music box as he silently hummed the tune, waiting for the next verse.

Any other human being would see this man and think him innocent, beautiful even, with porcelain skin and gentle, graceful movements, and that entrancing voice.

Ciel knew better. This man was merely a puppet, with barely a light in his eyes and a head full of straw.

"London bridge is falling down... Falling down... Falling down..."

Drocell Kainz shut the still going music box, stopping the tune, slowly turning to face him, and his head tilted against his shoulder, questioning him.

Ciel twitched. His movements were still so puppet like! His so-called bones made the noise of shifting wood! Or... had he imagined that?

"...It is good to see you again... Ciel Phantomhive." Such a monotone voice! It was disgustingly slow and emotionless! "I wonder... what are you doing? So late?"

...Were they friends in this nightmare? Friends with a puppet whom had nearly cleared his and his fiancé's souls off the face of the planet?

"What are you doing here?"

Drocell's expression went from one of blankness to shock at the yell. Then it was blank again.

"I cannot sleep." He sounded hurt. "I have no more medicine to sleep. I do not believe that the doctor will arrive until tomorrow..."

"You need medicine?"

"I had almost forgotten. Ciel Phantomhive, you suffer from amnesia and short term memory..." Drocell nodded.

"You and I... we get along?"

"...I suppose we do." His head tilted to the side again. "You have yelled at me a few times, but that is all. Otherwise... I suppose we get along... just fine."

He was just as confused as Ciel was, but at least he seemed honest.

"You're the first patient I've seen today."

"You have not seen Pluto yet today?"

"Pluto?" That hellhound was here?

"Never mind it. He will be around more often in the morning." So monotone... "I think I will try and sleep again... I'll get my medicine soon..."

With that, the man stood and slowly left the room. His steady walk didn't cease to remind Ciel of a puppet.

Drocell had probably been uncomfortable around Ciel when thought of so horribly. He didn't mean to scare the older boy; all he felt now was guilt.

Remembering what Sebastian had said earlier, he headed out into the hall to try and find the office. When he believed he found it, he moved close to the door and listened.

"Oh Sebby, you're so heartless! You and I both know you can't deny me for too long~!" There was a crash inside and Ciel backed up and away from the door as a thump sounded against the other side of it.

+++End Chapter Seven+++

Drocell's Residency:

Walking Corpse or Cotard's Syndrome, also known as nihilistic or negation delusion, is a rare neuropsychiatric disorder in which people hold a delusional belief that they are dead (either figuratively or literally), do not exist, are putrefying, or have lost their blood or internal organs. Rarely, it can include delusions of and self-loathing characterize a mild state. Someone suffering the severe state begins to deny the very existence of the self.

Young and Leafhead describe a modern-day case in a patient who suffered brain injury after a motorcycle accident:

The patient's symptoms occurred in the context of more general feelings of unreality and being dead. In January, 1990, after his discharge from hospital in Edinburgh, his mother took him to South Africa. He was convinced that he had been taken to hell (which was confirmed by the heat), and that he had died of septicaemia (which had been a risk early in his recovery), or perhaps from AIDS (he had read a story in The Scotsman about someone with AIDS who died from septicaemia), or from an overdose of a yellow fever injection. He thought he had "borrowed my mother's spirit to show me round hell", and that he was asleep in Scotland.