"What's up with Mr. Spears and your sister?" Ronald asked bluntly as he stuffed his face with noodles.
The group was having lunch together in the building's large cafeteria and all of them were quite surprised that William had offered to go undercover for a woman. A human woman. And he hated, positively loathed going undercover. It didn't make any sense.
Lynn shrugged. "Beats me. They have been flirting with each other the entire time, and the sad thing is that I don't even know if they've noticed."
"Spears wouldn't," Eric interjected, poking at his food in wry disgust.
"Neither would Aria," Lynn informed them. "It's painful to watch sometimes, truth be told."
"Maybe Willy's finally tired of being alone," Grell input, sipping daintily at his as of yet unidentified red beverage.
"Perhaps he is interested in her," Alan chimed in, taking a healthy forkful of his salad. "They seem to get along rather well. Does Aria have any male callers as far as you are aware?"
"None that she'd spare the time for," Lynn answered truthfully. "She is fully absorbed in her work."
"Sounds like someone we know," Eric muttered, finally giving up on his cafeteria food.
"I say they should get together," Ronald opined, smiling cheekily. "Mr. Spears definitely needs a woman to loosen him up."
"I for one would love to see the both of them in a relationship," Lynn gave her agreement. "But I'm afraid they're both slow movers."
"Maybe the imminent danger of their upcoming investigation will speed matters along," Eric said, resting his chin in his hand.
"Perhaps," Lynn sighed. "I'm interested in seeing how events will play out."
)*(
The pain. The pain was unbearable. It made everything stop. Everything. Everything except the white hot burning intensity of complete and utter torment. His brain wasn't working. He couldn't think. Or maybe he was a she. Was he a she? She couldn't remember. All he could feel was pain. Horrendous, inescapable pain. She should shout, call for help. Or was he doing that already? Why was nobody helping her? Why was nobody stopping the pain? The pain. Why was this happening? Oh God, make it stop, make it stop!
)*(
The tea was good, but then again, Sebastian's tea was always good. He would never compliment him, of course. That kind of praise would only go to the demon's head, and he'd rather not deal with a haughty fiend of hell. The creature was bad enough as it was.
His solitude was interrupted by a knock at the door.
"Enter," he commanded, placing the teacup back in its saucer and setting the both of them on his desk.
Just as the rattle of the china had died away, Sebastian Michaelis stepped into the room, posture perfect and clothes immaculate. How could anyone expect anything less? He was the butler to the Phantomhive's after all.
"What is it then?" Ciel inquired, peering over at his butler clad in black. The man always had a superior way about him that irritated the Earl. He was supposed to be his inferior, a servant. What business did he have wearing a smirk like that all the time?
"A letter arrived for you, sir," the raven haired man explained smoothly. In a few long strides he was at the Earl's side, missive in hand.
"If it's another bloody party invitation..." Ciel began, irritation rising. For the love of all that's good and holy, if he had to sign another letter of declination he was going to declare himself a hermit and stop receiving mail all together.
"I'm afraid it's a trifle more intriguing than that, my young Lord," his butler declared, leaning down to hand him the message. "Her majesty sends her regards."
The boy started at this. "Why didn't you just tell me that in the first place?"
"You didn't ask, my Lord."
Ciel shot a breath of air through clenched teeth and glared up at his butler. "I do recall asking what it was that you had." He was piqued now.
His butler smiled innocently. "I do not mean to speak out of turn, sir, but I did tell you it was a letter. Perhaps you meant to ask from whom it was sent?"
The Earl's temper was now provoked. Yanking the letter out of his impertinent butler's hand, he sliced it open and read through its contents.
"Apparently there have been rumors regarding mysterious practices at an asylum out in the country. Her Majesty wishes to dispel the employees' fears and has asked me to make inquiries."
"An asylum, my Lord?" Sebastian asked, arching a flawless eyebrow.
"Indeed. Stonehart Asylum, evidently. I confess I don't know much about it, but that's going to change. Pull all the information you can find on this establishment. Leave nothing out. Only after I have reviewed all the facts can I then make a battle plan."
"Is it to be war then, sir?" Sebastian asked, tilting his head to the side.
"It is to be whatever the Queen needs it to be. What are you waiting for? I've given you your orders, get a move on!"
"Yes, my young Lord."
)*(
The carriage jostled and jolted to an amount that Aria found ridiculous. It wasn't as though the road they were traversing was gravel. It was dirt. Dry, packed earth. What did the carriage find so objectionable about that?
As she repositioned herself in her seat for what seemed the millionth time, she stared out the window into the open countryside. It was beautiful, in a bleak sort of way. The land was mostly flat with only the faintest peppering of trees. The leaden sky gave the setting an eerie backdrop, as the hard land stretched out for miles to meet it at the horizon. To make up for the loss of greenery, rocks jutted out of the earth's crust, some flat and smooth, others resembling the teeth from the maw of a gigantic beast.
Perhaps her imagination was running away with her, but she found herself wondering why asylums couldn't be built at places that contained sunshine and wildlife. If she were locked in a cell all day with only this barren stretch of landscape as her view, she would go insane too.
At least her grim thoughts served to pass the time, for the next moment she espied the destination itself.
There up ahead stood Stonehart Asylum in all its glory. It was a massive edifice, to be sure. With wide front steps leading to strong oak doors and turrets that shot up to the sky, the image was quite imposing. The building was made out of tough gray stone, probably from local quarries, and sported black, dripping stains from the rain it had weathered over the many years of its existence. Many of the windows belonging to the upper floors seemed shuttered up. This trend continued - as far as she could make out - all the way up the structure. In general, the place was quite gloomy, and she wasn't looking forward to the time she would be spending in this medical prison.
On a positive note, the jostling of the carriage stopped with her arrival.
She could feel the shift of the vehicle as the driver jumped from his post to open the door. Offering her his hand, he helped her disembark. She tipped him for his kindness, and turned to gaze up at the building before her. As the man hopped back onto his seat and began to whip the horses up, one of the front doors of the asylum opened.
The person that appeared before her was a tall, dour woman wearing both a black dress and a frown as though they were part of her uniform. Her light brown hair was graying slightly and swept back neatly in a tight bun, not one strand out of place. If this specimen was a representation of the asylum as a whole, the patients already had her full sympathy.
"Dr. Aria Sinclair, I presume," the woman called out, more a statement than a question. Indeed, Aria could hardly imagine who else would be coming out to visit this establishment willingly.
"I am she," the doctor responded, smiling kindly as she mounted the front steps toward the matron. It wouldn't do to be unnecessarily rude, despite the cold welcome.
"Dr. Carmichael is expecting you. Follow me."
The woman shut and locked the solid door behind her and started through the foyer.
Miffed at not having received an introduction or even a courteous "please", Dr. Sinclair followed after her guide.
The interior of the asylum was hardly more welcoming than the exterior. Given all the shuttered windows, the place was dark and dreary and smelt very much of burnt wick and candle wax. The foyer seemed to be furnished nicely, if sparsely. There was a fireplace (unlit, Aria noted), with two chairs facing it. No loungers would be gleaning any warmth from that direction. Off to the left hand side of the door was a receptionist's counter where visitors would check in and ask after their respective patient, if visitors there were. Behind this counter was yet another austerely dressed woman, this one younger and meek. She had stood at attention when Aria had been admitted, and had since sat back down, never taking her eyes from the floor.
Aria couldn't help wondering what brought such a young thing to a place like this.
Turning her attention back to her guide, she saw that the woman was now mounting a central staircase that branched off to either side, leading to a first and a second storey. The banisters seemed to be newly polished, with a distinct lack of dust. Then again, maybe that was just the lack of light playing tricks on her deprived vision.
Her guide continued her dutiful march until she reached the first storey, turning left where the staircase split. Looking back down at the ground floor from her bird's eye view, Aria couldn't help but remark upon the vast amount of empty space the asylum had open. If no patients were outside or allowed in the foyer, where were they permitted to walk and stretch their legs when not in their cells? Surely they weren't kept in their cages perpetually? Treatment like that could hardly facilitate recovery. Indeed, methods such as that could hardly be called treatment at all.
Eventually, her view of the ground floor was obstructed by the wall of a corridor they had entered. The walls were smooth, white plaster, but looked gray in the dim light. Lamps, affixed to the wall at equal intervals, stretched down the length of the hallway on both sides, granting the inhabitants of the asylum the ability to at least see where they were going. Finally, the matron stopped at a dark wooden door that seemed to be slightly more ornate than the rest. A nameplate reading "Dr. Lawrence Carmichael" shone in the feeble lamplight. The matron knocked twice.
"Dr. Sinclair to see you, sir," she relayed through the obstruction.
There was no answer at first, and Aria was beginning to wonder if he was in when the door swung open unexpectedly. Even the matron, who up until then had expressed no emotion, seemed a little startled and took a step back.
"Dr. Sinclair," she muttered again, waving her hand toward Aria in a weak gesture of introduction.
Aria smiled once more. "Thank you for having me, Dr. Carmichael. It is a pleasure to finally meet you." She lifted her hand for a shake.
Dr. Carmichael, who seemed to be relatively young from what Aria could make out, didn't show any signs of having noticed her speak. Indeed, he stared at her blankly, as though looking but not really seeing. Suddenly, he shook his head and straightened up, apparently snapping out of whatever daze he had been in. If this was the way all of the staff acted, Aria thought, then perhaps it would be better if they themselves were the patients.
"Oh, my apologies," Dr. Carmichael began, brushing invisible dust from his white coat. "I had a late night last night, so I hope you find it in yourself to excuse my manners."
Here he finally took her hand in his and gave it a shake.
It was weak.
"Think nothing of it, Dr. Carmichael," Aria replied, acting as though nothing were amiss. "I understand the symptoms of working late nights. Once again, I must thank you for agreeing to see me on such short notice. I hope I'm not being an unnecessary burden?"
Dropping his hand back to his side, Dr. Carmichael smiled nervously. "Oh, no, not at all, Dr. Sinclair. Indeed, I was delighted to receive your letter. We get so few visitors out here, and I would be delighted to speak to a colleague. Please, do come in."
He stepped aside to let her through the door.
"Thank you Ms. Dunne," he addressed the matron, inclining his head slightly.
She bowed and left down the hall from whence she came.
With the door finally closed behind them, Dr. Carmichael spun on his heel and faced Dr. Sinclair.
"What do you think of our humble abode?" he asked genially, walking back toward his desk.
Now that she finally got a good look at him, Aria could see that he was indeed a fairly young doctor to be the director of such a large asylum. His hair was a light, almost ethereal blonde, his eyes a pale blue. Probably due to the lack of sunlight their surroundings permitted and the nature of his job, his skin was also very pale. On the bridge of his nose rested wire-rimmed spectacles which seemed to serve more as reading glasses than those of perpetual wear.
All in all, he could be considered an attractive man, though some sun would do him good.
Then again, some sun would do her good as well.
"From what I've seen of it," Aria began, choosing her words carefully, "it certainly seems very well kept. It's quite clean."
"Yes," Carmichael agreed, "the maids do quite a good job keeping up appearances. And Ms. Dunne. Did she give you a warm welcome?"
Here Aria's expression turned more professional. "To be quite honest, Dr. Carmichael, it could have been warmer."
The man nodded as though he had been expecting the answer. "Yes, Ms. Dunne, though quite efficient, is a little stiff in her ways. You understand that I can't afford to dismiss her. Not many people wish to come and work at an asylum out in the middle of nowhere, and she rules over the staff with a hand of iron. All the maids and nurses listen to her without question, and that kind of order is essential when running such a large establishment."
"I agree completely, Doctor, though maybe you could have somebody other than the formidable Ms. Dunne greet visitors. The lady at the front desk may be a better choice for that line of work." She kept her voice congenial so he may not think she was questioning his authority.
He thought over her suggestion for a moment. "Perhaps you are right. This change can be made at a later date. We rarely receive visitors."
"Of course," Aria consented, turning to the window that commanded a view of the courtyard and drive leading up to the asylum.
After a moment of silence during which Dr. Carmichael sat down at his desk, Aria faced him, expression unreadable.
"Dr. Carmichael, I am going to be frank with you." Her tone was calm and formal, but icy.
Dr. Carmichael was rendered speechless.
Slowly, she made her way over to his desk.
"I received a message at my morgue at the Royal London Hospital," she began.
He crossed his legs then uncrossed them.
"A message?" he asked, voice a little higher pitched than before.
"Yes. Well, I suppose it would be more accurate to say that I received a body."
He coughed. "Dr. Sinclair, I don't see what this has to do -"
"Don't forget, the body was a message, Dr. Carmichael. A message that led me to your doorstep."
She was directly in front of his desk now. He averted his eyes.
"The body was that of a man who showed signs of being restrained. His brain was missing and his heart had been replaced with a stone."
"What are you saying, Dr. Sinclair?" he asked, his tone hostile now. "You have absolutely no right to come in here and speak to me like this, colleague or otherwise."
He stood up from where he sat, planted his hands on the desktop and leaned over to her.
"State your business and get out."
His voice took on a low, gravely sound; it hinted at danger.
Aria placed her hands on the desk softly, caressing the wood. She leaned over to meet the director of Stonehart Asylum eye for eye.
With a smile that belied her intentions, she looked up at him and asked softly, "Where is the Undertaker?"
His heart could have stopped in his chest.
"I... I don't know..."
"Don't play coy with me, Dr. Carmichael. I simply don't have the time. Tell me where the Undertaker is, or I will be forced to report this incident to the proper authorities."
"Well," a smooth voice drawled, "we wouldn't want you to do something as reckless as that, now would we, Dr. Sin?"
Aria's eyes widened fractionally, and she stood up from the desk. Spinning around, she faced the one person she had been seeking for so long.
"Undertaker." Her calm demeanor covered for her racing heart.
"Aria." His voice was suave and clear, not the shaky, trembling lilt she recalled.
His hat had disappeared, and the long bangs that used to cover his face were brushed back, revealing his eyes. His brilliant, unusual green eyes.
"So, you received my message, then?" he asked, closing the door and stepping farther into the room. "That's good. I was afraid you wouldn't come."
He was close now, an arm's distance away.
"Why would you think that?" she asked, taking in his new persona.
His robes were gone too, she noted.
"You look confused," he remarked, smiling softly. "I haven't seen you in a while. I've missed you. Have you missed me?"
He was right in front of her now.
"You've changed," she stated, dodging the question. "Were you tired of your wardrobe?"
He reached out and tucked her hair behind her ear. "You could say that," he murmured. "What do you think?"
"You look good," she answered honestly. "Great, even. I like what you've done with your hair."
He laughed. It wasn't the manic chuckle she had been expecting. This one was more hearty and controlled. More human. She wasn't fooled. This man before her was far from human, and definitely far from sane.
"Well, I'm glad you're here. I knew you would be able to read my message. My colleague over there had his doubts, but you showed him, didn't you?"
Aria turned her attention back to Dr. Carmichael who she had entirely forgotten was still in the room.
"Did you meet Ms. Dunne?" Undertaker asked, grinning. "Pleasant woman, wouldn't you say? I've had warmer greetings at my shop and everybody there is dead."
A huff of a laugh escaped Aria's lips. "That wouldn't have something to do with you being a mortician, would it?"
"It might just," he muttered. Then the clap of his hands filled the room.
"Well, that's enough of that, wouldn't you say?" Undertaker asked no one in particular. "Now that my darling doctor is here, I can continue with my work."
"Don't you mean our work?" Dr. Carmichael asked, coming out from behind his desk. "This isn't just your project, Undertaker. This is my project as well, and I haven't decided whether I want to take Dr. Sinclair on or not."
"Is that so?" Undertaker's voice was soft, and deceptive. "Tell me, Dr. Carmichael, how many successful procedures have you recorded?"
The director of Stonehart Asylum darted his eyes to the floor.
"Come now, don't be shy," the mortician cooed. "How many successful procedures?"
The silver haired reaper stepped toward Dr. Carmichael and cupped the back of the man's neck with his hand, scratching the skin with his talon-like nails.
"I asked you a question, Doctor."
"None," the man whispered, sweat starting to gleam at his forehead.
"What was that? I'm afraid I couldn't hear you."
"None," he rasped, shaking.
"Ah."
Undertaker drew his hand away. "That's what I thought. So, you are suggesting, my dear Dr. Carmichael, that we turn away a treasure trove of fresh ideas and insights because your pride won't allow you to accept a new mind into our midst?"
The doctor said nothing.
"Your pride, my good sir, has served as nothing but a hindrance to our plans. With every failed attempt, we have to perform another one. Eventually, we will run out of resources, and even you with your diplomatic smile and charming mannerisms won't be able to cover up what we've done when that happens. Stonehart Asylum will be ransacked, I will disappear, and you, my dear friend and colleague, will be out of a job, so I tell you once more, Dr. Sinclair is joining us whether you wish her to or not. Is that understood?"
After a second of defiant silence, Dr. Carmichael roughly nodded his consent.
"Very good. I knew you would come to see reason. I'm terribly sorry I had to get nasty with you, Lawrence, but needs must, as they say."
The mortician's smile was back, and he slung his arm over the doctor's shoulders as though they were the best of pals.
Aria found the display both amusing and disconcerting.
"I hate to rain on your strange little parade," she began, "but I haven't the faintest idea what I've been recruited for."
His attention back on Aria, the Undertaker's eyes gleamed with an unhealthy light.
Sliding his arm from the doctor's person like it was a snake, he jumped over to Aria and took both of her hands in his.
"Let me show you."
His voice was husky, and she shuddered to see the return of that manic energy she knew so well.
Nodding away her unease, she looked up at him and stated, "Lead the way."
And, finally, the Undertaker has made his appearance! It only took me six chapters, but who doesn't love prolonging the moment of reveal? I cannot thank you lovely readers enough for the marvelous reviews. They're all very encouraging and never fail to brighten my day.
One reader asked if Aria and Lynn's last name was a reference to Demian. Sadly, I was not that thoughtful when picking out the name, and the similarity is merely a coincidence. This query did, however, give me something to Google, and the book itself sounds very interesting.
As usual, I hope you all enjoyed the chapter, and I thank you all for putting up with my sporadic updates. Until next time!