"The man has lost his head," Sebastian remarked after having heard the story Aria had to tell.
"Then he certainly picked a fitting base of operation," William opined, leaning against the wall, no death scythe in sight.
Aria hadn't yet seen him without the instrument, and she had to admit that the man standing before her looked nothing like the looming figure of death. "Be that as it may," she spoke, "he fully intends to go through with his plans. Indeed, he has made a considerable amount of progress given the limited amount of time he has had to dedicate to such an ambitious project."
"But to what end?" William asked, clearly trying to wrap his head around Undertaker's deranged mentality. "What is he trying to achieve by bringing back the dead?"
"According to what he said on the Campania," Sebastian began, referring to the ill-fated ocean-liner that had been swallowed up by the depths of the Atlantic that April, "he was interested in humans and the possibility of a continuation after the predetermined end."
"That sounds like him," Aria commented, pinching her chin in between her thumb and forefinger in thought. "When he took me into the bowels of this place to show me his laboratory, he told me he was having a "difficulty in design". Evidently, he intends to resurrect the dead by stimulating the brain. A rather far fetched notion in my book, and since the man is a grim reaper, I have a hard time believing that that is all he is doing. It was never properly explained to me how he managed to resurrect the corpses on the Campania, so I don't really know how far he has progressed in his research.
"Furthermore, the corpse that came after me in his parlor didn't have any contraption jutting out of its skull, which leads me to believe that he already has a method of bringing the dead to life without using his electrical device."
"You would be correct on that count," William stated, crossing his arms. "The Undertaker managed to bring the dead to life by manipulating their cinematic records. He added a false continuation of life at the end of each record, which tricked the body into thinking that it was still alive, even with the absence of a soul. In this way, the body still moves in a semblance of a living being, but is truly a husk of a human. With no soul, the corpses, or "bizarre dolls", as he prefers, attack living people in hopes of gaining what they lack. They are terribly dangerous, as they don't feel pain or any type of emotion. The perfect killing machines."
"Indeed," Sebastian agreed, dipping his head at the gravity of the situation. "On the Campania, he mentioned a company being interested in his resurrection work. The Osiris Company, if memory serves. According to him, the voyage was a test in order to see how well his dolls would service as weapons."
Aria's eyes widened in sickened horror. Dear God, this was much worse than she had feared. A man toying with life and death was one thing, a man willing to sell his knowledge to the murderous and power hungry was quite another.
"Sadly, gentlemen, I don't think it stops there," she interjected expression darkening. "Clearly he knows how to resurrect the dead, but his experimentation is not over, which suggests that that was not his only goal. If the cinematic record holds the key to keeping the body moving, then his dolls are only lacking one thing: sentience."
Both William and Sebastian started, looking up at her in shock. Sadly, the clenched setting of their jaws told her that they had half expected this news.
"I believe he is trying to give his dolls awareness. If he is able to allow them to interact with their surroundings, it is only a matter of time before reason and complex thought follows. He is not trying to create simple killing machines. He is trying to conquer death completely by bringing back a person as a whole, not just a shell of their former selves."
The hall grew silent again as each person dwelled on their own private thoughts.
Stonehart Asylum, being a large medical institution, used electric lighting in some parts of the building, and their deserted corridor was one such area. Electric lamps dangled from the ceiling overhead, casting harsh illumination on the stonework. Aria appreciated the advancement and efficiency of electric lighting, but the glow it provided was harsh indeed. Such cold and clinical atmospheres were what they had to look forward to with the loss of the flickering candle flame. Her musings turned morose as she stared down into the darkness of the retreating hallway. What else would the human race lose in the name of advancement?
"You said he was having a "difficulty in design"," William began, intruding upon her moment of brooding. "Does that mean that he is looking for a more efficient way to stimulate the brain?"
"Yes," Aria confirmed. "He wants to make it where the brain is continually being stimulated by a current of electrical energy."
William tapped his chin with his forefinger, looking deep in thought. Gradually, his movements slowed and, eventually, stilled as realization dawned on him.
Aria looked over at him in urgency, seeing that he had stumbled upon something of vital importance.
"William, what is it?"
He looked over at her slowly, and the grim line of his lips put her on edge almost as much as Undertaker's manic cackling.
"Well?" she prompted, becoming impatient.
"I believe he wants to stimulate the brain in order to tap at the memories inside."
"How do you mean?" she inquired, slowly comprehending what he was getting at.
William sighed. "As you know, a grim reaper's duty is to review the cinematic record of a human and, by that, send the soul where it is supposed to go. Therefore, after a reaper has finished a collection, the soul has departed from the human's body, but the completed cinematic record is still there. Along with the record, the brain - which houses all of that human's memories - remains. If the brain can be stimulated, it is possible that the body could remember its former life, and along with past memories, begin collecting new ones as well.
"We are now in the realm of conjecture," the administrator pointed out, "but in order for the brain to start collecting new memories once more, it has to be aware of its surroundings. To do this, the brain would have to be tricked into believing it is still alive."
"But if it takes a fake cinematic record to trick the body into believing it is alive, what would it take to fool the brain?" Sebastian questioned, becoming interested in the conversation.
"I'm not quite sure, as something like this has never been done before," William explained, "but it would make sense that if a fake cinematic record is required to revive the body, then fake memories would be necessary to revive the brain."
"But memories happen in the past," Aria pointed out. "In order for a brain to continue living, wouldn't it have to require something in the present?"
"Or the future," Sebastian muttered ominously. "Mr. Spears, would it be possible for a brain to have false memories of a future?"
The reaper furrowed his brows. "To have memories of a future?" he repeated, clearly unsure of the possibility of such a thing.
"Perhaps," Aria ventured, going slowly, "perhaps they wouldn't quite be memories."
"Explain," William stated, leaning forward in anticipation.
"What if the brain is living in a fantasy land of "what should have been"?"
The men raised their eyebrows.
"Let me try again," she said, searching for a better way of explaining her admittedly vague idea. "When I was a young girl, I had many dreams and ideals of what my future would be like. I wanted to be a doctor, become independent, move out of my small town and live in the big city where life was exciting and always busy. Sometimes, I yearned for that future so strongly that it felt almost real, like I could see it perfectly if I just closed my eyes. Would it be possible, William, for the brain to live off of what it believes should have happened, if those plans are vivid enough?"
William settled back against the wall once more, chin on chest in contemplation. "Actually," he started, "that may just work. If Undertaker can manage to provide continual stimulation to the brain and that person has enough vividly constructed plans for the future, then he may be able to bring forth a shallow veneer of life. If the brain falls for the ploy, then it could begin forming new memories and the body can, in theory, become sentient once more."
Sebastian and Aria glanced at one another before turning back to William.
"If that's the case, that may be why Undertaker decided to continue his work here at Stonehart. Along with the isolated location and unclaimed bodies, he has people who have spent the better part of their lives living in their heads. If he were able to stimulate their brains, then they would more than likely be able to reach some type of awareness."
Aria's revelation brought a sudden instance of clarity to the group. If what she said was true, and it seemed too likely not to be, then Undertaker was working out of an insane asylum specifically for the insanity of its inmates. The implications of this motive were immense.
"This is not good," Sebastian muttered under his breath.
"Tell me about it," William concurred. "I do not get paid enough for this."
Aria gave a huff of a laugh. "Quite frankly, none of us do, but that's out of our purview right now. At present, our priority has to be apprehending Undertaker, and that is not going to be easy. If he does manage to bring a human back to life using the means we just discussed, then it is more than likely that those people will awaken even more insane than they were in the first place. Add to that the fact that they will more than likely be unable to feel pain and you have yourself a dangerous weapon indeed, if that is his intention."
"That is what confuses me, though," William remarked, looking over at the doctor. "Why go to all of this trouble? I know the man is probably just as crazy as his experiments, but that does not explain the purpose behind all of this research. Is he really trying to resurrect the dead simply to see if it is possible? I find that hard to believe."
Aria pinched her chin in thought. "I agree. It seems an awful lot of trouble to go through just to fill one's curiosity. Not only are the reapers after him, but what with the Campania incident, the human authorities would be as well if they knew the truth of the matter. There are deeper waters here, and we are dangerously close to falling into them."
"Then it is a good thing Mr. Spears and I are here to assist you," Sebastian chimed in, giving his signature smirk. "Three heads are better than one, and with our collective talents, we should be able to think of something."
"I do hope so," Aria stated, worry sounding in her voice. "He has asked me here to assist him in his research. If I don't begin helping him make progress, he will find me out soon enough. I am supposed to go back down to his laboratory tonight, and I don't know what I'll be made to do in order to hold my cover."
William looked concerned. "Then we'll have to act quickly. I don't quite know if we'll be able to take Undertaker in by brute force. From what I've heard, the man is more than capable of defending himself against multiple adversaries."
"We dupe him then," Sebastian suggested. "The man is conniving, but surely not invincible. If we trick him into putting himself at a disadvantage, then we may be able to take him."
"That sounds like a better idea, but how? The man knows this place far more than we do. He'll have the advantage of familiar terrain."
"We could somehow get him out of the asylum," Aria proposed. "Maybe I could talk him into coming with me to London for supplies or some such. If you call in reinforcements and ambush him while in a carriage in the mild of the moors, then he'll have nowhere to hide."
"But I don't want to risk harming you in the process," William said, shaking his head as though the mere suggestion was unthinkable.
Aria was about to protest, when Sebastian spoke up.
"Allow me to see to Aria's safety. I do not have my master to look over at the moment, so Aria's well being can be my first priority. Indeed, I highly doubt we'll be able to fool Undertaker into anything without her assistance, and that will put her in some little danger. I shall see that no harm comes to her."
Initially, William seemed offended at the very idea, but good sense won over in the end and he agreed to the arrangement.
"Very well," he relented, frowning as he said it. "But you must ensure her safety at all times. No running off to your master at the moment of crisis."
Sebastian bowed his head. "I shall inform my young lord of the situation. You won't find any trouble from that corner. He won't admit it, but he is quite fond of Dr. Sinclair."
Aria smiled. "He probably just wants to keep me around to have someone to beat at chess."
Sebastian chuckled. "I'm afraid he beats most everybody at that particular game, my dear. If that were his criteria for liking someone, he would have a great many friends indeed."
"Touché," Aria murmured, smirking right back. Oh, how she had missed Sebastian's banter.
"It's settled then," William decided aloud. "You will contact Lord Phantomhive and apprise him of your new role as Aria's bodyguard. Now all we need is a specific plan of action."
"I won't be able to arrange anything definite until I know how far Undertaker's work has progressed and where he intends to take it," Aria informed. "I meet with him again tonight. Allow me to look into things further before we devise something concrete."
William nodded. "Of course. Now, about that tour we're supposed to be giving you."
The sound rang through the room three times before Undertaker turned away from his scribbling. His brow furrowed in confusion until he realized that what had interrupted him was a knock at the laboratory door.
"Enter," he shouted, turning back to his papers.
His head popped up once again when the door opened and a metal cart came rolling in, Dr. Carmichael in its wake.
"Bringing me goodies?" the mortician asked, grinning cheekily.
Carmichael chuckled, closing the door behind him and pulling the white sheet off of the cart with a dramatic flourish, revealing the body beneath.
"Allow me to introduce you to Joseph Fairfax. Dead due to sudden cardiac arrest."
"Pity," Undertaker muttered, strolling leisurely toward the newly delivered corpse. "He looked to be a big man in the prime of life, but the heart will get you every time." Making a cursory examination of the unfortunate Mr. Fairfax, the mortician spied a tiny pin-prick on underside of his right elbow. The discovery caused him to snicker. "Too bad the old man took his medicine."
"Rather begrudgingly at first," Dr. Carmichael admitted, "but he came around in the end. They always do. Probably under some false pretense of ending their suffering. It begs the question why they think we go through the trouble of killing them in the first place."
"Well, if we can ever get my research to come to fruition, we may just be able to ask them," Undertaker responded. "Now, help me get our patient on the table."
Carmichael obliged and lifted the man's head as his colleague hoisted the feet. It took no time at all before Mr. Joseph Fairfax was lying peacefully on the blood-stained operating table. Undertaker smiled. It wouldn't be long until any notion of final rest in death was wiped out of his patient's mind forever. This was not a place one came to sleep in everlasting tranquility.
"Do you think this will tide you over for some time?" Carmichael asked, leaning against the head of the operating table, looking for all the world like he was observing a mildly entertaining cricket match instead of lounging beside the fruits of his monstrous ambition.
"It should," Undertaker replied looking the body up and down. "It's a decent sized specimen. Hopefully, he will hold up under experimentation better than the last doll did."
"Do you think we'll be able to get this one to come to his senses?" the doctor asked eagerly. His manner was that of a child being teased with the idea of an early Christmas present; the picture amused Undertaker greatly.
"Perhaps," the elder reaper returned, slinking back to his table covered in notes. "It all depends on what Dr. Sinclair can conjure up. I must admit, I'm running out of plausible ideas. I'm a mortician by trade, not a scientist. I'm surprised I came this far without needing help."
Dr. Carmichael bristled at those words. "Without needing help?" he repeated bitterly, striding across the room to where Undertaker was once again ignoring him. "Do correct me if I'm wrong, but I believe my assistance can hardly be considered anything but help."
Without even bothering to give the slightest impression of interest in the sudden turn the conversation had taken, Undertaker responded lazily, "Your assistance is greatly appreciated, Doctor, but aside from ensuring my stock of supplies does not run dry and providing me with a space to work, it can hardly be considered helpful where scientific collaboration is concerned."
Carmichael's face turned an angry shade of red. "How can you say that? I've operated with you on a countless number of bodies! How can you dismiss my services out of hand like this?"
"Assisting me in operations is not actively participating in creative research. You're simply allowing me to get the job done faster."
That was all the underappreciated medical man could take. "I'm terribly sorry for not being your precious Aria Sinclair," he spouted venomously, "but we can't all have breasts for brains."
Undertaker's entire body stiffened. "I beg your pardon?"
"You heard me! She's done nothing useful whatsoever, and she hardly strikes me as being very intelligent. I assume the only thing you want her for is after hours amusement while I'm not present. Not a terrible idea; she's not a bad looking bird, but you could have called for someone more submissive at least."
p style="margin: 0px;"Undertaker was enraged. In a flash, he was on Carmichael, strong fingers clutched around his throat, pressing the doctor's entire body up against the rotting corpses on the wall. The reaper didn't know if the man was choking due to his hold or the stench of decaying flesh he had been introduced to, but fancied it was a little bit of both.
"I would watch your lecherous tongue if I were you, Carmichael," Undertaker rumbled lowly. "Dr. Sinclair is of too high a caliber for you to even think on much less speak of. I sent for her specifically because of my immeasurable respect for her talents and my belief that she will be able to find a way to help me out of my recent slump. Someone so base as yourself wouldn't be able to understand these concepts or appreciate her intellect, so I'll ask you to stay out of our way, like the obedient dog you are, and maybe, just maybe, I'll still allow you to fetch for me. Is that clear, Doctor? Or perhaps I might as well save myself the trouble and use you as a patient instead of Mr. Fairfax over there? At least he doesn't vex me with an overestimation of his self-importance."
The doctor was wheezing now, and would have been thrashing his head from side to side had not Undertaker's grip been so strong. With a sigh of resignation, the reaper released the man's throat, letting him fall to the floor, backside smacking the stonework with an audible thud. Carmichael began coughing for air, simultaneously rubbing his injured rump.
Undertaker frowned in disgust. The man before him was revolting. A moron. Nothing but a means to an end. His jealously regarding Aria was plain enough to see, and quite frankly, Undertaker was tired of dealing with his over-active superiority complex. He may own a medical license, but the man was completely useless where his role as Stonehart's director ran out. What a waste of human life.
"Recall that dear Aria has only been here for one day," Undertaker stated. "Not even that. I'm sure she'll come up with something eventually, but all good ideas take time to process and inspiration to nurture. Never fear, she won't let us down; my work depends on that fact. Without a way to continually stimulate the brain, I will never be able to bring reason back to the deceased, and that's not good for business. I already have five corpses in the other room that require my attention. Some public school boys and their Vice Headmaster. Their resurrection is a necessity, and I can't afford to miss out on this opportunity to flaunt the evolution of my research."
Carmichael still wasn't talking, and Undertaker smirked. He rather liked him like this.
"Why so quiet, old chum? Cat got your tongue?"
When Carmichael shot daggers at him, Undertaker howled in delight. Well, at least the good old doctor wasn't short on amusement, even if it was at his expense.
I am so, so, so sorry for how long it's been since my last update. I really have no excuse except for being constantly tired. I work in a research lab, and of course things are not doing what I want them to, a.k.a. equipment is being uncooperative. So, yay for living in a constant state of frustration!
That aside, I intend to update another chapter soon to make up for this lapse. I hope you liked chapter 9! Reviews are always loved!