The incident we caused left us extra cautious for the rest of the night. The police became far more alert, patrolling the streets and ushering most citizens indoors. The hunt was very much over, and we were instead focused on evading detection. As well as the unknown threat of who, or what, Izayoi had seen. Sadly, I've yet to convince myself of the dog theory. It forms a pit in my stomach, like a tightly wrapped ball of the strings that surround me.
Eventually, after ensuring that our movements where as hard to follow as possible, we separated for the night. Now I head towards my dilapidated home, but by the time I finally reach it, the sun is beginning to peak over the horizon, casting strange, unfamiliar shadows on the ruined, rotting walls.
I'd thought I'd grown used to the creaking floor boards, but now each sounds makes my head swivel to check my blind spots. I stop moving. Deep breaths, Remilia… Deep breaths… I do my best to clear my head, then continue down into the basement.
I push open the door, and it gives way with a familiar creaking. What's less familiar is the sharp gasp I hear from inside. I enter and scan the room. Flan is sitting in bed, looking at me with wide eyes. Patchy sits at her desk, slowly turning to face me. She somehow looks even more upset than usual. The source of the gasp becomes quickly apparent: The little devil, standing by Patchy, with her hand still near her mouth.
Patchy clears her throat, and the little devil re-assumes her usual timid attempt at formal posture.
"Sis?" I turn my attention towards Flan's voice, who seems to be moving to get out of bed. I call out to her, quickly unloading my vials and tools next to the door before I rush over, and open my arms to her.
She hesitates. For a moment, just a second, she looks away from me, pulling her arms closer to her chest. Recoiling, as if I'd just threatened her. I stop breathing, my chest feeling as if it's being crushed. Then she suddenly leaps into my arms.
She's shaking. Violently.
"F-… Flan…?" It feels like she's trying to hug me tighter than usual, but her limbs are still weak. "Flan, i-it's okay, calm down..." I wrap my arms around her and keep whispering. "It's okay, it's okay…" She doesn't stop shivering.
"You're late." I look over my shoulder. Patchy is staring at me, her arm resting on her desk, her cheek in her palm. She snaps her fingers, and the little devil rushes over. Flan lets go of me, and the two of them head towards the washroom.
I turn back to Patchy, straightening my posture and clearing my throat. "There were some complications," I say. "Nothing that could not be dealt with."
"So you were caught?" She asks dryly, cutting down the air of confidence I was trying to put up.
"Well… I took care of it." I grin. "As I always do."
She waits a moment before responding, still studying me. "Of course," she then says, pouring a cup of tea. "I'd ask if it was tough, but I know your pride won't let you say 'yes'. You were late, so I'll just assume you messed up. Hope you don't mind."
"Are you perchance in a bad mood, Patchy?" I ask, sitting next to her.
She sighs in such a way that her irritation becomes drastically more apparent. "Don't do a good job hiding that, do I?" She pushes the teacup towards me.
"No, not particularly." I reply, taking the cup. "Though, that is by no means a bad thing. In fact, I appreciate how blunt and honest you often are." I raise the cup to my lips.
"Wish I could say the same for you." I giggle at her remark. "Now, if you're done buttering me up, how about you explain what the hell you've been doing?"
I finish my sip. "What do y-" Her stare stops me. Patchy's eyes, normally full of apathy and calmness, are burning with anger. I swallow and divert my gaze. "What do you mean?" I ask calmly.
"The girl. The human you've been playing with." She stands up. "What are you of all people doing with a damn human?"
"I have no idea what you mean," I reply, raising the cup again to my lips.
"Don't play dumb, Remi. Answer me." I slowly place the cup back on the saucer, then face her once again. Our current height difference makes her all the more intimidating.
"I mentioned it before," I say, starting to stand.
"Your plan, right?" She steps forward. I sit back down. Her voice has an edge do it that cuts like a razor. I've seen her upset plenty of times before, mildly annoyed at my antics, or the incompetency of my servants… But this is different.
She's boiling, just under the surface, barely maintaining her cold demeanor. Yet, in truth, that demeanor feels barely different. This isn't a recent development.
"What the hell are you doing, running around out there with a human murderer?" She presses.
I force myself to stand and try to maintain face. You have confidence in this plan. Let it show. "We can use her, Patchy. Do you really think we can take back the mansion on our own?"
"The mansion?" She repeats, interrupting me as she laughs in apparent disbelief. As if she was ready for me to say it, but surprised all the same.
"How do you even know about Izayoi?!" I snap.
Her eyes widen, but narrow again as they lock with mine. A sick smile starts to form on her face. "You've even named her, have you?" In a flash her face and tone are once again serious. "What is she to you?"
"A weapon," I say with confidence. "A tool I shall use to reclaim-"
"You don't name tools, Remi. You couldn't name a single servant other than Meiling. You never gave a damn about your teachers, your guards, your maids… I used to hate that high and mighty attitude of yours. Even when you 'took an interest in me', it just made me more cautious of you. I even started focusing more and water and metal magic for a time… Just in case I ever needed to shut you up."
Her voice starts shaking, but she hasn't boiled over yet. She takes a deep breath, and looks at me for a moment. Too many questions are flying through my mind, vying for their chance to be asked, but before I can get them under control, Patchy continues.
"But no, I never did use them. I never once attacked you with intent to truly hurt you. Do you know why, Remi?" I follow her gaze towards the door to the washroom. Flan and the little devil are standing there. Watching. "Because of Flandre." She says it with a softness that causes all the air in my lungs to become thick dust. She turns back towards me. "You were always so kind to her. So genuine. I knew that you really did have a heart, beneath all that prideful, aristocratic posturing. It even stretched to me and Meiling, eventually. …At least, that's what I thought."
Her eyes, having trailed off to the side in reminiscence, focus back onto me. "Then you started avoiding her."
Her accusation snaps me back to reality. "What?!" I move towards her. "What on Earth do you mean, Patchy?! I've gone out nearly everyday, in broad daylight no less, to get us supplies. To get blood for Flan! How can you say I don't care about her?!"
"I didn't."
"Ah… I…" My throat nearly chokes itself as I try to force out a retort. I speak slowly. "I am risking my life, all of our lives, if I get caught. I could leave you all and take care of myself if I wanted, you know I'm more than capable, but I don't."
"You go out everyday, as soon as you can… Even when you don't need to."
"We can't rest, Patchy! What we need-"
"Isn't much," she interrupts. "I'm a magician. I don't even need food, but you still get us a tea. As a luxury."
"B-But Flan! Flan needs the blood! She needs-"
"What Flan needs is a sister."
The words echo in my head as I stare at her. My eyes drift to Flan. She looks away from me. For a moment, it doesn't feel like I can breathe.
"I asked Koakuma to watch over you last night." Who the hell is…? The little devil? "She saw it all. Your human friend you obsess over. The joy you get out of killing humans. Just how… Happy you look. You look so much happier out there, when you aren't burdened by us." The anger in her voice has faded. The room is silent for a long moment, before a new question appears in my mind, and leaves my mouth before I can catch it.
"How…?"
"What?" Patchy is just as surprised as I.
"H-How did…?" How did I not detect her? Then, finally, I look closely at the three of them. Patchy, the little devil, and Flan. They aren't there.
I can't see their threads.
"Big… Big sis…" Flan speaks up, moving towards me.
Patchy snaps her fingers, and the little devil puts her hand in front of Flan. "Look at her." I look towards Patchy with wide eyes. I feel… So much smaller… "Not me." Patchy says, calmly, gesturing towards Flan. "Her."
I do as she asks. I look at Flan. My stomach jumps so far up my throat it feels like I could vomit.
She's worse. She's so much worse. Her skin is pale, her hair is thin, and she can barely stand, leaning on the little devil for support. Her chest rises and falls irregularly, but I can hardly hear her short, sharp breaths. They're too shallow. Or maybe it's the pounding in my head that's drowning it out.
Even her body somehow seems smaller, and her eyes are devoid of all light, even consuming the reflected candlelight in their dark red voids. Then I notice the walls… The old wooden boards and wallpaper… Why is it so… Dull? So dark? So much worse than yesterday…?
Finally, the weight of reality crushes me, before jumping down my throat in an attempt to suffocate me. The bags under Patchy's eyes, and her dry, cracked hands. The little devil barely fares better. The room is full of bugs and dust, sharply creaking with every subtle movement. It's torturous.
I had blocked it out. Just enough to stay hopeful. To see some joy in this situation… All a delusion.
"Remi," says Patchy. Her voice sounds foreign for a brief moment, but it is undeniably hers. "You can't just run around out there. I don't care what your plans for the future are. Your sister needs you. Now." Only a flicker of anger remains. She sounds more tired than anything. "I still want to believe that you care, Remi. I don't hate you. I can't hate you. But what you are doing now isn't helping. If you truly want to help, then-"
She is interrupted by a cough. Our eyes snaps towards Flan, coughing into her fist before falling to her knees, hacking and shaking. The little devil crouches down to comfort her, and Patchy rushes over with a cup of medicine.
I don't move. I just watch. I watch, as my sister coughs like an elderly, human smoker. I want to help. My feet refuse to move. I'm her sister. She needs me. I can barely breathe. I don't have a choice. I need to help her. It's my fault she's like this. I couldn't protect her. I shiver. It's the only movement my body seems capable of. I… I…
I don't want to be here. Patchy is right. I am avoiding her. Because every time I hear her weak voice, every time I see those horrible wounds, every time I so much as think about Flan… I feel like I'm being crushed. The weight I feel, the guilt, feels like it could kill me. It makes my muscles tense to the point that it feels like I have a pillar of cement strapped to my back and each of my limbs. I can't breathe. I don't deserve to breathe. I haven't earned the damn right to breathe.
I failed. I'm no sister. I let this happen to Flan, but it should've been me. Now… All I can do is work to help her. But now I finally realize that I'm not even doing that. I'm running away. Staying away from her as much as possible, only holding my breath and staying with her when I have to.
This isn't helping her. This is helping myself.
But finally… I've realized it. This is my chance… My chance to turn things around! There's still time. I can walk over there, hug Flan, tell her how much I love her, and do what ever Patchy says I must, in order to help her make a full recovery!
But when I move my legs, they don't move towards Flan. They move towards the door. As Patchy shouts at me, I'm already running. Deafened by the childish fantasy I've hastily wrapped myself in, and blinded by my own tears.