INTRO THEME : "BRIGHTER THAN THE SUN" by Brick and Mortar
It's an odd experience, isn't it? Being unconscious. Totally knocked out cold. It's like floating through the depths of space for so long that time loses its meaning.. And when you finally come to, all of it is forgotten.
As the constellations faded from my vision and my slowly opening eyelids pulled back the curtain of darkness, a blinding bright light blasted me right in the retinas. I felt kind of weightless, like I was floating in a white space. It made me wonder if I was even alive, or perhaps I had been whisked away to some kind of afterlife.
I supposed I might've gotten a nicer welcome than this, but I guess Heaven is a pretty busy place this time of year.
Then, within an instant, I was torn from my ethereal state as some kind of dull ache slammed over my entire being, teetering on the edge of agony. It was as though I had fallen right from the pearly gates and back into reality.
Perhaps God had taken one look at me, plucked me from limbo and proceeded to take his best baseball pitch back to the mortal plane - using my soul as the ball.
I tried so hard to ignore the pain I felt all over the place, but it was always there. It lingered in the backdrop of my body. So I turned my attention to other things, such as my new surroundings which were fading into view, things like the end of the bed I was laying on, a person sat next to the bed, the IV drip leading into my body, the bandages covering my arms and chest, all becoming clear out of the glowing white.
Well, it was clear at least, that I wasn't at all dead. But very much alive (for the most part) laying in some operating room. I blinked groggily, eyes scanning the entire room over. The window looked out to a blue skied, sunny day, trees just barely shivering in what looked like a frail breeze, their leaves green to dull bronze in this failing summer. The room was probably on the second or third floor from the looks of it.
'My injuries must've been pretty serious to get a whole room to myself.'
The steady, neverending beep of my own heartbeat on the monitor was a comforting sound to say the least. Under other circumstances, I'd have found it annoying - but I suppose it's hard to get mad at the machine telling you that you're not dying.
"Are you feeling okay..?" Came a sweet sounding voice from my right. Oh yeah, there was a figure sat next to me as I woke up. I turned my head to the side to see Sandra sittting there, wearing a blue dress and a blue bow in her firey hair, a concerned expression on her face as she looked down at me.
"I... uh.. think so." I said, struggling to get even the simplest words out, "where am I?"
She smiled gently, eyebrows relaxing.
"Well, that's good news.. This is Operating Room 505."
"I see." I tried to move my arms to rub my eyes, but they wouldn't move.
...
"Am I.. Paralyzed?" She shook her head.
"Probably not. You got beaten pretty badly. It'll be the fatigue on your body making it difficult to move."
"Good.. That's good."
"What, that you got beaten up?"
I chuckled and then coughed a couple times, "Course not. I mean, good I'm not paralyzed."
"Oh, that reminds me of something." I heard the sound of a plastic bag crinkling as she placed it on the little desk beside the bed, "you left this back at the shop." I looked over at the bag.
"Oh.. thanks very much. I probably need a shave even more now I've been out for a day or two right?"
She angled her head at me.
"Nope. The doctors did it for you.. They should've bathed you a bit too." She then wagged her mouth open and shut multiple times very awkwardly.
"What is it?" I said, trying to ignore my own less than stellar hygiene practises.
"Well, when you say a day or two.."
"Oh no."
"It's been more like... eight!"
My eyes widened in surprise.
"Was it really that bad?"
"Yup. It really was. You had all glass shards and wood splinters in you as well as broken bones, a punctured lung.."
"You don't need to go on.." I said.
"OK." She began twiddling her hair behind her ear, "I've come to visit you at least once a day. Just to make sure you're okay."
"Right. Well, I appreciate the thought."
"You know, we did get a couple of customers come in asking about you.. Well, I say customers but it's not like they actually bought something."
My ears perked up and I lifted my head a little bit higher on the pillow.
"Really now?" She nodded.
"Describe them to me." I asked.
"One was a serious business type - tall, kinda fit, brown hair, bags under his eyes, pushing fifties. And the other was shorter, a little on the chubby side, nervous. He seemed to know you personally.. The tall one gave me the heeby jeebies, so I told 'em you were working on a case and I didn't know where you were, so they left."
My brows furrowed as she told me this.
"Do you remember if they gave you their names or not?"
"Uhhh, yeah they gave me first names. One was called Patrick, the tall one, and the other was called Ben."
"I dunno.." I lied. But then I decided I didn't at all want to lie to her, "actually, the one called this Ben one reminds me of someone. My high school best friend, Benjamin Willaby. We were beasts back in in the school rugby team.. The only person I know personally called Ben. Why didn't you send them my way? We could've had a little catch up, with coffee and a slice of cake."
She rubbed her arm feverishly.
"Like I said, I didn't like the look of that tall guy. I knew it'd only end badly for you if they came to see you."
"Well- alright then. I understand."
There was a small period of heavy silence before she broke it once more.
"Anyway I think I've figured out that letter."
I blinked twice, searching my still cloudy brain before I remembered.
"Ahh, yeah. The coded one. What's the message saying?"
She pulled out the letter from the plastic bag.
"You call it a coded letter, but it was more like an implied letter to be honest."
"Well what's the implied message, then?"
"So this is what the first message says -" She cleared her throat, "It's to do with all those random capital letters- they weren't random at all. They spelt a message. 'BRING A FINAL VICTIM, ASCEND TO FLAT TWENTY, REPORT HOME' The last two words were easy~"
I hummed in thought.
"So that's why he kept bringing guests to his flat, to take to number 20.." I faltered.
"What's wrong?"
"There's something inside flat number 20, something that warrants them taking a 'victim' to, and something which caused the incidents from 2010 to now. Another thing I noticed about flat number 20, is that it has the exact same smell emenating from it as the flat under my office in Peel does.. I've always suspected those two were connected.. but other than the smell there's nothing."
"Right? It's all starting to freak me out a little bit."
I raised my eyebrow at her.
"You're just starting to get freaked out? On the morning of the day that weirdo beat me up, I had some kind of hallucination, or sleep paralysis.. However much I don't want to believe the words that are coming out of my mouth, I've been finding more and more subtle clues that it may have not been a hallucination at all.."
She looked into my eyes, her grey irises radiating worry.
"Don't worry." I concluded bluntly. She continued.
"So here's the second message I found- the words which had been gone over multiple times with the pen. It was a little tricky to read so give me a sec... the words three and March are mentioned first. I think it's talking about a date.. March 3rd, next year. Then it says this 'The rabbit's numbers grow, the burrow is still in the garden mhere it's always been, i'm here right now.' Mispelled the word 'there', but I think that's a distraction.. wait, it's almost linking the two messages together. I see. I think this part is talking about a secret place which is the HOME which the recieving end is to report back to. the burrow is the secret place, and it hasn't changed locations since the reciever of this letter last visited.. about the thing with the rabbits, I'm sure that means whoever wrote this is part of an organisation, which is growing in members. The writer must be an important figure because it mentions not wanting to be found and it tells us they're at the burrow at the moment. The next part, I believe is intended to throw whoever is reading off - since it's only gone over once with the pen. 'going on trip to liverpUl, i've already let you know the date in this letter!, important meeting, collect an object she needs for a project with friends.. This part confuses me."
"It's like the writer started not even being bothered to make the message secret near the end of the letter." I pointed out, chiming into her train of thought.
"..Yeah. It IS like that.."
She continued staring at the letter, massaging her brow.
"I still can't take anything else away from this letter.. Did you find anything out yet, Gibbs?"
"Well, Joshua's mother isn't called Zuki, she's called Pearl ; and she isn't in a nursing home as this letter states near the end, she's living in a house quite close to where Joshua lives - which then raises the point that she wouldn't need to send a letter to contact him. She could literally just walk across the street and be at his place."
"Oh." Sandra's face went a little pale and she looked at me in the eyes as if I had done something wrong.
"What's with that expression?"
"Well.. Whilst you were having your tussle with that weird guy, the Police arrived pretty quickly. They found Pearl Errant-More on the floor in front of her rocking chair - heart attack."
"Oh Jesus." I swore. Bit insensitive, considering Pearl was on her way to meeting him right about now..
She continued looking at me, as if expecting something.
"What? ... Oh my lord.. Don't tell me they think I did it? Do they?"
She nodded slowly.
"You're due in court like, six days after recovery, the officer told me."
"Can you put me back into the coma, please?" I said, exasperated, sliding down the pillow back into a flat laying position.
"I'm sorry this is all happening to you.. I like you a lot, and I- I don't think you deserve any of this at all.."
I nodded.
"It's okay.." I said, with a forlorn tone, staring up at the ceiling whilst imagining myself staring through prison bars, "yknow, I like you too. You've really helped me out with this case." I added, offhandedly.
She smiled, and glanced away.
"I, uh. Thanks. Hey, you should be up and about within a couple days! You can come back to my place and relax, alright?"
"Sure.." I replied, slowly sitting up again, "but first I need to do something."
She looked at me semi-blankly. I made direct eye contact with her.
"And what's that?"
"I need to go inside flat number 20. As far as I'm concerned, this case is far from over."
"Alright. I understand. I'll come too."
"No." I said.
"Yes."
"No, it's far too dangerous."
Sandra frowned down at me.
"I am coming. I'm apart of this situation now, whether you like it or not!"
My face lightened a little, into a tired half smile.
"Well, if you insist."
"I'll be okay."
She offered her pinky finger out to me.
"Pinky promise?"
Now, I'm in the school of thought that a pinky promise is taking it too far, and that a regular promise will do just fine. But here, I folded. I immediately wrapped my own pinky around hers, shaking her hand through it.
"There." I said.
"Well, I should probably get going now." She said, putting my hand back down again, "I'll see you again tomorrow, alright?"
"Yeah. I'd like that. See you tomorrow, Sandy!" We smiled at each other, and she waved as she walked backwards out of the room, sticking her tongue out at me before disappearing to the right, leaving my alone with my thoughts, and the beeping of the heartrate monitor, slightly quicker than usual.
I sank back into the bed, my head a little messy whilst I silently organized every detail which was just given to me.. From the letter's implied messages, to the fact I had been asleep for eight days, to my upcoming date at court.. My mind ever so helpfully provided me with a fresh memory.. I remembered what Pearl had told me about who her son was hanging out with. The robed man who answered the door to Joshua. In... where was it.
'Ramsey. It was in Ramsey.'
"That's where the burrow is."
"So.. you and your little girlfriend've figured it all out then." Came a gruff voice from my left. I looked over and there sat in the window-frame, leather jacket and Mohawk and all.. the very man who put me into this hospital room. He wasn't even looking at me, the cheek! A cool breeze drifted into the room from the open window.
"I've not had a single day of rest since I started this damn case," I complained out loud, "so can you please go away. Come kick my ass later."
"You've had eight days of rest, mate." He pointed out, ominously.
I spluttered at the absurdity of that comment.
"I-. I don't care. I can't be bothered dealing with you right now. Leave me the hell alone." I retorted exasperatedly.
"I will." He said, bluntly, "but not yet."
He stepped down from the windowsill, walking calmly towards my hospital bed, each footstep making his boot clack on the laminate floor. Eventually he was stood over me, looking down on my prone form. I saw how the hole I put in his stomach had not only disappeared, but his clothes were fixed too. He walked as if I had done nothing to him.
"I noticed something in our fight."
"And what was that?" I glared up at him.
"It's quite cut and dry. You're a Jujutsu Sorcerer. Plain and simple."
I blinked twice, slowly.
"What're you even waffling about..? Did I.. did I hear you right? A SORCERER? Like Gandalf and Dumbledore or something? You must've hit your head in our fight. Or maybe you've hit mine too."
"Tisk tisk," he shook his head sarcastically, before sitting down at the end of my bed, patting my knee like a mother telling a child a bedtime story. I felt confused and humiliated, my brows furrowing in a scowl, "not only can you see Cursed Energy, but you can see Cursed Spirits too.. This is an incredibly rare thing in such a backwater country like this. But also such good news for my family."
My head began to ache slightly, it was hard to comprehend. What this crazy punk was trying to suggest is that hallucination or ghost or whatever which so graciously welcomed me to Joshua's flat on the first night of the investigation wasn't a figment of my imagination at all, but was some creature called a Cursed Spirit?
And what of Cursed Energy? It was sounding like spiritual mumbo jumbo straight out of some kind of lazy fantasy novel or a new wave pagan's Tumblr bio.
Whatever It was, it was cursed alright, that's for sure.
"You're lying," I said, venomously, trying to cling to the last shreds of the world and logic I believe that I believe in, "I'm still in a coma and this is a coma dream. I'm not having it."
Then, out of nowhere, he slapped me round the face, leaving my cheek stinging and burning and my eyes tearing up a bit.
"What was that for? I asked you to kick my ass later."
"Not asleep, are we?"
I sighed in frustation.
"Obviously not..."
"You can't keep denying your nature any longer, Gibbs Jones," He looked me in the eye, but there was no animosity to be found in his brown eyes. But rather understanding, "I understand you've got a court date soon? Been framed for killing that old lady in our fight.
He raised his hands sarcastically, imitating an arrest no doubt.
"Sorry. That was on me.." He smiled a crooked yellow smile.
'the hell is he leading to?' I blinked slowly but let him continue his spiel.
"I know people who can help. And I think you could help me in return. You'd be fed. Looked after. What do you say?"
I furrowed my brow. Was he seriously inviting me to join the very organisation which me and Sandra had just discovered might be at the bottom of this case? It put me on edge, very much. And I didn't like it.
"Let me... let me think about it..."
"Why do you need time to think about it? Can't you decide right now?" He replied instantly.
"Look man! I've only just woken up and I've had at least a 30 page document worth of information shoved into my brain! I'm a thinking detective, not a knucklehead like you, so I'll think about it. That's all."
He nodded, not even angered by my snapping at him at all. He stood up.
"I see. Well, if you decide - come to Ramsey. We'll find you from there.." He walked back over to the window.
"Oh, and by the way," He began, turning to face me, "my name is Kellin. Family should know each other's first names." He grinned at me.
And with that, without even sharing another word, Kellin leapt out of the window like it was nothing.
.
[XXX]
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Thank God the next few days were uneventful... Other than periodic checks from a nurse or mealtime, it was a drag. But after all I had been put through, a drag was just exactly what I needed.
I spent most of my time staring at the wall, either thinking deeply about my options or zoning out and thinking about nothing.
As for meals, which I just mentioned, they gave me solid food, to my great pleasure. Tuna sandwiches made with malted bread, packets of Tayter crisps, an apple or a banana almost as battered as me.
Sure, it wasn't luxury but I wasn't complaining either.
Eventually, almost three whole days had passed, the sky outside began to turn dark red on the eve of the third day, I began feeling more and more strength returning to the rest of my body. It was such an ecstatic feeling, almost above any other I've felt. I was even able to sit perfectly upright when the doctor came in at the end of the day.
"Good evening, Mr. Jones." He greeted me as he entered, drawing the curtains to the now shut and closed window, "I see you're already doing much better."
"I'm feeling it." I declared proudly.
The doctor was a typical doctor - as in white coat, name tag reading "Dr Faudler", huge shiny bald spot like he waxed the top of his head specifically to sparkle. He wore small, rectangular glasses on his face. The glasses looked so dainty and frail that they might snap to a gust of wind which caught them on his way to work. He wore purple trousers too.
The doctor walked back towards the bed, his hands clasped behind his back.
"Well, since you're already in such a state, would you mind performing a few physical tests for us to determine when we can discharge you?"
"Alright then!" I accepted. Big mistake.
You see, the thing is with Noble's Hospital, the first sign of motor function and they kick you out the front door. If a comatose man's eyelid were to so much as twitch, he'd already be on his way to checkout at the reception.. and then they'd ask him "not talkative today, are we?"
For the fist test, they cracked out a strange looking, black painted zimmerframe, which I needed to transfer out of bed from.
It felt like my body was made of lead as soon as I took one step out off the mattress, and I almost fell like a sack of potatoes to the floor. Fortunately I had the frame to keep me standing. The doctors began scribbling in their notebooks, and a nervous sweat broke on my forehead. It was like I was performing on the X-Factor for cripples.
After that small hiccup, I was able to complete four laps of the room with no worries. After this, they took the zimmerframe away, and had me walk with no support at all, which I was able to do, although not without quite the heavy hobble.
The doctors all nodded to each other. One thing lead to another and I suddenly found myself ushered, confused and dazed, to the front entrance of the hospital. They couldn't have gotten rid of me sooner if they tried. And oh did they try. I was surprised I was even able to leave with my belongings, otherwise they'd have thrown me out in my hospital gown.
I had my plastic bag from Mace's by my side, and my navy blue coat back on my shoulders, washed and dried, alongside the white black trousers and the white tshirt, which they couldn't quite manage to root all the bloodstains from.
I hobbled out the front doors of the hospital, into the crispy air of the growing dusk, looking around at the shining streetlights. A glass bus shelter stood nearby to the right, two people waiting on the seats. I shrugged and limped casually over to the bus shelter.
The sound of crickets filled the air, as well as hushed whispering from the two men, one tall and lanky, one short and chubby. As I entered the light I saw them. One was a serious business type - tall, surprisingly muscular, brown hair, bags under his eyes. And the other was shorter, a little on the chubby side, a nervous expression on his face. It broke into a broad smile when he saw me walk around the corner, it was a jolly smile which created dimples in his cheeks.
"Gibbs! There you are! We've been looking for you everywhere!" Exclaimed Benjamin Willaby. I couldn't help but grin warmly and wave at him. Patrick, on the other hand, (that's who I assumed was Patrick) wasn't so exciteable.
"Finally found you, Mr. Jones. I have several answers I need from you." Patrick's irises were piercing and black. They searched for every detail they could get. Not good news.
"Oh great," I started, shaking Ben's hand, faking a smile, "so you used my best friend to get to me?"
"Who else? You're quite the recluse."
.
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Who the hell is this? The case continues with chapter 6!
END THEME: "SAVAGES" by That Handsome Devil