The Last Song [Black Butler] [Kuroshitsuji]

CHAPTER VIII

My hope deflated once I noticed the carriage rolling to a stop next to an enormous hospital.

At first, I had assumed that the Earl's words meant we were heading to a graveyard, but five minutes into the ride I realized my error.

It suddenly clicked. No one, other than the Earl himself, actually said Rosemary had died.

Not the constables. You are hereby under arrest for the murder of Richard Crale.

Not Chief Commissioner Randall. She dissappeared right after Rosemary Crale's head was bashed in!

And not Aberline. I don't think you did it, but I do think we need help.

It all made sense. Earl Phantomhive doesn't strike me as the type dense enough to give out information willy nilly. If someone had attacked Rosemary - and fancied finishing the job - her best protection from prying eyes would be the guise of death.

But Randall's comment - why you want to bother reasoning with a girl who butchered her sister is beyond me - suggested that her injury, whatever it may have been, was severe.

Maybe even deadly.

Butchered. Bashed in.

What did she have to endure?

"May I ask you a question?"

"You just did."

"Well, another one."

At my slightly subdued voice, the noble tore his gaze from the window and I was caught off-guard at the piercing eye.

"When I was arrested, I was charged with the murder of my late father," I began. "Why was the attempted murder of my sister not added as well?"

A pause. The stare stretched on before that cobalt eye swirled back to the window. "Perphaps it would have been to guage your reaction."

At my confused look, he elaborated. "If you were to mention anything that hasn't been told to you before, it would prove that your memory is still intact and could very well color you our murderer."

"Oh." Stars above, why has my vocabulary been limited to this stupid word?

We rode in silence for a few minutes before I finally asked. "Why is she in the hospital?"

The Earl didn't answer at first - I thought he was ignoring me - but then he said "she received a harsh blow to the head - the resulting trauma was great enough to send her into a coma."

My nails sunk into carriage cushions.

Of course she wouldn't have escaped from this madness.

Stepping into that room proved harder than I has anticipated, but, when I did, I was surprised.

A girl, of about 11, laid inside. Tucked in between the pale sheets, her dark hair appeared darker - it's color a few shades lighter than mine. Her bright red cheeks were replaced with an icy white and she seems to have lost some weight. While the girl's eyes might have been closed, I vividly remeber their color.