Green Eyes (Ronald Knox) COMPLETE

chapter eight

"There was another murder last night." Ciel says and Amber can hear the rustling of newspaper, "A lady in her early forties, the cause of the death is unknown. The victim was-once again-painted in her own blood." A shudders racks through Amber's body and she sinks into her plush seat. The soft velvet swallows her and she feels a strange sense of comfort.

"That is extremely grotesque." Sebastian comments, and there is the clatter of porcelain plates being set upon the table, "What do you make of it My Lord?"

"Whoever is causing these deaths is very careful not to leave behind any evidence," Ciel replies. Paper rustles and the young Earl sighs, "I do believe that we are dealing with a skilled killer." The door to the room flies open with a earsplitting creak and Amber sits forward as a pair of feet race across the floor,

"A death?" Grell's flamboyant voice exclaims, "How surprising!" Amber can feel his presence behind her, his eyes seizing her up.

"Grell, do you not realize how rude it is to get yourself involved in other people's business?" Madame Red must have followed Grell soundlessly into the room with not even the slightest click of her heels against the tile floor. A strangled cry escapes Grell,

"Oh how sinful!" Grell cries, agony tinting his voice, "I shall have to die!" Amber rolls her eyes at Grell's naive nature; that man surely believes that his actions should lead him to be greatly punished.

"That is enough." Sebastian says, and the room becomes eerily silent, "Grell, please put that butter knife down; it will do you no harm and it is an expensive piece of silverware. If you wish to find eternal peace, please feel free to find it outdoors; we do not want your blood staining the ground." Grell gasps and somewhere in the room a butter knife falls against the tiles.

"Sebas-Chan!" Grell says in a voice containing pure happiness, "You really do care about me!" Amber allows a sigh to tumble from her lips as she pinches the bridge of her nose. This man is really in the dark...

"Amber," Ciel says over Grell's joyous thank you's, "Sebastian and I will be leaving for the city to investigate the murder. If you wish to, you are free to join us. If not, you will remain at the manor." Amber releases her nose and sets her hand on the silken tablecloth. A whole day alone with Madame Red and Grell?

"I'll come." Amber replies curtly.

"Very well then." Ciel says, "We are to leave in an hour."

Ronald peels his eyelids back, groaning as his head throbs furiously. Last night feels lucid and Ronald has to think whether it really happened or not; if Alan is really going to die... Picking his head up from the table, he gazes hazily around the empty bar. He sways slightly and searing pain shoots through his skull, lights exploding before his vision. He groans again, rubbing his temples; the air smells strangly like roses...

"Hey kid? You okay?" The bartender inquires and Ronald dizzily turns to the older man, "You were out for most of the day and I didn't know what to do for you so I left you there."

"Fine." Ronald mumbles, the words scratching his throat. With a grunt Ronald brings himself to his feet, his legs trembling as he takes a few cautious steps towards the door. Flinging the door open, Ronald squints at  the sudden exposure to light. Using the walls of buildings to steady himself, Ronald slowly makes his way down one of London's many streets. The scent of roses intensifies and Ronald gags, bitter acid filling his mouth. Doubling over, Ronald reaches and feels the poisonous substance leave his body. Wiping his mouth with his sleeve, Ronald ignores the disgusted glares people are shooting him and continues on his way; his destination unknown. As he staggers past people, an old song comes to mind; a song about Alan's thorns:

Sweet mercy of the Thorns of Death,

put to sleep the grim reaper's soul;

A life that never ends...

Pure poison of the Thorns of Death,

bury the eternal soul

that knows no peace.

Time blurs away,

carving countless wounds.

If living is a torture,

then why don't you give up?

Ronald's eyes are surprisingly dry as he hums to the phantom words dancing around his mind. He passes a boy selling roses at the corner of the road and smiling sadly, Ronald picks one twirling the stem between his fingers. A thorn manages to bite through his skin and a bead of red wells up. Ronald watches with an odd fascination as the bead explodes; a stream of red trickling down his wrist and falling onto the ground. he buys the rose, handing the boy money. Ronald tosses the rose into the path of a carriage and watches as the horses trample it under their hooves and just like that, the rose is no more.

Sweet mercy of the Thorns of Death,

Put to sleep the grim reaper's soul;

A life that never ends...

If living is a torture,

then why don't you give up?

Alan sits up in his bed, the sheets wrapped around him. Sweat plasters his dark hair to his forehead and a searing pain burns in his chest; his limbs feel numb and he shivers as goosebumps appear on his thin arms. There are purple flowers in a vase across the bed; ericas. Smiling softly to himself, Alan's mind drifts off to the day he and Eric found themselves in a field of this sweet smelling flower. That day felt like a lifetime ago...

The door cracks open and a nurse strides into the room, her crimson hair swaying and her heels clicking.

"How are you feeling Mr. Humphries?"  Alan opens his mouth to reply but no words sound; his throat begins to sting and Alan can feel tears welling up in his eyes. He blinks them away and shrugs. His shoulders scream in agony and Alan winces. The nurse nods sadly and rests the back of her hand on Alan's forehead. "Your friends Ronald and Eric stopped by." she says as if to encourage him, "They really care for you." A smile creeps onto Alan's lips; the ericas must be from Eric. Alan drops his eyelids and allows himself to sink back into the pillows, his mind wandering. The nurse leaves and Alan cracks one eye open staring lovingly at the ericas, remembering a song he once sang to Eric that day so long ago:

I have been on a long journey dragging along,

A lonely shadow and the pain in me,

I was born alone in this world I have travelled,

And I will die so alone.

But if this is to be my fate, then

Why are there tears coming out of my eyes?

I seriously have to stop with this depressing stuff!!!!!! I love you all my readers,

TheAngelOfMusic27