UNFINISHED: Prince of Madness

~ Chapter 5

The following day, the perverted guard was not there at the old hospital entrance. 
In fact, nobody was.
Smiling slightly with relief, Agatha hurried on through the doors she thought would have been locked, but weren't. It didn't take long to find Ruben again, either - instead of residing on the floor below the viewing stands, Agatha found him trying to scale the fence.
"What are you doing? You could get hurt!" she exclaimed at once, grabbing his arm and hauling him over. 
"Being hurt is probably better than being bored," he said, an instant before he fell to the floor to Agatha's feet. "Because you can't get anywhere in life without risks."
It was the first time he had been so close to her. His hair was a bit like Marcel's in the way that it fell to his shoulders, but was slightly shorter and more of a copper colour than Marcel's light brown. Underneath Ruben's beige waistcoat was a short-sleeved tunic coloured cream; his silvery-copper coloured trousers were worn slighty at the knees, and below his tan boots reached halfway up his shins. it was a set of clothes similar to the colour scheme in Agatha's home, and she laughed.
"Anyway, is there a particular reason why you want to get up here?"
"Not really. I do this a lot. But not every day do I get help from a lady."
"Well, you're very welcome. I was sure you would manage just fine without me, anyway."
He cast her a somewhat doubtful smile, but nonetheless changed the subject.
"You're very quick to help others. Your parents don't call you naive?"
"They did, at first. But I think they came to accept it."
Ruben froze for a moment, his gaze fixed to the ground - but the instant passed, and he said, "Would you like to join me for tea?"
"Tea? You get tea?"
"No, but it's something I've been saving for guests." 
Agatha flushed with pride. "I'm honoured to be your guest, Ruben. Where is your room?"
He turned to the fence.
"Oh no. You're not going to make me jump down there, are you?"
"No. It's only a shortcut. There's another way, and it's down stairs. I'm sure your extravagant dress can handle that."
Looking down at the blue gown she'd donned for the day, she chuckled softly. "I have many. There's no need to carry me or anything."
"If you say so." He offered her his hand, and she accepted it.

It was a five-minute journey down the flight of stairs, through some rooms and then through an enormous hole in the wall that looked as if it had been bulldozed by a wrecking ball.
"If you can climb up to the entrance floor, why don't you escape?" Agatha asked along the journey.
"Because there's a guard outside," Ruben answered coolly. "When you entered, he was on his daily lunch break. But it only lasts 10 minutes, and then he returns. There's a guard change at five in the evening, to a woman who does the night shift. She delivers the day's food and supplies in the process."
"You know so much, you could easily pick the right time to escape?"
"But that would mean leaving everyone else behind. Until I find a way to get us all out at the same time, I won't leave." His voice trailed off at that, but then he stepped ahead and opened a door that bore a sign, with the faded words 'Consultation Room'. 
"It's not a consultation room anymore," Ruben smiled. "It's mine now." And he opened it.
Ruben's room was sufficiently illuminated by the large window on the right wall that revealed what appeared to be a garden next to it. By the window, there was a small desk and lamp; in the centre, there was a wooden table set. On the far left, a basin - that looked rather like a witches' cauldron - stood, next to a smaller desk littered with screwed papers.
"It's beautiful and quiet," Agatha said - but Ruben merely cocked his head, almost like a curious dog.
"It is," he said. "The ghosts are gone, too. I wonder where they are."
"G- ghosts?" 
"They don't move anything. Well, one of them is a poltergeist, but he doesn't move anything. Except papers."
Agatha looked up to Ruben's eyes. They were no longer warming like before, but... distant, almost cold.
"It gets awfully lonely here. Perhaps they'll come back when I light the fires again." He said the last sentence under his breath, almost too low for Agatha to hear. She stared wide-eyed as the man walked in an almost trance-like state over to the basin and picked up a sheet of paper that once was filled with a neat manuscript but had been spoiled by spilt black ink blotches. Casually, he delved underneath the sea of white and produced a hand-sized box. A box of matches.
Upon closer inspection, the basin was filled with water. As Agatha stepped closer, she realised the paper lay at the bottom of its' murky depths, too; many black-and-white shapes that had sunk and remained for whoever knew how long.
She visibly jumped as he stuck the first match, hearing the 'click' before she saw the flame. In his other hand, Ruben had compressed the paper into a small and crumpled blob.
Without so much as blinking, he incinerated and crushed it, paper, match and all.
"Have you ever started a fire just to watch it burn and die?"
He upturned his left palm as he spoke, pausing in speech to reveal a hand coated in ash. The invisible fumes, emanating from the crushed remains of the fire, lingered in the air like an intoxicating mist – yet he inhaled it, welcomed it like an old friend.
Agatha flinched as another match was drawn, lit – held close to another ball of crumpled paper. The flame spread across its' surface, leaving a trail of black in its wake. Ruben picked it up with the thumb and index finger of his other hand, now free of the second match that now lay dead on the table. He didn't recoil when the tendrils of orange began to lick his hand; instead, he placed it, like a delicate flaming flower, into the basin, seemingly mesmerized as the water gradually consumed the small blaze. Where there was black, embers danced frantically before eventually diminishing to nothing like the rest of their kind.
The smoke stung her throat. Agatha swallowed.
"Watching the last of the fire slowly extinguish - die out, in the most beautiful way possible." As he said it, she realised Ruben's hand was submerged; upon closer inspection, it bore a patch of angry red that extended along his thumb and wrist.
With his left hand, he scooped up the remains of what was once a ball of paper – now no more than charred mush – from its' watery grave and squeezed it before he tossed it to the floor where it joined its' predecessors.
"It's almost as satisfying as watching people die," Ruben whispered. "So I suppose it will suffice... for now."
Agatha took a deep breath of smoke-tainted air and dared a step forward.
"Do you need me to bandage it?"
"No, thank you."
"But that's quite a serious burn."
"I've had worse, thank you."
"Are you sure?"
"Please don't touch me."
Agatha froze and Ruben veered out of her reach swiftly. He took a breath and looked back her with eyes that were once again timid, but now apologetic as well.
"I- I'm sorry, excuse me. Please, take a seat. If you still want it, I can fix tea for you-"
The shock on his face was no more obvious than a startled, even dazed blink as she pulled out a chair and did so. He turned quickly as if he had been caught staring and fumbled around the paper-cluttered desk, casting screwed balls and notepads aside in a terribly panicked way. Agatha tried not to let her gaze linger too long on the objects concealed underneath it all.
"I- yes." He produced a crisp teabag and a pair of cups. "I only have one flavour, I'm afraid."
"I'm not picky," she replied in a sweet voice. 
A door opened and a silvery, androgynous new voice chimed, "A prince amongst thieves, I see."
"Please don't compare them to thieves, Marceline." Agatha sighed.
"Or Marcel?" Still holding the box and mugs, Ruben cocked his head curiously.
"Oh? So my disguise isn't good enough, is it?" A challenging grin spread underneath that layered make-up mask. "Here I thought the trick was impenetrable. Impressive."
"If it makes you feel any better, I didn't notice until just now." Ruben had, in the space of Marcel's sentence, produced a third cup. It was just as plain as the first two, decorated with nothing and painted entirely with white. "Tea?"
"Why not?" Marcel strode forward and leaned over the chair next to Agatha. "Is it poisoned?"
Ruben smiled.
"It's an unopened pack. How could it be-"
"Ah, Agatha. My darling, you are too naive. Con artists are sneaky and can do whatever they wish within bounds. They trick people." Marcel patted her gently on the head in a way that almost seemed mocking, but more of a joke. 
"Won't you stop accusing me of being a criminal and sit?" Ruben's smile hadn't faded in the slightest.
"But it's true, is it not?" the young man still wearing the dress sat, but continued to speak in his trademarked 'innocent' voice. "How do you think I got into here?"
Ruben had turned his back to the speaker and his friend by now, and had on hand on the handle on the kettle he'd unearthed from the papers when he froze.
"I've done my research." Marcel said it smoothly. "And you won't believe what I found."

"Marcel, please don't be annoying." Agatha straightened her back, anxiety causing her stomach to roll and churn. "Ruben, don't mind him, he's-"
"Something very interesting." Marcel ignored her completely. "Very interesting indeed. Isn't that right, clinical madman?"
Nobody moved during the cold silence that followed. The speaker continued.
"A certain someone's medical report from a couple of years ago. Such a sweet child, but burdened by an alleged demonic possession, causing him to see nonexistent entities."
"Marcel, please stop it." Agatha raised her voice slightly, but to no avail.
"And as much as I appreciate the science wasn't so advanced at that time, the doctor's account - 'He reports seeing "ghosts"... his mental state is without a doubt poor...' - rather persuading, I think."
There was a sly, amused grin on Marcel's lips.
"Stop it. That's not funny. He's-"
"'And slight pyromaniac tendencies that only appear to have intensified during the observation period... and an unstable emotional state'! Why don't you show us that uncontrollable temper, Ruben?"
Agatha stood abruptly, fists trembling as if she were about to erupt with rage. "Marcel, stop being so cruel. We are guests here, and yet you insist on being so inhumane to-"
"What, a human?" Ruben's voice was quiet, with a sinister innocent tone - just like Marcel's. "Is that what you think I am? Because your friend has made it clear that I'm not."
"My friend is often an idiot to everyone. Please don't take it personally, I'm sure Marcel is messing with-"

Ruben moved so fast that neither Agatha nor Marcel realised it until his hands were around the neck of the latter. 
"As I was saying before you entered, it's been a while since I've killed anyone. Wouldn't it be fun to be seeing demons again?" Ruben laughed. 
"Stop!" Agatha cried out, unintentionally grabbing one of Ruben's arms. The young man gave her a look of shock mingled with challenge; but Agatha did not recoil. "Please let him go. He didn't mean it."
Marcel was sent flying to the floor. He lay there for a moment, taking in unsteady gulps of air with a face that had been wiped completely of its cocky satisfaction. 
"Remember that I can kill you," Ruben whispered, his face once again unnervingly blank. "I could kill you all. Now, please don't forget that. Ever."