Saturday places a jar of Nevermore's original '𝗪𝗜𝗟𝗗𝗙𝗟𝗢𝗪𝗘𝗥 𝗛𝗢𝗡𝗘𝗬' down onto a white tabletop.
He sighed, as his obsidian eyes moved to his target. "I harvested hive number three."
The monitor beeps, Eugene was lying on the hospital, strapped to the ventilator, those two thick tubes connected to the huge white machine. The unconscious boy showed no signs of waking up.
Saturday stared down at his fellow beekeeper, standing with his long, lean arms at his sides. The long black overcoat over his broad shoulders paired with his monotone school uniform without context, could easily be mistaken for funeral attire.
Unusually, he was alone, and even more unusually, he felt lonely.
"The bees miss you, Eugene." he says quietly. "Misaki misses you."
Her name slipped out of his mouth before he realized it. That delicate sound made his heart flutter, then ache unbearably, with the stark knowledge that she wasn't his.
Eugene replied with unconscious, labored breathing, a tan hand placed flat on his stomach and the hospital blue blankets. A large, but scabbed scratch was on his hand, and several more injured but healing wounds were on his face. The boy was wearing the typical turquoise loose, long sleeved hospital gown.
Saturday's usually sharp obsidian eyes softened. "We all do." And though his pale, cold face remained stoic his tone was gentle. His luscious black bangs were immaculate as usual, parted in the middle of his forehead.
Thing tapping on top of the monitor with his dirty nails made the boy tear his eyes away from Eugene.
"Thanks for keeping an eye on him." the handsome, tall, pale black haired boy said up to his big, severed hand as he stepped closer to the hospital bed. He knew what happened to witnesses without supervision.
Thing crouched down slightly, bending his fingers, acknowledging his gratitude.
"Any updates?" his young Master's tone immediately became all-business like.
Thing wobbled from one side to the other on top of the smooth, white flat metal surface, propped right next to the monitor's screen, showing all the patient's necessary vitals.
The usual cold look returned to Saturday's eyes. "He didn't deserve this." his clever, shining obsidian eyes looked back down. "I should be in that bed."
"Why did you go without me?" he asked woefully but helplessly to the unconscious boy.
Eugene's breathing was all that he got for an answer.
Suddenly, Thing started tapping like crazy, trying to get his young Master's attention.
"What's so important to go ballistic for?" Saturday's cold voice pierced through his sporadic tapping.
Thing made an 'm' shape using his forefinger, his middle finger and his ring finger.
"I know she's not here." he glared directly at Thing, who hid cautiously behind the monitor's screen.
The severed hand peeked out to point a long pale forefinger at the boy.
"I don't know why she ran off." he says, in a defeated tone.
Suddenly, the boy felt a cool hand touch his shoulder.
He gasps as he jumps in surprise and turns around, very visibly fazed, his flexible eyes manoeuvring and taking in two male strangers, one thin and one round, both at the same height, around his own.
A tanned, black sleeved hand retracts itself from his shoulder.
"Didn't mean to startle you, dear." a deep voice says gently behind him.
"You must be Saturday." said the man who touched him, smiling softly.
"Eugene's Dads. Stu and John." said the round man in an unbuttoned yellow okar jacket, first motioning to himself by touching his broad chest, and then his thin husband. His short black hair was messy, curly, and stuck up while his husband's was black, smooth and straight, almost as if he had slicked it to his head. Both the men were as tanned as their son. He smiled.
"You were all he could talk about lately." the thin, smooth black haired man said pleasantly as he smiled and leaned forward slightly, his hands in his black coat pockets. "He was so happy you joined the Hummers."
"Eugene hasn't had the easiest time fitting in at Nevermore." continued his round husband, as Saturday's eyes darted from thin to thick, the boy's face a stoic mask.
"He was so excited to finally make a real friend." Saturday's eyes lingered on the round one for a second longer before his eyes darted back to the thin one who was speaking, his hands still at his sides.
Saturday looked down at the floor. "Well I brought him some honey." He replies quietly, as his eyes meet Eugene's thin Dad. The boy begins to leave but is stopped by Eugene's round Dad, who steps a little up to him, slightly blocking his exit.
"Eugene loves those dang bees like they're his kids." the round man said to the cold boy, who stepped slightly back out of politeness. His eyes meet his thin husband's, before returning into the pale faced boy. "His fuzzy-buzzy babies." his eyebrows scrunched up slightly as his voice turned emotional.
His husband touched his thick arm comfortingly as he looked at him.
Saturday's eyes were on the thin man as he herded his round husband into the room. "He's gonna be okay, right?" Stu muttered, his voice trembling.
"I should go." Saturday said curtly and emotionlessly, as he gave the men one last look, turning away, leaving the men to gaze hopefully at their unconscious boy.
He stopped at the threshold as he blinked and breathed in, his shoulders heaving, before coldly stalking out.
☟☟☟
Back at the main building of 𝙹𝙴𝚁𝙸𝙲𝙷𝙾 𝙲𝙾𝚄𝙽𝚃𝚈 𝙲𝙾𝚁𝙾𝙽𝙴𝚁 - 𝙼𝙴𝙳𝙸𝙲𝙰𝙻 𝙴𝚇𝙰𝙼𝙸𝙽𝙴𝚁, 𝙳𝚁 𝚁. 𝙰𝙽𝚆𝙰𝚁, 𝙲𝙾𝚁𝙾𝙽𝙴𝚁, a scientist wearing a full body white suit with a hood and blue rubber gloves held a photographic camera as he took a picture of a new blood splatter on the square, white tiled wall, stuck to the tiles under the dripping blood were two A4 pieces of paper with a scientific table on each.
Two solemn scientists wearing a full body clear suit, tight white hats, sleeved clear, blue aprons and blue rubber gloves pushed a metal trolley, with a red rubbish bin and a black cloth covering a dead body, out of the room.
Unmoving, Sheriff Galpin looks at the covered trolley, his hands in his uniform jacket pockets, his wide brimmed Sheriff's hat on his head.
"First time someone's killed themselves in the morgue." his assistant, the tall, stockily muscular, round black man reports, as he approaches his superior from the end of the room, file in hand. The scientist was still examining the large blood splatter on the wall, at the end of the room.
The Sheriff looks upwards.
"Guys don't know what to do with the body." he says as he steps up to the grey haired man.
"What do you got?" the Sheriff asks, looking directly up at him.
"Gun was legal and registered in his name." he shrugged his giant shoulders as he reported, a muddled expression on his features. The Sheriff looked sideways at the cold, smooth floor, thinking. "Colt .45. Janitor said he kept it in his desk."
Sheriff Galpin returned his gaze to his round, tall assistant. "I just saw Doc last week." he says in confusion, his brows furrowed, the big, six cornered, gold embossed, navy Sheriff symbol, a star, shone in the weak light. The grey haired man looked away again. "He was planning a cruise with his wife. He seemed all excited about retirement."
His black assistant shook his head, his eyebrows mirroring his superior's. "Guess you never know what's going through someone's mind." he said as he nodded again.
"A bullet, apparently." the Sheriff returned sourly as he began to look around upwards. "We got security footage?"
"Nope." his assistant shook his head as he looked down at him. "Camera was obscured." He points to a camera behind the Sheriff. "Black bubblegum." The thin man turns around to look at the white security camera at the top corner of the room. "I got them scrubbing through video to find out how long it's been there." The tall, round, black man shook his head as he motioned outwards with his hands.
"Black bubblegum." The thin man contemplates knowingly, looking at the little white camera with a thick wad of gum stuck to its dark lens. "You don't say..."
He kept his furrowed glare up at the obscured camera while his assistant read out the files in his hand. "The suicide note says he felt guilty about an old case." The man motioned with his free hand as his boss turned around.
"Says he covered it up," he handed to his superior a thin sheet of the file as he widened his eyes. "faked the coroner's report," The Sheriff took the page from him. "and has been living with guilt for all these years." The thin man looked up into his eyes to check his sincerity, but it was always the same- his usual righteous energy.
The thin, grey haired man looked down at the Doctor's suicide note in a large, clear, plastic ziplock bag, held in between her fingers. The letters looked like it was written in a hurry, and the majority of the page was covered with little specks of blood, but it was readable.
"What case?" he asks softly.
"Uh, Garrett Gates."
His head immediately snapped to attention, as he glared at his assistant, the line between his eyebrows deepening all the while. All the other scientists had left, leaving them the only two people in the large room.
"Garrett Gates. You gotta be kidding me."
"You heard of it?" he asked in surprise, eyebrows furrowed.
"I've been waiting 30 years to put away his murderer." he says, as he looks down again at the Doctor's last words.
His assistant gave him a strained smile. "You know who did it?" he asks curiously, holding the thick beige folder with both of his hands, to make sure that none of those important documents got loose.
"There's only ever been one suspect." the grey haired man says as he reads the note. "I always thought they were covering up the truth." He nods slightly, his determined gaze shifting to his assistant. "Now I got my proof." The silver of a smile threatened to play on his lips.
☟☟☟