Bailonz Street 13

You gently stroked my forehead for a while, sometimes whispering kindly and telling me about your day. I vaguely remember hearing that Mary had visited. I wondered if my condition worried her.

Then, you left reluctantly, perhaps because visiting hours were over or maybe because you hadn’t fully recovered yet. The last time I saw you, you were in terrible shape.

When your lips left my forehead, the headache eased a bit. I wanted to hold onto you, who came every day to watch over me. But I felt trapped, as if in a diving bell deep under the sea, unable to move. My body felt like a prison.

What if I never wake up?

Suddenly, that fear reared its head. They say people go mad if they stay confined too long; I hadn’t realized it applied to situations like this.

“——, wake up,” a whisper came at the right moment.

Yeah, I want to. The words I couldn’t finish faded away.

The pain receded, and constant sleep pulled my consciousness down, deeper and deeper.

＊ ＊ ＊

When I opened my eyes again, it was night. The surroundings were pitch black.

Maybe I had slept enough; for the first time in a while, I felt clear-headed. I didn’t want to sleep anymore. I touched my forehead, recalling countless memories. It was cold, suggesting the persistent fever was finally healed. My whole body was drenched in sweat, and I desperately wanted to rush to the bathroom and wash.

How long had it been since I was this sick?

Not since I had the flu as a child. But now, the dull pain in my body was overshadowed by the sharp pain in my forearm, likely from the needles.

I wished the medicine could just be administered naturally while I lay still. Constant jabs had left my skin in tatters. They had ruined one arm and were working on the other.

I wanted to see the doctor’s face. “Hey, doctor! Look at my arm; is this an arm or a beehive?” But I decided against it, not wanting to seem troublesome.

“Ahem.”

My voice was horribly cracked after being sick for so long. It sounded like scraping metal.

The price of recklessness was high. I had rushed into things without properly assessing the situation. I regretted not recognizing Herschel’s contradictions when I met him in that cave.

Although he hadn’t seemed drastically different from before, I could have noticed something odd if I had focused more. In the end, it was my mistake.

Slowly, I sat up. My bones ached from the fever. If Herschel heard this, he would scold me for complaining about dying so young.

I wondered if he was okay. Since it didn’t seem like he moved on his own will, his already frail body must have taken a hit. We would both be bedridden for a while.

I looked around the room slowly. The faint moonlight seeped in, and my eyes adjusted to the darkness, allowing me to see. It was a luxurious single-patient room.

What happened next? Was it resolved well? Not knowing what had transpired, it was hard to guess what had happened. But seeing that I wasn’t handcuffed to the bed, I assumed I was being treated kindly, possibly as a victim.

I reached for the glass of water on the bedside table. My lips were constantly dry, and it distracted my thoughts. If I couldn’t focus—

Oops. My weakened hand dropped the cup.

“Careful.”

An unfamiliar voice spoke. I looked up to see smiling eyes. The touch of the hand that reached out felt warm, yet strange. It was… fabric. Bandages were wrapped around the hand. Was her hand injured too?

“If you break the cup, the nurse will scold you.”

“Ah.”

She moved closer. I could smell soap. Supporting my shoulder, she brought the glass to my lips and asked,

“Anywhere else hurting?”

“…Besides my arm?”

“That’s unavoidable. I went through the same for a while. But still, it’s good to see you’re fine.”

After gulping down the water, my thirst finally subsided. She spoke to me while holding the empty cup.

“They found numerous missing people in that house. Thanks to that, Scotland Yard is in an uproar. There seem to be more than fifty victims.”

“Really…?”

I was lost in thought for a while before I finally looked up.

We both looked terrible. If the hospital could, they would probably wrap us in bandages like mummies.

“In my dreams…”

I began. Her eyes were still fixed on me.

“I heard your voice.”

She widened her eyes. Her green eyes seemed to ask, ‘Me?’

“I think I always heard it. Whether I was asleep or awake.”

“How much did you think about me for that to happen?”

She laughed, showing a smile that suggested I was incorrigible.

I can’t even begin to guess the efforts you put into reaching me. How many paths you must have walked, or how many people’s help you sought to finally reach me.

“While I was held captive…”

I trailed off.

I knew who he was. The king worshiped by the parasites gnawing at this land. He had many names, and it was nearly impossible for a human to know them all. He was a demon that could exist anywhere, anytime, in any form. He thrived on human despair and found pleasure in suffering.

When I was tormented by phantom pains as if my blood were boiling alive, I heard your voice.

“You said you would save me.”

Your voice at that moment sounded so sorrowful that I mistook it for Jane Osmond weeping.

“Maybe it was just my mind playing tricks on me in a desperate moment.”

Or maybe I heard what I wanted to hear when my life was hanging by a thread. You always break me down, making me vulnerable. Just, for some reason. In front of you, even these trivial words come out.

“But you really came to save me. So, what can I say…”

“Thank you for coming?”

You smiled. After focusing on my words in silence, you finally made a joke, and I laughed along.

“Yes. Thank you. You saved my life.”

Jane Osmond, speaking like an elder, opened her arms.

Before I could react, my body fell into them. There wasn’t even time to be embarrassed. I was too weak and immediately collapsed back onto the pillow.

She held me around the waist for a while, just like that. I could feel her heartbeat. Maybe she could hear mine too.

“Will you tell me what happened?”

“I don’t want to.”

A muffled voice came from her embrace. It was funny. As I chuckled, my head bobbed up and down, and she complained.

“Oh, don’t laugh, young man. You’ll get attached!”

I didn’t add anything more but responded in my mind.

Why? You seem to have already gotten attached to me. Of course, I did too. Even when you call me strange names, I find it delightful. Even when you nag or call me “Little Moore,” I just love it. You’ll say you never got attached.

“I heard it. Attachment.”

I saw the top of her head. She looked younger with her hair down. This was the first time I’d seen her with her hair down. I wanted to tease her, to poke her, probably because I was fond of her. I whispered softly.

“Don’t you?”

“Ah! Be quiet!”

Annoyed, she grumbled and muttered various regrets, from “Why did I rescue you?” to “I shouldn’t have come to visit.” Jane pressed on my side as she spoke.

“Professor Herschel is under severe disciplinary action.”

“Even though he was controlled?”

“You knew?”

Of course. When the godfather came out of the wall and swung a knife.

“So, next time, talk to me earlier. Instead of poking around on your own and keeping your mouth shut. Tell me you received this. You think your life might be in danger. So, ask for help.”

She didn’t seem to think I deliberately hid things from her. She couldn’t imagine that I wanted to keep her from knowing, even if something happened.

Understandably so, I didn’t want to see her hurt. Even now, look. Her hand is bandaged, her face pale. Her cheeks are thinner than the last time I saw her.

I didn’t want to see this. I remembered words I once heard.

“Love no one.”

Love no one, and you won’t lose anyone.

Yet, when I see these eyes, those words disappear from my mind. It seems the defense mechanisms in people aren’t working properly. While this woman, who entered my mind like a thief in an empty house, made herself comfortable, my mind could only smile as if it didn’t care.

Ah, God. She has a bad influence on me.

I thought I could be fine if I kept my distance. But you tell me not to.

Your eyes say so. They hold trust in me. There is no doubt in them.

In contrast, the fact that mere distrust cannot create a crack in someone’s heart makes me look at you. It makes me want to look at you even once.

You make me want to look at you.