“Ciel!” came a cry, seemingly far away. It was a new voice, one I had never heard before. “Ciel, come quick! I’m telling you, one of your maids-”
“Prince Souma, why are you wandering around my house without my permission? Who even let you in here?” Ciel sounded angry, which oddly enough, didn’t seem unusual to me. What was unusual was the bouncing sensation that overcame me.
“Good, Agni, you brought her!” said the new voice. The bouncing stopped, but a feeling not unlike falling quickly replaced it. I clutched the covers of my bed and was surprised to find myself grabbing a sinewy arm instead. I landed safely, on a cool tile floor, I think, and grimaced.
“Gwen!” I knew that voice. That was Finny. A grubby hand brushed my forehead lightly, and I whimpered, because it felt like it had been dunked in ice water.
“She’s burning up!” Finny cried. I opened an eye, and closed it again immediately, blinded by the bright lights in the room. Was this some sort of interrogation? It was like looking directly into the sun, only ten times more painful. I tried to move my hand, but someone was holding it down. I must have been strapped down to something. That would explain the lights.
“What’s wrong?” Maylene asked. Her voice was shrill. Ah, what a technique. That must be very effective. But I haven’t done anything wrong! Have I? What’s going on? I tried to move my other arm, but it, too, was held down firmly.
“She can’t even move!” Maylene cried, as someone started to beat a drum right next to my ear. I don’t believe that was necessary.
I opened my eyes again, struggling to see through the bright light. I cried out, turning my head away, and moaned. “No! I didn’t do anything! What are you doing to me?” I could see Maylene kneeling there, right beside me. She was holding my hand, hers palms burning. I was on a tile floor, as I’d expected. There were two East Indians, both dressed extravagantly, looking down at me with worried expressions on their faces. I whimpered some more.
“What are you talking about, Gwenie?” Bard asked gently, kneeling on my other side.
“Isn’t this some sort of interrogation?”
He laughed. “No. What would make you think that?”
“The bright lights, the loud voices, being held down, and it’s freezing cold.” I shivered.
“Everything is as it should be. You’re just thinking that because of your fever.” He smiled reassuringly and patted my shoulder. I winced.
“Migraine, sensitivity to light, sensitivity to sound, chills - sounds like a severe cold to me,” Sebastian said lightly. “Though I don’t believe it should be this bad. When did you last eat?”
“Um, not yesterday, not this morning, not the day before yesterday, not the day before that…” Everyone looked at my strangely. I tried to think. “What day is it today?”
“Wednesday,” Ciel replied.
“Oh. Saturday, around four in the morning.” Murmurs filled the space around me.
“What did you eat?” Sebastian asked.
“A sugar cube and a rotten apple core.” Everyone gasped.
“That’s horrible!” cried the Indian with long black hair.
“Souma!” snapped Ciel.
“We don’t even feed prisoners that poorly!” Prince Souma hissed. “What are you doing to her?”
“She was not in my care during that time!” Ciel shouted. I whimpered pathetically, wishing that I had enough strength to cover my ears.
“Gwen, sweetie, why didn’t you eat something when you got here? Say something about it?” Bard leaned over and looked me in the eyes, mercifully cutting of the bright lights overhead. May… um, what was her name again? Anyways, she picked up my head and put it in her lap.
“It didn’t cross my mind. Doesn’t everyone eat like that?”
“Of course not!” the East Indian whispered, tears filling his eyes.
“I’ve always eaten like that. At the orphanage, you find your own food. The bar didn’t offer much that day, either.” I tried to shrug, but gave up.
A black haired man leaned down, touching my face gently, opened my mouth every now and then. “Swollen eyelids, pronounced lines around the mouth, disappearance of taste buds, swollen thyroid gland. Are you dizzy at all?”
“Yes,” I replied, looking up at the man. He picked up a piece of hair, but strands from that bigger piece slipped out.
“Hair loss, lighter in color, are you feeling listless, Gwen?” This man…why was he asking me all these questions?
“Stop touching me so familiarly, please,” I hissed.
The man paused, and muttered “irritability.”
“Mister Phantomhive?” I asked, finally remembering this man. The other people in the room looked at me, seemingly confused. “You are, aren’t you? What are you doing at Mrs. Tabbot’s orphanage?” Everyone in the room gasped. Mr. Phantomhive sat back on his heels, speechless. He then turned his head to the side and spoke to the cluster of people.
“Memory loss. Gwen is suffering from malnutrition, no doubt about it. Sitting up at night fully clothed without covers is what made her catch a cold, with her lowered immune system. Wait, I wonder…” He continued to inspect me, saying: “blue tinted finger nail beds and lips, headache, chills, shivering.”
I took a deep breath and winced at the pain in my chest. “It hurts…What am I doing on the floor? Where am I anyways? I can‘t…I can‘t breathe…”
“Chest pains, shortness of breath, weakness,” he continued, poking me in the arm.
“Ouch, that really hurt, Mr. Phantomhive,” I gasped.
“Muscle pain, and,” he leaned closer, wrinkling his nose, “severe bad breath. She also appears to have bacterial pneumonia.”
“What’ll happen to her?” a small boy asked. Ciel Phantomhive? I thought that was him. Why was he wearing an eye patch?
“Consolidation. Meaning her lungs will start to fill with liquid.” He shook his head. “The sicknesses developed so fast.”
“She was dizzy and tired before her lessons,” a red-haired girl noted.
“Still, that’s very quick.” Mr. Phantomhive picked me up and started walking towards a door. I didn’t remember that door being in the orphanage. What was going on?
“I’ll contact a doctor. Meanwhile, it would be wise for everyone to stay away from Gwen, unless they wish to catch her pneumonia.” He shot a look over his shoulder, but I closed my eyes before I saw the reactions of the other people.
“I think it’s time to sleep,” I murmured, leaning my head against Mr. Phantomhive’s chest.
“Nope,” he ordered, tossing me onto a bed, “you’re staying awake until the doctor comes. Take your shoes off or something, but do not sleep.” He then left the room.
I pulled a leg up and leaned against my knee, trying to hold myself up. “I want to sleep,” I groaned, reaching towards my shoes. With stumbling fingers and blurring vision, I finally got them undone when the door opened.
In walked Ciel, with a silly mask on his face. “What’s that for?” I asked.
“I don’t want to catch your sicknesses,” he replied, his voice muffled by the birdlike beak of the mask.
“I haven’t got the plague,” I replied.
“Well it’s all I had.”
“You don’t have to play the king, you know,” I murmured, leaning back on the bed.
“Pardon?”
“You’re playing the king in this game,” I reasoned, crossing my arms over my chest.
“You’re speaking through a bad fever, and therefore not making any logical sense.”
“You’re speaking through a mask,” I retorted, “but that’s beside the point. You’re playing the king, and protecting yourself. When your pawns, knights, bishops and your queen are all removed from the board, you can still checkmate. But who will really lose? You’re alive, but you’re alone.” Ciel stared at me, his expression hidden behind the crow’s mask. “You’re so cute, bocchan,” I whispered.
A man in a long white coat with a black leather bag burst into the room and walked to the side of the bed. He started inspecting me, to which I growled “keep your damn hands to yourself, you pervert.” He hesitated, then turned and asked “is she always so pleasant?”
“She’s irritable from the malnutrition. She also used to work in a bar, so it’s quite possible that with her memory loss she thinks you’re a drunkard.”
“Ah,” commented the annoying mouse-like man, who continued his inspection. He then pulled a stethoscope from his bag and pressed it to my chest. I gasped, trying to catch my breath, crying out in pain.
“I’m prescribing some antibiotics for the bacterial pneumonia, which, luckily for you, work well with the diet I‘m also recommending to her malnutrition. If she doesn’t eat, force her to. Please notice that the doses of the medicine diminish with time, at the same pace that the food intake increases. I’ll come back in a week to see how she is doing, unless there is an emergency, in which case I recommend that you call this number to contact me directly.” He held out a long list, a card, and a small bottle of little white capsules. “Now, I bid you good night.” He then turned and left.
“Two doses, three times daily,” Mr. Phantomhive mumbled. “We’ll start tomorrow.”
“Should she sleep now?” asked Ciel, still wearing the hilarious mask.
“Yes, I think she should,” Mr. Phantomhive replied softly. They both got up and left.
