This Immortal Coil, Part 6
Title: This Immortal Coil
Chapter: 6
Series: Kuroshitsuji
Summary: William searches for answers after a mysterious attack leaves Grell's life hanging by a thread, though he finds himself dealing with some long-buried emotions about his old friend.
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairings: William, Ron, and Grell,brief appearances by Ciel and Sebastian, and heavy references to Madam Red.
Word Count: 7,309
Warnings: Strong language, speculative violence, and references to past-tense murders.
Disclaimer: Kuroshitsuji and recognizable characters belong to Yana Toboso.
This Immortal Coil
Part 6: All the horrible questions
16 March, 1890
Reaper Dispatch Offices - London
11:42 a.m.
The bad news was there were no changes. The good news was there were no changes, Ron took this information for what it was worth. Exactly a day after getting hurt Mr. Sutcliff wasn’t getting any better, though his condition still remained promising. That’s at least what Nurse Lumley told him when he walked in the infirmary, at least it meant he was still in the clear for visitors.
Ron didn’t have long, but then it wasn’t as if they would be having a long conversation. He spent about an hour with his senior last night, enough time to get sort of used to not hearing him talk. Perhaps it would make him appreciate his chatter more when he got better.
Apparently a couple other blokes came by that morning, the nurse recognized them as fresh eggs just out of the academy. Ron didn’t even bother asking if they had been respectful; he couldn’t imagine this old nurse would tolerate laughs and sneers at Mr. Sutcliff’s expense in front of his unconscious form. It was probably one of the only places the bastards weren’t getting their laughs. Ron had already resisted the urge to pound at least three people into the floorboards at breakfast. He was Mr. Spears’ junior now, meaning he was more of a target for getting yelled at if he stepped a toe out of line. At least a couple fellows walked up to him this morning and gave their sympathies. It was a nice sentiment even if they seemed to talk like Mr. Sutcliff was already dead.
Ronald wasn’t expecting to see a crystal vase on Grell’s bed table with a couple red rosebuds sitting in water. Both bore ribbons and small tags with the names of Peter Ames and Roderick Ballentine, two of the newer recruits.
“They said they bought them from this flower woman in Piccadilly Circus, though it would be a nice gesture,” Nurse Lumley said.
It made sense in a way; Mr. Sutcliff was a part-time instructor and he had been open to any questions and calls for help from some of the younger ones. Perhaps these kids were showing their gratitude; perhaps these ones knew the meaning of respect. If only there were more like them.
The nurse left him alone, saying the usual “I’m in the other room if you need me” before shuffling off. Ron sat down in that chair and spent another few seconds acclimating himself to the sight of Mr. Sutcliff in that bed. Even after that hour with him last night, he was still not used to seeing him like this. He still looked the same, he was essentially in the same prone position in that bed too. It was as if he was a statue frozen in the moment save for his breathing and the occasional twitch of his eyelids. He was only sleeping, Ron said that to himself numerous times.
Ron knew he should say something, for a moment he had no words. He looked back over at the flowers, they actually looked pretty good for something some flower lady was selling.
“Did the lady get some roses?” Ron said. “Someone must think you’re something special. I don’t know why, you’re not that remarkable to me.”
He could practically hear “Hush, you brat” in his mind and feel the hard slap on his arm, but it was only in his mind. Grell remained prone and still.
“Just remember these kids actually like you, why I don’t know,” Ron said.
He still hoped he could get enough of a rise out of him to make him just get up and smack him. Apparently such was not going to be the case.
“You’re just going to lie there and take it aren’t you,” Ron said. “But I guess that’s all you need to do, wouldn’t want to over exert yourself. The lady needs her beauty rest after all. I’d ask if the lady minds company, but she’s going to bloody get it any way whether she likes it or not. I’m watching you sleep.”
He pushed up his glasses by the bridge and stared hard at Grell before smiling chuckling a bit.
“Is it like a long nap?” Ron said. “Are you just sleepin’ like everyone else does? Or are you listenin’ to everything I’m saying. Is it like lying with your eyes closed but feeling too lazy to get up, so you still hear everything around you?”
He looked back down at his senior, his stillness almost illustrating a point.
“I am gonna be askin’ you this when you wake up, you know that,” he said. “And you will be wakin’ up. Sorry, sir, but you got no choice in the matter. Mr. Spears is already pissed enough and he’s said you better get your lazy arse up soon.”
Ron stared at him for a moment; it still didn’t look like Grell. He had to remind himself of that a few times. No, that was indeed Grell lying there; those red eyebrows, even partially hidden by the bandage, gave him away. The red nails helped too, though his mouth was fully closed hiding his pointed teeth.
“You know what’s gonna happen, you’re gonna wake up and when you see me you’re gonna be laughing your arse off and repeating to me all the stupid things I said when I thought you weren’t listening,” Ron said. “But you are listening aren’t ya and you’re filin’ away every word because you’re a snaky bastard like that. I’m bloody onto you.”
He waved a finger in Grell’s face. He would have welcomed seeing those pointy teeth bite at his finger, though his senior remained as still as he had been. Ron stared at him with a sigh. This was how their conversations were going to be, hopefully not for that long.
Ron glanced down at his watch. It wasn‘t even noon yet and his next client was at 12:40. He still should get ready, or perhaps do something except stare at a sleeping man. Perhaps he should bring a book next time, read to him a little.
“It’s been a pleasure chatting with you, sir, but unlike some people I actually have work to do,” Ron said rising from his chair.
He stared down at his senior again, reaching down and clapping him lightly on the shoulder.
“I’ll be back later tonight,” he said. “Wait up for me.”
He tossed Grell a wink with a finger point and walked away, allowing himself one more glance over his shoulder before leaving the curtains.
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12:23 p.m.
William could hear some of the young ones playing football in the field on the hill behind him. He had passed by them earlier, most were still in their suits though most of them had removed their jackets and ties. It didn’t look like a serious game, just something to keep them entertained. Now they were behind him by about an acre and a screen of trees, though he still heard their shouts and tramples. For once he didn’t mind this little bit of white noise, though he would be breaking it with something a bit more gratifying.
He flipped open the barrel of his shotgun and loaded in the cartridge. How he loved the modern rifles; so much simpler to load than the flintlocks he had been trained to use in His Majesty’s Navy. He closed the barrel and aimed above the catapult loaded with the glass target.
“Pull,” he shouted.
The catapult threw the ball high in the air, a twitch of the trigger and a blast rendered it a falling scatter of glass and feathers. He nodded in approval at his handiwork, opening the barrel again and loading another cartridge. William took a quick glance at the wrinkly, gray-skinned goblin groundskeeper he recruited for this task. The stupid creature kept on looking around him and didn’t seem to care where he was or who he was around.
Such odious little fiends, though they served their purpose doing menial tasks around the buildings and grounds no reaper was low enough to do unless for punishment. It was better than laying around under bridges and in sewers where they were killed by much bigger and nastier creatures. Might as well put them to good use and they were perfect for their purpose. They considered a warm hole, food scraps, and the occasional shiny rock as adequate payment. They were intelligent enough to take direction and cowardly enough to properly fear their employers.
He slammed the barrel closed and aimed again.
“Pull!”
The goblin pulled the lever, sending another ball flying into the air. William gave himself a second count and pulled the trigger. The shot clipped the bottom of the ball, breaking it into a few more even pieces. Not the ideal, but a success nonetheless; still something to concentrate on besides his own surging thoughts. He opened the barrel and shoved in another round before slamming the rifle closed. He needed to take a bit more care in reloading, getting his head blown off could mean a few days of lost productivity for the most idiotic reason.
William came out here in the first place to prevent his burgeoning rage from doing any damage. Three hours after the end of that meeting he could barely type or look over his reports. He tried to take a few breaths at a time, occasionally getting up for a stretch though the walls were like the walls of an oven and he was growing more and more heated by the minute. At last he decided to take a lunch break, putting a black sweater over his shirt and getting on his more casual brown blazer to get in some recreation. The last thing he wanted was the smell of powder on his work attire.
It was a training exercise, that’s what he would tell anyone who cared to ask. Reapers were encouraged to hone their skills in human weapons. Naturally they couldn’t use it against humans, but a ready pistol or mundane knife could do much damage against any other hostile creatures in an emergency situation when a scythe was inconvenient, occupied, or unavailable. If William ever had to go into the field (which was thankfully rare), he always carried a small sidearm. Knox was known to have a butterfly knife on him. He never knew if Sutcliff carried any secondary weapons, though William was well aware he had used his teeth on a few occasions. It was a highly dangerous tactic, but he got effective use out of it. He always used dangerous situations to his advantage.
William took an extra second to make sure the barrel was fully locked and aimed again.
“Pull!”
The ball launched into the air and exploded a moment later. William reloaded his gun almost as quickly as he had fired it, carefully closing the barrel and aiming again.
“Pull!”
The ball went a bit higher, though it burst just the same with the shot. William watched the falling mass of glass and feathers, allowing himself the mental image that it was the remains of Earl Phantomhive’s head. He felt a little less guilty for this thought now. He reloaded his gun and aimed.
“Pull!”
He gave this ball a two second count, following it as it floated in the air before plummeting. A trigger-twitch later, it too exploded; it exploded like that horrible earl’s head should have. William’s inner voice tried to silence the thoughts, but they needed to come out lest they drive him mad. That was why he was out here in the first place, it was best just to let it all out and calm himself afterward. William took a few breaths and simply watched the debris fall to the grass.
That ball was what Ciel Phantomhive’s head should have looked like yesterday morning after Cassius gave his last blow. Central Watch should have seen it happen like William was watching it now. Grell Sutcliff should have been as far away from the scene as those football-playing juniors William could still hear in the distance. This shouldn’t be his line of thinking. He should have been lauding Grell’s selfless heroism as a few of the other managers were doing after that meeting. A few came up to him afterward with nothing but kind words for his subordinate’s actions, even though they should have been looking down their noses at him for ignoring key policy.
One of the first lessons all new reapers learn is one soul is not worth their lives. If one is ever in a situation where a second means saving a soul or dying, saving their own skin is always the only accepted option. Extensive paperwork and inquiry is preferable to permanent death; such was the general rule. Everyone from the lowliest manager to the Councilors themselves always held this rule in priority. Sutcliff was old enough to know this and he was cold enough not to give this a moment’s thought.
This wasn’t stupidity on Grell’s part though, it was clear his actions had been with purpose. He didn’t take a few seconds of risk to avoid doing paperwork, he consciously saved that boy’s life knowing it would cost him his own.
Sutcliff knew full well an angel blast was a death sentence, it was a universally accepted fact. Surgery for it was a brand new concept and carried less than no guarantees; it was a last-minute effort to thwart the inevitable. A reaper who gets caught in a Voice Attack dies, such was common sense and Grell knew this. Reapers were taught to recognize the first preparatory wail before the blast and they knew they had less than ten seconds to get out of the vicinity upon hearing it.
The moment he heard the wail, Sutcliff should have taken two steps and phased out of that room. Human children be damned, his own life should have been his first priority. Instead he immediately picked up the earl and ran, knowing his phasing would be rendered essentially useless by carrying a mundane creature of that size. Given the timing, Grell probably aimed to escape with the earl though time was against them all. By the time he broke the window, he knew only one of them would be leaving that room.
William opened the barrel and reloaded, slamming it closed again though taking a second to make sure it was fully locked before aiming again.
“Pull!”
He wanted to give it a three second count this time, but his finger hit the trigger the second he saw the ball in the air. It burst in a hail of shards and feathers again…just like Ciel Phantomhive’s head should have. That wretch was alive now, he was alive enough to return to his gilded townhouse to have his pet dog serve him lunch and continue with the rest of his scheming like nothing ever happened. He probably had tea with the queen this morning, looked over the papers declaring his vast wealth, and wouldn’t give a damn that his rescuer was lying still and prone in a bed with little promise of ever waking up.
He probably would prefer it that way; declare his vengeance at last for his poor, murderous aunt who tried to kill him with her own hand yet was slaughtered by such a horrible creature. The possibility of death or spending eternity as an invalid were probably the ideal fates Earl Phantomhive envisioned for Grell Sutcliff, never mind that the circumstances leading to it saved his skin.
William reloaded and aimed.
“Pull!”
The ball came into view and exploded in the same second.
The thought crossed William’s mind for the hundredth if not the thousandth time; it was the ultimate question that might remain forever unanswered. Why did he do it? Why did he save that horrible kid, why did Grell save that horrible kid knowing he would die in the process? Was that miserable earl worth more to him than his own life? Grell hated that child, never had a kind word for him, and now he was lying near death for saving his life.
Maybe he felt he owed something to Ciel. Maybe he indeed felt guilt for killing his aunt, or rather maybe he felt guilt for killing one of his last remaining family members in front of his eyes. Perhaps this was a way to repay him; the ultimate way. William had a hard time with this explanation, though only because the hatred he and Sutcliff had for this boy was mutual. He was only 14-years-old and had sold his soul to a devil for vengeance and power. He had already killed numerous people or ordered his dog to do so, he had ruined people’s lives with the stroke of a pen. There was little hope for this child; no real future as anything but a demon’s supper. In William’s view, his life wasn’t worth the end of a life lived over a century with a promising future of hundreds if not thousands of years ahead of him.
He reloaded, shoving the round into the barrel and closing it with a bit more care before aiming.
“Pull!”
He allowed this ball a second before squeezing the trigger and watching it burst.
He doubted Grell would give Ciel that much. Could he save his life? Possibly, but not at the cost of his own. No matter how much remorse Grell bore for the situation, he wouldn’t go so far as to risk dying for that “brat.”
Did he do it for the demon? William knew the answer to that question was a resounding no. Grell lusted after him, yes, but wouldn’t go that far for him. Grell would probably have preferred the dog’s handler were out of the way so he could do what he pleased. He would never go as far as risking his life to impress that creature; he would probably rather skin the demon than be skinned for him.
There was another answer that chilled William’s blood though it was a likelier explanation. Did he do it for Angelina? William always wondered if Grell regretted what he did to her, if he had truly loved her, if he bore any remorse for her death. Maybe in that moment when it was him or Ciel, he did a favor for his beloved Angelina.
William reloaded, taking a hard breath as he closed the barrel. He gave himself a second to collect his temper before aiming.
“Pull!”
He purposely waited until the ball was close to terminal velocity before firing. The bottom was torn out, spilling the feathers, but the globe remained mostly intact. Perhaps a least ideal shot was enough to bring his temper down a bit.
He never blamed Angelina Durless for Sutcliff’s actions, though if Sutcliff sacrificed himself for a murderess who only brought him down with her William could not deny his rage. Sutcliff served his punishment for killing her, that had been sufficient in William‘s mind. William never condoned what Grell did to her, in fact it sickened him. However, despite his professionalism, William couldn’t help the thought that her end was fitting. She kept a dangerous animal as a pet, encouraged him to become more aggressive, and was mauled in the end.
Did Grell feel he needed to punish himself further? Did he feel he owed her anything for nearly destroying him? Did he truly love her that much? Had she been more to him than just a form of amusement? How the hell could he truly love a woman like her?
William looked down at his watch; 12:50, he should be getting back to work soon. He would allow himself two more shots; two more and he was going back. He removed two cartridges from the box and put them on the table beside him to reinforce the point, closing the box and putting it back in the case. He took one and reloaded the rifle. A thought crossed his mind that froze his hands. It was utterly ridiculous, though he needed to weigh all possibilities.
Did Grell do it for him? Did Grell save the earl’s life to show his beloved William he was really a decent person? Grell knew damn well how William felt about the earl, but what if this wasn’t about that? William swallowed hard at his thoughts.
How much had they spoken to each other in the past 25 years? What about the past year? What did he say to Grell right before he left for that last assignment? William felt a tightening in his chest he tried to shove out.
It was utterly ridiculous, William said to Grell everything he said to him every day; everything that Grell said made him swoon like a giddy maiden. William could say the most horrid things to Grell and Grell would profess his love for him with every increasingly terrible word. Grell said more than his share of things to William that could get him written up for insubordination. Instead William rolled his eyes and came up with a witty retort for everything. That was the nature of their relationship.
Words in the end were merely words, what if this was about more than words; what if this was about making something up to a colleague so wounded by his reckless actions? What if Grell was proving himself, or perhaps doing one last act to clear his name before dying. Perhaps he was that self-destructive. He clearly didn’t plan on killing himself; he was looking forward to his one-year review and getting back his Gray Metal certification. He had assignments coming up with Knox and was already working on strategy. Though what if the opportunity presented itself in a moment’s notice? What if he took one last moment to communicate to everyone that he was really a good man; that his life, with all its sins and indiscretions, wasn’t worth any more than this?
William closed the barrel and hastily aimed, taking another deep breath to ground himself.
“Pull!” He felt his voice cracking a bit.
The ball went up and burst with the round; he actively imagined it to be Earl Phantomhive’s head. It should have been his head, it should have been his life and not…
William couldn’t even believe he was thinking this. It was a normal thought.
“There’s nothing shameful about it, Mr. Spears,” Dr. Kingsbury said yesterday.
She was right, it was only natural to be concerned about one’s colleagues. It was only natural to worry about a colleague one had known for over a century, a colleague who perhaps had been indeed a friend. A colleague who had been…
William snatched up the last round and shoved it into the open barrel. He couldn’t allow his thoughts to go in this direction. He couldn’t think on such youthful foolishness, such embarrassing indiscretions. He was a supervisor now, all that was in the past and he couldn’t let it linger.
He closed the barrel and aimed; this last shot had better be glorious. He cleared his head of all this nonsense, though one thought remained. One thought stuck out in his brain like a fly on a clean white wall. William took aim.
“Pull!”
The ball went up in the air. William pulled the trigger and saw the round hit the center mass. The ball exploded, shooting glass and feathers like fireworks. It was probably the best shot of this session. William nodded with approval. He reached into his jacket pocket and produced a farthing, making eye contact with the goblin and tossing it toward him. The goblin caught the coin in his hairy, stubby hand with a wide smile.
“Shank you, sah,” he said.
“Get on with you,” William said.
The goblin put the coin in the pocket of his overalls and hobbled away. William crouched down and put the rifle back in its case. The thought lingered, though he had to have it out. This exercise alone taught him he needed to work with his thoughts lest they hinder him in every way, even if it meant processing thoughts he considered foolish. He closed the case and picked it up whilst coming to a stand. He took a moment to stare out at the field, seeing the mass of broken glass and scattered feathers. It was a bit like Matilda Cornwall’s yard that day, except a more innocuous reenactment. William looked out at the mess, allowing himself that one honest thought.
He wanted to go up to Sutcliff and scream it to him:
Why was it you? Why was it you and not him? Why didn’t you run away? Did you think you needed to do this, who for?
William could hear the clanking of a bucket off to the side, he knew the goblin was coming back out with a rake to clean up the glass. He just continued staring at the field strewn with glass and feathers, the voice in his head whimpering the words over and over: why did it have to be you?
William pivoted on his heel and toe and forced himself to do an about-face, practically stomping away from the practice field. He took another look at his watch: 1:05. He was running late and he still had to change back into his work clothes. William’s position allowed him some leniency with time schedules, though he didn’t want to work a minute past 6. He had done too many hours yesterday, all he wanted was a nice quiet evening.
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6:30 p.m.
The librarian at the front desk gave William a simple nod when he walked past. He gave his own nod back though didn’t bother looking at him. His gaze stayed straight to the walls of green records before him. All of them were denizens of London who still had at least ten years left of their lives. A blue book meant death within five years, yellow was a year, red books meant two weeks and needed to be sorted out for the assignment lists. The completed black records were in another building.
William resumed scolding himself for being here. He clocked out not even fifteen minutes ago, yet he was not in his slippers nor was he turning the pages of “The Brothers Karamazov” with a ready cup of hot tea. Instead he was in the library by his own volition for no better reason than to pick at a scab.
This was not picking at a scab, he told himself repeatedly, this was for confirmation. This was important to the ongoing investigation; perhaps he could catch something everyone missed. This particular volume was shown to a roomful of tense reapers, the environment wasn’t conducive to catching every detail.
William walked into the “P” section, his mind practically protesting the moment his eyes got to the “Ph” section though he forced himself forward. At last he saw the words on the spine he had been looking for: Phantomhive, Ciel. William’s form lifted from the ground to reach the 10th shelf up. He gently took the book and lowered himself back to the floor. The record was like a burning coal in his hand, it sickened him to even look at the name but this was necessary.
He took a seat at a row of desks, removing a few sheets of paper, his pen, an a well of ink from his briefcase and placing them on the desk. His finger ran down the tabs to this year and this month and he opened Earl Phantomhive’s record. William lay the book on the desk and flipped the pages to the beginning of the Cornwall investigation, opening the inkwell and dipping his pen in to take notes on anything he may have missed before.
Everything he read was as it was during the meeting. He was not missing a comma of it; all the details were the same. His eyes finally dragged over to the final confrontation, a part of him did not ever want to read this again though he needed to. The earl and his monster confronted that possessed woman, Cassius took full control of her body, they exchanged words from there. The earl described seeing Grell beside his butler. William had to pull his eyes away for a moment and ground himself thought he had to continue onward.
It only struck him now how Earl Phantomhive described Grell with a little less disdain; he was like an incidental colleague almost. Perhaps that was because he had been seeing him so many times; Sutcliff had been given more than a few assignments involving Ciel and his butler over the course of the last few months. William looked up from the volume, a spark of realization lighting in his mind.
He recalled thinking on this subject during his last conversation with Sutcliff. It was an idle wonder at the time that was easily waved off. William suddenly remembered his own train of thought, one idea that seemed ridiculous at the time; would the bosses ever send anyone on a suicide mission? Ironic, wasn’t it, that he thought about that seemingly nonsensical option regarding a seemingly normal reaping that would end with the reaper lying at the cusp of death.
William put a scrap of paper in the pages he had been reading to mark his place and then flipped the pages back by a few months. Sutcliff’s name came up a few more times, making similar appearances during such investigations. Initially Ciel had a list of creative insults for Grell strewn with memories of his aunt’s death, though his bile seemed to lessen the more he saw him. William didn’t see any pattern until the Cornwall case yesterday morning.
William counted at least five different assignments in the past year where the earl had knowledge of Sutcliff’s presence, how many more were there where he remained completely in the shadows? This was too many to be a coincidence.
It was common for the same reaper to handle multiple deaths at the hands of one person in the district to which they had been assigned; rules that were in the process of being changed after the Ripper incident. However all these cases were in multiple sections of London and its outskirts. Why would a reaper be assigned to handle cases involving the same human?
The only reason that occurred to William was the process of watching a potential candidate for recruitment. That, however, was an entirely separate process with specific conditions only undertaken by the Office of Recruitment. The very thought of Earl Phantomhive being recruited just turned his stomach. Such was unlikely in the extreme,
it was best not to think on it at all.
Recruitment was essentially out, though why else would the Assignment Managers put Sutcliff on the same cases involving this one human. Why would they put Sutcliff in the regular presence of a human with which he had such a bloody history? The question perturbed William the more he pondered it. There was no reason to put a castigated reaper in the same immediate vicinity as the mortal party he greatly wronged. William gave little credence to the idea this was a form of rehabilitation; reapers did not take this much of a hands-on approach with any human.
William did not want to think on the question but he had no choice, if only to rule out the possibility. Was Sutcliff’s injury that much of a coincidence? Had he indeed been set up, had the Councilors decided he was that much of a liability and found a nice quiet way to do away with him? From what William saw at the meeting that morning, the answer to that question was a resounding no.
Judging by the amount of sweat pouring from Mr. Garland’s face when Councilor Eddols asked him about that assignment, this had not been planned out. William could picture every assignment officer emitting his own collective buckets of sweat upon learning of what transpired at Mrs. Cornwall’s reaping; he could see hours of page-flipping and a collective gasp of horror when the red text appeared. The pained looks on the Councilor’s face were not the expressions of a knowing accomplice. It made no sense they would have Sutcliff snuffed this long after completing his suspension after one fell incident. His behavior and productivity had improved greatly, what reason would they have to put him in such a mortal situation now? They had many more new recruits, but they still could not spare one reaper even if they wanted to. Even in the past year there had been other reapers who had done far worse than Sutcliff and had been given much graver sentences.
No one knew an angel was going to be involved, Cassius was indeed a blindspot, and the assignment had not been a suicide mission. William knew the assignment itself was not so accidental. Barring recruitment or an assignment with a fell purpose, William thought hard about any other reason why Sutcliff could have been given so many cases involving a human with whom he had such a history.
Maybe the subject of interest wasn’t the boy; maybe it was his butler. William adjusted his glasses, more than a few things making sense. Was Grell assigned to keep an eye on the demon? There had been no increased reports of missing souls since he came into the picture and reapers weren’t supernatural babysitters. They were, however, supernatural researchers…or at least one office dedicated itself to that purpose.
Special Projects had the practice of debriefing reapers in private if they had come across any unique occurrences, though this was always separate from any official inquiries. William knew the office was interested in Sebastian Michaelis. Kittredge invited William for a polite chat over tea after the Noah’s Arc Circus collections. Their talk couldn’t have lasted more than 45 minutes; Kittredge was asking questions about the demons physical details. William didn‘t want to think on that demon let alone talk about him, though he did so politely. It was more than likely they had a similar conversation with Sutcliff, whether during or after his formal disciplinary hearing was another matter.
They likely got much information from reaper testimony, but Kittredge and his bunch would naturally do their own field research. Though what if such was not the case, what if Special Projects indeed had to rely on the testimony of dispatchers for most of their information? They were a mere library, naturally they had no sway over assignments.
William’s next thought made his palms sweat, he adjusted his glasses by the side putting this thought together. He had never known any office or individual to have any sway on assignments besides the Council as a whole and only under the most pressing of circumstances. What if Special Projects held such a sway? Was it possible for Kittredge to request that a specific reaper be assigned to cases involving a specific creature or phenomenon for the purposes of information gathering?
Sutcliff had ample exposure to Sebastian Michaelis during that entire Ripper debacle and sufficient personal interest to continue looking after him. Naturally his ogling would pick up specific details about the demon’s physical form and capabilities. No self-respecting reaper would want the task. Perhaps that was precisely why Sutcliff was ideal for this work. Kittredge had to have read William’s clear hostility toward Sebastian Michaelis, it was better to assign a reaper well-disposed to his subject.
William initially wanted to dismiss it as a paranoid notion, though every possibility had to be considered under the present circumstances. The speculative evidence was pointing to something going on in the ranks behind his knowledge. After all he was merely the Dispatch Manager; his only responsibility was handling and cleaning up after these curs, naturally he was not privy to higher dealings. He refused to remain in the dark; he wasn’t going to sit idly by if one of his dispatchers was seriously hurt on some clandestine assignment.
He needed to speak to Kittredge, though Kittredge could easily wave him off no matter how loud he barked unless he had any hard evidence. There had to have been a paper trail somewhere, there had to have been some kind of notes or communications between Kittredge and Sutcliff. William had one option, one he would have rather not used for unrelated purposes though an option still within his authority.
One condition of Sutcliff’s return to his post was his room and any other personal spaces were subject to surprise searches. It was to uncover evidence of any disciplinary transgressions if they were suspected. He wasn’t allowed to have any alcohol or drugs in his private space; not even one bottle of wine, no one wanted him drinking alone. He was also not allowed to possess any amount of weapons other than a reasonable blade or sidearm for secondary defense in the field and none of these could be specifically hidden in his room.
William could easily go into his room without question and look for any correspondence, notes of instruction, anything. If he found something, he could easily go to Kittredge and make a casual inquiry. It was well within his authority to make this search; if anyone cared to ask he could say it was a precautionary measure conducive to the investigation. Perhaps he found it an opportune time for follow-up with Sutcliff guaranteed to be out of his room. Sutcliff was due for his one-year review soon. He would say he stumbled upon these papers and he had every right to ask the questions.
He would do this tomorrow morning, no it had to be done tonight. The inquiry started this morning and it was possible someone else could pass into Sutcliff’s room to remove any evidence before daybreak. He had to act casual about this, he couldn’t just run up there now upon a sudden realization. It was still early evening and many reapers were still roaming the halls, though the height of foot traffic would be closer to 8 or 9 and die down around midnight. Even if one went invisible and passed through the door, any little sound or chill could alert a lone straggler that something was amiss. The best time for anyone to slip into his room was during peak hours. William still had another hour or so, but the earlier the better.
He flipped the pages back to his marked place. It was best he finished analyzing this account to make sure he had all the information he needed. The narrative continued the same as he had initially read it during the meeting. William still found his stomach turn the closer he got to that final scene.
Ciel heard the first wail. Immediately after, he felt Grell’s strong grip around his body. All of Sutcliff’s responses were immediate. He should have phased out of that room at this exact time, instead he grabbed right onto Ciel and carried him toward the nearest window. Judging by the size of that room, time was nearly done by the time he reached it. Grell kicked in the glass: he didn’t simply wrap himself around Ciel and jump out the window and he knew throwing a small human through a glass window would likely kill him. His first priority had been getting Ciel out of that room. Ciel’s fall couldn’t have lasted more than a second, though it probably felt like an eternity to him. The blast likely occurred the moment Grell threw him from the window; Ciel was at a safe distance to be unscathed, Grell was right in the blast radius.
William took a breath, trying to detach himself from what he was reading though that was proving difficult. This merely confirmed everything he had read and understood before. He then read about Grell’s last smile to Ciel before leaving the scene; William’s heart pounded. Grell’s intentions were plain as day, the motivations behind them were a whole other story. Grell returned to the offices and Ciel was left on the roof, William and his team approached shortly after. He had read all of that during the meeting but went a little further this time. Naturally Ciel lamented the reapers’ intrusion, he was also a little cross with Sebastian for being as polite to them as he was. Deep down Ciel was confused, frightened even by what had just occurred though he tried not to think on it.
At last he and Sebastian left the scene, returning to the townhouse so Ciel could get a bath and change his filthy clothes. After he had bathed and dressed, Sebastian prepared lunch. After much internal debate, he decided to ask Sebastian about what had happened. William adjusted his glasses and leaned in a little closer to make sure he was reading everything.
“That was an angel’s final defense,” Sebastian said. “It is called ‘The Voice of the Almighty,’ the angel emits a strong scream that will destroy everything around it.”
“Naturally creatures of light will have such a destructive weapon,” Ciel replied with a huff, though the answer unnerved him. “What does such a weapon do to other creatures?”
“I suppose it depends on the creature,” Sebastian said. “The attack targets the blood vessels of the brain. I know a human will die instantly and horribly.” Sebastian subtly emphasized every word of this. Ciel went cold. “As for my kind, it’s supposed to kill us as well though that depends on how sturdy we are. A little imp will be a pool of goo. I personally have been on the receiving end of a few of these and I am perfectly fine as you can see. Regardless, it was still a rather painful experience.”
“What about a reaper?” Ciel said, trying to hide the subtle shake in his voice.
Sebastian paused.
“That I do not know,” the demon said. “Admittedly I know next to nothing about the reaper condition. I assume by Grell’s physical state after the blast and the very fact his superior was on the scene almost immediately, the attack has a profound effect on reapers; most likely it is completely lethal.”
“He was alive when he left the scene,” Ciel said.
“And he could have died the upon returning to his realm,” Sebastian said. “Why else would so many reapers take such an interest in a completed task? Mr. Spears is a disagreeable individual notwithstanding, but his demeanor took more of an edge this time. It was as if that iron-clad control of his was weakening; what else could do that but the loss of a kinsman, no matter how much of a pain that kinsman was?”
Grell Sutcliff is dead, Ciel repeated that in his mind numerous times. He should have been elated with this development; the man who murdered his aunt is finally dead. That horrible creature who took his beloved Aunt An from him was gone for good. Grell was gone for good because he saved him from a horrible fate. Grell saved his life at the cost of his own; the fact made Ciel’s head hurt. He could see Sebastian staring at him from the corner of his eye, a grim smirk on his face.
“At last we will no longer be haunted by the shadow of Grell Sutcliff,” Sebastian said with a merry grin. “Your aunt is avenged at last. young master, not to mention that annoying insect is out of our hair permanently.”
Ciel felt as if he was being mocked. William believed he was reading a little bit of remorse, though he knew better than to think this was sincere.
Chapter: 6
Series: Kuroshitsuji
Summary: William searches for answers after a mysterious attack leaves Grell's life hanging by a thread, though he finds himself dealing with some long-buried emotions about his old friend.
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairings: William, Ron, and Grell,brief appearances by Ciel and Sebastian, and heavy references to Madam Red.
Word Count: 7,309
Warnings: Strong language, speculative violence, and references to past-tense murders.
Disclaimer: Kuroshitsuji and recognizable characters belong to Yana Toboso.
This Immortal Coil
Part 6: All the horrible questions
16 March, 1890
Reaper Dispatch Offices - London
11:42 a.m.
The bad news was there were no changes. The good news was there were no changes, Ron took this information for what it was worth. Exactly a day after getting hurt Mr. Sutcliff wasn’t getting any better, though his condition still remained promising. That’s at least what Nurse Lumley told him when he walked in the infirmary, at least it meant he was still in the clear for visitors.
Ron didn’t have long, but then it wasn’t as if they would be having a long conversation. He spent about an hour with his senior last night, enough time to get sort of used to not hearing him talk. Perhaps it would make him appreciate his chatter more when he got better.
Apparently a couple other blokes came by that morning, the nurse recognized them as fresh eggs just out of the academy. Ron didn’t even bother asking if they had been respectful; he couldn’t imagine this old nurse would tolerate laughs and sneers at Mr. Sutcliff’s expense in front of his unconscious form. It was probably one of the only places the bastards weren’t getting their laughs. Ron had already resisted the urge to pound at least three people into the floorboards at breakfast. He was Mr. Spears’ junior now, meaning he was more of a target for getting yelled at if he stepped a toe out of line. At least a couple fellows walked up to him this morning and gave their sympathies. It was a nice sentiment even if they seemed to talk like Mr. Sutcliff was already dead.
Ronald wasn’t expecting to see a crystal vase on Grell’s bed table with a couple red rosebuds sitting in water. Both bore ribbons and small tags with the names of Peter Ames and Roderick Ballentine, two of the newer recruits.
“They said they bought them from this flower woman in Piccadilly Circus, though it would be a nice gesture,” Nurse Lumley said.
It made sense in a way; Mr. Sutcliff was a part-time instructor and he had been open to any questions and calls for help from some of the younger ones. Perhaps these kids were showing their gratitude; perhaps these ones knew the meaning of respect. If only there were more like them.
The nurse left him alone, saying the usual “I’m in the other room if you need me” before shuffling off. Ron sat down in that chair and spent another few seconds acclimating himself to the sight of Mr. Sutcliff in that bed. Even after that hour with him last night, he was still not used to seeing him like this. He still looked the same, he was essentially in the same prone position in that bed too. It was as if he was a statue frozen in the moment save for his breathing and the occasional twitch of his eyelids. He was only sleeping, Ron said that to himself numerous times.
Ron knew he should say something, for a moment he had no words. He looked back over at the flowers, they actually looked pretty good for something some flower lady was selling.
“Did the lady get some roses?” Ron said. “Someone must think you’re something special. I don’t know why, you’re not that remarkable to me.”
He could practically hear “Hush, you brat” in his mind and feel the hard slap on his arm, but it was only in his mind. Grell remained prone and still.
“Just remember these kids actually like you, why I don’t know,” Ron said.
He still hoped he could get enough of a rise out of him to make him just get up and smack him. Apparently such was not going to be the case.
“You’re just going to lie there and take it aren’t you,” Ron said. “But I guess that’s all you need to do, wouldn’t want to over exert yourself. The lady needs her beauty rest after all. I’d ask if the lady minds company, but she’s going to bloody get it any way whether she likes it or not. I’m watching you sleep.”
He pushed up his glasses by the bridge and stared hard at Grell before smiling chuckling a bit.
“Is it like a long nap?” Ron said. “Are you just sleepin’ like everyone else does? Or are you listenin’ to everything I’m saying. Is it like lying with your eyes closed but feeling too lazy to get up, so you still hear everything around you?”
He looked back down at his senior, his stillness almost illustrating a point.
“I am gonna be askin’ you this when you wake up, you know that,” he said. “And you will be wakin’ up. Sorry, sir, but you got no choice in the matter. Mr. Spears is already pissed enough and he’s said you better get your lazy arse up soon.”
Ron stared at him for a moment; it still didn’t look like Grell. He had to remind himself of that a few times. No, that was indeed Grell lying there; those red eyebrows, even partially hidden by the bandage, gave him away. The red nails helped too, though his mouth was fully closed hiding his pointed teeth.
“You know what’s gonna happen, you’re gonna wake up and when you see me you’re gonna be laughing your arse off and repeating to me all the stupid things I said when I thought you weren’t listening,” Ron said. “But you are listening aren’t ya and you’re filin’ away every word because you’re a snaky bastard like that. I’m bloody onto you.”
He waved a finger in Grell’s face. He would have welcomed seeing those pointy teeth bite at his finger, though his senior remained as still as he had been. Ron stared at him with a sigh. This was how their conversations were going to be, hopefully not for that long.
Ron glanced down at his watch. It wasn‘t even noon yet and his next client was at 12:40. He still should get ready, or perhaps do something except stare at a sleeping man. Perhaps he should bring a book next time, read to him a little.
“It’s been a pleasure chatting with you, sir, but unlike some people I actually have work to do,” Ron said rising from his chair.
He stared down at his senior again, reaching down and clapping him lightly on the shoulder.
“I’ll be back later tonight,” he said. “Wait up for me.”
He tossed Grell a wink with a finger point and walked away, allowing himself one more glance over his shoulder before leaving the curtains.
---------
12:23 p.m.
William could hear some of the young ones playing football in the field on the hill behind him. He had passed by them earlier, most were still in their suits though most of them had removed their jackets and ties. It didn’t look like a serious game, just something to keep them entertained. Now they were behind him by about an acre and a screen of trees, though he still heard their shouts and tramples. For once he didn’t mind this little bit of white noise, though he would be breaking it with something a bit more gratifying.
He flipped open the barrel of his shotgun and loaded in the cartridge. How he loved the modern rifles; so much simpler to load than the flintlocks he had been trained to use in His Majesty’s Navy. He closed the barrel and aimed above the catapult loaded with the glass target.
“Pull,” he shouted.
The catapult threw the ball high in the air, a twitch of the trigger and a blast rendered it a falling scatter of glass and feathers. He nodded in approval at his handiwork, opening the barrel again and loading another cartridge. William took a quick glance at the wrinkly, gray-skinned goblin groundskeeper he recruited for this task. The stupid creature kept on looking around him and didn’t seem to care where he was or who he was around.
Such odious little fiends, though they served their purpose doing menial tasks around the buildings and grounds no reaper was low enough to do unless for punishment. It was better than laying around under bridges and in sewers where they were killed by much bigger and nastier creatures. Might as well put them to good use and they were perfect for their purpose. They considered a warm hole, food scraps, and the occasional shiny rock as adequate payment. They were intelligent enough to take direction and cowardly enough to properly fear their employers.
He slammed the barrel closed and aimed again.
“Pull!”
The goblin pulled the lever, sending another ball flying into the air. William gave himself a second count and pulled the trigger. The shot clipped the bottom of the ball, breaking it into a few more even pieces. Not the ideal, but a success nonetheless; still something to concentrate on besides his own surging thoughts. He opened the barrel and shoved in another round before slamming the rifle closed. He needed to take a bit more care in reloading, getting his head blown off could mean a few days of lost productivity for the most idiotic reason.
William came out here in the first place to prevent his burgeoning rage from doing any damage. Three hours after the end of that meeting he could barely type or look over his reports. He tried to take a few breaths at a time, occasionally getting up for a stretch though the walls were like the walls of an oven and he was growing more and more heated by the minute. At last he decided to take a lunch break, putting a black sweater over his shirt and getting on his more casual brown blazer to get in some recreation. The last thing he wanted was the smell of powder on his work attire.
It was a training exercise, that’s what he would tell anyone who cared to ask. Reapers were encouraged to hone their skills in human weapons. Naturally they couldn’t use it against humans, but a ready pistol or mundane knife could do much damage against any other hostile creatures in an emergency situation when a scythe was inconvenient, occupied, or unavailable. If William ever had to go into the field (which was thankfully rare), he always carried a small sidearm. Knox was known to have a butterfly knife on him. He never knew if Sutcliff carried any secondary weapons, though William was well aware he had used his teeth on a few occasions. It was a highly dangerous tactic, but he got effective use out of it. He always used dangerous situations to his advantage.
William took an extra second to make sure the barrel was fully locked and aimed again.
“Pull!”
The ball launched into the air and exploded a moment later. William reloaded his gun almost as quickly as he had fired it, carefully closing the barrel and aiming again.
“Pull!”
The ball went a bit higher, though it burst just the same with the shot. William watched the falling mass of glass and feathers, allowing himself the mental image that it was the remains of Earl Phantomhive’s head. He felt a little less guilty for this thought now. He reloaded his gun and aimed.
“Pull!”
He gave this ball a two second count, following it as it floated in the air before plummeting. A trigger-twitch later, it too exploded; it exploded like that horrible earl’s head should have. William’s inner voice tried to silence the thoughts, but they needed to come out lest they drive him mad. That was why he was out here in the first place, it was best just to let it all out and calm himself afterward. William took a few breaths and simply watched the debris fall to the grass.
That ball was what Ciel Phantomhive’s head should have looked like yesterday morning after Cassius gave his last blow. Central Watch should have seen it happen like William was watching it now. Grell Sutcliff should have been as far away from the scene as those football-playing juniors William could still hear in the distance. This shouldn’t be his line of thinking. He should have been lauding Grell’s selfless heroism as a few of the other managers were doing after that meeting. A few came up to him afterward with nothing but kind words for his subordinate’s actions, even though they should have been looking down their noses at him for ignoring key policy.
One of the first lessons all new reapers learn is one soul is not worth their lives. If one is ever in a situation where a second means saving a soul or dying, saving their own skin is always the only accepted option. Extensive paperwork and inquiry is preferable to permanent death; such was the general rule. Everyone from the lowliest manager to the Councilors themselves always held this rule in priority. Sutcliff was old enough to know this and he was cold enough not to give this a moment’s thought.
This wasn’t stupidity on Grell’s part though, it was clear his actions had been with purpose. He didn’t take a few seconds of risk to avoid doing paperwork, he consciously saved that boy’s life knowing it would cost him his own.
Sutcliff knew full well an angel blast was a death sentence, it was a universally accepted fact. Surgery for it was a brand new concept and carried less than no guarantees; it was a last-minute effort to thwart the inevitable. A reaper who gets caught in a Voice Attack dies, such was common sense and Grell knew this. Reapers were taught to recognize the first preparatory wail before the blast and they knew they had less than ten seconds to get out of the vicinity upon hearing it.
The moment he heard the wail, Sutcliff should have taken two steps and phased out of that room. Human children be damned, his own life should have been his first priority. Instead he immediately picked up the earl and ran, knowing his phasing would be rendered essentially useless by carrying a mundane creature of that size. Given the timing, Grell probably aimed to escape with the earl though time was against them all. By the time he broke the window, he knew only one of them would be leaving that room.
William opened the barrel and reloaded, slamming it closed again though taking a second to make sure it was fully locked before aiming again.
“Pull!”
He wanted to give it a three second count this time, but his finger hit the trigger the second he saw the ball in the air. It burst in a hail of shards and feathers again…just like Ciel Phantomhive’s head should have. That wretch was alive now, he was alive enough to return to his gilded townhouse to have his pet dog serve him lunch and continue with the rest of his scheming like nothing ever happened. He probably had tea with the queen this morning, looked over the papers declaring his vast wealth, and wouldn’t give a damn that his rescuer was lying still and prone in a bed with little promise of ever waking up.
He probably would prefer it that way; declare his vengeance at last for his poor, murderous aunt who tried to kill him with her own hand yet was slaughtered by such a horrible creature. The possibility of death or spending eternity as an invalid were probably the ideal fates Earl Phantomhive envisioned for Grell Sutcliff, never mind that the circumstances leading to it saved his skin.
William reloaded and aimed.
“Pull!”
The ball came into view and exploded in the same second.
The thought crossed William’s mind for the hundredth if not the thousandth time; it was the ultimate question that might remain forever unanswered. Why did he do it? Why did he save that horrible kid, why did Grell save that horrible kid knowing he would die in the process? Was that miserable earl worth more to him than his own life? Grell hated that child, never had a kind word for him, and now he was lying near death for saving his life.
Maybe he felt he owed something to Ciel. Maybe he indeed felt guilt for killing his aunt, or rather maybe he felt guilt for killing one of his last remaining family members in front of his eyes. Perhaps this was a way to repay him; the ultimate way. William had a hard time with this explanation, though only because the hatred he and Sutcliff had for this boy was mutual. He was only 14-years-old and had sold his soul to a devil for vengeance and power. He had already killed numerous people or ordered his dog to do so, he had ruined people’s lives with the stroke of a pen. There was little hope for this child; no real future as anything but a demon’s supper. In William’s view, his life wasn’t worth the end of a life lived over a century with a promising future of hundreds if not thousands of years ahead of him.
He reloaded, shoving the round into the barrel and closing it with a bit more care before aiming.
“Pull!”
He allowed this ball a second before squeezing the trigger and watching it burst.
He doubted Grell would give Ciel that much. Could he save his life? Possibly, but not at the cost of his own. No matter how much remorse Grell bore for the situation, he wouldn’t go so far as to risk dying for that “brat.”
Did he do it for the demon? William knew the answer to that question was a resounding no. Grell lusted after him, yes, but wouldn’t go that far for him. Grell would probably have preferred the dog’s handler were out of the way so he could do what he pleased. He would never go as far as risking his life to impress that creature; he would probably rather skin the demon than be skinned for him.
There was another answer that chilled William’s blood though it was a likelier explanation. Did he do it for Angelina? William always wondered if Grell regretted what he did to her, if he had truly loved her, if he bore any remorse for her death. Maybe in that moment when it was him or Ciel, he did a favor for his beloved Angelina.
William reloaded, taking a hard breath as he closed the barrel. He gave himself a second to collect his temper before aiming.
“Pull!”
He purposely waited until the ball was close to terminal velocity before firing. The bottom was torn out, spilling the feathers, but the globe remained mostly intact. Perhaps a least ideal shot was enough to bring his temper down a bit.
He never blamed Angelina Durless for Sutcliff’s actions, though if Sutcliff sacrificed himself for a murderess who only brought him down with her William could not deny his rage. Sutcliff served his punishment for killing her, that had been sufficient in William‘s mind. William never condoned what Grell did to her, in fact it sickened him. However, despite his professionalism, William couldn’t help the thought that her end was fitting. She kept a dangerous animal as a pet, encouraged him to become more aggressive, and was mauled in the end.
Did Grell feel he needed to punish himself further? Did he feel he owed her anything for nearly destroying him? Did he truly love her that much? Had she been more to him than just a form of amusement? How the hell could he truly love a woman like her?
William looked down at his watch; 12:50, he should be getting back to work soon. He would allow himself two more shots; two more and he was going back. He removed two cartridges from the box and put them on the table beside him to reinforce the point, closing the box and putting it back in the case. He took one and reloaded the rifle. A thought crossed his mind that froze his hands. It was utterly ridiculous, though he needed to weigh all possibilities.
Did Grell do it for him? Did Grell save the earl’s life to show his beloved William he was really a decent person? Grell knew damn well how William felt about the earl, but what if this wasn’t about that? William swallowed hard at his thoughts.
How much had they spoken to each other in the past 25 years? What about the past year? What did he say to Grell right before he left for that last assignment? William felt a tightening in his chest he tried to shove out.
It was utterly ridiculous, William said to Grell everything he said to him every day; everything that Grell said made him swoon like a giddy maiden. William could say the most horrid things to Grell and Grell would profess his love for him with every increasingly terrible word. Grell said more than his share of things to William that could get him written up for insubordination. Instead William rolled his eyes and came up with a witty retort for everything. That was the nature of their relationship.
Words in the end were merely words, what if this was about more than words; what if this was about making something up to a colleague so wounded by his reckless actions? What if Grell was proving himself, or perhaps doing one last act to clear his name before dying. Perhaps he was that self-destructive. He clearly didn’t plan on killing himself; he was looking forward to his one-year review and getting back his Gray Metal certification. He had assignments coming up with Knox and was already working on strategy. Though what if the opportunity presented itself in a moment’s notice? What if he took one last moment to communicate to everyone that he was really a good man; that his life, with all its sins and indiscretions, wasn’t worth any more than this?
William closed the barrel and hastily aimed, taking another deep breath to ground himself.
“Pull!” He felt his voice cracking a bit.
The ball went up and burst with the round; he actively imagined it to be Earl Phantomhive’s head. It should have been his head, it should have been his life and not…
William couldn’t even believe he was thinking this. It was a normal thought.
“There’s nothing shameful about it, Mr. Spears,” Dr. Kingsbury said yesterday.
She was right, it was only natural to be concerned about one’s colleagues. It was only natural to worry about a colleague one had known for over a century, a colleague who perhaps had been indeed a friend. A colleague who had been…
William snatched up the last round and shoved it into the open barrel. He couldn’t allow his thoughts to go in this direction. He couldn’t think on such youthful foolishness, such embarrassing indiscretions. He was a supervisor now, all that was in the past and he couldn’t let it linger.
He closed the barrel and aimed; this last shot had better be glorious. He cleared his head of all this nonsense, though one thought remained. One thought stuck out in his brain like a fly on a clean white wall. William took aim.
“Pull!”
The ball went up in the air. William pulled the trigger and saw the round hit the center mass. The ball exploded, shooting glass and feathers like fireworks. It was probably the best shot of this session. William nodded with approval. He reached into his jacket pocket and produced a farthing, making eye contact with the goblin and tossing it toward him. The goblin caught the coin in his hairy, stubby hand with a wide smile.
“Shank you, sah,” he said.
“Get on with you,” William said.
The goblin put the coin in the pocket of his overalls and hobbled away. William crouched down and put the rifle back in its case. The thought lingered, though he had to have it out. This exercise alone taught him he needed to work with his thoughts lest they hinder him in every way, even if it meant processing thoughts he considered foolish. He closed the case and picked it up whilst coming to a stand. He took a moment to stare out at the field, seeing the mass of broken glass and scattered feathers. It was a bit like Matilda Cornwall’s yard that day, except a more innocuous reenactment. William looked out at the mess, allowing himself that one honest thought.
He wanted to go up to Sutcliff and scream it to him:
Why was it you? Why was it you and not him? Why didn’t you run away? Did you think you needed to do this, who for?
William could hear the clanking of a bucket off to the side, he knew the goblin was coming back out with a rake to clean up the glass. He just continued staring at the field strewn with glass and feathers, the voice in his head whimpering the words over and over: why did it have to be you?
William pivoted on his heel and toe and forced himself to do an about-face, practically stomping away from the practice field. He took another look at his watch: 1:05. He was running late and he still had to change back into his work clothes. William’s position allowed him some leniency with time schedules, though he didn’t want to work a minute past 6. He had done too many hours yesterday, all he wanted was a nice quiet evening.
---------
6:30 p.m.
The librarian at the front desk gave William a simple nod when he walked past. He gave his own nod back though didn’t bother looking at him. His gaze stayed straight to the walls of green records before him. All of them were denizens of London who still had at least ten years left of their lives. A blue book meant death within five years, yellow was a year, red books meant two weeks and needed to be sorted out for the assignment lists. The completed black records were in another building.
William resumed scolding himself for being here. He clocked out not even fifteen minutes ago, yet he was not in his slippers nor was he turning the pages of “The Brothers Karamazov” with a ready cup of hot tea. Instead he was in the library by his own volition for no better reason than to pick at a scab.
This was not picking at a scab, he told himself repeatedly, this was for confirmation. This was important to the ongoing investigation; perhaps he could catch something everyone missed. This particular volume was shown to a roomful of tense reapers, the environment wasn’t conducive to catching every detail.
William walked into the “P” section, his mind practically protesting the moment his eyes got to the “Ph” section though he forced himself forward. At last he saw the words on the spine he had been looking for: Phantomhive, Ciel. William’s form lifted from the ground to reach the 10th shelf up. He gently took the book and lowered himself back to the floor. The record was like a burning coal in his hand, it sickened him to even look at the name but this was necessary.
He took a seat at a row of desks, removing a few sheets of paper, his pen, an a well of ink from his briefcase and placing them on the desk. His finger ran down the tabs to this year and this month and he opened Earl Phantomhive’s record. William lay the book on the desk and flipped the pages to the beginning of the Cornwall investigation, opening the inkwell and dipping his pen in to take notes on anything he may have missed before.
Everything he read was as it was during the meeting. He was not missing a comma of it; all the details were the same. His eyes finally dragged over to the final confrontation, a part of him did not ever want to read this again though he needed to. The earl and his monster confronted that possessed woman, Cassius took full control of her body, they exchanged words from there. The earl described seeing Grell beside his butler. William had to pull his eyes away for a moment and ground himself thought he had to continue onward.
It only struck him now how Earl Phantomhive described Grell with a little less disdain; he was like an incidental colleague almost. Perhaps that was because he had been seeing him so many times; Sutcliff had been given more than a few assignments involving Ciel and his butler over the course of the last few months. William looked up from the volume, a spark of realization lighting in his mind.
He recalled thinking on this subject during his last conversation with Sutcliff. It was an idle wonder at the time that was easily waved off. William suddenly remembered his own train of thought, one idea that seemed ridiculous at the time; would the bosses ever send anyone on a suicide mission? Ironic, wasn’t it, that he thought about that seemingly nonsensical option regarding a seemingly normal reaping that would end with the reaper lying at the cusp of death.
William put a scrap of paper in the pages he had been reading to mark his place and then flipped the pages back by a few months. Sutcliff’s name came up a few more times, making similar appearances during such investigations. Initially Ciel had a list of creative insults for Grell strewn with memories of his aunt’s death, though his bile seemed to lessen the more he saw him. William didn’t see any pattern until the Cornwall case yesterday morning.
William counted at least five different assignments in the past year where the earl had knowledge of Sutcliff’s presence, how many more were there where he remained completely in the shadows? This was too many to be a coincidence.
It was common for the same reaper to handle multiple deaths at the hands of one person in the district to which they had been assigned; rules that were in the process of being changed after the Ripper incident. However all these cases were in multiple sections of London and its outskirts. Why would a reaper be assigned to handle cases involving the same human?
The only reason that occurred to William was the process of watching a potential candidate for recruitment. That, however, was an entirely separate process with specific conditions only undertaken by the Office of Recruitment. The very thought of Earl Phantomhive being recruited just turned his stomach. Such was unlikely in the extreme,
it was best not to think on it at all.
Recruitment was essentially out, though why else would the Assignment Managers put Sutcliff on the same cases involving this one human. Why would they put Sutcliff in the regular presence of a human with which he had such a bloody history? The question perturbed William the more he pondered it. There was no reason to put a castigated reaper in the same immediate vicinity as the mortal party he greatly wronged. William gave little credence to the idea this was a form of rehabilitation; reapers did not take this much of a hands-on approach with any human.
William did not want to think on the question but he had no choice, if only to rule out the possibility. Was Sutcliff’s injury that much of a coincidence? Had he indeed been set up, had the Councilors decided he was that much of a liability and found a nice quiet way to do away with him? From what William saw at the meeting that morning, the answer to that question was a resounding no.
Judging by the amount of sweat pouring from Mr. Garland’s face when Councilor Eddols asked him about that assignment, this had not been planned out. William could picture every assignment officer emitting his own collective buckets of sweat upon learning of what transpired at Mrs. Cornwall’s reaping; he could see hours of page-flipping and a collective gasp of horror when the red text appeared. The pained looks on the Councilor’s face were not the expressions of a knowing accomplice. It made no sense they would have Sutcliff snuffed this long after completing his suspension after one fell incident. His behavior and productivity had improved greatly, what reason would they have to put him in such a mortal situation now? They had many more new recruits, but they still could not spare one reaper even if they wanted to. Even in the past year there had been other reapers who had done far worse than Sutcliff and had been given much graver sentences.
No one knew an angel was going to be involved, Cassius was indeed a blindspot, and the assignment had not been a suicide mission. William knew the assignment itself was not so accidental. Barring recruitment or an assignment with a fell purpose, William thought hard about any other reason why Sutcliff could have been given so many cases involving a human with whom he had such a history.
Maybe the subject of interest wasn’t the boy; maybe it was his butler. William adjusted his glasses, more than a few things making sense. Was Grell assigned to keep an eye on the demon? There had been no increased reports of missing souls since he came into the picture and reapers weren’t supernatural babysitters. They were, however, supernatural researchers…or at least one office dedicated itself to that purpose.
Special Projects had the practice of debriefing reapers in private if they had come across any unique occurrences, though this was always separate from any official inquiries. William knew the office was interested in Sebastian Michaelis. Kittredge invited William for a polite chat over tea after the Noah’s Arc Circus collections. Their talk couldn’t have lasted more than 45 minutes; Kittredge was asking questions about the demons physical details. William didn‘t want to think on that demon let alone talk about him, though he did so politely. It was more than likely they had a similar conversation with Sutcliff, whether during or after his formal disciplinary hearing was another matter.
They likely got much information from reaper testimony, but Kittredge and his bunch would naturally do their own field research. Though what if such was not the case, what if Special Projects indeed had to rely on the testimony of dispatchers for most of their information? They were a mere library, naturally they had no sway over assignments.
William’s next thought made his palms sweat, he adjusted his glasses by the side putting this thought together. He had never known any office or individual to have any sway on assignments besides the Council as a whole and only under the most pressing of circumstances. What if Special Projects held such a sway? Was it possible for Kittredge to request that a specific reaper be assigned to cases involving a specific creature or phenomenon for the purposes of information gathering?
Sutcliff had ample exposure to Sebastian Michaelis during that entire Ripper debacle and sufficient personal interest to continue looking after him. Naturally his ogling would pick up specific details about the demon’s physical form and capabilities. No self-respecting reaper would want the task. Perhaps that was precisely why Sutcliff was ideal for this work. Kittredge had to have read William’s clear hostility toward Sebastian Michaelis, it was better to assign a reaper well-disposed to his subject.
William initially wanted to dismiss it as a paranoid notion, though every possibility had to be considered under the present circumstances. The speculative evidence was pointing to something going on in the ranks behind his knowledge. After all he was merely the Dispatch Manager; his only responsibility was handling and cleaning up after these curs, naturally he was not privy to higher dealings. He refused to remain in the dark; he wasn’t going to sit idly by if one of his dispatchers was seriously hurt on some clandestine assignment.
He needed to speak to Kittredge, though Kittredge could easily wave him off no matter how loud he barked unless he had any hard evidence. There had to have been a paper trail somewhere, there had to have been some kind of notes or communications between Kittredge and Sutcliff. William had one option, one he would have rather not used for unrelated purposes though an option still within his authority.
One condition of Sutcliff’s return to his post was his room and any other personal spaces were subject to surprise searches. It was to uncover evidence of any disciplinary transgressions if they were suspected. He wasn’t allowed to have any alcohol or drugs in his private space; not even one bottle of wine, no one wanted him drinking alone. He was also not allowed to possess any amount of weapons other than a reasonable blade or sidearm for secondary defense in the field and none of these could be specifically hidden in his room.
William could easily go into his room without question and look for any correspondence, notes of instruction, anything. If he found something, he could easily go to Kittredge and make a casual inquiry. It was well within his authority to make this search; if anyone cared to ask he could say it was a precautionary measure conducive to the investigation. Perhaps he found it an opportune time for follow-up with Sutcliff guaranteed to be out of his room. Sutcliff was due for his one-year review soon. He would say he stumbled upon these papers and he had every right to ask the questions.
He would do this tomorrow morning, no it had to be done tonight. The inquiry started this morning and it was possible someone else could pass into Sutcliff’s room to remove any evidence before daybreak. He had to act casual about this, he couldn’t just run up there now upon a sudden realization. It was still early evening and many reapers were still roaming the halls, though the height of foot traffic would be closer to 8 or 9 and die down around midnight. Even if one went invisible and passed through the door, any little sound or chill could alert a lone straggler that something was amiss. The best time for anyone to slip into his room was during peak hours. William still had another hour or so, but the earlier the better.
He flipped the pages back to his marked place. It was best he finished analyzing this account to make sure he had all the information he needed. The narrative continued the same as he had initially read it during the meeting. William still found his stomach turn the closer he got to that final scene.
Ciel heard the first wail. Immediately after, he felt Grell’s strong grip around his body. All of Sutcliff’s responses were immediate. He should have phased out of that room at this exact time, instead he grabbed right onto Ciel and carried him toward the nearest window. Judging by the size of that room, time was nearly done by the time he reached it. Grell kicked in the glass: he didn’t simply wrap himself around Ciel and jump out the window and he knew throwing a small human through a glass window would likely kill him. His first priority had been getting Ciel out of that room. Ciel’s fall couldn’t have lasted more than a second, though it probably felt like an eternity to him. The blast likely occurred the moment Grell threw him from the window; Ciel was at a safe distance to be unscathed, Grell was right in the blast radius.
William took a breath, trying to detach himself from what he was reading though that was proving difficult. This merely confirmed everything he had read and understood before. He then read about Grell’s last smile to Ciel before leaving the scene; William’s heart pounded. Grell’s intentions were plain as day, the motivations behind them were a whole other story. Grell returned to the offices and Ciel was left on the roof, William and his team approached shortly after. He had read all of that during the meeting but went a little further this time. Naturally Ciel lamented the reapers’ intrusion, he was also a little cross with Sebastian for being as polite to them as he was. Deep down Ciel was confused, frightened even by what had just occurred though he tried not to think on it.
At last he and Sebastian left the scene, returning to the townhouse so Ciel could get a bath and change his filthy clothes. After he had bathed and dressed, Sebastian prepared lunch. After much internal debate, he decided to ask Sebastian about what had happened. William adjusted his glasses and leaned in a little closer to make sure he was reading everything.
“That was an angel’s final defense,” Sebastian said. “It is called ‘The Voice of the Almighty,’ the angel emits a strong scream that will destroy everything around it.”
“Naturally creatures of light will have such a destructive weapon,” Ciel replied with a huff, though the answer unnerved him. “What does such a weapon do to other creatures?”
“I suppose it depends on the creature,” Sebastian said. “The attack targets the blood vessels of the brain. I know a human will die instantly and horribly.” Sebastian subtly emphasized every word of this. Ciel went cold. “As for my kind, it’s supposed to kill us as well though that depends on how sturdy we are. A little imp will be a pool of goo. I personally have been on the receiving end of a few of these and I am perfectly fine as you can see. Regardless, it was still a rather painful experience.”
“What about a reaper?” Ciel said, trying to hide the subtle shake in his voice.
Sebastian paused.
“That I do not know,” the demon said. “Admittedly I know next to nothing about the reaper condition. I assume by Grell’s physical state after the blast and the very fact his superior was on the scene almost immediately, the attack has a profound effect on reapers; most likely it is completely lethal.”
“He was alive when he left the scene,” Ciel said.
“And he could have died the upon returning to his realm,” Sebastian said. “Why else would so many reapers take such an interest in a completed task? Mr. Spears is a disagreeable individual notwithstanding, but his demeanor took more of an edge this time. It was as if that iron-clad control of his was weakening; what else could do that but the loss of a kinsman, no matter how much of a pain that kinsman was?”
Grell Sutcliff is dead, Ciel repeated that in his mind numerous times. He should have been elated with this development; the man who murdered his aunt is finally dead. That horrible creature who took his beloved Aunt An from him was gone for good. Grell was gone for good because he saved him from a horrible fate. Grell saved his life at the cost of his own; the fact made Ciel’s head hurt. He could see Sebastian staring at him from the corner of his eye, a grim smirk on his face.
“At last we will no longer be haunted by the shadow of Grell Sutcliff,” Sebastian said with a merry grin. “Your aunt is avenged at last. young master, not to mention that annoying insect is out of our hair permanently.”
Ciel felt as if he was being mocked. William believed he was reading a little bit of remorse, though he knew better than to think this was sincere.