Gritch, two days ago, you figured things couldn't get much worse. Yet, here we are.
The detonation of Seville' s bomb, being trapped in the psychic maelstrom, spending time in Crutch's deep freezer... I mean, things could only get better right?
After Navarre stabilized you with Uncle's newly arrived medical supplies, Uncle escorted you up to Mimi's. It only took a short conversation to get you situated in a bed. Mimi knew just the girl to assign to keeping you on the mend. Couldn't have been a better scenario. Navarre never came around looking for trouble, hell, word is Ruby and Navarre aren't even together anymore. So, he shouldn't be an issue at all. Seems you and Mimi may have a fruitful relationship on down the line.
So, you're laid up in this old iron bed frame with the nice mattresses. You've got a hefty, clean blanket acting like a cocoon around you. Mimi really went out on a limb here. She's put you in one of her better rooms. You're still in and out of consciousness though. It's a hazy next couple of hours. As night falls, the albino girl comes into your room. She's carrying a tray with a bowl, steam rising up from something inside, flanked by some other foodstuffs and a candle for light. The warm glow of the candlelight carries gently onto her soft eyes and striking face. White, once you get past her odd malformation, is absolutely beautiful. To you anyways.
"I've brought you some soup."
Her voice is like that of an angel. No wonder you have such a fascination with her. She's not scared. She's calm. You feel like you're in a forest on a warm sunny day, a gentle brook passing by, in her presence. That itself warms you enough to get you over this. Sleep.
You're out again. Dreams. You can't remember them. But, it's you and Dog Head in it. Arguing about something? Nah.
You're awake again. White's there. She's holding your hand with one of hers and resting the backside of the other on your forehead.
When she puts her lips together to make that sound, it's enough to melt your heart. Mimi comes in to check on you too. Mimi's smiling.
"Hope everything is working out for you, Gritch."
And, sleep again. Minutes? Hours? It's different each time. You're in and out and all you have a brief visions of White, looking after you, helping you drink down water and soup. It feels good on your throat. Not as good as her touch. Time goes on like this. And, then...
You come to. It's not like the other times. Has your low temperature passed? Yeah. Your fever? Yeah. Gone. Your sore bones and muscles? Oh yeah. But, you feel awkward. You're not on a bed. You're not in the room. Where's White? Someone's sniffling. A held back whimper. Fearful.
You realize you're in the main room of Mimi's place, downstairs. You're staring at the ceiling. There's an old chandelier hanging there. It's the electric kind, might have once worked, but no one's been able to fix it. Or, maybe no one's tried. It's beautiful though. Glistening brass, crystal glass in the shape of gems dangling like stars. You've never really noticed it before. I mean you have, but not like this. Not like, shit that's beautiful. It reminds you of White.
White? She's here. She's whimpering.
Your forehead itches and you instinctively scratch. Your fingernails get the itch, but you smear something on your face. What? It's sticky. Blood? What the hell? Yeah. Wiping it with your sleeve. It's blood. Lots of it. You tilt your head up. And, you wish you hadn't.
Carnage. That's probably the best word to describe the scene before you. It's a slaughter house of mangled forms. The floor is soaked in already drying blood. Does it turn your stomach? There's Mimi. Her face is slashed like someone took a knife to the inside of her mouth and yanked it out like a hook out of a fish. Her dress is colored purple, a mixture of blood and blue. It's got a thousand knife wounds in it. And, the other girls. There all there too. Their bodies draped lifelessly over chairs and tables and balcony rails and the floor.
One girl still has blood dripping slowly down her forehead. She's face down over this chair. Her body contorted in a bizarre sitting position. There's tiny droplets of blood slowly, one at time, traveling down this tiny river that flows down to the tip of her nose and cascades off where it mixes with the ocean on the floor. It's Kettle. The girl is Kettle.
Dead. They're all dead.
The one exception is White. Remember?
Gritch, upon seeing her, knew immediately that he would never, could never, hurt her.
And, even now, you didn't.
She's curled up in a ball of terror near the bar.
And, the knife. Their blood and flesh adorning it's blade. It's in your hand.
What did you do?
What do you do?