Work Text:
When they were kids, they used to play rough. Running around, swinging the ropes, falling from high, almost getting bombed by Bonbon, almost stepping on a bear trap... they experienced everything, so much that Orphy's mother would temporatily forget about her illness and scold them often. The first time they saw blood and injuries, of course they were scared, but after getting scratched too much, they got used to it. Just put a bandage on it and all’s done.
That was until Orphy's mother was hospitalized. That day, both the mother and son were walking together as usual. He didn't remember whether they were shopping for dinner, preparing the medicines, or strolling around the forest.
But then everything happened so fast. The sound of wheezing, the sound of coughing. And then there was blood everywhere. Skin pale as a corpse.
Mother's hand was cold and wet.
Thankfully, the mother was out of danger. But that impression was deeply imprinted in the boy’s mind. It seemed that not everything can be solved with a little bandage.
Like this small bird lying in the palm of his hand. Gradually it stopped breathing.
In this little bird, the boy saw his mother. And since then Orphy no longer played carefreely with his friend.
Of course, when Alice returned to the manor, she received special treatment from the manor owner. From meals to bedchamber, hers was prepared carefully apart from the others. Even her preferences were considered to details, for example, every dinner she gets a small plate of truffle cake that she has loved since childhood.
"You are the former owner of this manor. You are my precious guest," he had said.
What kind of precious guest is she to be hand-stitched personally by the host like this...
It was a pretty nice wound. The edges were smooth, moderately deep, extending almost all over the forearm, which was still covered with old burn scars. Alice got it when she "rescued" her teammates from the photographer. It is true that the upper class of the last century is different, doing everything with fine touch. Including stabbing.
This wound could be done by the doctor. But the baron insisted on letting him handle it himself. So lady DeRoss was now in his private room, hands on the arm of the chair, letting the other man treat it.
6.
"I thought suturing was the same as fabric stitching. Turns out it's so different."
And so the baron began to give a lecture. That fabric is different from skin. That skin is different from leather. Who created the curved suture needle, what are the classifications. That there are different types of surgical suture thread types, with different strengths and weaknesses.
It must have been the part where he rambled on to… something, that Alice began to lose focus.
Actually, Alice was no stranger to these. She worked in a relatively sensitive profession and experienced many. Wounds caused by shards of glass out of clumsiness, drunken customers fighting to death, suspects ready to attack others to protect their secrets. Deep wounds on the scalp, broken limbs, perineal wounds after giving birth (which she herself felt). She thought she had seen enough.
But Alice still asked the question anyways, and let the Baron run his mouth, simply because she cherished this moment with him. Since childhood, or even when he became a famous novelist, he always kept the habit of rambling excitedly to her. The high spirit was contagious, and Alice couldn't help but feel happy. Same as right here right now.
8.
"Sorry…"
"What's the matter?"
"..."
"... You're embarrassed now? Only because you talked a bit too much?"
The baron did not say anything anymore, only stitched up her wound silently. How adorable he seemed right now, she just wanted to tease him even further. If she did not count the fact that he was hosting the murder "games".
"You're quite skillful, aren't you?"
"..."
"You must have done this a lot already?"
"...Not really. I'm used to sewing dead bodies instead."
At this point, she kept quiet and didn't tease him anymore.
"You're the first one I've sutured. Even Bane...," the baron thought for a moment, as if trying to remember the wording the novelist would use, "... isn't "alive" like you."
“You know, corpse skin is different from that of a living human, and depending on the stage, sometimes it dries up, sometimes it becomes mushy.”
"Your flesh is firmer,"
A stab of a needle.
"Blood flows well,"
A tight knot.
"Good elasticity, and clean too."
He took a cotton swab dipped in ointment to disinfect the stitched wound. It was stingy but Alice did not dare to react, just listened and watched as the baron put away the cloth and tools. Then he went back to check the results.
Her arm, crisscrossed with burns from childhood, now was adorned with a cut of eight stitches. She didn't mind because she'd cover it up with her sleeves and gloves anyway. But she noticed that the baron became silent as he stroked the old scars gently.
"The flesh of a living person like yours... is also more beautiful..."
10.
"Then stop working with the dead," she wanted to scream. "Come home to me, and all of the flesh and skin of mine, I will give it to you whole," she wanted to shout.
But instead she simply thanked him and promised to be more careful next time.
11.
However, there were still next times. And next time again. Alice kept entering the manor owner's room regularly to have her injuries examined.
"Stop it."
And indeed finally it all came to a halt, when Baron DeRoss saw that his distinguished guest could no longer just be sewn up, or bandaged.
12.
He remembered the little bird fluttering in the palm of his hand.
He remembered his mother wheezing in a pool of blood.
He remembered Dennis DeRoss and his wife lying motionless in bed.
He remembered Alice...
All these games,.. what were those stitches for in the end...
13.
The detective was holding his bleeding hand. He had carelessly climbed the trees for clues. He shook his head: "I will shorten my lifespan at this rate." Now that he was locked up at the manor, he couldn't just get in the car to go to the emergency. And even if he went to the hospital, he wouldn't have enough money to pay anymore.
But strangely enough, he didn't feel one bit worried. His two legs gently led him into a room, and there was the kit he needed.
The detective prepared the tools, put his hand on a chair, and proceeded to sew himself. This is the first time the detective sutured the wound. And yet...
"Aren't you too skillful? I'm sure you've done that a lot?"
The "other" paused.
Bingo, the detective thought. "It's her wasn't it-- OW OW OW OUCH OUCH OUCH!!! It hurts!!!! Stop stabbing me!!!"
14.
Under the pine tree, a boy was dressing his friend's little leg.
"There! Like new!"
"Pshh! I can do this myself!!"
"Why do you need to do it yourself? When I'm right here."
She just smiled, her cheeks flushed red. The little girl was so embarrassed that she ran deep into the woods.
15.
"Hey! Watch out for another fall now!" the Detective called out.
The woman playfully responded: "Then come and get me!"
Orpheus put his hands on hips, frowning at her. Should he, an over-30-year-old detective with hands just bandaged and legs still numb from falling, chase after the ghost that kept teasing him childishly like this?
Logically speaking, no. But his heart fluttered when he saw the shadow of "hers", without any care of the world, still beckoned him to play like the good old days. What else the detective should do?
Orpheus ran into the forest, following her trails.
- END. -