Chapter 157
“I only did it because I was threatened. I didn’t shoot anyone. He shot them all! I just did what that bastard told me to do!”
The voice shouting as if aggrieved rang out so loudly that Sasha, who had collapsed in exhaustion, opened her eyes again. As her severed consciousness returned, the pain that sleep had at least been holding down reclaimed her entire body. Even so, it was at a level she could endure better than before. And everything felt somehow hazy.
Through her wavering vision, Sasha tried to make out what was in front of her. The first thing that came into view was her wrist. The sleeve on the arm that was not injured had been rolled up; it seemed they had administered a painkiller, even if belatedly.
“She’ll speak for me. Where is she? Don’t do this to me—listen to her!”
Sasha turned her head toward the direction of the sound. In her distorted vision, she saw the silhouette of a man staggering backward. Judging by that shrill voice and the overbearing tone he could not hide even now, it was certainly Jeffrey.
When one of the passengers stepped toward him threateningly, Jeffrey ran behind a nearby police officer and used him as a shield.
At the pathetic sight of an adult man who had supposedly received a fairly refined education, the other officers nearby could not hold back their snickers.
Jeffrey Grayson, still failing to understand his place, had his pride wounded by that and demanded to know how they dared laugh at him. He kept looking around as if he truly expected Sasha to help him.
Of course. That’s why you persuaded me. You need me. So hurry up and help me.
But Sasha merely lay still and watched as he was seized by the police and dragged away.
“……Mrs. Pinscher.”
Someone spoke to her after she regained consciousness.
“You’ve come to. I’m Sergeant Brown. I’m from the Worthington Police Department.”
Sasha only stared silently at the man introducing himself. It was just as she was about to nod to show she had understood.
“Mrs. Pinscher needs rest. Conduct your investigation later. She needs to go to the hospital right now.”
“I know. But since she’s conscious, I thought a few simple questions before that might be all right……”
Miss Iver came rushing over at once and blocked Sasha from view. Following Wilson, she had just arrived with the personnel who would take Sasha to the hospital. Whether the sergeant looked at her regretfully or not, Sasha quietly gazed up at the station’s dizzyingly high ceiling.
Listening to Miss Iver and the police argue, Sasha closed her eyes again. By then, the painkiller must have fully taken effect, because the pain had dulled. More than dulled—she could hardly feel her right arm at all.
Then Miss Iver and the sergeant’s argument abruptly stopped.
“Wait a moment. Mrs. Pinscher is……”
“I am Pinscher.”
At the familiar voice, Sasha opened her eyes again. A familiar figure pushed aside the sergeant, who was at least a handspan shorter than he was, and approached.
Within her senses, which were growing increasingly numb and distant, her vision began to distort once more. She could not distinguish him properly, but she knew for certain that the man was Isaac. Sasha watched as Isaac passed Miss Iver too and came toward her.
“……Hello, Jack.”
Isaac did not answer Sasha’s familiar greeting and bent down as if collapsing into a crouch. Because her dress was already a mess, stiff with dried blood here and there, Sasha could guess just how despairing Isaac would be when he saw the state she was in.
This is nothing compared to that agent Wilson you assigned to me. She decided not to make that joke. In truth, she no longer had the strength to speak.
“It will be difficult to have a proper conversation because of the painkillers.”
The old woman who had approached at some point said so. But Isaac, regardless of that, was occupied solely with checking the condition of his wife, who had managed to stay alive.
The rage and despair that had seemed to boil in his blood vanished without a trace at her quiet words, spoken to him as if teasing him as usual. Isaac mechanically examined his wife’s condition.
Because of his profession, he had seen countless people who were not merely injured but already dead. And sorting the injured into those who still had some hope and those who did not was something he was sickeningly accustomed to. The visible wounds were only on her right arm and her left ear, where dried blood had clotted. Only after confirming that did Isaac hunch over her body.
Unable to bring himself to touch her, he bent down until he was just short of doing so, and stubbornly confirmed for himself the breath leaking from around her nose and mouth.
His large hand hovered over her throat, flushed red from being strangled, and above her collarbone, remaining there for a long time without daring to touch. Tears fell drop by drop onto her pale skin.
“……Jack.”
Sasha called him again, but Isaac did not answer. He seemed broken somehow.
Sasha did not speak to him any further. The effect of the medicine was surging over her again, and her eyes were falling shut.
There were many things she wanted to ask him right away. First of all, she wanted to ask whether it was all right for him to be in a place like this when he was still wanted. Of course, if she asked such a question, he would glare at her as if utterly dumbfounded.
Yes. So…….
……I want to see that face.
But Sasha could no longer hold on to consciousness and sank back into sleep.
＊＊＊
When was the last time she had a proper dream?
By a proper dream, she meant an impressive dream that left some lingering trace even after waking. Ordinary dreams usually evaporated the moment one woke, leaving not even fragments behind.
It had been a long time since Sasha had had such an impressive dream. Especially over the past several months, she had been buried in reality in so many ways that she had had no time to chase after things like dreams or fantasies.
Most of the dreams Sasha had had until now were based on the past. Since dreams were ultimately created by the unconscious from the things a person had experienced, they often dragged out, of their own accord, the childhood she had not even wished to recall and showed it to her.
Sasha stood still.
Where is this? Thinking that, she looked around and found the scenery familiar. An old manor. At the very least, it was not Robin’s dress shop from her last dream. Though, of course, she had liked that narrow little attic well enough in its own way.
The manor was utterly quiet, without a single person coming or going, and Sasha stood alone in the main hall that led to the front entrance. From outside came the sound of insects. Sasha naturally stepped out through the entrance and looked around the equally empty garden.
Her steps led her, as if by instinct, around the main building of the manor toward the glass conservatory that stood between it and the annex.
It took quite a while to arrive. That was only natural, because her body was very small. Her arms and legs were short, and she had the body of a child even more pitifully thin and gaunt than she was now.
The young Sasha arrived in front of the conservatory. Then, just as she was about to grasp the silver-crafted handle, she stopped and carefully pressed her ear to the door, listening.
Amid the sound of insects crying from all sides and the sound of the wind, she heard tea being poured into a teacup.
That person always enjoyed tea time here alone at this hour.
Sasha raised her small arm and grasped the doorknob, but she could not bring herself to pull it open.
As she hesitated for a long time, she heard the sound of water flowing again.
This time, from very close by.
Right beside her ear.
Sasha slowly opened her eyes.
A pale, unfamiliar ceiling came into view, and nearby she saw a figure standing with her back turned. It was a young woman around Sasha’s age, probably a nurse. The nurse was putting a cloth into a basin filled with water, then soaking and wringing it out again and again.
Sasha closed her eyes once more.
A hospital. Of course.
Once she realized it, she sniffed and caught the scent of alcohol. The nurse came over with the wrung-out cloth and wiped the inside of Sasha’s neck. Sasha, still keeping her eyes closed as if asleep, felt the coolness. Before long, the nurse left, and Sasha was left alone.
She was too weary to open her eyes again and only listened, but it seemed she was alone. It was probably a hospital, yet it appeared she was using a private room far beyond her station.
Far beyond her station.
Realizing she had thought that without meaning to, Sasha laughed inwardly at herself.
While she was doing so, the door on the other side slid open with a scrape. Then came the sound of footsteps, duller than before. It was a familiar sound. In other words, it was the sort of sound that would come from the boots Isaac often wore.
Before she even opened her eyes, Isaac strode over, scraped a chair toward her, and sat down. Then, before even a few seconds had passed, he rose again, walked off somewhere with heavy steps, and pushed something open.
It was probably a window. He opened it, came back, sat down again, muttered, “The sunlight is too strong,” then went back to the window, closed it, and even drew the curtains.
With her eyes closed, Sasha quietly listened as he opened and closed the window, raised and lowered the curtains, came to sit and then stood again, repeating it all in restless confusion.
At last, Isaac seemed to reach a compromise with himself by leaving the window only half open. Then he sat back down in the chair, made a groaning sound as if uncomfortable, shifted his posture again, and grumbled, “There isn’t a proper chair here.”
Then he suddenly took Sasha’s hand with great care, brought it gently to what she assumed was his forehead, and began to recite a prayer.
He did not seem the type to pray usually. Naturally, because at the end of every sentence he added, “I will be diligent from now on.”
After finishing his prayer, Isaac put Sasha’s hand back where it had been, and this time he seemed to fidget with something in the hospital room. He was so distracted.
The anxiety that had somehow settled down after meeting her had flared up again, and he wandered about even more restlessly than before, repeatedly muttering something to himself.
Then he sat beside Sasha again, took her hand, and carefully pressed it to his cheek.
He looked at her bruised neck and muttered, over and over, words so dark she could not possibly repeat them.
And then, all at once, his eyes met hers, which had been open.
“……Sasha.”
The lingering traces of the dream faded quickly. If he had not come and behaved in such a distracting manner, she might have fallen asleep again and continued the dream from before.
Whether Sasha answered him or not, Isaac pressed his forehead to the back of the hand he was holding and began to shed tears, drop by drop.
He’s crying again.
At that thought, Sasha smiled faintly.