Delusion (10)
Delusion (10)
I spent that night at the church.
Lying on a hard wooden pew, I stared at the ceiling until dawn.
When the first grey light seeped through the windows, I let myself out.
The cold air sank deep into my lungs.
Back in my dorm room, I washed up without much care.
The face in the mirror looked like a stranger's.
I fell back into the rhythm of attending lectures and returning to my room.
As though nothing had happened the day before.
The whole thing felt unreal, like I'd glimpsed someone else's nightmare.
When I came back after classes, Estelle was already in my room.
She sat on my bed, looking faintly tired.
"Even with everything going on, you still make it to every lecture."
She watched me, her gaze drifting to the trash strewn across the floor. Her brow creased slightly.
"Maybe you should clean your room before you worry about attendance?"
"Had to go. Exam today. Not a major one, but still."
I shrugged. My voice came out a little hoarse.
"I didn't have you pegged as a model student."
A ghost of a smile touched her lips, needling me.
"Got nothing else."
"Nothing else, sure. You're perfectly fine at jerking around some clueless girl on a whim."
"...Who?"
"Me."
"I'm the one getting jerked around."
I tossed my bag onto the desk as I said it.
"Right. Obviously."
She nudged the trash on the floor aside with her foot, then spoke as if it were nothing at all.
"She's on the second floor of the church. I put her there."
"The storage room?"
"Yeah."
Estelle nodded. I studied her face for a moment.
"Nobody saw you?"
"Nobody saw. But someone will probably notice soon."
"Doesn't matter."
Even if the Saintess suddenly lost her mind and ran around telling people the Duchess had been abducted and stashed in the back-gate church of the Academy, nobody would believe her.
"Anyway, when you leave... use the window."
She looked faintly bewildered. "Why?"
"Being seen with me does you no good."
"I don't care about that."
Her voice was firm.
"I do."
I met her eyes. I had no interest in burning at the stake.
"If something happens to you — even the smallest thing — just because you were around me, it'll eat at me."
She went quiet. Then, ever so slightly, her cheeks flushed, and she nodded.
Without a word, she rose and crossed to the window, swung herself over the sill without hesitation, and vanished outside.
I let out a long breath once she was gone.
I started cleaning the wreckage of the room — or at least made an attempt. Swept up the shards of broken glass, wiped spilled liquor off the floor with a rag. The torn landscape painting went into the bin, crumpled.
After that, I tamped tobacco into my pipe and was about to sprinkle the powder on top when I remembered the fit I'd thrown the night before — how I'd taken it out on the person in the next room. Maybe not now.
I scratched the back of my head, walked out, and knocked on her door.
Knock. Knock.
The girl opened it a crack. The moment she recognized me, she tried to slam it shut.
I wedged my foot into the gap.
She stomped on it. I barely felt a thing.
"I came to apologize," I said, ignoring her foot on mine.
She stared at me for a moment, then sighed.
"It's fine. You've already been thrown out by your family — you'll be thrown out of here soon enough."
I gave a faint grin but didn't answer. She looked at me a little blankly, then lifted her foot and opened the door slightly wider.
"So... that's it?"
"That's it. Just suddenly felt I should say I was sorry."
"Yesterday you were screaming the place down. Did something in your head finally snap?"
"I don't really know."
At that, she sighed again.
"Last night you were a complete lunatic, and now you're standing here like the most ordinary person on earth."
"..."
"Are you eating at all? You look like skin stretched over bone."
"Not properly."
She fished a piece of candy from her pocket and tossed it at me — small, round, lemon-flavored. It bounced off the barely-open door and rolled across the floor. I picked it up without caring, dusted it off, and popped it into my mouth. Sweet and sharp, spreading over my tongue.
"What — why are you picking it up off the floor and eating —"
"Thanks."
She seemed lost for words for a moment, just staring. We stood there in an awkward silence before she pulled the door shut.
I lingered for a while longer, then went back to my room.
If you've done something wrong, isn't apologizing just the obvious thing to do? But nobody had ever done the obvious thing for me.
I kept cleaning. At some point, the sun began to set.
I stopped mid-task and strapped the revolver to my waist.
Then I headed for the church.
Estelle greeted me when I walked in. I wrapped my arms around her and held her tight. A faint scent of apples clung to her.
"Where is she?"
"The storage room on the second floor."
"Mind if I go up alone?"
She made a face — a touch uneasy. But she nodded.
"Don't make a mess. It's a pain to clean up in here."
I nodded and climbed the creaking stairs.
On the second floor, the Duchess lay unconscious, bound tightly. I crouched beside her and started with the rings on her fingers, then her necklace, then patted her down for any other jewelry. I pulled the gag from her mouth and checked inside. Nothing but the rings and the necklace.
As I was checking, her eyes opened.
She took in my face. Horror flooded her expression.
"You — what do you think you're —"
I didn't wait for her to finish. I stood and drove my foot into her solar plexus. She couldn't get another word out — just gagged and retched, bringing up bile. Nothing else in her stomach.
Anything she might have said would only have soured my mood. Even a plea for forgiveness, from her, would have been delivered like she was standing on higher ground.
I exhaled and tried to stuff the cloth back into her mouth. She thrashed, twisting away. I grabbed her by the shoulders, hauled her upright, and slammed my knee into her chest. As she choked, I shoved the gag back in and tied it tight.
I'd shot her dead once before. That seemed to have burned out whatever feeling or thought I might have had about this.
I fetched a rag, wiped the floor, and went back down to the ground floor.
"If this one vanishes, and my sister vanishes... I wonder if I could become Family Head."
I aimed the words at Estelle.
"I honestly don't know about that kind of thing."
She shrugged.
"I'm a commoner, remember? Whatever you fancy noble lords say, whatever justification you trot out, all I ever see is a lot of pretentious posturing."
"I'm a bastard. As fancy noble lords go, I'm a bit of a defective model."
"That's fine. Being defective suits you."
She said it lightly, then added, "That's what I like."
I wasn't entirely sure what she meant.
"If a worthless, vermin-weak bastard like me inherits the family, would people look at me any differently?"
"Mm. I think they'd look at you exactly the same."
I would've appreciated a little white lie, but I suppose being the Saintess meant that wasn't in her repertoire.
"Probably. But what else can I do."
I said it with a touch of sulkiness toward Estelle.
If I became one of those great noble lords, maybe people would stop treating me like dirt. I wouldn't end up burned alive. Wouldn't lose my head. Wouldn't hang. I wouldn't have to jump out of any windows. Without having to cling to Rineta's side, I might even manage something easier — offer the right gifts, spin the right words.
"Literally anything, I'd think."
Levina and the Duchess had always loomed in my head like omnipotent deities. I wanted to be like them. Only, I didn't want to become as ugly as them. But I already felt ugly enough. Vile. So wasn't I already not so different from them after all?
Couldn't I become a fancy noble lord too?
Better to be a god-awful, smug noble lord than the half-baked son of a whore.
"Is there a basement here?"
"Calling it a basement is generous, but yes. Sort of."
"This is a church. That means you've got a coffin somewhere, right?"
"It's old, but there should be one in storage."
I went back upstairs, grabbed the Duchess by the hair, and dragged her down. Her body thumping against the stairs didn't matter — I just hauled her to the ground floor and left her there.
Estelle watched me, a hint of worry in her expression, but she kept quiet.
I went up to the second floor again and tried to haul the coffin down myself. Struggling, straining, breathing hard — I had to stop and rest.
That was when Estelle came up and carried it for me. She took it all the way to the basement.
"Thanks."
I hoisted the Duchess, still squirming, and dropped her into the coffin. Her body landed with a thud. I left the lid off and kicked the whole thing toward the basement stairs.
Rumble-clatter.
The coffin slid down the steps, the sound almost absurdly comical.
"Leave her like that for a while."
Estelle looked vaguely uncomfortable, but she nodded.
I pulled her into a tight embrace.
"Thank you."
This time, no kiss — just a light press of my lips against her cheek. She looked faintly disappointed before she asked, "Is this enough?"
"Yeah. Probably."
I spent some time with her at the church after that, then returned to my dorm room.
I opened the window, packed my pipe, lit it, and exhaled smoke. Then I remembered my conversation with the girl next door and shut the window. Smoke hung thick inside the room.
I passed the night like that.
The days that followed settled into a rhythm: attend lectures, come back to the room, occasionally go to the church to splash water into the coffin and idle away time talking with Estelle.
A few days passed — maybe more.
Levina came to find me.