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2024-10-29 19:42:56Both Well and Joross couldn't believe what they just saw. A tongue? In a pouch? Tied with a white ribbon? Who in the world would dare to do something as gross as that?
Well carefully placed the pouch down on the bed. Their faces were crumpled like wet paper; foreheads were creased at the center. The room became so silent that the thumping of their hearts could be heard from across the room. None of them thought of saying a word. None of them thought of moving a nerve. Only an exchange of stares took place between the two trembling guys; one was crying due to fear, while the other was grieving due to a sudden realization.
"That... That thing. There's no way it belongs to him, right?" Well asked. He swallowed every after of each of his words. He couldn't believe what he saw as much as Joross couldn't believe what he just realized.
The sobbing boyfriend closed his eyes and squeezed them intensely, forcing the dwelling tears on the corners of his eyelids to drip down. "I— I don't know. I don't know what to believe anymore!" he shouted. It was so loud that if there's someone out there who happened to pass by the room 011, they would have heard it for sure.
"But it's just too cruel to be true, don't you think? I mean, only evils and lunatic killers could have done such a thing. There's no way this would be a product of some ordinary minds," Well said, and Joross admitted that somehow, Well got a point. Well sighed for a countless time already. He kept an eye for the pouch, staring at it like it was one of his worst enemies.
Joross took his gloves off. His hands were soaked in sweat that he stood up and reached for a towel from the bedside table to wipe them off. He returned back to sitting next to Well when he was done. "I missed him," he said out of the blue. Saying things like this during a situation like this usually comes with a great price; and as for Joross' case, the stake was longing. He was longing for Demo, that's for sure. He was longing for the moments he spent with him. He was longing for the thought of being with him. He was longing for all the stories they have shared to each other while running a paint brush over a clean sheet of a painting canvass. He was longing for everything that reminded him of Demo.
Well could not do anything but just stare at his grieving friend, thinking of something that might help both of them ease up the situation. But Well was fully aware that this is not something that you can just easily take easy. For a brief moment, Well just gasped for air. He could still smell the foul odor of the blood everywhere. His nose couldn't take it anymore but he got no choice but to keep it aside. The room remained quiet for the next two to three minutes, and it could have extended a little bit longer if only Well had not stricken by his overwhelming curiousity. Out of the blue, he asked, "Hey, I was just wondering, where is the body? I mean, your boyfriend's body? I couldn't think of any more ways of confirming if whether or not it belongs to him other than checking up for the body if it really has a missing tongue." Well snaked himself closer to his friend.
Joross looked away; shot his eyes to the window enclosed with thick blue curtains. "The thing is... I don't actually know." And the grieving continued. It even grew worse. More tears flowed down to his cheek. They were like two rivers competing against each other on who would reach the finish line first.
"What do you mean you don't know?!" Well's voice was raised two tones higher than his usual voice. He must have been caught up with the pressing situation right now.
"I don't know where his body is. The last time I saw him, he was still alive," Joross said under his breath.
"Then how could you declare that he was being murdered?" Well asked back again. This time, every question and every answer would mean a lot.
"Because of this room. My last visit here was two weeks ago. He was still here. The room was still clean. No splattered bloods everywhere. No mess. Everything was as fine as he was. But then, after a day or two, when he wasn't texting me back anymore, I decided to check on him in his room. I wanted to know why he was ignoring my messages, why he was not answering my calls, or why he was not updating me of what he was doing and where he was going. And then this was what surprised me when I opened his apartment using the duplicate key he gave me three weeks prior to his behavioral changes. Topsy-turvy. A total mess; blood spilled all over the room, things not on their usual position, and suspicious stuff that did not make any sense why they were here. No signs of him. Not a dead body," Joross explained.
"Why didn't you ask help from the cops?"
Joross smirked. "In a place like this, the cops are the last thing you'd want to ask help from."
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With both of his hands clasping against each other, Well shot a gaze through the busy hallway. He saw nurses in the rush, assistants going back and forth and to and from different rooms, doctors running with their shoelaces untangled, and other more disturbing and unusual things for Well but were considered normal and part of the routine in any hospitals. Well decided to go for a stroll outside the hospital and find something to eat. He had not eaten anything since lunch time, and he barely even finished his food back in the tavern because of Allen Mar’s intuitive conversation with the bloke man about the three suspicious men in suit initiating a negotiation talk with the secret society’s leader. Time check, it was already ten minutes past seven in the evening. Around this time, Well should have had in his bed already– ready to sleep because tomorrow was going to be another day full of unwanted surprises– but here he was now, in the hospital, with someone he only knew less than ten hou
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