Ch.61Ch.5 – Outro (1) (Video not opening)

1929. ■. ■■ AM 10:00

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Karl Böhm lay on the hospital bed, staring at the white wall.

It was the cleanest room of all the beds he had ever lain in, but the faint smell of medicinal alcohol ruined everything. Though it was the same alcohol, spirits and medicine were so different.

Of course, spirits usually contain various flavors. Medicine tends to remove and cut away many things. Medicine must be pure. And to prove something’s purity, one method is to eliminate all impurities.

“How are you feeling today?”

It was that short-haired woman doctor with glasses again. Though she was certainly respectful in her white coat, Böhm found her somewhat uncomfortable.

‘Katherine Scully, M.D.’

Her name tag was new, but the hospital doctors treated her with deference and a touch of fear. Böhm couldn’t understand the discrepancy. She was clearly a new doctor, yet even the oldest physician in the hospital acted that way around her?

“Well enough.”

After all, Böhm’s roots were German. His gruffness concealed kindness, but he was reluctant to open up to this young woman.

“Your daughter has calmed down.”

“She left?”

“She said she would find lodging near the hospital. She’s quit her job. Did you know she has a husband?”

“I didn’t.”

Böhm was utterly shocked. His daughter, married.

“Where is that man?”

“He disappeared. On Pollard Island.”

Böhm forcibly raised himself. The restraint jacket held him back. Unable to contain his anger, Böhm shouted. Scully quickly administered a sedative. The medication contained no narcotic substances. Scully knew that Böhm’s rage wasn’t because of his disappeared son-in-law, but because of the name “Pollard.” Whenever that name was mentioned, Böhm had seizures.

“Mr. Karl Böhm. We would like to make you a proposal.”

“What proposal?”

Böhm hated injections. Every time he received one, he smelled alcohol in his nose. No matter how much he rubbed his nose against the wall, the smell wouldn’t go away.

“A proposal for a new life. We know something about what you’ve experienced, and we want to support you and your daughter to live a better life. I believe you remember who we are.”

What was it again? Böhm couldn’t remember at all. The story certainly changed each time. Sometimes they claimed to be a welfare foundation established by a wealthy German, other times the Red Cross. Sometimes they said they were Arkham Asylum, and other times the Massachusetts State Hospital, specially tasked by the governor to protect survivors.

But Böhm knew. The hospital room remained the same. The doctors were the same, and that Scully woman was the same. And his daughter. His daughter was definitely his flesh and blood. At that point, he thought perhaps nothing else mattered.

“I have nothing.”

“We’re not asking for money, Mr. Böhm. Just complete your treatment successfully. That’s all. Your body has healed now, but your mind hasn’t. You still have trouble sleeping.”

That was true. Böhm was tired.

“I’m afraid to dream.”

Böhm’s body convulsed again. Scully gently patted him.

“I can help you become healthy again, like before.”

“My ‘before’ was nothing but pain.”

Böhm lamented.

“And you want to return me to that?”

“Below the bottom.”

It was starting again. Böhm hated this moment. That woman, Katherine Scully, had a medallion hanging from a long black thread. Whenever she swung it back and forth before his eyes, Böhm’s mind grew hazy.

“There are stairs. Circular. Extending deep downward. With each floor you descend, you see what you most want to hide, what you don’t want to see. But not now. At least not today. Mr. Böhm, you’re standing on the landing now.”

Böhm’s eyes rolled back slightly as if dreaming. Scully connected electrodes to Böhm’s arm and her own.

Then she poured a small amount of processed belladonna extract, purged of its toxicity, into Böhm’s mouth. Böhm’s pupils dilated. Scully peered into those eyes, deep as a spiral staircase.

“Now show me. Your room.”

Böhm nodded mechanically and closed his eyes. Scully also loosened her buttons, leaned back in her chair, and took a sip of the belladonna extract.

That was the signal. Staff waiting outside entered and turned on the machine connected to the electrodes.

–

On the spiral staircase, Böhm stumbled a bit. He didn’t know where he was. Fortunately, a familiar woman walked down from the upper stairs. It was that doctor, Katherine Scully.

“Are you lost?”

Böhm said yes.

“So am I.”

A sad situation. That’s what Böhm thought. It would be best to leave this place. But Böhm didn’t know which way to go.

“I’ll help you.”

Scully would help.

“Let’s start by opening each room? There might be an exit. What’s in this room?”

That made sense.

Böhm opened the door. He smiled kindly at the familiar, heartwarming sight. It was a Boston brewery and tavern.

His wife, forgetting her pain, was carrying drinks, and neighbors were dancing and singing songs out of tune and rhythm.

A young man who begged by playing guitar at the street corner was tossing his collected coins into the air while playing a melody.

The two of them walked into this sweet, sad dream room.

* * * * *

1929. 5. 14. AM 11:23

Road to the Northern Pasture

Pollard City

Every time the wind blew, Aurora became flustered, and each time, I had to look away. Her burgundy dress was certainly elegant but too light, fluttering in even the slightest breeze. The hem kept turning up, and each time, Aurora frantically grabbed at her clothes.

As luck would have it, we were walking toward the cliff, and the wind was like a mischievous elementary school child, determined to flip up her skirt at every opportunity. We were at the elm tree at the fork in the road to the northern pasture, where she had once fired six shots from her revolver into the air.

She was the complete opposite of ordinary people.

She excelled at cursing, shooting, and fighting, but she had no idea how to engage in casual, light conversation. So even when discussing how to fill the remaining 4 hours and 30 minutes, she rambled on by herself, wondering what if we did this or that.

“A restaurant. No. We can’t have those idiots staring at us like last time. Should we go to Boston? No. We’d be exhausted just getting there. Going would be work enough, but coming back we’d be like wilted flowers. Wait, let me think. A boat? No. I don’t want to ride a boat for a while. Honestly, I’d like to sell all the yachts I have…”

She went on like this, making no progress. When I finally suggested just buying sandwiches and eating under the elm tree in the northern pasture,

“Should we? Alright.”

she agreed. On the appointed day, she arrived in a Rolls-Royce Phantom I Springfield limousine instead of her wrecked Duesenberg, which turned out to be unfortunate.

The car was so quiet that it only emphasized the awkward silence.

“Um. So. Ahem. What do normal people talk about at times like this?”

Well. What did Crayfield do? He started with the weather. Then he looked for common ground, shared similar interests. But before that, there needed to be a premise that they were on equal footing.

At least Crayfield called me his assistant, but that was a kind of business relationship. Strictly speaking, I was indebted to him, as Crayfield was even covering my apartment rent.

I told her it starts with finding common ground. I said people have light, everyday conversations and save serious topics for later.

Aurora completely failed to grasp the concept.

“So it’s like being comrades, something like that? Seeing each other as equals.”

That was the closest she could come to the concept of friendship.

Somehow, we managed to spread a picnic blanket on the grass near the cliff and set down a box containing alcohol, dried fruit, and sandwiches.

Throughout this, Aurora fidgeted restlessly, looking around, and clenched her fist convulsively whenever she heard the wind circling the cliff.

“You want me to close my eyes and eat?”

Well. Isn’t the best way to forget something to focus attention elsewhere?

It was quite similar to soothing a baby. Instead of taking something away, if you give them a noisy duck toy, the child’s interest shifts quite quickly. Even if they cry again later remembering what was taken, at least they’re quiet for the moment.

Aurora closed her eyes, chewed her sandwich, and felt the breeze gently brushing her hair. She squinted at me accusingly.

“It’s too quiet. Is this really okay?”

Instead of answering, I pointed to the sea.

Seagulls were now flying above us, making cat-like cries. Yellow beaks and white feathers. They could control their bodies freely without large wing movements. They knew how to surrender to the incoming wind rather than fight it.

“Beautiful.”

Aurora reached out a hand toward the gulls that she couldn’t touch. Or should I say, it was fortunate she could even reach out her hand?

A particularly large seagull with a bright yellow beak and distinct black lines at the wing tips circled above us several times. Like a cat on a spring day, Aurora couldn’t take her eyes off the circling birds.

For her, people existed either above or below her; the concept that they could also be beside her might be quite foreign.

To such a person, seagulls were certainly something unfamiliar. An entity she didn’t need to compete with. Something she didn’t need to shoot and kill.

A comfort that was safely distant, something she could only observe, neither catching nor being caught.

Whether in jest or from the momentum of her life’s habits, Aurora picked up a small stone. And aimed it at a seagull.

I gently held her wrist and shook my head. Though somewhat disappointed, she put the stone down.

Instead, she softly grasped my wrist where my pulse could be felt. It was thin but strong, slow but distinct.

“Five hours left now.”

I almost said it seemed like the time had increased, but I remained silent. Her reddish eyes trembled slightly with anxiety. I confirmed that she was right. Her eyes calmed again.

“Yes. That’s right. Five and a half hours left.”

Aurora looked languid. Perhaps from watching the seagulls for too long.

She bent toward me and lay down, resting her head on my leg. When I straightened my leg to make her comfortable, she laughed out loud with satisfaction. The grass beneath the blanket was soft, and the ground, holding just the right warmth, was comfortable. Proper summer was still far away. This was a warmth resembling body temperature, unique to this season.

Just an endlessly ordinary, regular lunch.