A Study of Crimson: Chapter Four (Incomplete)

Dr. Vada Thorn Amadeus. Doctorate in medicine.

Elizabeth Obson was found dead at 9:56AM when Shadow and I had arrived. The plump dog-woman - who resembled a shepherd more than any of the canine-folk subspecies - was found in her hotel room, with her neck in the noose of a belt that had been hoisted onto the wood and brass ceiling fan above. The deceased looked to be about middle-aged and she was very overweight, around three-hundred pounds, I presume. Her eyes stared lifeless at the room in front of her and a smile seemed to still be in place on her flabby face. I am deeply sorry for the loss that you have received, friends and family of Mrs. Obson. She wore a crimson dress that had a roughly slashed symbol on the enormous stomach - ‘XII’. She also had a golden wedding ring upon her left ring-finger and a emerald jewel with a golden lace around her neck.  

This image made me sick to my stomach and tears welled up in my eyes. My companion, on the other hand, was deeply gazing at the hanging woman. She was being uncaring and observing as if the deceased was a painting hung up in an art gallery.

“Whomever the murderer was,” said she, “did not steal anything of value, so it was not for theft.”

“Shadow,” I said, solemnly, “the woman is dead, dead! What on earth are you doing!” My companion seemed rather stout of heart because it seemed like she did not care about the dead. I could even see the faintest smile upon her face.

“I am curious,” said she. “Why would the mysterious order donate such a strange occurrence to us?”

“Shadow--”

“Doctor, I am also trying to clue for the letter. They said that it would be in this room, giving us an instruction.”

“Do you not care that is this woman is dead!”

Shadow did not even glance up at me for a moment, she merely kept her eyes glued upon the horror of the woman.

“Doctor, do you deal with a lot of death?”

“Yes, but this is different!”

“Ah, because you have no control whether they live or die?”

The nerve of my companion! I could feel a white hot rage building in my chest that I was tempted to lash out upon her. She was acting idiotic, childish, this was not something for her to solve, none the least.

“Shadow!--”

She even stopped and she looked at me with dark, emotionless eyes. Her cheekbones grew sharp, and her eyebrows faintly quirked. The once joyous smile had formed into a blank, yet angry formation of her mouth.

“I am trying to find the note, Amadeus.” I could tell behind the curtain of her dark eyes that there was a flicker that seemed to like the murder.

“Do you not feel bad for this woman?”

“Feeling bad will not help me find the note. Feeling bad is simply an anchor that weighs us down. I have been requested to find such a note. Now, can you please help me find the note?”

I sighed in compliance to my companion and the angry slowly simmered down to ashes, but my anger was still lowly present in my heart. I could not argue with my patient, not even with my roommate. I knew that arguing was difficult on the body. I could never bear to argue with Shadow for I knew she had endured bloodshed, and tarnishing horror, and how she was cursed with terrifying nightmares that clawed her mind. Over the time that I had so far lived with Shadow I had most often let her go about her way, only truly stopping her if her act caused herself serious harm. Although, I was still angered how Shadow seemed distant from emotion, acting like a cold machine that does not feel compassion nor warm except towards dismal horror and overtly bizarre phenomenons.  She was indeed not a pleasant person when left to her devices, but I knew a Shadow that could seem like the kindest person to people.

“Alright, alright,” said I.

“Thank you,” she turned back towards the swaying corpse and she began to look around the obese body. Her smile had burned back and her eyes were alight with question. She looked at the corpse with such wonder and with such excitement.

I never thought that she could be capable of such things before. Although, I found her to be rather strange as a roommate with her daily rituals and quirks.

She was always a woman who enjoyed her own company, usually spending hours locked away in her room where I would occasionally hear her groaning and yelling as if there was someone else with her, but for the majority of her isolation there would only be silence. She would often spend hours in her room and sometimes I would have to insist her to come forth into the apartment. Although I would be given a lot of time to do work, either fill out medical forms that would be mailed to me because of my constant being with my patient, or I would just draw with charcoal that would consume my time greatly. Over the first month I sold a couple and made a fair amount of money.

I would have such interesting conversations with Shadow whenever she was out and with each passing word she would give I would learn more and more about her, which in turns would cause me to detest and to salute my friend. An example - the PHD talk. A conversation that I cannot remember what sparked it.

Myself: “So, do you have a PHD, a Doctorate like me?”

Shadow: “No, indeed not. They are tedious pieces of paper that people waste their time for and they mean nothing in and of their own context. You simply spend a long time studying on a certain subject and become adequately superb in it. We dub meaning upon them that seems wasteful.”

Myself: “But they are an important thing to show people your academic achievements and they can get you great jobs! They are not just pieces of paper! They are a title! They show people how much you know and how you can teach a younger generation about your knowledge!”

Shadow: “What use is that? If people are measured by their work and how well-payed their jobs are then there is really little point in the idea of living. Then, we should consider ourselves to be slaves to a higher power. Papers should not dub our academic level.”

Myself: “Shadow! Without work then what is the point of people? If we don’t work then we don’t serve society in a greater function! Have you even met someone with a PHD, and have they worked hard for it?”

Shadow: “My father. He did work hard for his, though he does not see it as a means of higher thinking. He simply sees it as more work. Pile Higher and Deeper, that is what he says it stands for. What he means is it does not indicate how much you know, it indicates how little you know about the universe and that your path of knowledge is only beginning, if you see PHDs as a goal setting. I would never work for a sheet of paper and a pat of the head saying ‘Good job on your success,’ I am not a child. That seems rather tedious to do so. I indulge myself in literature and practical work that I see fit and try to work through my life. I work myself towards knowledge, not a title. Knowledge in itself bears sweet fruit that is bountiful to an individual.”

Myself: “Your father has a PHD, in what?”

Shadow: “Laws and Information. A fellow recommended it to him and he accepted.”

Myself: “Interesting.”

Shadow: “It was the only way he could teach and pursue an academic outpost, and get a good job to support my brother, who was incubating in pregnancy, and my mother.”

Myself: “You have a brother?”

Shadow: “Six and a half years elder to me, yes. Wolfgang Chopin D’Alton.”

Myself: “Interesting, and what does he do for a living?”

Shadow: “He is a musician, a violinist. Professionally.”

Myself: “That is a good profession.”

Shadow: “Indeed it is. He plays at taverns, and he composes, selling his works for a small fortune.”

Myself: “Ah! Very nice! Your family are very high achievers! A violinist who composes for a brother and a Doctor of Law and Information for a father. What of your mother?”

Shadow: “Well, my father was more notably a manager of a concert hall. Without him that whole place would be laid into ashes and waste. As for my mother, well, she is a pianist and she worked with cloth and thread.”
Myself: “A very musical background! How very nice. And I have not asked before, what did you do for your job before?”

Shadow: “That is difficult to say. I like to say that I am a multi-profession, as I say before when you first came here, a jack-of-many-trades. I worked as an electrician, a poet, a guitarist, a welder, and a writer. I did what I seemed to like, not what society wished me to do to fulfill a purpose. I spent most of my time studying, learning, of course, ever since an adolescent age. I studied psychology at the age of sixteen, guitar at fifteen, the art of meditation at fourteen, martial arts from when I was nine until I was eighteen - kenpo and arnis to be exact - history of the Ancients at eighteen, a dabble of fetishism at nineteen, and the art of swordfighting at twenty.”

Myself: “Kenpo, arnis, fetishism? You’ve studied very strange things! What is kenpo and arnis? I have never heard of them? And why fetishism? I thought you were against sex as a whole!”

Shadow: “Ah, Amadeus, that is where you are wrong. I am not a fan of relationships and I find them to be tedious and time consuming. I am, however, fascinated by the culture of sex, well, at least its abnormalities. Fetishism seems to be apparent in everyone, and we all seem to have a strange attraction to an article. I have read about people who are attracted to the dead, the old, abuse, blood, bones, fat, ears, bondage, fire, drowning, giants, being eaten live, and feet. They all seem to fascinate me. Now, kenpo and arnis, well, arnis is a martial arts of stickwork used in the Islands of Mora, some generations after the collapse of the Ancient’s Empire, strange article of business. Kenpo is a mixed martial arts, with grand roots of arnis, that utilizes powerful yet quick strikes.”

Myself: “Very interesting! Shadow, your knowledge fascinates me, I have never before heard of the things that you say.”

Shadow: “Perhaps, Doctor, I might teach you, if you teach me.”

Myself: “Teach you?”

Shadow: “You are a doctor in medicine, are you not?”

Myself: “Oh, yes, I am, but I thought that my title and my Doctorate was pointless to you.”

Shadow: “Oh, no, I just see no point in PHDs, and your skills has mended me to a fine degree. Although, after your words I begin to see why people adore them so, but, I still consider them to be a waste. Nevertheless, do not let my opinion weigh you down in despair, that would be wasteful indeed.”

Myself: “Very true, Shadow. Alright, if you insist then we should teach each other then we’ll both be student and master!”

Shadow: “Indeed so.”

Conversations would come up like that time and time again, and I would always cling on to each word that would escape Shadow’s mouth. Her knowledge was not only vast to most, but also unique. I have always wondered why Shadow have studied the things she had studied and I wondered if her father, or perhaps mother, encouraged her to undertake such things.

When Shadow showered, which I had to insist on her to do, she hummed and sang a song, just one song, every time she went to shower. It went something like this:

Voiceless stars,

Chilling nights.

Bloody scars,

Lights so bright.

Children of the North wield your swords,

Children of the North raise your mugs.

Past the far mountain,

Past the shining trees.

Upon the fountain,

The fountain that will freeze.

The children there will be.

I would not say that Shadow had a voice of an angel nor the voice of a professional singer, but she could more or less keep a tune. She would always sing it so soft and gently, with the occasional squeak of her voice. Nevertheless, I would always ask her about it and she would ask what song as if her voice had not sang it prior. I would compliment her on her singing, though she would say that she was not singing. I found that to be rather strange.

Whenever I went out to buy groceries - twice a week, Mondays and Thursdays - and came back to Oxford Street I would be greeted by the old woman who ran the shop just beside our apartment. Mrs. Jahures was her name. She was a small old human woman with cloud-like hair, pale green eyes, fair, wrinkly skin who wore a purple dress and big, round glasses. She would always stop me and ask me how Shadow was doing. I would always tell her that she was doing fine. We would always have short conversations about the weather and our day, and before we departed she would tell me to tell Shadow that she said “hello”. It always made me happy whenever she asked about Shadow like she was her granddaughter, perhaps she even was. I have never thought to ask Shadow about such things.

Shadow was often absent minded, sometimes thinking I was not there. She would sit in her chair and think, drawing her hands up to her face, together, keeping her two forefingers erect to her lips, and would be startled whenever I started talking as if I sprang from thin air like a ghost. Also, she would leave socks and her slippers laid about around the apartment and I would always pick them up and place them in the correct location where they belong. She would not thank me for what I did. She would simply go about her day. I would not correct her in her ways. She was a strange, alienated woman.

“Have you unearthed any notes, Amadeus?” asked Shadow, keeping a fixed gaze at the corpse. “Preferably crimson, a note with crimson writing.”

“No, I haven’t seen any notes.”

“Have you even gandered?”

“No, I--”

“Then please do so.” She began to pace around the body, gazing at it from different angles.

I began to follow Shadow’s request and I looked at every detail of the room, and I could not find the note. It was rather strange.

“Crimson, crimson, crimson,” muttered Shadow. “Crimson. ‘A note with a dissimilar crimson.’ Why can I not find you?”

I still looked around for the note, until I suddenly heard Shadow exclaim in what seemed like joy. I immediately jumped in shock and turned towards Shadow.

“Are you okay!” I worriedly asked.

“Crimson! Her dress is woven with crimson. She is the note. She is the instruction.”

I gave a quizzical look. “I don’t follow.”

“The ‘XII’ written in her is a twelve in the Ancients! Oh! I am be quite slow!” She dashed forth out of the room like a thunderbolt from the sky.

“Shadow!” I cried, following her. “Where are you going?”

She stood in her tracks. “They have set a murder before us, Amadeus. We must solve such a murder! We need to venture to the Church of Indulgence, find out who Elizabeth Obson is!” She then dashed forth once more. I hastily followed her, but my asthma was getting the better of me so I requested her to stop. She did and waited for myself to catch up, then we left the place together in quite a hurry. I could tell that my companion was enjoying the start of this case. I questioned, however, how far she would go for this strange event.

We hailed for a cab and we ventured forth once more to the Church of Indulgence. Our ride was silent for Shadow did not say a single word and I did not want to interrupt her. I figured that she was deep within her own mind, thinking. Her eyes seemed darker than usual and her face completely emotionless.

When we got to the church, which was a large, dark cathedral that had a very Gothic undertone to it, which resided on George Street that glared at the industrial life that was laid before it. We exited the cab and we made our way to the church. I followed Shadow who seemed rather chirpy when she ventured through the large, dark doors with a grand push, and happiness clearly visible in her sapphire eyes. It was wrongful to be happy at the death stricken woman.

We walked in through to find a long, gaping room that laid in silence and darkness. No light transpired through the room, except for the light that trickled in from the entrance. It was eerie and rather ominous

“Hello?” we suddenly heard a small voice cry from shrouded darkness. It startled me, nearly causing me to jump from my fur. I cannot say the same for my companion.

“Hello?” responded Shadow, confidently, as she tried to peer through the lightless room that stood before her.

There was a pause and we could hear light footsteps tap through the stone-covered floor. A man - a small dark cat who wore milk white Religious robes - appear forth into the glistening light of the outdoors. He kept his head slightly bowed and his hands behind his back.

“Have you came to embrace the glutton of our Lord?” asked he.

I cringed at the thought, but I difficulty kept a straight face.

“Indeed we are,” said Shadow, bowing graciously. “Please enlighten us of the ways of the Church of Indulgence.”

“Strange for a human to even know about our religion, but we live in strange times. Tell me, what are your names?”

“I am Shadow D'Alton, and this is my associate, Vada Amadeus.”

This was the first time Shadow had ever said, let alone mention, my first name. Despite living together for a month prior she had never uttered my name before. She either called me Doctor or Amadeus or a combination of the two. I thought little of it then but thinking back I dare say it was important in a strange way.  

“Ah, then follow me, Ms. D’Alton and Ms. Amadeus.” The cat transcended back into darkness and my companion followed him blindly into the murk of shadow. The door behind us had groaned shut and the whole room was eclipsed in blackness. I attempted to follow Shadow, though my attempt was in vain. I walked through the darkness eyeless, keeping my hands in front of myself, trying to feel my way around the area. I bumped into a stone pillar at least once or twice, and I was grateful that Shadow did not see me and my clumsiness.

I then heard the groaning of a large door and I saw a golden light, and the silhouette of my companion and the cat, in front of myself. Quickly, I went through towards the light and I was met with a large, grey stone-worked room, vast in comparison to any sort of regular church. I saw at least three dozen people, all whom were either folk of wolf, fox, or cat; I saw a lacking of elves, dwarves, or humans, save Shadow. Also, these people had obese like Elizabeth, in fact, a few even larger than her; and they were all clad in religious white robes. It was an odd sight to see, nearly making me cringe. We walked through the place, and I noticed in large booths that there were globular mounds of flesh and fur that were once lively people. They all had a series of tubes, that dangled from the ceiling, in their mouths, and oddly enough, their overtly large navels. It was a gruesome sight to see.

“Pray tell us about the church,” said my companion suddenly, as she was gazing about the queer place with wonderment. I could distinctly see a smile on her slender face.

“Ah, well, there is quite a lot to tell,” said the cat. “I would be happy to tell you about our sanctuary! What would you like to know?”

“What is the purpose of this belief? Why worship the notion of gluttony?”

“Oh! Well, it is believed that the true, happy form of any being is that of a gluttonous mass. We all need nourishment, and, with enough, we grow fat. We all strive for food, so we believe that our lord wishes us to indulge ourselves to a large degree. We only really stay fit to appease others and to work to get food, but what if you cut out work or your work is to eat? You get a happier, as it’s shown with our devotees. They all claim that they have never been as happy as they’re now.”

“A strange concept. How does one become a member of this church?”

“Ah, well, you have to be initiated! You have to eat an entire buffet in one sitting, a strange concept, it must be for you, but it is our customs!”