Consumption

“Sirius, wake up.” James’ hand was on his shoulder, gently waking him up. “They got her.”

“Pandora?” His voice was scratchy as he spoke, wiping the sleep from his eyes. “Where is she?”

“They have her at the hospital, I figured you would want to know.” Sirius pushed himself up from the pillows, the sun creeping in through the curtains and lighting the room.

“I’ll get ready.”

“I don’t know if you should visit…” James seemed unsure at the idea, scared that Sirius had gotten too personal with the case. “Plus, she’s still recovering, she may not want to talk.”

Sirius shook him off, standing up and picking out his clothes for the day. “I need to see her.”

James ended up driving him to the hospital after Sirius said that Remus would’ve if James said no; and they might as well save the doctor the trouble.

The lady at the front desk quickly escorted them to Pandora’s room the second she found out they were FBI, leaving them in the quiet hallway just outside of the girl’s room.

“I’m going to stay out here, let me know if you need anything.” Sirius nodded at James before he slowly turned the doorknob, walking past the stationed police officers and stepping into the white hospital room.

“Ms. Wesia?” Sirius asked, closing the door behind him and taking a look at the blonde girl on the bed. “I’m special agent Sirius Black; I’m with the FBI. I was wondering if I could ask you some questions.”

“I remember you.” Her voice was meek and raspy, like she hadn’t used it in a long time. “You were at the house that night.”

“I was.” Sirius recounted the night, the fearful look in her eyes. “Why did you go back?”

She looked guilty, almost disgusted with herself. “I had to make sure that I didn’t really kill her. I had to see if what I remembered was true.”

Sirius nodded in understanding. He truly did understand Pandora and her illness; what it made her do. The ashamed look on her face was enough to verify his thinking that she did not kill Dr. Podmore.

“They found your prints on the knife at the scene of Dr. Podmore.”

“I didn’t kill him.” Pandora’s eyes were wide as she looked up at Sirius. “I swear. I was there, but I didn’t kill him.”

“Do you remember who did?” She was his only option. This could be the very conversation that made a break in The Artist case.

“I’m not sure, his face was unrecognizable. He was tall, brownish hair, thin but strong…” Pandora curled in on herself. “He saw me in the doorway, handed me the knife, and left. I wouldn’t be able to recognize him now.”

“It’s okay…That’s okay.” Sirius sighed; he would be lying if he said he wasn’t disappointed. He knew it wasn’t Pandora’s fault, but he was hoping she would have something. “Thank you for your help, Ms. Wesia. I’ll try to find this guy, and in the meantime, focus on your recovery. I hope you get well soon.”

Pandora gave him a small smile as he stood up to leave, opening the door and going to stand next to James. He gave Sirius a questioning look from where he sat in his chair.

“Nothing.” Sirius shook his head, his shoulders slumping forward. “She said she didn’t kill the doctor, that there was someone else there; but she couldn’t describe his face.”

“Will she ever remember?”

“Hypothetically she could regain previous memory loss caused by trauma, in this instance of recounting a face, it’s a little blurrier edged.”

“What does that mean?” Sirius stood in front of Remus, watching the man speak as he sorted through his notebooks. James had dropped Sirius off at Remus’ office to talk about Pandora before getting called into work by Dumbledore.

“The face may slowly appear more normal in her memories, or it will stay the same until she comes into contact with that person again, allowing an actual visual to change the memory.” He flipped through a notebook, setting it off to the side. “There’s not much research on the illness.”

“So, we have nothing.” Sirius fell back into his chair, throwing his head back and staring up at the high ceiling. “Albus still doesn’t believe me when I say that it’s The Artist. He doesn't understand why he would get messed up in a case such as this.”

Remus looked up at that, his eyes scanning over Sirius’ form before speaking. “And why do you think he would?”

“It’s not so much the case, more so the fact that he’s playing a game with me.”

“A game?” Remus sounded intrigued, finally ditching his notebooks to come sit with Sirius.

“Finally caught your attention, have I?” Sirius nodded towards Remus’ unusually messy desk, littered with old drawings and books.

“You always have my attention.” Sirius felt his face heat at the statement, quickly turning away from the alluring man.

“He knows that I’m starting to truly understand him.” Sirius ignored the flirty comment, quickly changing the subject. “Everything he does is just out of pure curiosity. He gets nothing out of these copycat kills except for the satisfaction that he won’t be caught. And that’s where the game comes in. He knows I’m willing to play. He’s getting bold, pushing all the buttons, just to see what I’ll do.”

“He’s curious to see what will happen.” Remus agreed, leaning forward in his seat. “How far do you think he will go to get your attention?”

“As far as he needs to.”

Sirius opened his front door, Snuffles bounding out behind him, eager to run throughout the yard. Sirius watched the dog with a content smile, watching as he jumped around in the grass. He moved to sit down in one of the lawn chairs but paused, his eyes catching on a brown box next to the front door.

Sirius very seldomly got deliveries. He didn’t really shop online, and he had no friends or family that would ever send him a letter or gift through the mail. The box was light when he picked it up, something audibly sliding around inside. The tape was thin, allowing him to cut it open with the edge of his nail and pull the box open.

“What the fuck.” Sirius mumbled to himself as he stared at the box's contents. Encased in cardboard was the very knife used to cut out Dr. Podmore’s eyes, the knife given to him by Regulus. Dried blood still coated the handle and blade, standing out against the shiny silver.

It was a gift, Sirius knew that. An apology from The Artist for stealing his belongings and having it taken away to the evidence room where he probably would’ve never seen it again. It was heartwarming in a way, and for a good while, Sirius contemplated on whether or not he should turn it into Dumbledore. He had missed the knife, the comforting reminder that it sat in his bedside drawer unharmed. Having it back, it felt like a weight was lifted off his shoulders, and he was grateful. Grateful that the killer had brought it back, had tried to right his wrongs.

He couldn’t give it back. It would sit in its rightful place, and no one would ever know about it. He couldn’t give up the last piece of his brother and now, The Artist. This was a personal gift and Sirius almost smiled at the thought that this killer had thought of him, and in some way, wanted to help him.

Before he went to sleep that night, he stuck the knife in his bedside drawer, blood and all. No one had to know about it.