Leavitt Stafford and the Awful, Terrible, Not Very Nice Plan.

Chapter the Thirty-Fourth: Insanity

The night Leavitt had returned from the greatest misdeed of his life, clad in the attire of his late employer, Marjorie had been absent from the household. Oh, the relief Leavitt had felt!

Leavitt had accoutred himself in an outfit as similar to that which had been tainted in blood, as possible. The bloodied outfit in question had now been firmly bundled, tied, and cast into a river. He had hoped dearly that nobody would encounter the bloodied garments, and he had hoped that Marjorie would neither notice the slight differences in his outfit nor the stolen outfit which he had buried in his wardrobe. Most of all, however, he feared that the police may at last catch wind of his misdeeds. He did wish to battle the gods at last, though, despite his demise bringing him closer to the gods, he feared the pain of death, and he feared the hatred all upon the mortal realm would show towards him once he had passed. Despite his dreadful behaviour, all he truly wished for was to be loved, and to not suffer.

He could not die yet.

He must continue to live.

Once Marjorie had returned, Leavitt had remained in his tumultuous room, remaining as quiet as he would, should another fellow such as himself search for his next victim. He did not wish to encounter Marjorie and face uncomfortable, and potentially perilous, questions. That was a matter for tomorrow, and so he remained silent in his room until he heard Marjorie no more, which was a rather extensive wait which may have been in excess of two hours, for Marjorie appeared to be engaging in quite the thorough spot of cleaning. Once she had remained silent for quite some time, however, he gently placed his clothing upon the floor, extricated his nightgown from his disarranged wardrobe, and engaged in a silent dance with the gown until he had clothed himself in it. Afterwards, he crept across the landing and towards the bathroom and attempted to silently brush his teeth, which was a rather lengthy affair, before making the effort to use the lavatory as quietly as possible.

By the time Leavitt had placed his bedsheets over himself, his nerves were fraying like an elderly rope; the foolishness of his actions had begun to trouble him very much indeed. How could he possibly have thought that the police would believe that Rupert had committed suicide, given the sheer volume of gore? And, due to his former post as his surgeon, he may very well be the prime suspect from the beginning of the investigation. Should those he had displeased throughout his lifetime be drawn into the investigation, he might as well be dead regardless! As visions of the noose raced through his mind, he began to tremble, and, despite having not eaten a thing since the morning, the fear made him feel as though he would shortly be rid of a hearty meal!

Returning to the morning after the unspeakable crimes, Leavitt sported the most ghastly shadows beneath his eyes. But, as he emerged from his bedroom, he knew he could not continue to avoid Marjorie. He could not hide in his bedroom forever.

"I apologise for my lateness last night," Leavitt told Marjorie, his voice sounding as though he had passed away three days before and been reanimated. "Rupert and I had quite the discussion..."

Marjorie knew that this was not the case. For heaven's sake, when had the man last told the truth? What could have happened this time? Had a murder gone awry? "You seem tired," she sighed, feigning concern. "Are there unfortunate tidings?"

Leavitt began to tremble once more. "He informed me that my work had become dreadful. He fulminated for hours. He made me feel as though I was the most useless man to have ever been born, and by the end of it all, he demanded that I neither approach the surgery nor speak to him again." He mustered the most profound appearance of anguish, part of which was indeed real, and continued: "Oh, Marjorie. What shall I do? How shall I obtain employment now? How shall I pay you? How shall I feed myself? How shall I continue to pay my mortgage? I shall be cast upon the streets!"