Doctors and Detectives

Chapter Ten

The scent of fried bacon filled my nostrils as I prepare breakfast--since he wasn't around and nowhere to find. He didn't leave any single note or woke me up while I was sleeping.

As I finish setting the table, I eye the door that leads to the outside. I always wonder where he brought me and how I would be able to find a way back to the city.

I stood behind the door, hesitating to open it or not. I grab the knob, my hand shaking in the thought of him catching me as I try to escape this place. The cold knob made me shiver and feel more nervous.

I let go of the knob when I heard a set of keys clinking from the outside.

Frozen as I stood, I didn't know what to do when Patrick found me stand behind it. He doesn't say anything as he locks it again and keeps the key in his bag.

"I-I prepared breakfast." I said nervously.

"How long are you planning to stand there?" He murmured.

"I...uh...wondered where I am...exact place."

His lips twitch a little and he leapt back to the door and unlocked it.

"See for yourself." He said, pointing to the outside. As I gaze on the window, I couldn't see anything but a calming body of water and sand.

He brought me to a place where I am uncapable of escaping.

"Another thing is that we're in a private island." He murmured in my ear as it sent shivers down my spine. He closed the door, leading me to the dining table.

The thought of being alone with him didn't mar my appetite for the food. I just start to eat.

"Do you cook really that much?" He suddenly asked, interrupting my thoughts.

"Just stir-fry, and some fried stuff. Why'd you ask?"

"Well, I need you to cook because we have visitors on...let's say, Saturday night?"

"Okay. What dish do you want for me to cook?"

"Anything that you can," he mumbled.

I nod at him and took a bacon in my mouth.

"I have no any intentions of hurting you, Inspector." I look at him.

"You are confusing me." I said. "Once you'll inject me with something, then tell me that you have no intentions of hurting me."

"I made my mind up." He murmured, taking my hand and placing it on his lips. "...because I want you to do something that that stupid inspector couldn't."

"What?"

"Wait until Saturday." He murmured.

"What are you planning?"

"Just you wait." He says darkly. "Finish your breakfast."

I do as I'm told for I do not know what's waiting if I didn't.

-----

When I was preparing for lunch, I couldn't help but think for his plans on Saturday night. I don't know, but I do not feel good about it.

While I was chopping, my finger got wounded. I press it so it'll bleed and popped it in my mouth.

"I have adhesive bandages." Patrick suddenly said, surprising me. He tugs my hand and brings it to the sink, thoroughly washing the bleeding wound.

I watch him as he does it with extra care. This brings me back to the very first day he brought me here.

"I can take care of you."

"I-I can do the adhesive..." I trail off, lost for words; taking my hand away.

He tilts his head to a side looking at me as he took my hand once again.

"Let me do it." He murmurs. "I'm a doctor after all." After wrapping the adhesive bandage around, he brings it to his lips and planted a kiss on it.

We stare at each other for a couple of seconds until the scent of something burning fills my nostrils.

"My pan!" I panickedly said, rushing to the stove. I heard him chuckle. I sauté the garlic and onions.

"What else are you going to do?" He asks.

"Um...I was about to finish those bell peppers."

"Can I?"

"Sure." I put the fire on low as I add the chicken on it. As I let it simmer for a little while, I found him still perplexed on chopping the bell pepper.

"Patrick?"

"I...don't know how to do this." He whispered. I smile at him. "How do you do it?"

"Here," I said, taking the chopping board from him. "You have got to slice it in half, lengthwise, so you can scrape the seeds off." I scrape the seeds off and started to chop it diagonally. "...and slice it like this."

"You do remind me of my wife." He said sadly.

"I'm sorry about whatever happened."  And then, I found him clenching his fist as he gazes at a trance.

"It's not your fault, Y/N." He said, heaving a deep sigh and relaxing.

"The chicken!" I shriek as I come back to the stove and sauté it once again.

-----

Patrick is grieving on the death of his wife. When was that case? I couldn't remember. Nobody brings it up in the bureau and I don't get it why.

I watch as his face lightens up in delight, taking another spoonful of the stir fry that I made.

"Do you like it?" I start.

"I don't like it. I love it!" He says like a kid, leaps from his seat and takes the bowl, placing amounts on the side of his plate.

Patrick makes the figures; but what is the connection between him and the first three detectives that disappeared and turned into his masterpieces?

I don't have any idea about them; they were already missing when I came in the bureau.

Since I don't want to sour his mood, I keep my questions to myself. Patrick was surely this happy when he was living with his wife.

Before I jump into conclusions, I have to run a background check to those who were involved in the incident.

And stitch everything to make sense.