DETECTIVE CONAN: A MEMORY TRAPPED IN A PILL
"Do you think you did the right thing?"
Silence reigned as a small, closed fist tensely shook.
Ran Mouri was, in a word, amazing. An outstanding karate championess, she conquered every single tournament she had been tossed into, never letting a useless thing such as fear of loss plague her mind.
And then she lost him.
That was when her karate days ended…along with her happy days.
She'd noticed the signs.
After Agasa's death, Conan had become much more jaded and serious, speaking formally and much too old for someone of his age. He'd disrespect his elders, insult friends (who knows how many tears Ayumi had cried the day he spat out a foul comment right at her face), and refuse to do anything progressive with his life.
Ran understood. A family member Conan loved had died, of what seemed to be murder.
"...traces of cyanide on his mouth," the doctor said, mirthlessly.
"I see," Inspector Megure stated. "Any traces of DNA?"
"...None. The killer must have been wearing gloves of some kind."
"Damn," Megure swore, his sorrow intensifying as he caught a glance at Conan's rather melancholic state of being.
He sat, not upright, but slouched, near to the point of back pain. His eyes were lifeless, the color completely drained from them, and his fingers were twitching spastically, almost like he'd wanted to grip something into them.
"Conan..." Ran said, wrapping her arm around the boy in a form of comfort.
He must have been feeling guilty to the point of self-hatred. He wasn't there to help Agasa. He was out with his friends, with Haibara, who looked equally upset.
This must be destroying him, she thought.
"I'll kill them all..."
Ran's eyes widened at the sound of the boy's now-stern voice.
"I'll kill them all..."
After the boy's death, her father, the self-proclaimed Great Detective Mouri Kogoro, dwindled himself further down into alcoholism, even more so than he already had. Even he was affected by the brat's death, no matter how many times he forced himself to say he wasn't.
His ex-wife couldn't assuage him from his endless wallowing in self-pity and self-deprecation. He barely ate, showered, or even slept. All he did was drink. And drink. And drink.
And his daughter had enough of it.
"At least clean up," she said, refusing to address him as 'father.'
He gave a groan as a weak response, as he sat in his withered old chair, slouching ever so lazily.
With an exasperated sigh, Ran grabbed a massive plastic bag. She then began gathering all the empty and dented cans of beer, the unfinished instant ramen she had bought with her own money, and the scattered papers dirtied with coffee stains and the smell of alcohol.
The stench got stronger each time she drew closer to the ingrate. Nevertheless, she persevered. Conan wouldn't want to see her face marred by anger towards her own father, would he?
She had put up with this foolish old man's antics for far too long. She believed that simply enduring it and holding out for hope would be enough for her to live through it. Besides, she still had Shinichi.
Or so she thought.
Ever since Conan's death, Shinichi hadn't called her once. In two years. She tried everything to get to him. Calling him back did nothing. His parents were even less help, for they didn't know the whereabouts of their own son, either. She remembered the last thing she said to them, like it was yesterday.
Who could forget such harsh words?
"He's your own son, and you don't know a thing about where he is!?" she yelled, her voice having risen to frighteningly high levels of rage.
What had begun as a call requesting for her childhood friend's help and consolation, what, with his detective skills and emotional maturity, had devolved into a loud, one-sidedly violent exchange of words.
"…No," his father, Yusaku, said, almost regrettably so, "I don't."
She had to pause for a second, maybe five. The tears clouding her eyes began to irritate her, even more so than she already had been by her childhood friend's irresponsibly bad parents.
"…Why…?" she seethed. "H-how could you not know that!?"
"Calm down, Ran," Yusaku demanded, sternly.
"Don't you tell me to calm down at a time like this!" she exclaimed. "The child I'd grown to love as a brother is dead! My father is drinking himself to death, and I don't know what to do! A-at least let me hear his voice! At least let me know if he's okay!"
"…Ran…"
Yusaku's voice warmed and softened at her pleas for answers.
"…Please…s-someone…" she whined, getting to her knees, and dropping the phone, "tell me…what do I do now…?"
Five seconds of pure silence followed. Ran began wiping her eyes from the tears that had begun to tread down from her cheek to the floor. Her eyes burned in the intense rubbing she'd given them, but she couldn't care less.
She whined and moaned as her slumped figure continued to sit piteously on the floor, the palms of her hands meeting the floor. Her fingernails, outletting some of the anger and despair she had felt for far too long, scraped against the surface of the once-unblemished floor.
All she wanted was an answer.
"…Live," Yusaku's caring, yet harsh voice rang out from the phone, jolting her. "For them."
The phone then hung up.
She was at a loss for words. She let her hands fall to the floor, to let the flow of tears continue…but they wouldn't. They stopped.
Almost shocked, she let out a small whine as her open, calloused, formerly smooth hands curled up into fists so tightly curled that her palms had begun to turn white.
Ran's eyes sharpened themselves. Not in anger, but in determination.
"Get up," she demanded, lightly kicking her father's drunken, sorrow-overcome shell of a man. "You look pitiful."
"…Shut up," he wheezed, straightening himself in his seat. "See how you like drinking for more than a week…"
"I don't even drink," she retorted, without humor, only contempt. "Eat."
She planted a bowl of ramen onto his desk, earning her a weakly arched eyebrow from her father as a response.
"Come on," she uttered, "I said, eat."
"…Feh. Fine," he said, his voice cracking as he began to pick up his chopsticks.
"Do you think you did the right thing?"
Silence reigned as a small, closed fist tensely shook.
"...Absolutely."
"Are you willing to let her go? To let everything go?" Haibara asked.
"Yes. Now, more than ever...I have to let her go."
"You're destroying them."
"...I know," the boy said, his voice cracking. "I know."
"At least give them some closure," Haibara stated. "You-"
"I can't. They think I'm dead. It should stay that way," the boy seethed. "I can't let them get into harm's way again. Agasa's death proved that...I can't let them get involved in any more of this."
"This will end badly," she asserted. "You know this."
"...I've known it since I took the apotoxin."
AUTHOR'S NOTES:
THIS STORY IS TERRIBLE!
Forgive me for writing this...I was just...spur of the moment thing, you know...?