AUTHOR'S NOTE: Be aware that there are descriptive horror/torture scenes throughout this story, though I will try to warn you through each chapter. Chapter 1 starts out with one of those scenes. The story is rate M because of these scenes as well as language & suggestive themes perhaps sexual themes, too, depending on what your definition of it is exactly. ...And, if anyone really cares, the story was somewhat inspired by one of my favorite bands, Tokio Hotel, with their song (you guessed it) 'Rescue Me.'...And I don't know how hospitals, home schooling, or any of that stuff works exactly so it may not be exactly correct. ...Flame me if you wish cuz I'm sure that will happen...Well, if I like your flame letter enough, I just might show it off on my profile. :D Think I'm kidding?...Also, no offense whatsoever to Germans; his name was all I could think of & old guys are crazy anyway, no matter where they come from. lol

Disclaimer: I don't own Blood+. duh. If I did, I wouldn't be living in such a small house in the US. ;p


"Riku!" Saya screamed at the top of her lungs, her arms reaching at their furthest length as she ran as quickly as her body would allow. Still, however, her body didn't seem to move. The more she tried to run and grab his hand in hopes of freeing him from the torture he was enduring, the more stuck she felt. The darkness of a new moon's night became a pit of quicksand pulling her deeper and deeper into it until she was drowned within it, asphyxiating her.

Nevertheless, Saya continued the struggle, fighting against the shadows, her mind set on nothing but freeing him from the grip of the blonde, devilish bitch she had come to know as Diva. Diva had had stabbed him through his stomach with a katana, pinning him to the trunk of a tree, making him writhe in pain. In his slow death, she was digging her nails into his arms and face, bringing long, deep gashes. At other times, she would bite him, then scrape her fangs down his flesh, also creating scarring wounds.

"Help him, sister," Diva suddenly hissed, facing Saya directly now.


Saya's eyes rushed open, but she didn't bolt up as she used to; she was too weak now. Instead, she simply leaned over the side of the bed, succumbing to the wave of nausea that flooded over her and vomited. The smell of pure stomach acid sent another wave of nausea over her, forcing her to puke again. This time, she was able to brace herself against the stench, resisting another round of queasiness.

Similar instances had occurred for nearly three months now, ever since a few weeks after leaving the hospital. They'd started out sweet dreams of random people that she didn't understand but enjoyed them regardless. Then, after a few peaceful weeks, she grew ill, more weak than anything, and the kind people from the dreams became victims of the evil in her nightmares.

Saya had tried to make sense of it all, even attempting to form a story. Sadly, it was all so random or incomprehensible that it was impossible to do so.

She had visited the hospital a week or so ago about it all but found no answers.


"It's not surprising," the doctor reasoned. "Your brain wants to remember what it's forgotten but can't, therefore creating people and scenarios in hopes of remembering or at least triggering something, anything to make up for the lack of a past. Then, your subconscious imagination took over, bringing up questions you may not hear but your brain does. In your case, you brain may believe that there's a specific reason for the lack of memories. For example, that little imagination may believe that perhaps you're not suppose to remember."

This got Saya's attention, almost causing her to miss the last of what he was saying.

"However, it's mostly likely that there's a deep subconscious fear of finding what you've forgotten. For one thing, you went through a serious car wreck, traumatizing you. People tend to block bad memories like that. In your case, not only were you able to forget the accident but everything before it as well."


Saya sighed, sliding off the bed until she found the floor. She took the trash can of puke into the bathroom, avoiding even a glance at its contents as she poured it into the toilette, flushing away the foul liquid. Then she placed the trash can in the shower, rinsing it with water until she felt it was clean enough to return to her bedside in case of another such instance.

Afterwards, she sat on the wide windowsill that had her in view of nothing but a forest and sky. Saya looked to the half moon, an almost overwhelming emotion slightly rising in her. Loneliness, she knew, as she recalled a few months ago, the day her life began as far as she could remember.


"About to check out?" the doctor inquired kindly as he stopped just inside the doorway.

"Yes, sir," Saya had replied, walking over to him.

"Alright, then," he smiled. "Just go down the hall to your left. The ladies behind the counter will help you."

"Thank you," Saya answered back, suddenly thinking of something as the doctor turned to leave. "Wait."

"Yes?"

"Where is the information I need?" she asked. "You know, like how to get home and everything?"

"I can give you the information in front of me, but everything else will be printed for you."

"Please."

The doctor looked at the papers on his clipboard, the very papers supplied by an unnamed face.

"Saya Rakishi," he began, taking in a deep breath.

"I know my name," she grinned.

"Alright, then," the doctor chuckled. "You were born on December 15, 1992, making you sixteen, in Kyoto, Japan. You moved to the United States in 1994. Your legal guardian is your uncle, Kono Ichimaki. The reason you've spent the last six months in the hospital is due to a serious car wreck. Though, as you know, three months of those six were spent to rehabilitate you and make sure you're alright. However, your amnesia obviously hasn't gone away, but I'm sure you'll remember everything soon enough."

"Right," Saya nodded, wishing she hadn't asked since everything he said was everything they'd gone through in her months of rehabilitation. "Thank you."

She then headed down the hospital, going where she had been directed to. The secretary smiled, knowing exactly who she was. Then the secretary had one of the nurses help Saya.

"Good day," Ms. Campbell, the nurse, grinned, helping Saya into the wheelchair when the paperwork was done.

"Good day," she replied, an almost edge in her voice.

They made it to the elevator, and Saya began quickly asking questions.

"So what happens when I walk out?" she questioned. "Is someone coming to get me or what?"

"A cab was arranged to meet you at the entrance from what I understand."

"When do I get the bill?" After all, Saya wasn't told that she had a job, and she obviously wouldn't know it on her own.

"Already taken care of."

"What?" Saya responded, pleasantly surprised. "Do I have insurance or something?"

"Special policy," was all Ms. Campbell, now tense, had said before helping her out of the wheelchair. "Good bye, now."

"Good bye."

Saya then saw the cab, a middle aged, fairly short but nicely built man standing beside it, a paper with her name scribbled on it in his hands. She walked to him, a polite smile on her lips.

"I assume you're waiting for me?"

"Only if you're… this girl," he replied, returning the smile; he obviously couldn't pronounce her name.


She looked at the drawer beside her bed; in it were the few documents she had received that day. Everything about her parents' fatal car wreck, birth certificate, hospital records from a broken arm she once had, immigration papers, and everything else were placed between the covers of a manila folder.

Nevertheless, the manager of the store she now worked for had accepted it. The manager was kind, giving her the job without a second thought. Still, Saya sensed the manager's concern when she explained that there was no way to contact her uncle. The only phone number given from the hospital was no longer in service and no addresses were given.

That reminded Saya of the letter she'd found her first night in the house:

Sorry I couldn't meet you. I've been on a business trip for the past eight months. I was able to come back for a few days about five months ago, but you were still in a coma, and I had no choice but to return to my travels. I'll be home by the end of June, though. I promise.

She'd read it over innumerable times, hoping to remember something, anything, but she was terribly disappointed. She cursed the professional, impersonal atmosphere of the house. There were no photographs anywhere in the house, just a few art pieces hanging on the walls around the house. Her bedroom was the only room upstairs if you counted the bathroom as part of her room, and it was so bare, containing only a bed, dresser, nightstand, mirror, and a computer, as well as her recent friend: the trash can. It was all so frustrating.

All she could was wait, though. Besides, May was coming soon as the drizzly final days of April were moving out.