Smiles.
For Monica. Leon. And D.
She had died.
Monica had died. D stared at the flames from the plane. Leon was behind him now…
D turned back. He saw the crisom red of the flames reflected on Leon's pale face now. His lips were open a bit. Looking at D, looking with those deep blue eyes, Leon was waiting for an answer…
And D smiled.
They turned back to the pet shop at the dead of night. The crisom red of the flames still haunted on Leon's eyes now.
And all D did was to smile.
The detective seemed to try to open his moth and say something, maybe more exactly, curse something. D was well aware that, this "something" was nothing but himself.
"She died." Leon repeated. His eyes still wandered somewhere on the air. He could not believe in D's smile.
D nodded. That was the last straw for Leon. The detective's face became violet with rage and disgust. He raised his hand as if he wanted to hit the count. But Leon didn't. Instead of that, he slammed the door. And went away. D knew in his heart, Leon was cursing him to hell now.
Monica had died. This innocent girl with no guilt but love had to die. And D did nothing but smile.
And D did nothing but smile.
It was nearly midnight, now. The young master of the pet shop sat alone beside the bed. The cake Monica had brought still floated in his mind. Strange. He did not understand why he was smiling now. But he kept on smiling.
No doubt that Leon could be that angry. That he could leave without saying that he would come back.
Stupid. This detective was stupid. D repeated that sentence again and again. So stupid that he could not see what was going on in D's mind.
Why did he still smile now?
The human was not guilty for not understand D. D knew it. He did not want to be understood. He did not need to be loved, at least, by human beings. On thinking of that, again, he smiled.
It was not Monica's guilt that she had not known and, so on, kept on a desperate search. Yet she had not searched for him at all. She had been searching for a ghost. Nothing but a ghost! Another count D, it was him, but not him. What she looked for was an illusion from the past. The real count D before him was nothing more than an illusion of the past…
I am just no difference from them, to her.
But it was not her fault, not her fault at all. Not her fault that he was so cold and distant. Not her fault that he could not understand love. Not her fault that his soul was trapped, was trapped and imprisoned forever in this hatred for human beings…
D drank his cold tea.
Would Leon ever come back?
And he did nothing but smile…
Would Leon ever come back? Even though Leon would, D knew soon that he had to leave. Christ had to leave, as well…They ways would soon be separated. Memories would be forgotten. And Leon could never understand what D was really thinking. The Chinese man did not bother to let his feeling showed.
Really?
The count stood up and looked at the moon hanging outside, like a silver dishes floating on Chinatown. The night wind made him shiver a bit. Time had come. He would have to leave…The way was long. Even to an immortal being.
He wanted to deny, but he would remember them. His detective. His Christ. Hold on a minute. Were they ever "his" at all?
And he could do nothing but smile. He was able to do nothing but smile. He could not reach out for them, never. They just like passengers, meeting by chance on the same train. The station was coming. And they had to say goodbye.
With a sign, the Count looked at the image of himself in the mirror.
If I disappear one day…
…would anybody go to find me just because they want to meet me?