Author's foreword: I wrote this with the intent of creating Rankofiction that I could stand reading. I'm honestly not sure if I've succeeded in that endeavor, but I did learn a lot about the process and why people who write Rankofics think the way they do.
Disclaimer: I don't own Ranma 1/2
She met her at a platform's edge, beneath the muffled buzz of relentless summer rain. Ranma, damp paper bag wedged forgotten under one arm, stared wide-eyed and frozen at the woman. Her mind ran through a dozen bizarre-yet-all-too-likely scenarios form ghosts to mirror clones, none of which helped her get a clue in the least.
The woman was in her mid-twenties and possessed mature features that separated a teenage girl from a true woman. However, despite her bountiful curves, or the sodden, yellow sundress that preserved very little modesty, Ranma couldn't feel her blood warming. Instead of a beautiful woman who had tried unsuccessfully to take shelter from the rain, what stood before her was more a living corpse.
Pale skin and white lips, which at some point may have held the rosiness of life, only served as a macabre complement to those dull, soulless eyes. On anyone else, Ranma may have been slightly concerned, and then forgotten the incident without a preamble --other people's troubles were no concern of hers, after all-- but the face she was looking at, the face that seemed like the embodiment of death itself, was almost exactly like an older version of her own.
Ranma opened her mouth, trying to ask the questions that had formed in her mind. Who was this woman? What had broken her spirit? Where had she come from? Sadly, the questions had raced out all at once, crashing into each other and pilling up in her throat, breaking apart into stuttered heaps.
A small light lit in the woman's eyes, and, as though seeing Ranma for the first time, she smiled. It was a smile so absolutely empty that it sent a hollow chill right through to the bone. Wheels baring the weight of steel and passengers approached steadily, like rolling urban thunder. Ranma, giving up on talking, began to reach out.
Then the woman took one step forward.
123123
Draw the Curtain:
Prologue
By
ToastedPine
123123
Another tiny monolith was stood on its end, its surface reflecting the light radiating from fluorescent tubes above. One more followed the previous, completing a new segment in the winding pattern of rows that filled the floor of the slowly decaying office. Beside leather-bound volumes of the Adventures of Detective Kudo, over ramps made of playing cards, the standing tiles ran in lines. They continued past framed pictures of young men and women in blue uniform, their ranks blind to proud smiles, unblinking to tenderly clutched parchments, unmindful of all save their common end by a black-lacquered rotary phone.
Narutaki Shinichi straightened from his hunch and examined his work. It had taken most of the day, but he was done: a ten-to-one likeness of his badge rendered in domino. Some would say that the activity was an enormous waste of time, and they would probably be right. On the other hand, his father had taught him that domino laying was also an exercise in ingenuity, control, and most important, patience.
He'd been freshly raised, only a year out of the academy, onto the cushy mantle of Inspector. Shinichi had no illusions as to the cause-- no one could advance so quickly. A few of the brass were attempting to ingratiate themselves to his commissioner father. And if giving him almost nothing to do wasn't enough indication that he was to sit pretty, the fact that he had been left in this old building while the rest of police headquarters had been relocated was a neon sign slammed to his head. Running a finger over the domino's black bumps, Shinichi tried to suppress yet another bubble of irritation from rising. This waiting would end, it had to. All he needed was a single tiny nudge, a careless gesture that would send him on his way to earning his promotion and the respect of his peers.
Shinichi snatched the phone from its cradle as soon as it rang, the domino pocketed reflexively.
"Narutaki speaking." He listened, grip tightening on the black handle. "Attempted suicide? An actress… I see. Where?"
Shinichi opened his desk drawer and pulled out a pen and pad. "Omotesando Station… ask for Officer Imahara. Phone number…. Got it, thank you."
Stuffing the note in his pocket, he snatched the tan jacket that was hanging off a hook by the door and went to find the wheezing rust-bucket that was his patrol car.
An actress had thrown herself in front of a train and an investigator needed to be on the scene to make sure there was no foul play involved. To his superiors, Shinichi's true function was to keep rumor from spreading, which involved having a stern word with all the witnesses about keeping their silence. It was a job that would have him playing 'good cop bad cop' all day, something he enjoyed about as much as cleaning toilets.
Naturally, he could decline being damage control, but then all he really needed was one tiny nudge-- just one.
123123
When Shinichi arrived at Omotesando station, the trains had already been rerouted and guards placed at the entrances to divert foot traffic. He stood on the tracks, looking at a patch of packed earth and stone that lay beneath the track. Even in the thoroughly soaked earth from the seemingly relentless summer rain, he could see the darker spots clearly; the actress had lost quite a bit of blood.
He would learn nothing from visiting the scene, but he thought he should anyways. Clapping his hands together, he bowed his head and prayed. Murasaki Sayaka, age 24, was an up-and-coming actress of period films and daytime soaps. From the debriefing he had conducted when he arrived, it was a fairly straight-forward suicide attempt. The paramedics had arrived in time thanks to the quick actions of a civilian, though oddly enough, he hadn't heard a word about the identity of the actress's savior.
No motive had yet been discovered. By all indications, the actress's personal life and career were going well. The pattern wasn't unheard of, however; success could supposedly come with hidden pressures. Shinichi didn't care much for such excuses. If they couldn't deal with success, they should have quit. Making a scene like this would was good for no one except the tabloids. Still, he prayed that the actress would find peace and wake from her coma a better person.
"Inspector Narutaki!" A short man in his early twenties trotted over, puffing from exertion.
"Officer Imahara?" Shinichi said matching the voice he had heard on the phone. The officer nodded once in affirmative. "What's the hurry?" he asked, wanting to put off his duties for as long as possible.
"They've finished gathering and prescreening everyone's identity at the security station. Nothing out of the ordinary, except for," the officer hesitated. "We wanted to make sure that there was an actual relation before we told you, but she's refusing to cooperate. She's the one who saved Ms. Murasaki and..." Imahara shook his head "You'll just have to see it to believe it."
Shinichi wondered what the commotion was about. A mysterious savior was something right out of a detective novel, but life rarely worked out to be that exciting. Well, Imahara was traffic division-- an incident like this was probably a big deal to him.
123123
Shinichi rubbed his palms together them pressed them over his eyes-- the warmth seeped through his eyelids, soothing some of the sting. It had been grueling, sitting on a rickety stool for the past three hours, talking to nearly thirty witnesses, and making sure they understood that not a word could be said before the police were ready with a formal statement. Part of his difficulties came from how nosey people were. His mouth had gone dry from repeating that they weren't entitled to any information on the person they had seen jump in front of the train. Most of the people he spoke to were years or decades his senior, which made it hard for him to put his foot down. The badge helped surprisingly little in that regard.
Putting hands against the small table that matched the stools, Shinichi levered himself into standing. He wished that they had more they had more comfortable chairs, or at least some cubicle walls that didn't smell of pressed plastic and heated styrofoam. Rubbing his shoulder and rotating his arm, he stepped out of the cubicle to address the man waiting just outside.
"Bring her in, Officer." Imahara had been assigned as his aid, though from personal choice or being ordered to do so, Shinichi did not know. Honestly, he felt a little bad ordering the man about: fetching files, serving tea, and sending for food. On the other hand, this was the first time running that show instead of being an assistant so he was a little too tired to care. He would have been even more worn out had he been left to his own devices.
Shinichi had left the mysterious savior for last in the hopes that he would uncover something from the other accounts. He turned up nothing, but it was a good habit nonetheless.
Soon, the mystery savior came to view, escorted by Imahara.
The shorter man was right when he said he had to see her himself. She was small, even for a Japanese woman, but with a chest size that rivaled the best he'd seen. Not that he was paying attention to such things, he reminded himself as he focused on her face.
The color of her eyes and her reddish hair was different, but the cheekbones, eye shape, nose length, and lips matched: she could have been a younger version of Murasaki Sayaka. Belatedly, he realized that she was none too happy to see him-- her arms crossed over her chest as if she had caught him looking. Shinichi had the decency to blush, but he pretended not to notice.
Clearing his throat he greeted her and held out his hand. "Hi, I'm Inspector Narutaki."
Instead of accepting his greeting, she went ahead and plopped onto a ready stool. Narutaki hid his grimace and took his own seat.
"You were very brave and thought quickly," he opened. "Ms. Murasaki owes you her life." Ms. Murasaki's status was strictly confidential. He would have preferred not telling her anything, but she looked tough and he needed to soften her by throwing out something.
For a second, he thought he saw pride flash in the woman's eyes, but then her shoulders drooped and she gripped the edge of the table as if she needed it to keep from sinking to the floor. He blinked. He hadn't expected that piece of information to work so well. Did she have genuine concern for the actress? It was difficult not to jump to conclusions. What were the chances that Ms Murasaki would choose to commit suicide at a station near her studio, and just happen to be saved by a woman who could have been her double?
"Owes me her life? Is... is she okay?"
Shinichi nearly flinched at the concern in her voice, but he did have a job to do. "I'm sorry, I can't release that information to just anyone. Do you happen to know her? If you'd just give us your name and contact number, I could arrange for some communication."
Ranko narrowed her eyes at him. Shinichi swallowed. He really needed to work on his interrogation skills. "First time I've ever seen her in my life," she said. "And it's fine, I'm no one. Happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time is all. Are we done here?"
She's 'no one?' Did that imply she wasn't important or that she didn't want anyone to know who she was? If not, then why? He didn't like secrets. A small part of him asked why he was trying so hard. Technically, she hadn't done anything wrong. He had no basis to hold her at the station. He was also willing to bet his badge that this redhead wasn't the type who could cause Ms. Murasaki to attempt a suicide. So why couldn't he let her go and get back to his waiting game?
"At least let us have your name," he paused. It would be a gamble but he'd take responsibility for it later if it ever came to that. "Ms. Murasaki is being held at Keio University Hospital-- IC ward. The last I heard was that she's in a coma. But I think she'd want to know who saved her when she wakes. I don't see why an upstanding citizen such as yourself would decline."
The woman, who was about to leave, sat back down. She appraised him for a few moments, sharp blue eyes weighing.
"I didn't do nothin' to no one," Ranko snapped. "The name's Ranko, try not to wear it out."
Shinichi's irritation flared. Inspector or not, he was still police and a civilian had no right to talk to him that way. He forced himself to calm. Three of the witnesses had been able to identify Ms. Murasaki and had commented on how they weren't aware of the actress having any living relatives. He'd have to check the family's registry.
A panicked cry rang from beyond the cubicle walls. It was Imahara.
"Sir, you can't go in there! This is an official police investigation!" Imahara came into view at the cubicle's opening, trying prevent the man from walking in on the interrogation. Tall and slim, the new arrival wouldn't have looked out of place as the leading man in a women's television drama. Long arms easily swept the short officer aside like a dry leaf on a walkway.
"My apologies, but any further questions will have to go through me," the man said in smooth baritone.
He turned his head towards Ranko and knelt by her quickly that his unbuttoned raincoat fluttered like a cape as it settled to the ground. "Are you alright?" he asked, cupping her hands in his.
Shinichi couldn't see the man's eyes, which were hidden behind darkly tinted half-framed glasses. On the other hand, Ranko was an open book, goggling like some air-headed groupie. He hadn't figured her for the type, but that was what he saw.
Imahara, who had been pushed aside, bowed repeatedly in apology. Shinichi nodded to reassure the officer that he was not at fault.
Shinichi loudly cleared his throat. "Who are you, and what gives you the right to barge in like this?"
The man dusted off his pants, and pulled himself up, his deliberately slow manner seeming to communicate superiority. Shinichi quickly shoved his hands into his pockets.
The tall man gave an apologetic smile which didn't soften the cool condescension held in his eyes one bit. "Where are my manners," he handed the Inspector a plain business card.
"Kogino Jin. I am Miss Murasaki Sayaka's agent. No doubt you've been having trouble getting the answers you wish from this young lady. It's a little complicated so please allow me to answer any and all questions you may have."
Shinichi switched from looking at the pretty-boy to Ranko. What would Ms. Murasaki's agent have to do with this girl? Unless….
"I take it she's a relative?" he said.
"Yes. She is."
Shinichi cursed internally. Ranko had lied. What was she? A sister? Maybe a cousin?
"Waita min--!" Ranko started.
"You will choose to keep your peace," Kogino said with an edge that could have been used to cut stone.
Surprisingly, the redhead complied. What had Ranko wanted to say? Something didn't feel right to him. He just couldn't put his finger on what.
The agent swept a hand over his long, raven hair that was pulled back into a ponytail that dangled over his raincoat. Bringing up his right arm, he glanced at his watch. "I'm sorry, Inpector, my schedule is very tight. We really do have to go," he said, offering Ranko his hand. She ignored it and stood on her own.
"Our lawyer, Mr. Kawamura, will be by shortly to clear up the release procedures. If you have any more questions for Miss Murasaki, we'd be more than willing to set a date through him."
'Setting a date' was Kogino Jin's way of saying that his investigation was about to be blocked. Shinichi couldn't keep the heat from his voice when he said, "How gracious of you, I'll be sure to take advantage of that offer."
Kogino Jin strode away without hesitation, completely confident that Shinichi would not hinder their departure. Ranko, for all the fire she had demonstrated earlier, followed like a lost puppy.
Taking a seat, Shinichi took the domino out of his pocket while replaying as much of the interview as he could in his head. Kogino Jin and Ranko were not on the same page. More than that, Ranko was being forced into silence. Kogino Jin had a hold on her and Shinichi suspected that the same applied to Murasaki Sayaka-- a hold so strong that it may have been nearly fatal.
Shinichi vowed that he would get to the bottom of it.
Author's Notes:
Omotesando Station is not the same one as in reality. The one I've used in this story is above ground as opposed to a subway.
Thanks to my main prereaders Fallacy and Yasuhei.
A special thanks to all the people at the Fukufics and TFF forums who've spent effort of giving me constructive criticisms and corrections. This fic wouldn't be even half the quality it is now without them. I promise I'll keep better track of names for chapter 2.
contributors: Tari F (corrections)
