Dragon Viscous
Author's Note: Based of "Crazy for This Girl" by Evan & Jaron. Not a songfic.
Disclaimer: Do any of you honestly think that I would own Detective Conan/Case Closed? If I did, I wouldn't be writing a Fanfic, now would I?
Chapter 1:
Familiar Passerby
"Rachel, close the window!" Richard barked at his daughter for the eighteenth time. He was stretching to reach for all his papers, now flying in a spiral pattern. A couple of them flew out the window, causing Richard to lose his temper. "Close it now or else…!" he yelled, now falling over his chair trying to reach up for an important fax that had landed in the bookcase.
Rachel turned around and glared back at her father, as she had been doing simultaneously for the past five minutes. However, this time she did close the window, just in time to save them a couple breaths, as a large cement truck had passed by. Several of the pedestrians began to cough and sputter as they breathed in some of the burnt fumes.
In two minutes time, however, Rachel opened the window again. She pressed her face up against the screening, browsing amongst the pedestrians, as if looking for someone. Again, she was interrupted by a rough tug at her hair.
"Young lady, do you not know how to listen?" Richard spat at her, her face being dotted by little drops of saliva. "Next time, I'll rip a couple strands of hair out of your scalp," he threatened, bending down to pick up papers as he made his way back to his desk.
Rachel stuck her tongue out in utter disgust as she wiped away the dots of saliva with her sleeve. "You don't need to threaten me like that!" she yelled, speaking over the noisy engine roars of another cement truck. She closed the window, wanting her hair to stay in their current positions. She continued to watch for the particular passerby she was waiting for.
Conan was walking at his leisurely pace, the elementary school getting farther and farther away from his view. He simply had no desire to go back after a long day. 'Like I didn't have enough trouble,' he thought furiously, little beads of sweat still running off his cheeks. The fact that it was summer didn't help at all. The sun was blazing down on him like an oven.
He was still thinking about what had happened during P.E. period:
They were having the running relays that day in the field. The class was counted off by numbers, 1-4. Conan had been picked as a three. Unfortunately for him, the girls were a lot smarter than he had estimated them. They had gotten 1-4 spaces away from each other, so they could be on the same team.
Most of them ended up on team 3, and Conan was the only boy.
Once the relays started, Conan was chosen first to run against the other teams. He was so eager, he didn't want to make a fool of himself, when Miss Shinhari had blown the whistle. The other teams sprinted off, included Conan himself, and he was doing fine until he got to the round bend.
He had ran a little too fast.
He rounded the cone, but had slipped over forward. Horrified, he put out his hands for protection. However, he slipped so quickly that his hands didn't help. He fell flat on his chest, and his wrists began to ache painfully as they were smoldered by his own weight. His face hit the ground, his glasses lens shattering. His knees fell to the warm mud beneath him, scraping them on the sharp pebbles hidden beneath the thick layer of mud.
It was a horrifying sight.
Lucky for him, he hadn't had a concussion. Continuing to walk down the sidewalk, he stopped in mid-step to think about calling Rachel. He hadn't done so for three weeks. It was highly noticeable now that she was keeping a sharp lookout for him. A couple of times, she had snuck over to his house to check if he was home.
After standing still for three long minutes, Conan rounded the corner, went down the alley, to the telephone booth. What he had failed to notice was that it was a couple of paces away from the Moore Detective Agency, where Rachel was watching.
Rachel finally caught sight of the one person she had been trying to find for the past half hour. He was headed towards the telephone booth, carrying the same red bowtie he always wore. However, this time, he seemed to be adjusting it.
Conan adjusted the modulator to his voice, testing it out every ten numbers he spun around the dial. As he approached the telephone booth, he gave it one last test. Just for the fun of it, he said, "You are the murderer!" After hearing a short phrase of his long, lost voice, he gave himself a little chuckle. He couldn't help thinking about all the things he had missed as a teenager.
Rachel was now half glaring, half gently glancing at Conan. She was resting her head on her hands, careful not to blink, incase she missed something. He reached a shaking hand up for the telephone, and picked it up, placing it up to his ears.
He listened for silence. After hearing two seconds of it, he reached into his pocket and took out two quarters. He placed them in, now listening hard for the soft buzz of the weak dial tones.
She saw him dial a number. Curious to know which one he would be dialing in private, to her surprise, the phone rang. Both she and her father jumped, causing Richard to spill his afternoon coffee on his lap. The call was not heard ringing as both of them were distracted by loud, painful, agonizing wails.
Conan was puzzled that the call was not being answered. After five rings, he hung up and two quarters came jingling down in the coin return slot. He reached in for them, and picked up the phone again the repeat the procedure.
As Rachel pushed her dad off to the Laundromat's to get his clothes stained off, she stared hard at the phone. It remained silent for the next two minutes, until it came ringing again. This time, she immediately picked it up, and headed for the window to stare down at Conan. To her surprise, he was speaking into the bowtie, into the phone.
"Hey, Rach, long time no see," Conan spoke, delighted that this time she picked up the phone.
"Hello, Jimmy," Rachel said on the other end of the line, still watching him.
Conan was becoming uneasy. He could hear a slight bit of suspicion in her voice. "What's up?" he asked, his eyelids dropping to a gentle stare.
"Nothing much," came the quiet reply.
"Well, I'm still working on that case," Jimmy said, sounding uneasy.
Rachel was still staring down at Conan in the phone booth. Her eyes narrowed as she focused on the movement of his lips. She listened as hard as she could. She could hear him breathing. She hadn't realized she wasn't talking for so long until he mentioned it.
"Rach? You still there?" he said. As she watched, his lips moved the same time Jimmy had made stated the phrase.
"Yes, I am," Rachel answered breathlessly, now sounding ominous.
Rachel was beginning to scare Conan half to death. "Rachel," he finally said, now sounding extremely uneasy, "I'll call back later, if it makes you feel better." He hung up on her, unwilling to say anything else unless she decided to attack him.
As a result from the call, he got back three nickels and a quarter. He suddenly realized he had been on the phone with Rachel for thirty short seconds.
Rachel saw Conan hang up. He opened the booth and entered the building. He was walking, again, leisurely, and she could hear his faint footsteps coming up. She silently walked up to the door and watched for his looming shadow at the space under the door.
Before he had a chance to open the door, it swung open and Rachel was standing there, glaring at him. She was looking murderous.
He had only two seconds to react when she pushed him inside, and locked the door.
"We need to talk."