AN: I kinda felt like doing one more of these. There's admittedly a little bit less Rin this go-round, but that's just how things turned out. I'll try to finish my other story soon; I've been feeling kind of down, and I didn't want that to bleed into other stuff. Hopefully, I got it all out of my system here.

The title is a reference to the song "White Room," by Cream.

Where Shadows Run From Themselves

The guy had just been standing there, looking over the railing. Supposedly he liked to walk the bridge at his own leisure, and very often. The sun had been setting, making the running water underneath a dazzling crimson. People heading home from work paid him no mind. He didn't pay himself any mind. He was there, and not there. He was floating in the tide of his own thoughts.

His stomach would have felt tight, but he probably ignored it. Then it would have gotten bad. He would have felt his still digesting lunch start to creep up his throat. His eyes would have been wide at that point. That was the moment he screamed, and it was only so loud because his lungs were getting squeezed. From the center, up and down, he was being crushed like a tube of toothpaste. His guts would have started to burst from both ends. Then finally, his eyes.

The police had it all roped off. The Association set it up so the suit (his named turned out to be Reinald), Rin Tohsaka, and I were allowed on the scene as special investigators. I felt bad for Tohsaka. She was going to have to scrub the memory of every cop that was present.

I turned back to my own troubles, which were covered by a blanket: Mitch Campdon, 28 years old, crushed to death, by seemingly nothing.

Reinald stepped up to my side, "Clearly, we're needed."

"By we, you mean we." I pointed at Tohsaka and I.

Reinald ignored me, "This was done in full view of the public. We can't let anyone get away with this."

I flicked my smoke off the bridge, and the cops that had been scowling at me finally looked away. "Why? I mean, why would anyone do this?" I said. "Did you know him? Did anyone know him?"

"No one but his coworkers at the factory, and some family," Reinald said. "A nobody. He didn't have a lot of friends."

"And if he has a past, I'm the one to find it."

"Exactly."

I turned to Rin, "You've been on this longer than I. Find anything?"

Tohsaka crossed her arms, "Just where he lives. I've only been on this for an hour."

I ran a hand through my hair. What the hell. Just what the hell. The cops started scowling at me again when I pulled out my near empty pack. Screw 'em. I needed to think. I tried not to think about leaving the country.

Reinald kept going, "We've already procured footage from the cameras, and I have a man looking up who was on any passing boats. But even still, they could have been treading water."

"Athletic and psychotic. Great." I turned my back on it, nudging Tohsaka, "Gimme the address. Meet me when you're done."

Twenty minutes later I was standing outside Campdon's place wondering what I'd do for dinner. I had my flask, but I felt like having something solid. It would be easier to throw up later.

Tohsaka had left me a key to Campdon's, so I let myself in. The police were calling his death an accident, though I had no idea what lame excuse the Association had come up with. As a result, nobody cared when I walked into the lobby, up the stairs, and even into Campdon's flat.

The place smelled, but not too bad. There were some clothes draped on chairs, the kitchen table had a half cup of coffee on it, and the toilet seat was up. It was definitely a bachelor pad. I walked into Campdon's bedroom, looking at the framed pictures he had on a dresser. Most of them looked like his family, either wearing Christmas sweaters or standing around in someone's backyard. I pulled out my phone and readied the camera, taking photos of them, just in case. Then I came across one picture that was on the nightstand, right next to his bed, as if he could look at it every night and morning. It was the only interesting thing I had found up to that point, so I snapped a shot of it, but then picked it up to get a closer look.

It was a picture of Campdon, and I was surprised to see that he looked rather rugged, strong, and I even had to admit, handsome. If he had lived in the States, and if you told me he had been captain of the football team, I'd believe you. He looked like he should have been dressed up in a brand new suit, closing deals between bigwigs, then going hiking or bareback riding afterward. He didn't look like a golfer. I scratched my head, but then remembered that looks could be deceiving. I focused on the girl he had his arm wrapped around, and nearly dropped the picture. She was short, but not stumpy looking. She was perfectly toned, and my eyes got stuck on her especially toned legs. She might have been tiny, but your eyes would run up and down those legs for miles. Her skin was a little too pale for me, but I didn't think that would be a problem for more than a half-second. She had long black hair tied back in a pony-tail, and a smile that made you feel that everything was going to be alright. She was the kind of girl that people would start wars over.

When I managed to pull myself back into reality, I pulled the picture out of the frame, flipping it over. On the back was written: "Mitch and Rebecca, Paris, 2009." I took a shot of the back, then replaced the picture where it was. Now I was even more confused. Looking over the apartment, it suddenly seemed a lot shabbier. The kind of man who lived there probably couldn't spirit away a young woman to Paris, even for just a weekend. I took another look at the photo. Campdon was dressed rather plain, and Rebecca looked like she was trying her hardest to be plain. I smirked. Maybe Campdon found an easy way out of his bachelor pad. Or at least, he thought he did. It had a been a year since he went with her to Paris.

I scoured the flat again, this time with more vigor. Campdon had a laptop, but it was locked. There was no address book, but this was "the future," after all, so he'd have all that on his phone, and that was likely crushed. There was no trace of anyone else living with him, no letters requesting child support, no secret journal that would tell me who really killed JFK. Nothing. It was just like Reinald said, the man was a nobody.

I paced the apartment, and smoked three cigarettes while I did so. I started to wonder where Rin was. Looking outside, I saw it was getting dark out. I could also see the rooftop of the building next door, and on it was someone clad in black. I couldn't really see their face, but I could tell that they had one of their arms stretched out, and were slowly moving it across their body.

"Hell of a place to practice your Tai Chi, buddy," I said to no one in particular. They looked like they were staring at me, so I moved my eyes back to my reflection. That's when I saw something floating behind me. I whirled around, and saw my matches had freed themselves of my pocket and were flying toward the gas stove. I never believed it when people told me that smoking screwed up your sense of smell. I do now.

One match pulled free of the pack, and started to strike against it. Right over the stove.

I spun back to the window and wrenched it open. I got my feet on the ledge and leaped over to the fire escape on the other building, just as the flat blew. Fire licked at my ankles as I jumped. I slammed my chest into a railing, but couldn't hold on, and I only just grabbed the ledge underneath as I fell. I would have been swearing, but I was too busy wheezing. When they told me that smoking killed you, I never thought it would be like that.

I couldn't pull myself up, so I swung forward instead, kicking my feet to gain momentum. I timed and released, falling hard on the metal grating right below where I grabbed. I landed on my back, struggling to keep the little breath I had. Then I saw the figure from across the way looking down at me.

"You're lucky I ain't carrying today," I coughed, and started to rise. Swaying like a drunk, I ended up pointing myself at the alley the fire escape led to. That's when I saw a dumpster fly off the ground, zooming straight at my face. I dropped to my stomach and it rushed by, slamming into the platform right above me. It bounced off the building, and by some miracle, when it came back down it missed where I was. The entire fire escape had lost its integrity, though, and the metal started to let out pained squeals. I panicked, and started to clamber down as fast as I could, jumping the stairs two at a time. I was up near the second level when the escape had started to pull away from the building. I made it to the first floor, but I didn't bother climbing down the ladder to ground level. I dropped and rolled, running out of the alley as the fire escape crashed to the ground.

My vision was darkening from exhaustion, but I kept running, and ended up slamming into an unsuspecting Tohsaka, bowling her over. She started screaming something at me in Japanese. Our legs got tangled, so I stumbled into the street, falling in front of an oncoming double-decker bus. I was on my knees, holding a hand up feebly as the driver slammed on the brakes. I already knew there was no way for the guy to stop in time. I felt bad for him. He would probably lose his job.

Suddenly, I was pulled back, and my foot was nearly run over by the bus. I stared at it stupidly, then leaned my head back and locked eyes with Tohsaka. She looked at me with astonishment for a moment, then started cursing me out. At least, I think she was. It was all still in Japanese. Apparently, I didn't find her too interesting, so I passed out, just like that.