March 19th, 2000 – Police Rages as Detective's Cousin is Killed by a Drunk Driver!
It was a day like no different from others at Chinatown. That is to say, until an unfortunate accident took the life of one, Kokuto Mikiya. A former university student, and a younger cousin of Akimi Daisuke, a detective of the homicidal unit that was responsible for brining conclusion to the serial killer incident last year.
The incident occurred around 8:12 pm, where the said victim was crossing the street to rendezvous with a friend. Just then, to his misfortune, a delivery truck driven by a drunk driver…
The damn newspaper article depicts nothing. Only trivial information, it does not tell that whole tale...at least, not the way I saw it…
The scene repeats in my head over and over again. The black cement is covered with red paint. No, that's no it. There's a word for that when it comes out of the body. Body? Whose? There are shattered pieces of glass everywhere, all of them glittering like stars on a red, red sky. Oh, I recognize those pair of glasses anywhere. Geez, even though you can't see without these. Damn, that Kokuto, where is he?
Shiki, are you awake…we need to talk…
Drip drip…drip drip…drip drip…
The sound of the droplets tapping against the window raises my awareness as I get up. The mattress lets out little squeaks as my feet manoeuvre their ways across the sheets and plant themselves on the wooden floors. The glass windows tremble as the passing gust makes its impact. I peer through the sliding glass door, which separates this room from the world outside, and notice that the laundries are still hanging. I bear no mind. They were wet in the first place; they will eventually dry once the sky clears up.
"Besides, watching the forecast and taking down the laundry isn't my job."
Then whose is it?
The boom echoes as my fist meets the wall in a full-on collision. The wall is indented with the shape of my knuckles, and crimson trickles descend from my reddening left hand. You need to get that cleaned up. I know. I breathe in as the warmth of my blood leaves me, mingling with the running tap water – dying it with red tint only at first and finally fading away. With my freehand, I open up the top kitchen drawer, where Mikiya decided to place the first aid kit. It wasn't much of a kit, more like a brown wooden box labelled: For Shiki. It was filled with useless junks like a bottle of disinfectants, various salves for different types of injuries, and rolls of bandages that can stretch from Tokyo to Kyoto.
"Huh?" I turn off the kitchen tap, baffled. The worn out box that reads For Shiki is missing. I remove the drawer, going through the inventory. Nothing. Doubtfully, I open the second drawer, then the third. Once again, nothing.
Nothing, it's not here.
I must have misplaced it.
Nothing, it can't be found.
It's probably under my bed.
Nothing, it is gone.
Call Mikiya, he'll know.
The drawers close shut as my hips lean against them, and slowly descend towards the ground. I open the fridge from the spot and take out the last bottle of water. I drink. I drink, I drink, I drink – until there is nothing. The empty bottle scatters its way across the deserted floors, leaving a faint trail of water on the lifeless ground. I'm unable to move, the thirst is too much, and so I just sit. Sit and stare. Only silence accompanies me.
"Was this room always this hollow?"
A single queen sized bed, a telephone, and few magazines lying about. A home? Only a fool would call it such. Such void space, decorated with inexistence. Wasted potential? Life unnoticed. In this disjointed world, so out of frame, I allow the void to corrupt my body. I gather my knees as close to my chest as possible and wrap my arms around them. I pull my legs closer, almost to embrace them. I hunch my back and lower my face, shrouding it with a blanket of shadows. My thoughts run wild. It's dark, full of hatred, but sends unfamiliar thrill to my mind. Rush of blood thirst rages through the veins. Then an image of him appears. A feeling of unease settles in my chest. I cannot explain it; I have no means of expressing it. My chest knots and my muscles contract, and hot pain soar from my bosom and rains down on my body.
"It hurts," I collapse on to the floor, my breath faltering, my mind slipping into slumber, "It hurts. Kokuto, what should I do?"
Do? Why, don't you just do what you've always done?
I don't hear the rain anymore; I guess it must have stopped.
Did you forget? There is no way you could have. After all, it's a part of you.
Why is everything so dark? Did someone turn off the light?
Don't worry about that, let's just go and have some fun.
I can feel the floor creaking…who could it be?
You'll find out soon enough, till then sleep well.
"Are you awake, Shiki-san?"
A distant voice comes to my aid. The voice is refined and gentle. The spoken words carry a type of warmth that is long forgotten. Floors begin to creak as the soft steps approaches me, then arriving to a stop. I feel several fingers stroking my cheeks, tickling me with a clumsy sensation.
"You're going to catch cold if you sleep on the floor like this, Skiki-san."
"Kokuto?" I ask, doubtfully.
"Yes," the voice replies with an amused tone, "though it has been quite a while since you called me that Shiki-san."
My eyes remain shut. I must be dreaming, is what I told myself. The temperature of the floor had long merged with mine – it is no longer cold, I cannot feel anything.
"Shiki-san, hurry and get up!"
I cannot hear anything
"Jeez, don't fool around, I know you're awake."
I cannot see anything
"Don't make me pinch you."
I cannot feel anything
"Find, I guess I'll leave then. Good-bye, Shiki-sa– Kyaah!"
"Don't go, , Mikiya. Don't leave me," the words escape from my locked lips as I hold a grab of Kokuto's ankles. The ankle is soft, and unbelievably smooth. It is also very frail and thin, but holds much body heat that makes my hand sweat just from contact. The leg is fidgeting, trying to loosen my grip, and eventually makes its escape.
I get up, using my arms as a sensor to try and get a hold of anything that may support my slumbering legs. I try to open my eyes. The lids are heavy, stiffened from the excess sleep. Once they do open, the glare of the unwelcoming sun blinds my chaste eyes. With my blur vision, I can make out the figure of the person still lying on the ground. My eyes focus bit by bit, until the image of the person becomes clear.
"Azaka?"
"Ouch. Yes, Shiki-san," she says in an angered tone. She gets up, dusting off what ever got on her during her fall. When she is done, she looks at me with a questionable stare – a mix of irritation and astonishment – then lets out a huge sigh, "Oh jeez. What were you up to now, Shiki-san?"
"…" I can't help but stay dumbfounded.
"Is something wrong, Shiki-san?"
"Why are you here, Azaka?"
"…Are you feeling ill at all?" asks Azaka with a concerned look. Her face comes close to mine, and then I feel a warm sensation radiating from the forehead. Her forehead is touching mine, and I can see her eyebrows moving up and down as she observes the temperature.
She detaches from me. She starts rubbing her chin with the index and thumb like a detective from an old school movie, all the while keeping her eyes closed for concentration. A split second later, she opens her eyes and speaks, "You're not feverish. Actually, you're a bit cold, Shiki-san. Have you been eating and sleeping properly?"
"Ah…yeah," I reply back.
"Hmmm…I see," and turns her back against me, facing towards the rest of the room. She puts her hands on her tiny waist, and breathes in with conviction. "Shiki-san?"
"Yes?"
"This place needs to be cleaned up," she arbitrarily states as she rolls up her sleeves.
Azaka gets on her knees and start collecting the scattered magazines, while I remain dumbfounded in this unlikely state of affairs. She is happily humming to a song I never heard before. It is an uplifting tune, probably a song from a TV program or anime. I watch her make my bed when suddenly, a strange thirst overcomes me. I open the fridge to fetch a bottle of water. Nothing. I open up the cupboards and get my self a cup. Woosh! A stream of cold water bursts out from the tap as I fill the cup to the brim. I leave the tap on while I gulp down the whole glass like a drunkard in one go.
"I didn't expect you, of all people to show up here," I tell her, for the first time, what has been on my mind."
"Why would you think that?" she asks, her back still turned against me.
I am bewildered by her reply. The cup has long finished filling up and has begun to overflow, wetting the outer surface.
"Well," I turn off the tap, and once again the only sound is just the two of us, "it's just…I…no. Never mind."
"Oh, okay… Oh, right! Shiki-san," she turns around this time and faces me. She finishes making the bed, and I am about to sip down my second glass of water.
She has a confused look on her face.
What is it? Just say it already.
She crosses her arms below her bosom.
Why is my throat itching so badly?
She only stares at me, while I raise the glass to my lips.
"Shiki-san, just now when you were calling me," she begins to talk, "you called me by my surname. Why?"
I mistook you for him.
I would never have called you that if it wasn't for the mistake.
Only he can be called that.
Kokuto, damn he sounds like a French poet.
"And also," she continues with a worried tone. She is scratching her head, as if she is attempting to recall something. She is looking at me with a quizzical look. She stops for a moment, trying to gather her faint traces of memory and finally she says:
"Who is Mikiya?"
Crash! The glass shatters, water everywhere, this is why I hate using glass cups, but there's not a single damn bottle left.
***
Ring! The calling signals echoes in my ear drums several times before I am met with the monotone voice of the voice mail woman. I slam down the phone, disappointed. This makes it my fifth attempt for the day. Zero and five. Not once did she return any of my calls, nor bother showing herself in the past week. Did she even listen to any of the messages I left her?
"So, she's not picking up today either," I say out loud to myself in an empty warehouse.
She will be fine, these empty thoughts of comfort only aggravates my insecurity.
She is Shiki after all, there is no need to worry.
"No, that's precisely why I'm worrying," my fingers trace the lingering scar on my left eye, "Life is but a fleeting dream. Are you dreaming right now? Shiki, are you awake?"
