Author's Note: Book quote used within is from the works of Abbe. Michael Quoist. All rights reserved and no infringement is intended.
Part II: Rache
The constant clacking of the keys kept Ken's attention as he watched Omi's back. The boy was working at the computer with a diligence that came with skill and determination. Even though Omi was just working on his homework, it gave Ken an idea.
He really didn't want to ask. It would seem like such a random request, and he didn't want to give Omi any more reason to be concerned; a part of him was also worried it would draw suspicion, since his teammates already viewed him as acting strangely. Yet he needed to know. As soon as the thought came into his head, he decided he had to follow through.
He realized that Aya was correct. He needed to find closure if he even hoped to continue on as a White Hunter. Try as he might, he could no longer carry on with the blame and excuses; he couldn't face another new day, least of all a new mission, without facing his demons first.
Heaving in a deep breath, Ken lifted himself to his feet. He paused a moment longer, unsure. I need to know, he told himself with conviction. I have to know what happened to him, and where he is. Then maybe I can make amends …
Walking over, he had to swallow before interrupting the boy's studies. "Hey, Omi? Can I ask you a favor?"
Fingers resting on the home keys, Omi's big blue eyes looked up at him questioningly. "Yeah, anything."
"Can you find someone for me?"
Omi tilted his head at him in puzzlement. The glint in his eyes made Ken wonder if it had been a mistake to inquire. "What do you mean? Like a target?"
"No, more like a long-lost friend. You know how, right?"
"Well, yes, but –"
Ken immediately knew what Omi's dilemma was. He was afraid of somehow over-riding Kritiker's authority, or breeching any matter of loyalty. Of course Ken didn't want anyone to get into trouble with Manx or Persia, not over something that wasn't directly involved with them. If that happened, he knew Aya's retribution would be strict to boot, and he was certain it was also in the back of Omi's mind, too.
He quickly added, "You don't have to infiltrate any of Kritiker's networks or documents. If it's too difficult to track him down, I'll let it go. This is just a personal request."
Omi stared at him so intensely that it made Ken rub the back of his neck during the awkward silence. The expression on the face of the boy-Weiß was rooted in concern and judgment, but he was seriously mulling it over nonetheless. It gave Ken some hope despite the tension.
"Please, Omi?"
Although his eyebrows were drawn low contemplatively, Omi finally nodded. "Sure. Who are you looking for?"
"Nagi Naoe."
Omi started to write the name down on his notebook, but then stopped, fingers grasping the pencil fiercely in sudden recognition. "Ken-kun –"
Ken's mouth set in a firm line. He didn't want to hear any reasoning to try and sway him. "Don't say it, Omi. I know. But I really need to find out what happened to him, where he might have been sent to after the orphanage closed." Despite his desperation to avoid stirring up old emotions, Ken heard his voice crack at the end.
"You're not thinking of meeting him, face to face, are you?" The tone in Omi's voice was slightly alarmed now.
Ken shook his brown locks, but merely answered, "I want to know what I might have done to him."
Omi sighed sadly. "Is that why you've been so miserable lately?"
When Ken's jaw locked against a response, Omi continued sympathetically, "Ken-kun, it wasn't your fault. In the long run, you probably saved him that night."
"I said don't."
"I'm sure he went on to a foster home afterwards. I mean, didn't he … the building fell because of that kid. It wasn't your fault."
Ken turned away, feeling the heat rise inside him as he tried hard not to let his anger grow, or the grief show through it. He knew what Omi was driving at was fair, and it was probably right to just let it go. But that was before.
"Look, I appreciate the intention, but I don't want to assume anything."
"Why would you do this to yourself, Ken-kun?"
"I have to."
"Even if it means paying the consequences?"
Ken caught the warning in his voice, and he turned back to meet Omi's dire statement: "What if we find him and Kritiker decides to make him a target? After all, he did see our faces that night, and it had been mentioned."
Without realizing it, Ken's hands balled into fists. He was unable to control the rage that surged at what sounded to him like a threat. He had forgotten that Omi sent mission reports to headquarters, and was the only member of Weiß allowed access into Kritiker. He didn't imagine he might put Nagi in even greater danger. It hurt him to think his regret would only escalate the damage he had already inflicted, and the hurt caused him to lash out.
He said in an uncontrolled growl, "It's just a personal request. You don't have to tell Persia."
Omi gazed on him in a stunned, but tragic way, and it made Ken's anger subside. Ken instantly felt ashamed at the thought of his bullying the poor boy. Omi wasn't his enemy, and it wasn't his fault. He knew he should appreciate that Omi was simply trying to look out for him. Ken did acknowledge all the facts Omi pointed out, but he had to work against them. Ken had started the fire, and he needed to be the one to put out the flames. Come what may.
His shoulders slumped like a person defeated. Apologetic, Ken said imploringly, "Please, Omi, I need your help. I need to find closure."
The heavy emotional moment lifted as a sense of remorse came about Ken. True to his nature, Omi finally nodded in understanding. It was obvious it was not a matter to be brushed aside. It needed to be dealt with.
"Alright, Ken-kun. I'll look into it. If I find anything, I will let you know. Only you."
Some of Ken's tension drained, and he said gratefully, "Thank you."
"But you have to promise me something, too."
He found himself gulping at the thought of compromising on the situation. "What?"
"Be careful. I know you regret your actions, but Weiß does need you. I don't want anything bad to happen to you."
The rush of emotions that swept over Ken at the boy's sincere words was a morphing mix of relief, appreciation, and belonging. Omi smiled and bobbed his head, as if to say that everything was the absolute truth. All of Ken's prior dread washed away. For the first time since the peculiar mission at the mall, Ken felt everything would work out well.
"Thanks," he said again. "I'll be prepared, so you don't have to worry."
He watched every face that passed by on the street with great care, wondering why he felt the urge to do so. Ken was typically more laid-back and not at all bothered by crowds, yet anticipation gnawed at him as if every pair of eyes stared in his direction. So he watched them back and looked for that single face he expected to find.
It was evening, and the sky had turned a dark violet color, completely washing away the last remnants of the sun's rays. Inside the city's limits no stars could be seen, which was fine as there were plenty of neon signs and bright lights flickering on for the pedestrians and customers. Ken stood beside their delivery van, facing the grand hotel before him.
He had come to help Aya and Yoji deliver arrangements for an event to be held in the morning. It was a big order, and normally it was interesting to see the elaborate bouquets Grandma Mamoe made for the higher-end parties. Her years of floral experience certainly showed more skill than those using it for a day job. The great bundles of ivory and purple hues were glorious in their cloud-like masses, and all the irises, monk's caps and parrot tulips were vivid displays of colors and shapes; they even brought urns of small wisteria trees to add height. Many of the hotel guests and staff had breathed in awe at the beautiful sight as the boys entered.
However, Ken noticed none of it. His thoughts kept returning to their apartment, wondering if Omi would be able to find Nagi. Even greater was his desperation; what would he even say to the child? Surely Nagi hated him for breaking his word, crushing his trust. And it was that very thought that caused Ken to grow anxious once again.
How much does he hate me? Something inside his Hunter's brain told him he was being haunted by his guilt, but it was not just paranoia. What if Nagi had wanted to find him again? Even back then he suspected that Nagi would come for him. What if he really had seen the boy at the mall that night, as well as in the park? It wasn't just hate. Ken didn't want to believe it, but there was a possibility he was also being hunted.
Now that the delivery had been made, and they had set the arrangements to the client's dictation, Ken stood outside and waited, on edge. He always found himself waiting, and he no longer knew the reasons why. I'm driving myself crazy, he thought depressively. He sniffed in disgust. This isn't a mission. Just calm the hell down.
He took a deep breath, but it only became a sigh as he let it out. He shifted his weight, and suddenly he wanted to be off. It was strange, being in the midst of a public street at the peak of dinner and shopping hours, but he felt as if they had dawdled in one spot too long. The cautionary voice in his head kept repeating the words "too easy".
Like a prey-animal, Ken once more began scanning the passers-by with intensity. His fist flexed, missing the security of the bagh nahk upon his fingers. He spun and brought that fist up in reflex when a hand suddenly fell on his shoulder from behind.
Yoji released him immediately and took a step away. "Geez, Ken. Get a hold of yourself."
Ken's relief was visible as he replied swiftly, "Sorry. I guess I wasn't paying attention."
"Are you sure you're alright? You've been so flighty the past few days."
Shrugging his shoulders as if to pull on some of his old confidence like a coat, Ken said, "It must be from lack of sleep."
His look said he didn't buy it, but Yoji said casually, "Yeah. Well, I need to take the extra stems to Aya to fix up some of the bouquets, but then we're good to go."
Ken nodded hopefully as Yoji went for the flowers in the van, stored in a cooler inside the back compartment. He came forth with an armload of untrimmed stems with crisp petals. Not to be out-done by the flowers, Yoji smoothed his hair back and scanned the people milling on the sidewalk, giving pretty-boy smiles to all the women who met his gaze.
"Hey Adonis, let's finish the job, okay?" Ken said irritably.
"What's the rush?" Yoji sidled up to Ken, throwing his arm over his shoulders exuberantly. "You know, I could use my charms to get you laid tonight. Then you wouldn't be so uptight!"
Ken flushed hotly, muttering a shushing, "Idiot!"
Yoji laughed lightly, but his expression was somewhat apologetic for teasing his downtrodden teammate. "If it makes you feel any better, I said the same thing to Aya," he said as he tousled Ken's hair jokingly, treating him much like a little brother. "I'm just fooling with you, kid!"
"Watch the flowers!" Ken barked.
"Right, right." Yoji saluted the order, moving off to the revolving glass doors of the hotel.
Ken couldn't help but to shake his head at the other's brazen behavior. Out of shame he looked around to make sure no one had heard; thinking that if the people hadn't been watching him before, they most certainly would be now! What caught his attention, however, was a single stem that Yoji had dropped in his playfulness. The ruffled white flower looked sad by itself on the cold sidewalk, and feeling sorry for it, Ken knelt down and picked it up.
It was a begonia, a small starburst of white with a yellow center. The small flower was already slightly wilted from its tumble. In a corner of his mind, Ken recalled the statement the begonia made in floral dialect: Beware. It made his heart sink in a foreboding way.
Suddenly the van beside him heaved, groaning against its own massive metallic weight as it tilted towards him, tires lifting. Ken gasped and fell out of his crouch, moving away from the vehicle. It was as if something had struck it on the street-side, but traffic was still moving along smoothly. He looked around, but none of the pedestrians seemed to have noticed. What was that?
Still kneeling, Ken put a trembling hand over his eyes. The sounds of cars and people dimmed in his ears, and he heard soft footsteps. Lowering his hand, he saw someone standing on the other side of the van. Gazing under their vehicle's belly, all he saw were white dress shoes and crisply seamed pale-blue trousers. It was the color that drug the memory of the mall back, and Ken gasped. The flower fell forgotten from his fingers.
Ken felt as if he were back inside his dream – the real world had vanished. He had the sensation of a fever pass over him, a warm haze that left his ears ringing. It was a curious sort of fear. In that heartbeat, the person calmly moved off. Ken stayed as if frozen, debating. Nagi?
Rousing himself, the serious part of Ken bullied him to his feet, and he quickly scanned the sidewalks for the boy. There! He started moving off, sure he saw him disappear along the hotel's wall. Ken followed the person deftly, not evening thinking what he would say or do; he just knew he had to find him. Ken practically had to push people out of his way in his haste, but finally he came to the length of the building and rounded the corner. It was a small alley, beyond which would probably open up to either the kitchen dump, some sort of loading dock, or just the staff parking lot. Any of those destinations would pose a problem.
But he had to brave the alley first. It was a slip of space between the two buildings, dark and ominous, like the entrance into another world. A world of ghosts and mirrors? Ken gazed back the way he had come, watching the entrance of the hotel for his comrades. The world there seemed to move at a normal speed, unconcerned about the sinner chasing his sin. Looking back and seeing nothing, Ken decided to tempt his fate.
He moved slowly into the shadowed way, the noise from the street fading as he pressed onward. His steps echoed hollowly off the close quarters, but they were the only steps he heard. Ken held his breath and listened for signs of life, of someone waiting for him, but there was none. Where am I being led? Why here?
In answer, Ken's instincts sounded a mental alarm. What Yoji had just said to him resounded in his thoughts: "I'm just fooling with you, kid!"
Ken halted abruptly. He was being guided away. A decoy? Then it's not me …?
Fear erupted at the realization. Ken turned on his heels and bolted back towards the street. He slid out of the mouth of the alley, breaking his stride as not to collide with any of the pedestrians. His eyes were locked on the entrance of the hotel, where he saw Aya and Yoji exiting the building. Everything seemed fine, but still Ken's pace was hurried as he went to join them.
Yoji waved to him as if to ask "Where did you go?" while Aya's gaze was demanding. Ken couldn't stop the relieved smile that parted his lips, but it was extinguished quickly when suddenly the glass revolving doors of the hotel shattered brilliantly. There rose a chorus of baffled calls and a few pained cries.
Ken gasped and ran to his teammates, who stood gazing back at the doors dumbfounded. They had already left the landing of the flight of stairs to the entrance, and so they were a safe distance when the glass exploded.
In an instant, the odds changed. In that instant, the everyday evening was broken when someone screamed. There came the shrill sound of tires screeching, then the deafening pound of two cars colliding. It was all a frantic blur, but Ken still saw the car race over the curb, getting air, and plunge across the median from the main road towards the hotel. A sports car skewed off the road to miss hitting it, but crashed against the side of their delivery van. Ken made it to Yoji and Aya in time to force them away from the van, following the motion of the impact so that they were safely on the outside.
An SUV behind the sports car matched movements, and before applying the brakes, the driver turned the wheel. The SUV hit the parked car behind the delivery van, forcing it forward – in Ken's direction. Reflexes kicking in, Ken jumped, one foot finding the bumper of the van for lift. The impulsion allowed him to easily push off onto the hood of the parked car, which had no momentum from its standstill. It settled soon after, and Ken dropped back onto the sidewalk in shock. It seemed as if Weiß was purposefully sandwiched in.
However, the first car that jumped the curb seemed to only gain speed, and it lurched forward. It smashed between the angled van and the parked vehicle in front of it. It then incredibly veered off, as if it were aiming for the three Weiß members. Ken heard Yoji curse as he put a hand on the Player's chest and shoved him backwards in time. Aya broke rank and leapt the other direction. The speeding car crashed into the side of the building.
The uproar seemed to quiet as the traffic came to a ceasefire. All motion stopped. It was then that folks began taking stock of the situation; women began crying, children screamed, and men shouted. Disbelief hung like smoke in the air as each tried to make heads-or-tails of the freak accident.
"What the fuck was that?" Yoji sounded entirely pissed off. The doorman from the hotel was making his way down to them.
Aya started for the crumpled car on the sidewalk, the one that seemed to be the original culprit. Ken looked around the mass of faces in a stunned fog, but they all looked the same to his reeling brain. Shaking his head as if to ward of an annoying insect, Ken followed Aya.
The redhead inspected the driver's side door, and then tore it open easily. As bad as the wreckage looked, the man inside appeared unharmed save for a gash on his forehead. He maintained a white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel, and he was still securely in his seatbelt. To Ken, the middle-aged man in his grey business suit seemed in a trance.
"Stay still," commanded Aya. "Someone will call the paramedics. Does anything hurt?"
The man babbled something, which sounded like his name, but then he looked at the steering wheel aghast. "The car just … I didn't do anything. It just – by itself. The brakes wouldn't even work!"
Ken saw that both the man's feet were rooted atop the brake pad. The car had turned and sped up of its own accord? Ken gave a guttural growl under his breath, backing away from the ruined car as he heard police sirens and emergency units approaching. He heard the hotel doorman ask if he were injured, but suddenly the world was whirling and he couldn't respond.
He felt heavy as he dragged himself back towards the delivery van, now with major cosmetic damage. Ken vaguely heard someone telling a police officer that the driver had lost control of his vehicle; another bystander said they thought a traffic light had broken down; one crazed older lady said it was a terrorist attack, claiming the hotel doors were shattered by bullets. Ken fell back against their van knowing full well what had happened.
He gazed down at his feet. The poor begonia was crushed on the unforgiving pavement, the petals shredded and discolored. Beware, it had told him. He hadn't listened.
Daybreak found Ken in the shop, and even before the others had completely risen from the long night, he had made up his mind. He finally understood that he was running away from the obvious, and over the last few days it was clear he needed to stand his ground. Stay the course, Aya had said. There was so much he didn't know, but one fact he was sure he did: it was his fight alone, and the battlefield had already been chosen.
He knew if he continued to ignore the challenge, it would only end up putting his teammates in further danger. He understood that much from the previous bizarre incidents, all the threats and warnings. He'd be damned if he allowed them to get hurt! Even worse, innocent bystanders had been thrown into the fray because he had failed to respond on time.
In the backroom at the potter's worktable, Ken methodically trimmed and tied the arrangements of the flowers he would offer them. He was hopeful the entire visit would be nothing out of the ordinary; if anything, he just wanted to talk, but his senses told him to bring his bagh nakh. He had them stowed away in his pack, just so the others wouldn't notice. He was wrapping the precious items in paper when he heard the boy come up behind him.
Omi said, "Are you going to visit her?"
A little startled, Ken asked, "Who?"
"Your mother's grave. You called out for your Mom in your dream that other night."
"Oh? I didn't realize I woke the whole house."
"It's okay, although you did worry us."
"Yeah. I guess I need to say a proper good-bye." His reply was quick, and Ken hoped Omi hadn't noticed the uncomfortable lie. Briskly he added, "Grandma Momoe said she would cover my shift, so I hope Aya and Yoji understand."
"They will." Omi's small voice was full of concern again.
Ken kept telling himself it would be over after today, and to make light of the situation. In an attempt to reassure Omi, Ken finally turned to face him and gave him a smile, though it was forced. "I shouldn't be gone all day."
"Take your time. I'm sure she misses you, too." Omi returned the smile, and his was pure but sad.
Ken was beginning to feel some shame over the cover story, and for shutting out the boy again, who was nothing but thoughtful. He hurriedly put the flowers in a box with tissue paper to keep them intact, and tied the bundle securely for the trip. Snatching up his pack with his weapon, he walked with Omi outside.
"Have a good day at school," he offered at their parting. He went to his bike, throwing a leg over it and taking up his helmet. He could feel Omi's eyes boring into him, and Ken had to keep from fidgeting under that tense gaze.
"Ken-kun?"
"Huh?"
"I think she'd be proud of you."
Ken's brows rose in disbelief at the dramatic statement. A part of him was deeply touched and uplifted, but the sinner buried inside his heart was bitterly questioning. Catching his trepidation, Omi added in encouragement, "If she was anything like you, I'm sure your mother would be proud."
Out loud, Ken said gratefully, "Thanks." Internally, all he could think of was his nightmare.
Ken felt uneasy as he stared at the KEEP OUT sign posted in the middle of the chain blocking the driveway. For some reason, he had supposed someone would come in and rebuild the little chapel and orphanage after its untimely collapse. Yet here it stood, still in ruins and overgrown with brambles, trailing ivy and years of passing seasons. The desolate landscape left him feeling empty.
There was a certain amount of fear inside him, as well. He didn't know if he had the strength to enter the grounds, and he wondered if his reserves would last him well into their depths. He suspected the other was there, waiting for him – and he knew the time was now.
Wearing his bagh nakh and clutching the flower bouquets, Ken lifted the chain and slipped under. Letting it fall back with a subtle metallic chink, he began walking into the private property gradually. His boots crunched on the gravel drive, and despite the warm spring sun, he felt a chill grab hold of his body. He took a deep breath, smelling the earth and stone, but found no comfort.
For the first time in a long while, the words came true to his lips as he remembered his mother, and the nun who helped him after her passing. The prayer was spoken quietly and unsurely, as if begging.
"Our Father which art in heaven, Hallowed by Thy name. Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done, as in heaven, so on earth."
He moved ever so slowly, and with each step the words came stronger. He found the solace he needed, and discovered the confidence he thought had fled at the sight of his old hunting ground.
"Give us day by day our daily bread, and forgive us our sins; for we also forgive every one that is indebted to us. "
He didn't stop to gaze upon the ruins of the chapel, or even the remains of the orphanage where he lived for a brief time so many years ago. Instead, he kept walking, his stride even and steady. He knew where he must go, and he wanted to see them.
"Lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil."
Past the garden patch, now all clover and unchecked shrubs, he found the old, twisted birch tree he remembered from his youth. It stood like an ancient guardian over the private cemetery. Ken stepped lightly over the short iron rails that served as slight fencing, their scrollwork long rusted, and gingerly walked around the fragments of gravestones and statues. The grass and weeds had overrun the plots, and he had difficulty reading the markers. Soon enough, though, he found one of the graves he needed.
Ken knelt down and pulled the dried weeds from the headstone, and brushed the years of dirt from the once-polished stone. He read the name on the lonely little grave: Natsuki Saiyama.
The sharp pang of remorse that struck him hurt, and he sighed heavily against the tightness in his chest. If he had only believed sooner, if he had trusted Persia's command, then perhaps Natuski wouldn't have had to die. Ashamed of himself, Ken closed his misty eyes and said a heartfelt prayer.
Then the vision of Natsuki from his dream came rushing back, and he wished like crazy that image of her was true. It would mean she forgave him, and, he hoped, that she had found her own peace. Opening his eyes, he stared at his childhood friend's name and laid the small arrangement of flowers he'd made for her on the plot, wondering if she would laugh teasingly at him one last time.
Purple hyacinths surrounded by rosemary sprigs. In flower language, their message was sorrow and remembrance. Please forgive me, and I'll always remember you.
"I'm sorry, Natsuki," he whispered to her headstone.
He reached out as he had done in his dream and set his gloved hand over her name. Many ghosts shadowed him, and there was so much blood on his hands with only more to come. But he knew she wouldn't want him to carry the regret of her death around the rest of his life. Natsuki didn't deserve that sort of memorial, to be just one of many crosses to bear. So with that simple touch, and an overwhelming mix of emotions, Ken had to let her go.
A cool breeze caught his hair as he stayed like that for several more breaths. Finally, with a single tear rolling down his cheek, Ken stood. He bowed his head in farewell, and backed away sadly. A crow's hectic call broke the silence, and he whirled about to watch the dark bird launch from a nearby tree; he waited, watched, but nothing followed. Suspicious, Ken took a few tentative steps towards that thicket, wondering what might have startled the crow.
What he discovered was a statue of the Blessed Virgin Mary rising from the weeds. Once alabaster stone, time had left her little veneration except to fade the pristine color to storm-grey. Honeysuckle grew wild, surrounding the figure in dead tresses which had only recently started sending out new season shoots. Ken put a hand out to tear away the tangles, but when he noticed the weapon upon that hand, he let it fall back awkwardly.
Ken lowered his eyes with a sense of shame, and noticed then that the statue rested atop a headstone. Even before he pulled aside the honeysuckle and thistle, he knew whose grave the Holy likeness watched over.
Sister Kaoruko Amamiya.
There was no way to describe the raw emotions Ken felt at seeing her name again. His guilt and grief returned like a blade slicing through, with cynical resentment staining afterwards like blood. Still deeper than that was a reminiscent sense of caring and gratitude. Despite everything, she was still a big part of his childhood memories. It was because he had been so fond of Sister that the newer feelings were mocking and bitter.
Pulling free from the past, Ken crossed himself and knelt before her headstone with the Blessed Virgin gazing down upon the scene. He placed the flowers on the ground in humble offering, although the chosen message was a firm statement. The bouquet was a simple blend of snapdragons around a stately spike of white asphodel, a unique flower some called the King's Spear. The snapdragons were seen as the flower for a gracious lady, yet that dialogue would often refer to her deception.
Ken told her the meaning behind the asphodel. "My regrets follow you to the grave." Hers, as well as his own.
He would never understand what had become of Amamiya, how she had grown so twisted in her beliefs. All those children … She was supposed to help them, the lost little souls. It was the children that suffered the most, those who had done no wrong and had no one else to turn to. It seemed her Holy Children were destined to suffer so much more before reaching heaven.
Had she always been like that, even back when she counseled Ken? Of course he hadn't realized she incorporated hypnosis into her sessions, even with him, but that didn't necessarily mean she was programming him into a killing machine like those others – like Natsuki. He wanted to believe in her so badly, at least for the time way back when; he wanted to believe that the sister truly loved all her children. Perhaps that had been her penance.
Instead of a typical prayer, one of Amamiya's favorite written works returned to Ken. He recited it out loud as best as he could remember it, as if to remind the nun's spirit of the good intentions she had once maintained:
"I love children, says God. I want you to be like them. I love children because they are still growing, still climbing. They move upon the road. But nothing doing with big, grown-up people. They grow no more, they climb no more. They stop and stagnant. They are woeful, says God. They think they are there already.
"But especially, says God, I love children for the look in their eyes. Therein I read their age. In my heaven there will be no other eyes than those of five-year-olds, for I know nothing more beautiful than the clear eyes of a child. This is not astonishing … for I live in their house and look out the windows of their souls.
"Whenever you meet a clear glance, know then that it is I, smiling at you through the material."
There was a hush when Ken finished speaking, somber and lonely. He was surprised to find that he felt lighter, as if he had said everything he needed to. He had said his good-bye, and there was nothing more the White Hunter could do but leave her soul to God.
Lifting himself to his feet, Ken breathed, "Amen."
Then he felt the presence from behind. It didn't unnerve him that he didn't hear the boy approach. "Do you still believe in God?"
Ken closed his eyes with a sense of dread. I didn't want it to be like this. As greatly as he expected it, he had hoped Nagi wouldn't come; he sincerely wanted the last few days to have only been part of the nightmare. His heart sunk. With a deep sigh of acknowledgment, Ken finally nodded. So it begins …
"Hello, Nagi."
"Ken." The formal greeting held no warmth. Instead it felt very professional and dismal. "You finally decided to come. For a moment, I thought perhaps you'd forgotten about us."
"Never." Ken hung his head. "I have too many memories here, both good and bad. I'm sure it's the same for you. I doubt you and I will ever be free of this place."
The silken inhalation of breath from Nagi Naoe almost sounded gleeful. "I suppose that's true." The nondescript sonance of his voice hadn't changed, but it was flat now, heavily guarded. "Thanks to you."
Rising to the challenge, Ken turned about to face the boy he had betrayed. Nagi stood tall before him, one hand casually inside a pant pocket. His demeanor had completely altered from the shy, withdrawn child into someone rich in hate and power. There was a gloomy mirth about him, although his face showed nothing but a blank mask. In his navy eyes, however, Ken saw the flickering anticipation and lingering hurt, like an unspoken battle cry. Ken's fallen heart shattered.
"I am glad to see you're alright," he said honestly. "It's nice to see you're going to a public school now, too."
Nagi sniggered nastily, offended at the sympathy, although his rich voice didn't swell or break. "School?" There was bitterness when he removed his hand from the pocket to unconsciously smooth the seam of his pale blue uniform. "I have classes, if that's what you mean. But I think you know I'm not normal."
"Nagi –"
"Don't patronize me."
Ken sighed helplessly. "We don't have to do this."
He noticed that with every word, Nagi grew more and more irritated, believing it mock-sincerity. Please just talk to me, kid. I don't want it to be like this … As if he had heard that thought, Nagi took a step closer, eyes narrowing into harsh slits. Ken knew that look, saw the thirst for blood in the boy's eyes. He shifted his weight and steadied his weapon-arm, waiting.
"Not here."
Ken arched a questioning brow, but noticed Nagi was gazing past him to the statue of the Blessed Virgin and the sister's grave. He seemed ill at ease and unwilling to carry on with the tone of their reunion before those present. Ken nodded his understanding, turning to give the plot one final look. When he turned back, Nagi was gone.
What had happened to him over these years? Where had he been? Ken could only wonder. He had seemed a troubled child, unsure of the whole world, but now he was down-right mysterious. In truth, the White Hunter felt he were a sedated evil. It made Ken's guilt that much more unbearable to think that he was the cause of ruining the boy. With that devastating blame, Ken left the graveyard, following Nagi's lead.
He knew where Nagi had gone; he had returned to the place where it had begun. It would be within the wreckage of the modest church where Ken had killed Amamiya, with Weiß watching over, that they would clash. Ken stood outside what remained of the chapel and took in the damage. It was basically just a frame now, although some walls held up. Shingles and siding littered the perimeter. It somehow reminded him of a crushed bug, a sorry specimen that did little to warrant its untimely demise besides existing as it was.
Ken moved up the cement steps mournfully, like a man following a funeral procession. This was the hour he had been waiting for, and loathing. Now there was no turning back or stalling. The doorway gaped open before him like the mouth of a monstrous creature, black and unwelcoming. He went over the threshold expectantly.
Once inside the shadowy depths, he was ill prepared for the force that greeted him. It was similar to being punched, but yet not quite as he felt his body lifted. He was thrown by will alone towards what remained of the far wall. The tatty wood splintered as he crashed against it, taking it against the spine. Winded, he was released and fell to the floor, lungs burning for precious air.
He heard himself retching and coughing horribly like an out-of-body experience. He had no explanations or means of describing it, but he recalled Nagi's arcane ability rather vividly. The first time Nagi's innocent desperation had caused plates to clatter. Now he could fling cars and people with his rage. There's more control, Ken reckoned.
"So do you still believe in God?"
Pulling himself onto hands and knees, he was vaguely aware of the boy beside him. Looking up, Ken saw the fury in Nagi's eyes, which now seemed to glow red with fire. Whatever he has, he still hasn't mastered it. He understood that Nagi let his emotions rule that power. He is only a distressed child after all …
"Yes, I do." Ken's raspy voice sounded foreign in his own ears as he tried to find more breath.
Nagi sniffed in utter disgust. "Even though you're nothing more than a killer?"
A smile tilted Ken's lips upwards in an attempt to hide his grief. It wasn't that much of a contradiction was it? He replied deftly, "Maybe it's because I'm a killer that I need to keep believing."
The dark, barely audible chuckle he heard sounded nothing like the child he remembered. "So you have relinquished your eternal soul to Hell?"
Using the wall for support, Ken climbed to his feet miserably. "I have no illusions about what I do, but it's necessary. I have faith in that just as much as in God. And I know I'll be judged when the time comes." He was surprised by his confidence and acceptance. He truly did believe.
Nagi's anger finally rose to his voice. "Necessary? It was necessary to murder Sister, after promising to protect her? You're as cruel as God!"
Ken fell back a step as if slapped. Traitor, liar, murderer. It was true; he was all of those things. I didn't mean to … "She was wrong," he heard himself say with fervor. He knew he couldn't show his depression or uncertainty before the child; he had to play stronger. "She was using you kids to commit murder, without getting her own hands bloodied. No matter how good the intention, she was wrong!"
"Stop it."
"And she would have done the same to you!"
"Shut up!"
The immense outburst from one so reserved was shocking. Even more disturbing was the impulsive gust of wind that sent the scattered debris and leaves spiraling between them. Ken didn't let up, but the words came more gently now.
"What about Natsuki? She was your friend, too, wasn't she?" The boy glared at him. "I didn't kill her."
They locked gazes, something Ken suspected Nagi wouldn't have had the courage to do before. "I didn't come about Natsuki," Nagi finally said after the long pause. "I didn't come for Sister."
"Then – "
"I don't believe in God, and I didn't come to hear your excuses," Nagi declared wrathfully. His eyes flared and his ebony hair lashed madly about, as if he were caught in a tumultuous air bubble. "You took her from me!"
Every word Nagi spoke was like a blade through his heart, because every single one was true. He could tell the boy that it was for the best, that he'd saved him from Sister's treachery, but Nagi was too far lost in his own hatred; nothing else would matter.
"I didn't come here to fight."
"No," agreed the boy. "You came to save your associates."
The threat hidden in those words prompted Ken to pull himself to his full matured height. He didn't like the fact that he was so easily read, but considering his opponent, it might also prove useful; there was honesty in being blunt. If he hid behind emotional scars and mental barriers, who could believe anything he said?
"To that end," continued Nagi, cupping his hand in front of his chest as if to gather energy like water, "you will fight."
And he threw that arm out, rotating his wrist and splaying his fingers. Manifesting his powers with a physical motion looked much like a martial art, and the visibility of it gave Ken the opportunity he needed. He dodged in time, and the wall dented where he'd been. Ken leaped for the exit, fearing for the stability of the battlefield, but Nagi brought the door to life. It rose off the floor, torn from its hinges, and slammed back into proper place, barring the exit.
Ken growled under his breath, and turned away. As soon as he did the door fell back to its burial place. But he came into the line of fire when a beam flew towards his face. Slightly stunned by the sharp speed of Nagi's attacks, Ken dropped to his knees and slid under the sailing staff. He felt splinters of it graze across his skin as he performed an elegant limbo beneath it, out of harm's way. He arched forward next, tucking over onto his shoulder blades to roll behind the remains of a pew. As he righted himself, a thought struck his warrior's perception. He can only move one object at a time!
Using the observation, Ken kicked the pew with all his might towards Nagi. The boy gasped, but recovered swiftly; he snapped the long bench in two. While he was focusing on that, Ken drove forward and pulled his arm back for a strike. The blades of the bagh nakh extended for the kill with a silvery song.
The heat of battle quickly dissipated as soon as Ken realized what he was doing. Cursing his brash action, Ken let go of the release and his blades disappeared. Instead, his gloved fist slammed into the teenage boy's collarbone. With the claws hidden, the blow was delivered as if wearing brass knuckles, and Nagi cried out in pain; Ken winced.
The boy slid off that fist and onto his knees, breathless. Ken stood beside him and waited, which only upset Nagi more. Soon Nagi was panting in angry fits, and he demanded, "Why? Why won't you fight?" He was infuriated because he wanted to display the extent of his vengeance, and that saddened Ken. "Why don't you kill me, too?"
Nagi's small hands balled into fists, and the frame of the church began to quake. Without any hesitation, Ken bent and put his arms around him, holding him against his chest and grabbing Nagi's wrists to stay any assault. In Ken's sorrow, it was more of an embrace than restraint. The boy tensed, astounded and confused.
Not fully understanding why or how, Ken closed his eyes and began to hum quietly, tunelessly. It wasn't the proper notes, and wouldn't have any effect since he hadn't been triggered. But the song was similar enough that Nagi went limp in recognition, and Ken knew.
"You heard it too, didn't you? Just like Natsuki, just like me, Sister used the song on you."
"Let me go," Nagi demanded, not wanting to submit to the truth.
"I am so sorry," Ken whispered against Nagi's hair. The boy jerked as if hit. "Please, Nagi, that's enough."
Ken wanted desperately to get through to the child. Although they were on separate warring sides, it was the same circumstance that divided them. It was also what brought them back together. In their conjoined past, Ken felt an odd connection with Nagi Naoe. He didn't want to create a nemesis.
It was no small grudge that Nagi held against him, however, and he knew it – knew the boy would not simply let it go. Ken heard him crying softly, but Nagi's tears soon became a morose chortle. There was a flash of eerie white light from under Nagi's curled hands, and the floor split with a thick, trembling pop like a mirror cracking.
Suddenly the frame of the building groaned loudly. Behind them the altar rattled. Without any more warning, the remainder of the large stained-glass window above the altar exploded – just as the hotel doors had the night before. The shards flew inward, and Ken held Nagi closer to protect him, feeling the bits shower down around them like rain, pounding against his back. In that instant, a wind came from the floorboards under Nagi, and with an enraged scream Nagi hurled them both backwards. His aim was perfect, and Ken struck the altar. This time his head cracked back, and he fell in a heap with his skull on fire.
Shit! Ken cursed himself over and over again to keep from slipping into unconsciousness. When he opened his eyes, he saw Nagi on his hands and knees a few feet from him. The boy's hands were bleeding over the broken glass. The glower he gave Ken turned his pretty features dreadful.
Swaying somewhat, Nagi stood. "I've been told," he said eloquently, once more in charge, "by someone who knows a little of the future that I will have the chance to fight you. Weiß."
Somehow Ken knew he wouldn't follow that statement even if his head were not swimming. The future? The accusing manner in which Nagi spoke the name Weiß did register, however. He spat out the taste of blood from his mouth, squinting at Nagi around the dancing specs of light over his vision.
"My future has been planned out for me. I accept that," Nagi continued, "but it's not payment enough. I can't forgive you for betraying me, Ken."
He isn't going to stop, thought Ken. It's my fault. I started him down this path, and now I have to end it. Grunting stiffly against his sore muscles and throbbing head, Ken dragged himself to his feet. Nagi's eyes narrowed dangerously. Ken walked heavily to stand before Nagi, who gave him a slanted grin in eagerness. Ken's eyes filled with tears as he did something Nagi didn't expect. He dropped onto both knees before the child.
"I won't forgive you," Nagi growled, unmoved.
Ken smiled despondently. "No, I'm not asking you to." Nagi made a guttural, bewildered sound as Ken began undoing the straps of his bagh nahk. Removing the gauntlet, Ken had no second thoughts about casting it away.
"I take responsibility, and this is payment for my sins." Ken held his head high, and his eyes sparkled handsomely. "Take it. Take my life."
A soft, pathetic sound escaped Nagi's lips. Aghast, he choked out, "You –" His expression was thunderstruck wrath. "You bastard."
"I'm not denying you your vengeance, Nagi," Ken said, his voice coarse with horrible unhappiness. "But I won't fight you. I loved Sister, too."
Nagi closed his eyes and turned his face away angrily, tears spilling anew. His lithe frame shook with his struggle to decide Ken's fate so easily offered. When he opened the navy depths into his soul – the clear eyes of a child – they were brimming with fire and ice. Ken had no fear. Thy will be done, let Your child pass judgment.
Nagi threw out his hand one final time, and Ken felt an invisible weight bear down on him as a tornado suddenly passed through. The winds were roaring against the frame of the chapel, threatening to bring the remains down. It brutally forced Ken onto the ground. It was like being trapped under the rubble of a fallen building, although the church still held up. It was pressing down, crushing him, and soon he couldn't breathe. A black, thick fog settled over his mind, and Ken let go.
As he fell into that fog, he thought he heard the boy's voice say a parting message. The sentence was tragic, but somehow delivered with less hatred. Was it acceptance? Did Nagi finally let go as well?
"Someday you will have to fight me," Nagi swore delicately. "Ken Hidaka."
