I'm sorry this took REALLY REALLY LONG. LIKE MAYBE A YEAR LONG, TWO YEARS. HAHAHAHA. I'm continuing this don't worry. Eventhough nobody's reading. It's just a favor I'm doing for myself whilst I'm an out of school youth. Haha. The original of this chapter however has been deleted in the past, so I renewed it to this. I can't remember what I wrote initially for the 2nd chapter anyway. Hope you like it, bye! Before anything else however, I'm sorry if it's written crappy. : ) My heart is in music, not story writing. xD

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Volume 2

April 27, 2006

ACT 3: Forgetting

Body count skyrockets from an already existing 13, to 9 more new dead innocent civilians killed. So a total of 22 now... That's never good, this has never happened before. And we're not sure if we can end his hotstreak. 'Can't find a pattern in his killings, the destinations at which they were murdered; all far apart from each other. There's nothing linking any of the victims together at all either. It's like he's killing them at random, this is too ruthless. Some are killed in houses, some found near garbage disposals, some on streets... All similar looking corpses, throat-slit, stabbed here and there, then cover the head with a black bag routine-- it's sick. Seeing 22 people on the examiner's table, seeing 22 people's families all mourning over their loss-- that's a little too many, but out of the abundance of good morality in me, it's not numbing. And out of the abundance of responsibility in me, I have to see to it that I get this guy, punch him in the face and then take him in.

9 more in a span of two weeks. In one day there are two murders at different locations, victims died out of desanguination. Major loss of blood. Basically, they were left to die. Eventually they came to their end at exactly 4pm. They were found later around midnight the same day. He orchestrates things like that! Who would put that much effort into just getting rid of these people who are great fathers or mothers, or sons and daughters? How I'm seeing this, he treats it more than just murder plainly. It's an artform. It has to be, one gains a deeper understanding and practice of something when viewed as art.

This is never good. And what do we find when our boys are called in? None, zilch leads and we're always just cleaning up after his mess. Like an untraceable wind, comes and goes without anybody knowing which direction it flies to escape. I'm sick of this, I'm frustrated, I've never felt this before. I'm helpless but I want to help, but what care help can I actually give whilst I'm in a stalemate such as this... I might as well sit in waylay at a dark alley. Make myself bait. God...

There's a fine line between practical and ridiculous, and I'm getting ridiculous.

Leaning back into the most comfortable leather chair he's ever sat on, he sighs deeply. The detective is exhausted. The blinds on his small office windows are closed and the humming of computers and fingers tapping on keyboard is audible from the outside cubicles. The centralized airconditioning is freezing him. The clock is without restraint, ticking the hour to it's death. It's already midnight. He stares blankly at his desk made out of Hawaiian Koa. The papers scattered, the pen on the edge in a brink of falling to the floor, the almost empty cigarrette box leaned against a populated Marlboro ashtray. Funny, he's a Black Bat and Dunhill guy.

It's already midnight. Silence, silence and more silence. His head full of thoughts and theories and arranging schedules on patrols for tomorrow, passing by the people on the third floor for fingerprint processing on any of the vic's clothes that aren't their own... Any lead will do, just as there's a lead. Even if it's a false one, going to a dead end at least we're on the move and we're not stagnantly rotting our bottoms in this office. That's the last thing we want the people to observe about us: That we're not doing anything and that we're running out of ideas. Checkpoints wont do because we don't have anything to recognize the guy, but what we had thought to do are patrols and frisk anybody doing anything suspiscious... A curfew should be fine too, but it's not like anybody's that obedient nowadays. We'll probably find about 20 teenagers out there beyond curfew time, and make a fuss and create some chaotic confusion. Anybody caught beyond curfew would be, as instructed, taken into the station and although all persons are presumed innocent until convicted, our boys will be taught to assume they're all killers, and treat them like shit. The system's just messed up that way. I heard it's in effect now, started 10:30pm.

'Might catch him from there but it's a tough one, we don't know a thing about him. We don't know what he looks like. He's a shadow, he's a ghost, he's an evil enigma in the dark waiting for an opportunity to kill. A stalemate from all sides possible, no kind of craftiness can ever get you a real escape.

It's a minute pass midnight.

"A minute pass midnight..." He repeats. He stops to think. Face blank. The office suddenly turns dead silent.

He shakes his head and grimaces, "Aw shit!" leaving his comfortable position, he stands to attend to his overcoat hung by the door. "Damn it, damn it." He mutters as he frisks his black over wear, ah there he found it. "7 missed calls" It displayed happily. He sighs heavily at the mobile's inability to be sympathetic, but moreover how can he forget her. He speed dials, presses 1 and holds until he could hear a dial tone. Nervously, he presses his cell against his left ear, a foot tapping to compliment the churning in his stomach. He had told her he'd be home by 9 when she asked this morning, and with the house parallel their's had been visited by a demon, even when he promised her the area's on a tight thumb by the Metro Police... His being at home would be the best security she'll have. He knows this and dreads he let himself get too in over his head thinking. He's slowly forgetting what's important. "Please be okay, please be okay..." His eyes tightly shut, he just remembered that he had instructed her to call in case of emergency. The worst kind of emergency. "Shit. Damn it. Goddamn it! How could I forget to set this goddamn phone on general--oh god, oh god baby please be okay." Cursing the meeting well over 4 hours ago, he takes his overcoat and swings it over his shoulder, takes his dark green backpack he preffered over the black rectangular bag they professionally have you use as detective, and snatches his Nissan's car keys hanging from the coat rack. He strides out of his office in a hastily serious manner. "Baby please be okay, please be okay." and in one fluid manner blows through the cubicles and into the elevator--That is until, "Sir hold up!" Surprised, he had pressed the cell against his ear to hard too have cancelled the call, "Shit!" he dials again. Looking at his colleague he roars, "What is it! Make it fast!" All this while keeping a thumb pressed on the open button elevator control panel.

"Well--well sir, I just got a call from the chief and he asked for you, there's something happ--" the colleague trails off noticing the serious glare on the detective's face and the stance that seemed so ready to attack. Not a good time. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry this must be a serious time for you, I'll-- I'll got tell him you left!"

He scrambles. The colleague turns his back and runs to his cubicle, attending the waiting call from the Chief. The colleague mouths a couple of words into the receiver, Souichiro couldn't hear. Silently he watches his colleague, and doesn't feel guilt at all. The colleague looks at him one last time before he sits down on his chair to work some menial work he didn't want to take care of. The detective sighs. "What the fuck is up with me." He removes his thumb from the open button and hits close.

ACT 4: Crumbling Down Slowly

This wasn't the first time he lost his temper. It's been officially 6 weeks throughout this whole ordeal. Tokyo's getting concerned and so are our neighboring prefectures, but so far? Nothings happening there. Just here, and they wont help. It's this kind of faulty camaraderie that makes Kanagawa want to be an independent city state of some kind. It is clearly out of their jurisdiction, but we're all Japanese right? And right now Kawasaki City is living in a subtle fear. All the other cities are just gossiping about us and none of them want's to touch us. I hope the killer moves throughout Kanagawa. We'll be laughing too by then. Jeez, what the hell am I thinking.

The ringing seemed endless and would disconnect when kept too long. The elevator ride to the basement floor was like torture, his sweat would fill buckets, and the walls seemed to close in. The ever growing silence swells into the only thing he could hear, the painful paranoid kind of stillness... His head aches. His world swirls into distorted figures... And the ringing, the ringing, the ringing--

"Hello! Souirchiro!"

Yes! "God! Yukino! Why did you call? Are you alright? I'm so sorry, I'm on my way now I'll be there in 5 minutes!" He's just glad to know she picked up.

"I'm--I'm alright but you've got to check out the block away from us, there's a huge fuss and somebody's got cocktails! It's been going on for about an hour now!" God it sounds something serious from what I can pick-up.

"Mo-Molotovs!? Can you tell me exactly what's happening? I can hear screaming, what are they screaming about?" Come to think of it, that colleague mentioned something happening, but I cut him off... Damn.

"Yes, Molotovs they're trying to restrain this guy who's going to burn the neighborhood down, and the Chief just called looking for you! I think you're needed here! My view's limited and I can't really make out what anybody's saying--I can go out! --"

"No, no! baby, just stay there and don't move! Wait for me okay? You know where I keep my Glock right? Stay inside the bedroom! Okay? It's not safe! I got to go, I'll be there in 5 minutes! I love you, I'm sorry! Bye!"

Rushing towards his black sedan, he drops his stuff to the ground and unlocks the vehicle. He opens the driver's door and throws his things into the passenger seat before dialing numbers into his cell to call. It picks up immediately, "Captain are you at the scene now?" He asked as he starts his sedan to back up and speed away , "Not yet, you better be though it's close to your side of town!" That gruff sounding tough-man voice is the same guy who got him in the kendo club in highschool, Captain of that same club before; Captain of this police force now, "Who's there now? What's the status?" , "A bunch of guys we caught beyond curfew, a guy bullshitting our cops, but I'm on my way anyway we'll see for sure. Catch you there." , "Roger."

Approaching the ramp intersecting the main road, he speeds his way out the basement and into the streets of the city he vowed to protect. And it's falling apart slowly right before his eyes.

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Well that's never good. Hope you stick around for the next one.