iii. lilies
"So it's been a week."
"In fairness, I thought I'd be here sooner."
"It's been boring without you."
"Could have seen that one coming."
"You're really a boat-load of sunshine today, aren't you Lawliet?"
The sound of cards shuffling. Being lain out into even stacks. The slap of skin on skin.
"I'm not finished dealing yet."
"What, you want to play war? You want to play Speed?"
"Didn't you want something interesting?"
"Fine, fine."
A pattern of frantic card-turning for several minutes. A lunge forward, and then a draw back.
"Ah, nope, nope."
"Eyes on the prize."
The card-turning continues.
"You're waiting for something, I can tell. Is a bust coming up? I haven't seen anything in the papers."
"I'm waiting, yes."
More sloppy turning of cards. A hard slam of palm to plastic.
"Spit."
"All yours, B."
"Tell me what you're waiting for."
"How are things here?"
"B for better, darling. Tell me what you're waiting for."
"They say you might be out in a few years time."
"I wasn't lying. It's different here, Lawliet. The pace is slower. I've just been drawing, talking. I always thought slowing down would be the thing that drove me crazy but I guess—it's fine here. I've been trying gardening a little."
Cards turning over for a while.
"What are you waiting for, Lawliet?"
"A Queen of Spades."
"Come off it, I gave you an honest answer."
"So did I."
– JANUARY 10 1983 14:28 –
It's a memory, that night, which has considerably less force than a nightmare, that possesses my mind as soon as I close my eyes. Though it is one I'd rather have forgotten–
I'm standing in a husk of a hotel room that's been torn apart like the crime scene that it is. B is sixteen, skinny and grown into into charm of it, and I'm fifteen and keyed up on the fire of the chase. We're just closing up on the case of a prostitute who scaled his way up to human trafficking.
"Cops have everything they need at this point."
"They missed the prints on the drawer edges," I say, the mottled coating of dust speaking volumes. I slide my fingers along the edges, pull open an empty drawer. The false bottom is obvious, and I slide it out to reveal a notebook. I flip it open. A ledger of names that this man, Syme, had sold.
"Nice find." B's nicotine-scented hair flames close to my face.
"I'll let the police know as soon as I can grab a phone. This is decisive evidence, much better than what they've got in court."
"It's why they need you, Lawliet."
"Mm, what you told me also helped. I don't think we would have found this place without the street address, there were too many avenues. The information was invaluable."
"And that's why you need me." he smirks at me hungrily and I feel my pulse pick up. Somewhere between our move across the ocean B and I have fallen into a rhythm with our partnership. It's not closeness, more of a dangerous wariness than anything else. But it's morphing into a magnetism that I've been trying desperately to ignore.
"How did you find that out?"
"He whispers in his sleep, Lawliet," B has moved close now, closer than my pulse wants him to, but I don't move away. I let my lips twist in staged disgust.
"Does she know?"
"Heh. She's the one who's always saying we do what we have to." he sucks on the cigarette, long and hard, and I watch the way his lips crack and stain it. It's a kind of pity I'm watching him with, but B sees something else in my gaze.
He always was good at that.
He offers me the cigarette, like he's done a thousand times before, but when I take it, grazing my fingers with his cracked fingernails, he puts his hand flat to my shoulder blade and pushes me against the wood-paneled walls. I let him. He takes that as an invitation, and presses his dry lips to mine. Even though I saw it coming, I gasp slightly against his teeth, let the cigarette fall the floor.
"Shh, shh Lawliet," there's a soft reverence in his voice, "Just let it happen. Nothing else matters."
I press back against his lips with mine because for once there aren't a whirlwind of thoughts competing for my attention, there's just my pulse, B's hands roaming over my spine, and the slow build of something needy inside of my chest. B seems to know, he's already reaching his hands underneath the seam of my jeans, teeth at the lobe of my ear. It's too much, it's everything and I can't process any of it. The sight of the false drawer on the countertop seems to pull me back to a semblance of reality.
"B, what. You can't, what about Astrid?" I'd watched him kiss Astrid full and long after our last case, watched the way she laughed, her thin lips uncharacteristically turned upwards. Even then, I'd known that this was a mistake. But B just laughs like water.
"She's the only bright thing in this world, Lawliet, and you're the blackest thing." then he comes in close to whisper in my ear, staged and cheap like he's always been, "my favorite color is black."
I shove him off me for a moment, but my body is singing with the desire to know; to have someone know me, my blood wants B's white fingers coaxing the music out of my skin. He grins back.
"Come on Lawliet. Get out of that mind of yours for a half a minute. It'll all still be there when you come back."
"What do you want from all this, B?" my voice is gravelly as I watch him crawl across the floor towards me.
He shrugs, laying a hand on my thigh, "You."
And I trust him, despite my fear. So I decide that it's enough.
The cigarette burns a dark hole into the carpet before we are conscious enough to snuff out the fire. I still remember the way the polyester burn stank amid the sweat.
–I flicker my eyes open to yank myself out of the memory. My eyes catch 2am on the digital clock at the spare room bedside. I roll over and settle for more meditation (as opposed to the usual medication). It helps shove the memories back into my subconscious, at least for a few hours.
At 4 I hear movements in the kitchen below, and roll out of bed to join Mail and Miheal. I offer to help with the baked goods (by eating them), and Mihael chases me out of the kitchen before Mail sets anything on fire. For now, I've claimed a booth in the corner, a vanilla milkshake at my elbow.
Barely twenty-four hours off the job and I'm already bored out of my mind.
The young man from the field, Light, presses open the door with a jingle. His arms are overflowing with lilies, and sprigs of baby's breath. His hair is flyaway, and there are marks under his eyes that make me wonder what keeps a flower-boy up at night. He has this look about him, a particular brand of intensity smothered out by inbred politeness and ennui. He glances back at me. I sip my milkshake and continue to stare unapologetically.
"Oh hey, Light, sorry, we're a bit behind. Matt, can you grab the table-vases?"
Violent swearing floats over from the back room. I smirk, "I'll get them."
"Thanks, Ryuzaki. They're in the back, upper left shelf."
When I return the lilies are lain in a neat row with the delicate lace of the baby's breath next to it. I remove the miniature blue vases one by one, and Light slides the twined pair of flowers into their glass. We get into a rhythm. I keep watching him, he moves with the precision of a chemist, keeps his face measured in a way that would make even Nate proud.
"So, Rue. Are you going to continue to stare?"
"I was thinking about it. Do you want small talk? You work in a flower shop, right? How is that?"
Light's pretty lips twist at my comment. He doesn't seem like the type to ignore social convention. Fine. "It pays the bills. It's my mother's shop."
"Does it really?" I say it to be coy myself (and quite frankly, because I have forgotten how to small-talk), but it seems to be the right thing to say, because his eyes glitter at me.
"Of a sort. You can come visit my shop if you want to see my work."
There's the invitation, and he leans in slightly like he's watched all the right movies. I smile, "I think I just might take you up on that. Lily and Baby's Breath. Humility and innocence." I feel there's a perfect irony in those choices, though it does suit M and M's to a tee. He gives me a smile that's considerably less false.
"Right you are."
"Tell me, Light, what flowers would you pair with Belladona? Out of curiosity."
"I thought perhaps purple columbine would look nice." he says it so innocently that the challenge is obvious. I nod approvingly and we distribute the vases amidst the tables, "I'll see you soon, Rue?"
"Perhaps, yes." absolutely. I'm very curious about what this florist wants.
After the door jingles behind Light, I resign myself to a mediocre crossword puzzle from yesterday's news. It only takes about a half a minute to solve. I don't bother writing anything down. Mail sidles in to my booth. He's got a newspaper in his hand, and a slightly frantic look in his eye.
"Are you trying to stay away from the detective shit or what?"
I hesitate, plucking the cherry off of my milkshake, "What have you got for me?"
Mail slides the newspaper across the table. Corpses on the front page. My pulse quickens. "The paper says they're overdose victims, but I'm not buying it. There isn't enough of the material in this town to kill anyone, and no one's that deep into it. I knew one of the guys personally. He's a bit of a shithead, but smart about cocaine, and couldn't nearly afford enough to go out like this."
"You think it was a bad batch?"
"I think it might be a poisoning." The words shiver in the back of me. Half of me wants to take an out on this one, compress all memories of B to a small space where only my past could scare them out. The other half really can't resist.
So what's your stake in it?"
"Look, I only half give a damn about the addicts in this town. But it's gotten worse lately, and I want it to stop. There's been some shady characters hanging out by M and M's, it makes me a nervous, ya know? This kind of shit is the reason we got out of the big city. Has the underground gotten any better there?"
"If by better, you mean better at breaking the law, then yes," I suck out the remainder of my milkshake, "It was a fool's dream to think we could get the streets clean, to be honest."
"I didn't think you'd call her a fool."
There he goes. Mail never hesitates to take his advantage, go for the guilt, go for the gut, and I have to glare back at him. It's the human thing to do. Inside though, there's no anger anymore. Just a kind of apathetic detachment, "She lost, though."
"Got lost."
"Well, she sure as hell isn't getting found now that she's six feet under," I wish I wanted to cry instead of smoke, but I light a cigarette anyways.
"I thought I told you not to smoke in here."
"I'm in the smoking section. It's an establishment, isn't it?" he glowers at me and I stub it out, "What do you want me to do, Matt? I really don't want to talk about old, dead friends right now."
"I want you to track down these dealers, and set the police on the source. Get them out of my town."
"You just want the addicts out, don't you." He doesn't say anything for a moment. As much as he pretends to be like Astrid, he's really nothing like her. None of us are. That's probably what killed her. I grimace. This town gives me far too much time to think.
"Whatever the reason, Ryuzaki. But I'd prefer if you'd do it for her."
Mail always had a soft spot for Astrid. It was her and him, me and Nate, Mihael and B. I think the amount of times we felt like a family can be counted in minutes stolen over the course of years as siblings. Still, it's present. There isn't a place for these nowhere-kids, not even here.
"I can look into it. But you know it will be my style. I don't have the police holding me back."
He relents a moment, "Look, it might be nothing."
"Matt," I whisper quietly, "I know your instincts. It's probably not nothing."
"Don't say shit like that, L. You make me want to like you."
"Don't call me that. It's Ryuzaki."
"Right."
"So who should I talk to?"
"The dealer in town is a kid named Ryuk. Greasy little motorcycle-riding asshole who lives on the east end. I can give you his address, but I can't guarantee it will help you find him."
"But he's not the supplier."
"Main supplier is a man named Mikami, though he's hard to get to. They call him 'Eraserhead' in the drug circles, but it's no secret. They were only selling pot before, but now cocaine's been flying around here, and that's bigger fish. It doesn't make sense, really, but I didn't think much of it till now. And to be honest, I wouldn't bet on Mikami being the end of that chain."
"I thought Mello said you were keeping an eye on it."
"Like I said, I didn't think it was a problem till corpses started turning up."
It never is. "I'll do my best. Need something to keep me busy," an idea occurs to me, "Do you have a spare motorcycle, incidentally?"
"Mell has an old one that I don't like him driving. Why?"
"I need to affect a persona."
He stares incredulously, "Do you even know how to drive a bike?"
"I'll learn."
The bike is a beaten-black old Yamaha, which makes me think of the pianos I never quite got the hang of playing. It takes two hours for me to be able to drive it with confidence. Mihael takes some time out of his day to 'make sure I don't kill myself', which even I have to admit may be slightly necessary.
"All right, show me that turn one more time, I have to get in before Linda's shift turns over."
I spin the wheels through the dirt, rev the ignition and make the turn with style. Makes up for the first three attempts at drifting, which is why my white shirt is now covered in mud. It's stylistic, though, not so much that it looks sloppy, simply effectively careless. Like I've been on the road, and the road has left its mark on me. Good.
"Satisfied?"
"You're a quick study. So you're going for the narc angle, eh?"
"Since I don't have you there, you were the best at it."
"That's because I liked to dress like a pimp in my teens."
"You did look rather ridiculous. I hate to say it, but the apron suits you better."
"Says the guy who wears the same thing every day."
"Saves on decision time."
"Makes sense. But I was nothing at it compared to B. I hope you've learned a bit from him. He's practically half-underworld. I could just pass is all."
I have to fight not to grimace there, and I can tell Mihael notices. Damn. He doesn't miss a beat. I rev the engine and gesture at the drift-tracks in an attempt to steer off the subject.
"Your drifting is okay, but don't try that in front of anyone you're trying to impress. You'll probably fuck it up. And take this," Mihael shrugs off a worn black leather jacket.
"You've really grown up, haven't you?"
He shakes his head, "You haven't changed a bit. Take care of yourself out there. Be home for dinner."
"Probably not tonight," I resist the urge to mock him and slip on the jacket. It likely emphasizes my thin frame to a more ridiculous degree, but an affectation of the off-kilter adds an extra layer of threat. People don't know what to expect. I finger my choice of weapon, the coup-de-baton in my jeans pocket, "Daddy's got business to take care of."
"Watch out for Ryuk, he's a tricky little bastard. Best bet is probably the apple orchard. He's got a 'job' there, but mostly he supplies the owner. He's often selling pot to the young kids out there."
"Duly noted. Don't let those kids mess up the place while I'm gone. If they touch my files they'll be hell to pay."
"If they try anything, Matt will give them hell. Don't worry about us, Ryuzaki."
"You're the only ones worth worrying about." Without listening for a reply, I kick my heels off the ground and drive out of the parking lot. The rough-cut road of the small town bumps and jostles against the wheels of the Yamaha. I'm enjoying the feeling of wind against my hair. It makes it feel less...dirty. The highway stretches out nothing but farms for miles in front of me. For a split second I consider driving, and driving, perhaps never turning back, perhaps going straight on to the end of the world.
I'm reasonably certain there's nothing of interest there either.
I pull up at the sight of a field of trees in springtime blossom. There's a boy in the apple-yard. And I say boy because that's exactly what he is– a skinny little twerp with a knot of greasy black hair and a cigarette that stinks of pot. He's wearing pleather jacket and an heart-shaped earring that looks like it came from the bargain store at the corner. He's throwing an apple up and down next to a half-full basket.
"What are you looking at?" he half-grins stupidly. Definitely high. This might be easier than expected.
"You." He whistles once and takes a bite of his apple sharply. As if it's meant to be threatening.
"Who's this freak?" An older boy, beefier and not nearly as sharp-looking lumbers out from behind a stack of hay. How typical. No two-bit drug dealer was complete without an incompetent wall of muscle.
"Freak was just passing by, Sidoh. Unless you want something." he cackles and gives me a half-threatening
"I'm looking for Eraserhead." I say it with absolute nonchalance, and Ryuk laughs even harder.
"There ain't no one by that name here, get lost."
"I think not." I cock my head. I'm going for the eccentric angle, since it's always worked well for me. Sidoh, the lumbering stereotype, actually cracks his knuckles and starts walking over to me. Alright Naomi, time to show you that capoeira isn't wasted. He throws a quick right hook, to his credit, but it's a little heavy, and I dodge easily. He goes for a grab, but again, I'm too nimble.
"Stand still!" he grunts. So I take the offensive. A cracking kick to the side of the head, get him off balance, he lunges for me and I take an uppercut under the chin. These are kids. It's too easy.
I'm only given a sharp breath of warning, but it's more than enough for me to know to sidestep. Ryuk falters, knife in hand, and I drive the coup-de-baton into the middle part of his chest. Cracked rib, no worse. The two of them are heaving and coughing.
"Find Eraserhead, and tell him to meet me at the florist's. I want to talk business."
"Fuck. Who the fuck are you?"
And because I know they'll have heard the name, I say, "You can call me Ryuzaki."
I jump on the bike, and let B's reputation kick up dust in my wake. I circle the town a little, buying myself time, thinking things over. Certainly the name would make waves here, if the dealers are involved in cocaine.
It was always B who could blend in, likely because he was more street than detective. Astrid half-admired him for it, and certainly made use of it, though she hated the truth that he brought to the role. He did catch us over a fifty pimps, a trafficking ring and two drug lords, though. He never forgot a face.
I'll never be able to match him, I think as I roll back in to town.
It doesn't take me long to find 'Sachiko's Blossoms' the red-brick neat and cheery in the heart of town. There's a young girl in the window arranging daylilies and carnations. That I didn't expect. I half-regret demanding that a potential drug-middleman meet me here, but I can't shake the feeling that this is exactly what will shake up Light Yagami.
And I'd bet my reputation on him being tied up in this.
I sidestep into the bright fragrance of the shop. It's a charming mix of violets, orchids, both rough-and-tumble wildflowers and refined imports working in harmony. I can see Light arranging a stunning bouquet in the back, but he hasn't seen me yet. The young girl sidles up to him smiling. I linger behind the shelves of decorative garden-wares, hoping to catch a glimpse of him unawares.
"The bouquet looks perfect, Light!" and she's not wrong. The complementary color choices; yellows and purple are at once demure and sublime, "You have to teach me how to do that before you leave for college!"
"Look, Sayu, how many times have I told you; I won't go." the half-smile is indulgent and irritated. Seems she's made a habit of this type of cajoling, "I don't want to leave you and Mom."
"You're never going to meet anyone as smart as you here!"
"That's just a waste of my time. I can do more just keeping us together, Sayu. You'll go to college, in a few years. We'll have enough to send you."
"You should be the one to go," she says almost shyly. This is a different kind of cajoling, I can tell in the way his eyes widen, "You have better marks. You could really do something great."
"It's okay, Sayu. Dad already taught me everything I need to know."
"Oh, so you're going to study chemistry at school? That's great!"
"Sure. After you and mom are fine here." the slightest flint in the way his fingers tighten over the bouquet ribbon tells me that's a subject worth looking into. But before I step forward, a tall, clean-cut looking man of Japanese descent pushes the door open with unusual force.
His youth and the sharpness of his demeanor tell me everything I need to know about 'Eraserhead'. I make my move fluidly, meeting his eyes, "Teru Mikami."
"Rue Ryuzaki." we shake hands, despite the fact that we've recognized each other. B's reputation precedes him.
"I'm in the market for some flowers," I say with a deliberate emphasis, "Can you perhaps set some recommendations?"
"Elm and Spruce." He says in a businesslike manner. Not subtle, but I catch the hint.
"I'll be in touch." I say it just as Light notices us from across the room. His facial expression barely changes, but Mikami's shifts from proud to terrified to slightly adoring. Well, isn't it clear who's in charge here. Excellent.
I walk over to Light, who has busied himself with a bouquet of peonies, dotted with delicate daisies. To spite him, I bend over and smell the flowers, right in front of him.
"How lovely. Have you been told that you have a wonderful eye for color?"
"People say that. My mother says if I left the place we'd lose half our customers," He half-laughs, and it's really quite false. There's some resentment there.
"A florist. You seem a little out of place here, if you don't mind me saying."
"As do you."
"I'm out of place everywhere," I say it with a bitter half-smile, "You might fit in the city."
"Can't. I've been helping my mother manage the place since my father was killed." He fingers a peony with gentleness, "I'm needed here." there's no bitterness in his voice, but the narrowing of his eyes tells me everything I need to know.
"I'm sorry," I reply with a seemingly appropriate gentleness. The scent of flower is making me slightly dizzy.
"No, I'm sorry. I'm not sure what made me say that."
"You have flawless emotional imitation, perhaps." That much is certainly true, and I can tell he takes advantage of it.
He stares at me, laughs the kind of fake laugh that beautiful people can always manage, "I suppose I'll take that as a compliment. Is something on your mind, Rue?"
"Business." I say shortly, and I see him nod seriously. I'm one step closer to gaining his trust, but I'm going to need to take this slow, set things up carefully with Mikami. I can tell Light Yagami plays the long game. I'm just not sure what kind of game he's playing. I find myself, surprisingly, looking forward to finding out.
In the meantime, I watch his hands arrange the flowers in perfect balance, and buy a bouquet of lilies for my bedside, with white roses.
iv. orchids
The sound of a newspaper being opened. Pages turned. The sound of knuckles cracking behind glass.
"You're looking worse."
Silence.
"What's he sayin'?"
"He says to shut up."
"Oh."
"No, I didn't say that. You can keep talking. I like that it annoys him."
"Uh, sure."
"Never mind."
Silence. The soft sound of hands being clasped and unclasped. A hand pressed to glass, very slowly. Another hand to meet it.
"It's going to be soon, isn't it."
The sound of boots starting back. A heavy gasp. Bell-like laughter.
"Well, Light. It certainly is nice to hear your voice again."
– JANUARY 10 1983 18:28 –
I do, in fact, make it home for dinner that night, make it to bed before three in the morning and dream of gunshots and screaming children—
—It's a small boy, barely six years old. Astrid never did live in a good neighborhood, and she, like Quillsh, was always taking in strays. She was terrible with children. Far too strict and lax in equal measure. No stability. But one might almost say she loved them. She certainly collected them.
Whether or not they returned the feeling is questionable. Sometimes they'd run out.
This night, it was little Max. And somehow, he ended up where B and I were stalking beats, arguing about Misora.
"She's a good partner, but she's too straightlaced."
"Honestly, B, I need someone straightlaced. So do you, that's why Astrid would be such a good partner for you."
"Ah, but you know I've only got eyes for you, Lawli," He bats his eyes then and it's a little ridiculous but I smile anyways.
I try hard to pull myself out because I know how this one ends, I'm sick of seeing how this one ends.
We see the boy across the road.
"Shit, is that A's Max?"
The boy takes a step towards me on the sidewalk, trips and falls, still safe on the sidewalk, but nothing is safe and a skinny thrill seeker out of his mind on methamphetamines runs a motorcycle through his bones. Snap, snap, snap, and for once it's me who screams and not B—
— I tumble awake, soaked in sweat. Fuck. I whisper in to the night, and wonder when it all might end. That was always A's hope; one last act, one legacy for something grandiose and good, and then close up shop and fade into the wallpaper. I didn't think it would ever appeal to me, but time gets to surprising you. Time is not kind to those who want to save the world.
A glance over at my clock. Five. Not willing to go to sleep again, I trace out avenues to check for the case, trying to forget the sound of my own scream.
Luckily, it proves to be long work.
Information gathering is slow, but Morello knows enough strings to pull to get me hooked up. I keep Light's name off the line because I know it won't get me any dice, and it will only get some incompetents here far too soon. The next step is to go for the police. As luck would have it, Naomi rings me at eight in the evening when I'm alternating between nibbling donuts and making calls to everyone I can about Teru Mikami. Miheal brings me the phone with a half-smile.
"Don't tie up our line too long," I take the phone and give him a salute.
"L? It's me."
"Ryuzaki here."
"Seriously? His name?"
"It has weight here. I like the alias. How is he?"
"Stable. They're going to have him transferred directly to the asylum, notify his next of kin. He won't be fit for trial for another while. I hired you a good lawyer with Quillsh's money."
"Thanks, Naomi," I think my voice must sound weak over the phone, because she sighs, her concern palpable.
"Have you been sleeping? How's town?"
"Regrettably, yes. It's fine. I've been keeping busy."
"I know what that means—"
"Yeah, I'm Ryuzaki for now, it's helping me get information about a drug-stir up in town. Maybe keep the higher-ups off of me. This is probably small fry, but then again."
"Alright, I'll watch it. Always thought you'd make a better private detective anyways. You're not great at staying within the law."
"Touche. That's what I've got you for." I can hear her smiling wryly on the other line. Then I almost wish that my first partner had been my last, because sometime soon I'm going to be back by her side and I can't wait and I want nothing more than to burn it all and never look back. The thought scares me a moment.
"Look, I should go—"
"Oh. Oh, take care of yourself, Ryuzaki."
"Mhm."
I step outside for a smoke, trying to stay off Mail's bad side today. Cars sweep back and forth. A parent's convertible taken for a joyride. Clouds have gathered in the sky, making it grow quite dark. I take a drag and wonder how it got to be evening so quickly. Small blessings, I suppose. It'll be good to keep Light and Mikami waiting. Adds suspense. I'm just finishing up the dregs of the nicotine when Mail rushes out, fury contorting his features.
"You shot someone, but you didn't tell me it was B."
I hesitate a moment, not knowing how to respond to that. "Do you ever get tired of antagonizing me?" it comes out more tired than I meant it, and it seems to make Mail simultaneously more sympathetic and more angry.
"What the fuck? Look, I may not have liked B, and I certainly don't like you, but I still deserve to know about this shit. Fucking Christ, L—"
"Please shut up, people could hear you."
"My brother is in the hospital because my other brother shot him because he murdered three people and you didn't think to tell us?"
"I –" couldn't. I think, and it's the truth. It's the truth and I can't say it out loud and I can't hear B's voice again, not for a long time. The cigarette falls from my fingers and I push past Mail out back, where Mihael is taking his own smoke break.
"Fuck." I say emphatically when I see him, but don't turn around, "Keys, I need to drive."
"Did something happen?" Mihael asks, slow and concerned.
"B went on a bender and murdered two people, so I shot him. He's headed for the asylum now and he's probably going to be acquitted with drug charges because someone poisoned his fix." Oh. It's surprisingly simple to say it.
"Oh. Oh."
"Fuck." I say it again like it's all coming down on me, and then step off in big, heavy strides. It's not quite as satisfying as the motorcycle, but it's enough. I break out into a run, one leg after the other, long, it's been so long, and B used to run with me, A used to run with me, and it feels too natural to be running with ghosts.
It starts raining.
It rains hard.
Every step through the sheets of rain reminds me of everything we haven't made. Even with my tireless mind, B's cunning brutality, A's bright-eyed legacy, people kept destroying. For pointless reasons, blood spilt like Max's, like Astrid's. Deaths that I didn't see coming.
Born with nothing but a name, just as we die. A young B's words filter back to me.
I admit to myself, even as I sprint through the torrent to leave it behind, that I did see B's descent coming.
I keep running. Keep running until I hear a voice calling.
"Rue!"
And who is it but the golden boy. Light, standing in the glow of a streetlamp under the awning of an old apartment building.
"What the hell are you doing?"
"What?" I call, cupping my ear.
"What are you doing?"
"What?"
He relents and strides over to me in the rain, "What are you doing? You'll catch cold."
"Running."
"Oh."
We stand for a while and I stare at him. He seems very unsure how to act in this scenario, and falls back on that half-bored refinement I saw for a fleeting moment the past morning. I don't have any patience for that shit, not now, so I ask him:
"Have you ever once been truthful in your life?"
"You are the strangest man I've ever met." Light leans in close, with a kind of perfunctory staged romance, and though I want it right now, I really don't want another lie. So I stop him with a finger to his lips, match him cliché for cliché.
"I think you're avoiding the question."
"I want to know why you're asking it."
"You work with Mikami. I want to work with you." I surprise myself with my own boldness, but it's as I've always said. He who strikes first…Light doesn't confirm or deny anything, just stares at me, doe-eyed and calculative in equal measure, "Is this your apartment?"
"Yeah, want to come up?"
"Yes."
Light produces large white towels as soon as we enter his apartment. I take a survey of the room. It's stylish, like someone who visits the big city more than one would expect. There are clean white couches, not leather but close, and well-accented walls.
"I would have thought you lived with your family at the flower shop."
"I rent this apartment for business purposes," He gestures towards a photograph of a blond girl, marked with a kiss. He wrinkles his nose slightly.
"Misa Amane? The model?" I stare at the framed photograph.
"She has a thing for small-town boys. And she helped me make connections."
Misa Amane had been behaving more erratically as of late. I make a mental note to get Naomi to look into it as soon as possible.
"So that's your bit, sleeping your way to the top?" I'm half-joking, but it hits home in the way he shadows his eyes.
"She's in love with me."
"Well, that's inconvenient." And I say it truthfully. Were I the romantic type, I would find it highly inconvenient to be in love with him, "Though convenient for you, I'm sure."
"I'm not a manipulative person, I just want to make her happy," his eyes flicker to a guilty self-justification. Unusual. "And she did know some people I needed to get in touch with."
I laugh staged, so that he thinks I'm jealous. He takes the bait like the good little jailbait he is.
"To be honest, I'm looking for someone who's a better partner for that kind of thing" and he manages to sound seductive from across the room. My nerves are singing from the cold of the rain, and I want nothing more than to envelop him, mark him, take him. It's animalistic, and it disgusts me a little.
I deign to raise an eyebrow, "As am I, Light."
"I'm going to take a shower," he says after a moment. I can't tell whether or not there's an invitation in that statement, so I simply nod. Making it look numb. As soon as he leaves the room, though, I start digging.
He's neat. He's subtle. But there are tell-tale signs, pipettes in the drawers, a slight hint of acid in the air, letters from Argentina. The poppies on the table make me queasy to look at them. There's a locked door in the corner of the kitchen, subtle, but when I knock I think it's more than a closet. I'm rooting around the edges of the kitchen, a little bit frantic in the quietness of my movements, when I hear a voice floating in over the rush of water.
"Ryuzaki?" Ah. That's right. The seduction. Might as well play in to what I'm here for, especially now that I've more or less gotten what I want. B used to tell stories about fucking for information, that it wasn't that bad. I wander in to the bathroom, which is surprisingly breathtaking. Who puts marble in a dive like this? Someone who seduces models, I suppose. I shrug off Mihael's jacket and pull open the glass door, fully clothed.
"Oh."
"You can kiss me now, if you want," I hear myself say, and he does. He pulls me under the warm rain of the shower. He's perhaps not as aroused as he should be, if this isn't staged, so I nibble at his neck and demand that of him. Good.
I press him against the wall, and it's then I realize I haven't come here for information at all. Not really. His hands peel the clothing off me gentle, and he's considerate. He's a strange lover, touching at once like he's never been held in his life, other times like he wants nothing more than to drag his nails into my skin.
For my part, I lose myself in it. I think, I think, I think, B would be proud. That thought occurs to me just after the orgasmic haze washes over me. I don't fully understand it.
Light seems surprised when he comes, eyes wide shut like he's never been so vulnerable in his life. He clutches at the meat and bones of my back like an anchor amidst the rain of hot water. I let him. I let him take comfort, and I don't pretend I don't take some for myself.
Sometimes, you hold on to what you have to.
