Where the Dawn Doesn't Break
Chapter Two: A Morbid Proposition
"Nobody said it was easy
It's such a shame for us to part
Nobody said it was easy
No one ever said it would be this hard
Oh, take me back to the start."
Crisp autumn leaves in warm hues of auburn and crimson floated to the ground at Yami's feet. For as bright as the sun was shining, the air was bitterly cold. Yami thrust his hands further into his pea coat. He hated the atmosphere. He hated the situation. He hated himself.
It was all very modest. Too modest for Yami's liking. A generic picture of Yugi sat on a wire stand and loomed over the small gathering. There were quaint little wreathes scattered about composed of common flowers in every color. Yellow, like his bangs. Purple, like his eyes. White, like his…
'Like his heart,' Yami thought to himself. Yugi had been the very model of purity, a pillar of support to any who had known him, and a faultless perpetuator of good will.
Yami looked with dread to the rectangular footstone squashed between plots belonging to "Mira Mutou" and "Gabrial Mutou," presumably Yugi's late parents. The small marble slab infuriated the former pharaoh. He felt that his hikari's memory should be honored by a grand, architecturally stunning monument – a statue of sorts that could convey to others how loved and wonderful Yugi had been.
Yami hated it all. He hated the defiantly beautiful weather. He hated the squat, elderly priest clad in dusty black robes. He hated Anzu's echoing sobs, and Solomon's empty eyes. He hated the way Jounouchi stood, with his head down, allowing his shaggy blonde hair to shield his face. Yami hated the soft, cliché encouragements that Ryou offered to his friends. Most of all, the broken pharaoh hated that he had failed. In his only gods-given duty, he had utterly failed. His charge, his hikari, his only reason for existing, had burned to death, trapped within a shitty little cab.
Yami clenched his fists as the ceremony began.
The priest opened a book and read excerpts aloud that were likely meant to be uplifting, but clearly didn't have the desired effect. Everyone present was simply going through the motions deemed appropriate by society. Nobody wanted to be there. Everyone, instead, probably wanted to be alone, to mourn in solidarity. After mulling over some stock quotes and optimistic ideals concerning death and the hereafter, the priest bowed his head and motioned for Solomon to approach the gravestone.
The elder Mutou ambled to the front of the presentation with a striking glass vase in his trembling hands. Within the transparent urn was a small pile of ash which Solomon carefully scattered over Yugi's marble slab. The emotionally spent old man turned to his audience with sorrowful eyes.
"The deputy recovered some ash from the site so… well, it was the best I could do. As you know, there wasn't a lot left of… of him," Solomon said hoarsely. Anzu squeaked in horror.
"But," the elder Mutou continued, "we need to focus on his memory right now. Even though Yugi can't be with us physically anymore, we need to keep him alive in our hearts."
Solomon paused and his shoulders slumped forward in defeat.
"It's just… I feel that it was before his time. He was just out of high school and… and…"
The elderly man lost his composure, and the tears loosed themselves from his tired eyes. Jounouchi stepped forward and gently ushered the man away. The priest, his duty served, sputtered a few quick and impersonal words of comfort before hurriedly shuffling toward his centuries-old Cadillac.
No one spoke to Yami. No one could bear to even look at him. It was too painful to see the dead boy reflected in the pharaoh's nearly identical appearance. And those eyes, to see those cold, indomitable eyes on the countenance of their closest friend was too much for any of them to tolerate. Yugi's gaze had always been soft and tender, a sharp contrast to the former pharaoh's cold, unwavering stare.
Yami looked away, silently glad that the ceremony was over. He mulled over Solomon's words.
"As you know, there wasn't a lot left of… of him."
Just a belt buckle and the Millennium Puzzle, according to Deputy Carson.
It didn't make sense to Yami. He wasn't particularly versed in the ways of physics, but it seemed that the temperatures needed to completely burn a human body in such a short amount of time would more than decimate the malleable gold of the Millennium Puzzle. And there would have been nothing left of a mere belt buckle, likely composed of metal as common as stainless steel. Furthermore, why hadn't the incident been covered by local television stations? Where were the newspaper articles? The hospital papers? Why had Yugi taken a cab when he usually just walked home? Had anybody actually met Deputy Carson?
Yami was uneasy. He felt the slightest tinge of hope well within his core, a sensation that had become so foreign to him since the day of that dreaded phone call. He approached Solomon and laid a hand on the elderly man's shoulder as he hovered over his grandson's gravestone.
"Solomon, may I speak with you for a moment?" Yami questioned softly.
The elderly man turned around and regarded the former pharaoh with tortured eyes.
"Solomon," Yami began, "does any of this strike you as odd? That the fire didn't destroy the puzzle, or that Yugi took a cab instead of walking like he normally does, or that…"
"Yami," the elder interjected, "just… just let it go. This isn't some puzzle for you to solve. My boy is gone, and now I just need to rest and recuperate." Solomon sighed and gave the pharaoh an intense stare.
"Perhaps you should find another place to stay," the elder Mutou muttered, almost ashamedly. "It's just that… well, you look almost identical to him. I would feel that I was being haunted."
Yami stepped back in indignation. Solomon saw the hurt he had dealt, perhaps unfairly, and tried in vain to console the man who he had just turned onto the streets. The elderly reached into his pocket and pulled out the contents of his wallet – approximately two hundred dollars.
"Here," the elder Mutou insisted as he held the bills under Yami's nose. "It's not much, but you can use this as a start to find a home elsewhere."
"No, Solomon," Yami muttered through clenched teeth. "I do not need your money."
With that, the dark spirit turned and left, the chilling breeze causing his coat to billow out to the side. From a distance he looked like the grim reaper, floating ethereally over the graves of his victims.
By the time Yami reached the Domino park, the sun was setting, transforming the sky into a vivid display of bright, almost otherworldly, magenta and violet hues. He collapsed by a tiny stream and rested his head against the trunk of an aged willow, watching, mesmerized, as the chains of leaves danced back and forth in the breeze. He and Yugi had spent so many evenings in that very spot since the separation of their bodies, just relishing the tranquil environment and engaging in deep, tender conversations as the running water trickled over pebbles and between clay ridges.
"Yami?" Yugi questioned meekly, running his fingers through the clear waters of the creek.
"Yes, aibou?" the former pharaoh responded in a soft tone.
"If you could wish for absolutely anything, and your wish would come true, what would it be?"
Yami shuffled about nervously. He didn't like such revealing questions.
"Aibou, that is a very broad question…"
"Oh, come on," Yugi teased. "Is it too much for the big tough emotionless pharaoh to handle?"
Yami rolled his eyes.
"Yugi, I just don't put a lot of thought into empty scenarios."
"Just answer the question," Yugi prompted in an uncharacteristically authoritative tone. Yami sighed, defeated, and raised a slender hand to his forehead in contemplation.
"Well," the former pharaoh began, "I suppose I would wish for strength."
"Strength?" Yugi inquired. "Really? For someone who was complaining about how 'broad' my question was, that's a pretty generic answer. What do you need strength for?"
"I would wish for the strength you possess, Yugi, to know how to make level decisions even when I'm cornered. I would wish for the strength to remain sane when faced with tragedy. Most importantly, I would wish for the strength to protect you in any situation."
Yugi was speechless. He marveled up at his darker half with the same admiration a child might hold for a superhero.
"So what would you wish for, aibou?" the pharaoh prompted at length. Yugi grinned up at him, then glanced down at the Millennium puzzle.
"I already made a wish, Yami. And it came true a long time ago."
"Yugi…" Yami whimpered to an empty audience. The reality of the situation bore down upon him, and the normally stoic façade that the former pharaoh had maintained for so many years faltered. Overwhelmed by grief, guilt and shame, Yami began to weep bitterly.
"How pathetic," a sinister voice spat from behind the willow. Yami jumped to his feet and spun around, only to lock eyes with the tomb robber.
"What do you want from me?" the pharaoh demanded.
Bakura's lips curled into a wide, disturbing smile.
"I don't ask for much, really. And in lieu of recent events, my proposition might actually interest you."
"I seriously doubt that," Yami retorted.
"Just hear me out, pharaoh. It has come to my attention that you really don't have much to live for these days, do you? You failed as a guardian, you were kicked out of your home, and when I stumbled upon you, you were crying like a lost child in the park, of all places. Not very king-like behavior, I'm afraid."
Yami's eyes narrowed. He didn't have the patience for this.
"If you're just going to stand here and ridicule me all night, I will go ahead and ask that you save your breath. I'm not exactly in the mood for your snide remarks."
"That's just it," Bakura continued, the demented grin still planted on his gaunt features. "You're not in the mood, are you? Not in the mood for my jesting, not in the mood to fight back, not in the mood to do much of anything anymore. What I offer is an outlet, pharaoh, eternal escape from your suffering. You can't live like this. You weren't meant to live without Yugi in this place to begin with. If left unchecked, without a lighter half to balance your soul, you will degenerate into the evil, feral mongrel that you were before your precious Yugi resurrected you from your five-thousand-year slumber. Without your hikari, you will go on to inflict pain upon others."
Hopelessness washed over Yami's countenance. The tomb robber, however vile his intentions were, had a valid point.
"What do you suggest I do then?" the former pharaoh questioned meekly. In response, Bakura pulled a rusty dagger from his belt loop.
"Do you know whose dagger this was?" the tomb robber inquired, in an almost playful tone. Yami just shook his head.
"It was my father's. I found it on his person after your army speared him in the heart. For all these years I have waited patiently for the opportunity to use it against you, pharaoh. Just think about it: you would never kill yourself; that would be a coward's errand and a waste of precious royal blood. Let me do the dirty work and fulfill my one and only goal in life. I would make it quick, just a swift cut to the jugular, and don't fret, I have spent countless hours sharpening this old blade."
Yami's initial reaction was to mock the tomb robber's failed attempts at misplaced revenge and promptly leave, but he instead took a moment to let Bakura's words take root. Perhaps it was best that he were done away with. His business in the realm of the living seemed to have ended with Yugi's death, and the broken pharaoh wondered himself if he even had the mental constitution to survive without his hikari.
"What of my friends?" Yami responded – a feeble counter. His only counter. "I would not subject them to two losses in such a short amount of time."
"That's awfully presumptuous of you, pharaoh," came Bakura's sneering reply. "They put up with you because of Yugi, but now that he's gone, have any of them even looked you in the eye? Have they visited you? Offered you their comfort? I don't believe that they have. You are, to them, a foreign, strange entity. Your sudden disappearance would neither sadden nor surprise them. Hell, even Yugi's grandfather exiled you from his household. Shows how much they all care about the precious little pharaoh."
Yami lowered his gaze, defeated. A glaze passed over his eyes, and he gave a faint nod in Bakura's direction.
"Very well, tomb robber. Do with me as you wish."
Bakura's eyes lit up in victory. Seeing the broken king before him filled him with a dark, overwhelming joy.
Above all, the tomb robber delighted that the pharaoh would die at his hands, and all because of one carefully constructed lie.