Refraction
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Chapter One
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Shinomori Aoshi stalked into the station, tie undone and coat hanging off his arm. His hair was disarrayed and still damp from his hurried morning shower, and the lingering scent of toothpaste and aftershave hovered around him like mist. There were dark circles beneath his eyes and specks of dried blood on his face, as if he had cut himself by shaving carelessly. This struck most of the juniors are strange, for in all the while they had known him Aoshi had been the epitome of perfection. A murmur rippled around the room, 'maybe he's human after all' and rolled throughout the station like a small wave.
"Damn them," thought Aoshi moodily. He was entitled to be disheveled. After all, today was Sunday; a sacred, holy day reserved for peace, quiet and all things non-work related. But then at five thirty that morning his slumber was rudely interrupted by a phone call from the Commissioner himself (halfway through a wonderfully bizarre dream in which he and Julie Andrews were running up and down the Alps singing and gunning down Nazis) who demanded that they meet as soon as possible.
He came to a halt in front of the Commissioner's office and knocked sharply.
"Come in!"
Aoshi braced himself but was still unprepared for the stuffy, hazy atmosphere of the Commissioner's office. Indeed, the smoke was so concentrated that fighting the resulting urge to cough made his eyes water. He could not understand why the Commissioner never opened his windows. Surely that would do a world of good? Surely he'd be less likely to die of lung cancer? 'But then again,' he reasoned, 'he lives off these fumes'. Not to mention it was probably one of his attempts to intimidate people. And everyone knew how happy he was when he was being intimidating.
Praying he wouldn't trip over anything, Aoshi instinctively navigated himself through the smog, stood before the Commissioner's desk, and waited.
"Shinomori," he said, emerging from the shadows, his hoarse voice hushed. The smoke blurred his features, but even then Aoshi could still make out his piercing golden eyes. His mouth was unsmiling and thin, his skin pallid, his features sharp. He had a chilling demeanor that struck fear into the hearts of almost everyone he met, and was proud of it. Indeed, Commissioner Saitou Hajime was a force to be reckoned with.
"Sir?"
Saitou motioned for him to sit down with a wave of his hand before lighting another cigarette. Under the milky glow of the fluorescent table lamp, currently the only source of light in the room, Aoshi could see tired lines on the Commissioner's face, unshaven and worn. It appeared that he'd had less sleep than Aoshi. Perhaps no sleep at all.
Saitou stood suddenly and stretched his weary neck muscles. Then, whilst moving towards the window, he tossed a large brown cardboard file at Aoshi.
"Look at those," he said.
And for a moment, Aoshi's heart stopped.
His eyes widened in horror and a wave of nausea washed over him. This was sick. This was unnatural. 'This sort of thing…shouldn't be happening in real life.'
They were photographs.
Photographs of mutilated corpses.
Cold dread settled in the pit of Aoshi's stomach and twined itself around his intestines. The atmosphere in the room tensed.
"Sir! This is-!"
For a long while neither of them spoke.
Aoshi was too transfixed by the horrifying details to think coherently, but forced himself to speak nonetheless.
"Have…Have the bodies been identified?"
His voice was hushed and yet it floated incriminatingly between them as if he'd shouted.
"Only some. The rest are too disfigured to recognize."
More silence. Something akin to foreboding was beginning to percolate through Aoshi's skin.
"When did this happen?" he asked.
"It's been happening for weeks but nobody reported it," growled Saitou angrily, taking a long drag of his cigarette. "Goddamn the imbeciles in this city! They don't even have the presence of mind to file a report when someone goes missing!"
Aoshi shut the file and couldn't help but heave a heavy sigh. He stared at his shoes and didn't dare look up. There were emotions evident on his face that he didn't want the Commissioner to see.
"Is it possible for me to examine the bodies?" he asked, finally.
"Most probably. They're performing the autopsies as we speak."
Saitou stubbed out his cigarette on the window sill before speaking again.
"They were found in some warehouse at the docks. They were shoved into crates and were about to be shipped off
to God-knows where. Fortunately, some fool decided to be nosy and see what was in them."
"Fortunately…" murmured Aoshi, absorbing the irony of the statement.
"If I were you I'd make contact with the team from the forensics department. I think Takani's is the one assigned to this case."
"Yes, Sir,"
Aoshi rose to his feet, clutching the file tightly. His knuckles were white.
"Shinomori," said the Commissioner.
Aoshi looked up. The sun was just beginning to rise. Golden light penetrating the slits between the blinds on the windows cast eerie shadows around the room like the bars of a cage. Aoshi could not suppress the feeling that he was trapped. When his gaze came to rest upon the Commissioner, half shrouded in darkness, he shivered involuntarily. The tendrils of smoke wafting from the Commissioner's newly-lit cigarette, coiling in to each other like snakes performing an elaborate dance, and the fiercely calm expression on his face, were defined by warm sunbeams. Aoshi could only wonder what he was thinking about. The Commissioner was unreadable, as usual.
"Sir?"
The Commissioner's voice was so soft Aoshi had to strain to hear it.
"Good luck."
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