Nights of the Wolf

Chapter 2: The Illusion of Safety

By: Shoddywork

So here is chapter two as promised. As usual, leave comments, feedback, and rants as a review, and I'll be sure to put out more soon. One note to make: I reference Pepper Lunch in this chapter. For those of you who are unaware, Pepper Lunch is a Japanese fast-food chain, specializing in what is called "fast steak".

They say that fluorescent lights are unflattering. That is absolutely true, and even less flattering for a corpse, which isn't much to look at in the first place. Nami Watanabe was undoubtedly a pretty girl in life, but laying on a steel gurney she looked old and weathered already, the skin a full alabaster that hinted at blue, a sight that she would have been disgusted by if she were able to witness it. Detective Urawa hovered over the body for a moment while the coroner prepared his tools; now that she had been stripped bare and washed, the triangular stab wounds were even more apparent, spread across her body like bloody constellations. The bruises on her face had turned an even deeper purple as the body started it's final transformation, that is until her family would be able to cremate her.

"Looks like she has a few broken facial bones, Doctor," Urawa observed. The coroner glanced over his shoulders as he snapped his latex gloves on, making a thin snapping sound that was…somehow disturbing.

"By the bruising, and some of the facial deformation, I'd say she probably had most of the bones in her face broken. Only a prize fighter or an animal could do something like that. Then he stabbed this girl so deep he ground the hilt into her."

Urawa glanced up with a mild look of amazement on his face, "He got the blade all the way through…?"

"Yes sir, that's what it looks like. If you notice some of the chest wounds, probably the first stabbing wounds she suffered judging by the clotting and bruising, you can see some red indentations next to the cut. That's where the handle of the blade hit her flesh as he was stabbing. Hell, with that kind of force he probably could have run her through with a street sign." The coroner moved towards the body, inspecting it tentatively from head to toe before picking up his scalpel, stating to himself, "No obvious signs of sexual assault, though we'll run through all the tests just to make sure. Judging from the marks where the ear was removed, your killer is using a large, serrated knife, probably kitchen or commercial variety judging by the size of the wounds."

"Looks like there's some dried substance on her neck and face," Urawa noted, moving in to get a better view.

The doctor joined him, scrutinizing the flesh through his thick-rimmed glasses. "Definitely something we'll test; probably saliva or nasal secretions, but we'll get to the bottom of that. Something I did notice was this large cut on this girls left ring finger. No blood loss or bruising around the cut, so it has to be post-mortem."

"Looks like he took a ring from her hand," Urawa muttered.

"Could be, we do see this kind of injury quite a bit with murders, usually an ex-husband getting back at his wife."

Urawa sighed to himself, "None of his victims were married, and this girl is way too young anyway. It bothers me; he's only taken the ears before, we've never found other items missing from one of his bodies. It must mean something."

"Well, that's were you come in, so I'll just get started with her if you don't mind." The coroner motioned Urawa out of the room noiselessly, and the detective complied. He had other work to do, besides, and he couldn't spend all morning watching this butcher go to work. He had stopped by his apartment before meeting back at the station in order to take a shower and get himself dressed, which was his usual black-on-black suit and tie. Urawa also had time before leaving to get in touch with Makoto to finalize plans that he was hoping he wouldn't have to cancel now. He was going to take her out to dinner, nothing romantic, but a simple plutonic get-together celebrating her recent graduation, that he of course had to miss. Her gift was sitting on his desk, a deluxe pastry kit along with a semesters tuition for culinary school, and at the very least he wanted to make sure to give that to her before the night was over.

Urawa hated how his work often made him unreliable, a horrible trait that manifested itself in his divorce years prior. Knowing Makoto gave him an opportunity to make it up to somebody, and the idea of failing her as well was an omnipresent fear that hung over him and crawled into the pit of his stomach whenever he had to call her and cancel plans. She understood what he was going through, and it wasn't like her duties as a member of the Senshi didn't have her coming and going at all times of the day, but she was still a kid and could be forgiven. Urawa felt as though this was his cross to bear alone; even his job would have to wait in order for him to fulfill the oath that he had made to himself.

"Do you drag ass at everything you do, or do you just like getting underneath my skin?" Takashi bellowed from the hallway.

"Which answer is going to piss you off the most?" Urawa gruffly retorted, his facial expression unchanged.

"Well, that's all I needed to hear. Let's head over to my desk, talk some things over; I have the victims record in my sweaty little hands, and we should get through this before the parents come down to talk to us."

"Got it. But just so you know, I'll be taking off for a few hours tonight, around six, so don't try and drop too much on my plate right now. I'll be back afterwards, so if anything comes up just give me a call."

Takashi's eyes drifted over to the package on Urawa's desk, "Hot date tonight?"

"Nothing like that, I'm just meeting someone for dinner."

"That's a girly lookin' present you have on your desk there; if it's not for a girlfriend, who could it be for?"

Urawa smirked, "Oh what the hell, I'll ruin the surprise. I bought you some pastry utensils; you're such a grumpy old bastard that I figured baking might just be the thing to take your mind off of menopause."

"The only thing I need is a hammer and a good place to bury you," Takashi growled.

"It's for…well, let's just say it's for a little sister, I guess that will do."

"Ah, 'little sister', huh? And what's 'little sister' going to do for her 'big bwudder'?" Takashi cackled.

"It's not like that, you filthy old man. She's IS like a sister to me. Damn, I thought old men like you only existed in manga," Urawa cried, a worn look of exasperation plastered across his face.

"Well, I wasn't aware that you had any sisters."

"I don't-I met this girl on a case, she didn't have any family, and I felt like she needed an older figure in her life to help guide her, you know? Kids who go through something like that, it can make them hard and bitter, not unlike yourself. But she's a sweet kid, and I don't want to see her throw her life away because no one took the time to reach out to her."

Takashi nearly gagged, replying, "Okay, that's enough of the saccharine stuff, alright? What you do on your off time is none of my damn business, but if I need to interrupt your little rendezvous tonight don't think your impassioned speech is going to stop me." The veteran collapsed into his chair, stuffed behind a worn old desk that seemed to have been dragged out of a museum, cluttered with yellowed papers and grime. Urawa nervously settled into the chair across from him, which looked like it had seen better days itself, and cleaner ones.

"Your furniture is gross, man; how does facilities let you get away with keeping these relics?"

"Stay with the department as long as I have and you could turn this area into a pigsty if you wanted."

"Well, you're already pretty close," Urawa groaned, pumping out a dollop of sanitizing lotion from Takashi's desk.

"Hey, I didn't bring you over to play housekeeper!" Takashi cracked open the fresh manila folder that was sitting on his desk, adjusted his glasses, and started, "Girl's name is Nami Watanabe, seventeen years old, just finished her Junior year in high school. Seems to have been a good student, member of her school's track and Go clubs, no priors, no history of trouble in school, no history of drug use, and so on and so on. Straight-laced kid by all accounts."

"Just like he likes them," Urawa shuddered before finding his train of thought, "So was there a late club meeting, is that why she was out at that time of night?"

"Patrol contacted some of her friends, got their info from her parents, and they said they were having an end of the school year celebration. It was at one of the kid's house; parents were home all night, made sure there wasn't anything funny going on. Nobody at the party seemed to see anything suspicious, but we can stop over there tomorrow and speak to her friends ourselves."

Urawa interrupted, "He chose her, this isn't just random. None of these kids were criminals, all young, pretty, I'm sure he had been watching them somehow. When we talk to the parents, maybe we can put together some kind of time-line for her last few days, maybe find some correlation with the other victims that we haven't seen before."

"Let's hope; aside from age and clean records, these girls seem to have little in common. The first victim was Ayame Ishida, also seventeen, about 160 centimeters tall, no club affiliations, was a mediocre student, and somewhat of a loner."

"Odd hair color," Urawa noted.

"Yeah, blue dye job, kind of a trendy thing I guess. Second victim was Yoshiko Kundo, excellent student, member of multiple clubs, about 169 centimeters tall, very popular in her class. Neither girl knew each other, since both went to different schools, and they don't seem to share much in the way of common interests."

"So, we have three girls, different backgrounds, from different schools, and no link to one another. According to Ayame's parents, she went to hang out with some manga fans in her neighborhood for some kind of new release. Yoshiko was out late for cram school. Both girls were abducted on the streets; Yoshiko was dragged into an alleyway and Ayame was killed in a nearby park," Urawa finished.

"Guy must have been tailing them, grabbed them when he saw his opportunity," Takashi concluded. The telephone on his desk, the only seemingly new item he owned, beeped for his attention. The detective answered, and with a few murmurs placed the receiver back down and grabbed the folder, saying, "The parents are here. I'm going to have you take the lead on this one."

"Tired of talking to parents about their dead children?" Urawa asked. Takashi simply nodded his head, the growing bags under his eyes saying it all.

"Mr. and Mrs. Watanabe, we'd like to thank you for coming down to talk to us today. I understand this isn't an easy time for you, but whatever information you can give us could help us catch the man that did this to your daughter." Urawa allowed his eyes to analyze the parents, drinking in every detail, but it was simply a scene that was becoming all to familiar. The father's eyes were beet-red, though he tried to maintain his composure, and he fists seemed restless, constantly kneading the legs of his pants in frustration. The mother was borderline catatonic, her eyes were just as red, but with a distant milky gaze that seemed to recognize nothing happening around her as real, that the whole world had become a figment of her imagination. "To start, can you tell us what your daughter was like? Was she popular, did she have a lot of friends, was there anything concerning her?"

The fathers voice cracked before he was able to sputter, "She was a good girl, everyone liked her. My Nami was going to Kyoto University next fall, just like her daddy did. She was happy, she had nothing to worry about, it was all right there for her!" His rambling ended in a shout, the veins in his neck protruding and straining against the muscle. "She was always good, she didn't deserve this!"

"Nobody deserves this, Mr. Watanabe. I understand your anger right now, but make sure to think clearly, did she mention anyone following her, or if there were any personal problems with any of her friends?"

"She doesn't go out late much; she knows we would worry about her. I should go home, Nami must be hungry," her mother droned in a voice that was almost robotic. Her husband gently laid his arm across her shoulders, keeping her in her seat.

"Everyone was happy that the school year was over, so she didn't say anything about personal problems. Because of her testing, she hasn't been able to get out much lately. The only other thing she's done with her friends lately, was…um, it was last week sometime," Mr. Watanabe stumbled, his eyes darting back and forth across the room.

"She went with her friends to buy the new Senshi card game. Nami doesn't like collectibles, really, but she looks up to the Senshi." Nami's mother finished with an empty stare towards the door, her features unchanged.

"That's right, she went with a few of her friends to the manga store down the street, then a café, and right back home. She didn't mention anything else about it," her father continued with a puzzled look.

"Okay, that's a good start. Now, in the past, do you know if she mentioned anything about that store, or if anyone had bothered her there before?" Urawa glanced over to Takashi, who was scribbling madly on a notepad, his brow furrowed in concentration.

"No, she went there regularly. Its just a small neighborhood place, though there are a few otaku who hang around there, but Nami always steered clear of them." Mr. Watanabe eyes began to mist, "Do you think that someone there had a hand in this?"

Urawa leaned over the table, squarely looking the grieving father in his eyes, before fielding the question with, "Maybe, maybe not. It's too early for us to tell right now, but this is a good place to start. Do you know if her friends…"

The detective's line of questioning was abruptly cut off with a loud crack as Mrs. Watanabe slammed her hands against the desk, screaming, "Why do you keep asking us about this shit? I just want to go home to my daughter, damn it!" Tears fell freely from her eyes, her face contorted in a look of desperate confusion. The droplets raced down her cheek and hung, suspended, from her chin before spilling onto the worn oak, gathering into a puddle of broken dreams. Sorrow lay in it's depths, a haunting sob reverberated throughout the room, and within her breast lay the tattered remains of the promise that every parent makes to their child: the promise of safety.

"Do you ever feel ashamed, Takashi?"

"I'm not sure I follow you…"

"I mean, do you ever feel ashamed with what we do? That we have to stick our fingers into other peoples wounds and open them wider?"

Takashi simply exhaled, before he grumbled, "You know what they say, someone has to do it."

Urawa glanced at his wristwatch, groaning, "Damn, I'm probably going to be late to meet Makoto. Hey, I'll be back in a few hours." The young detective grabbed the present from his desk before whipping out his phone to contact Makoto and let her know the situation.

"I'll still be here, so if anything comes up, I'll let you know. And don't get too loaded!"

Urawa found Makoto seated by a large window as she was busy gazing out across the rolling green fields of the nearby park. The restaurant was dim, but she sparkled in a light-green dress despite the gloom, an observation that made him wish he had time to change. He was still in his all black suit, which made him look like he was about to bury someone, not celebrate.

"You always know how to look festive," Makoto joked, catching his reflection in the glass.

"I should have taken my grandfathers advice and become an undertaker. I already have the wardrobe."

"Well, you're close enough, Mr. Homicide Detective. Fancy place by the way," Makoto continued while getting up from her seat, "some people might think we were out on a date." She smirked at the last comment before throwing her arms around him in an exaggerated display of affection, hugging Urawa close to her. "I'm really glad you could make it."

Urawa kissed her softly on the cheek, his eyes dancing with the fire like that of a proud father, "You think I wouldn't find a way to celebrate your graduation with you? I had to do something to make up for missing the ceremony, and I don't think taking you to Pepper Lunch would have been appropriate. Oh, and I got you a little gift."

"You didn't need to get me anything," Makoto sighed, blushing.

"Oh, shut up already and open it."

Makoto tore the colored paper out of the bag and shook her head gently, grabbing the package inside, "Thanks for the baking equipment," she giggled, "what am I, your wife?"

"You wish, kid, just keep looking."

Inside the box Makoto found a plain envelope, which she eagerly tore at until she was able to extract the paper inside. "You paid for my semester at the Tsuji Cooking School? Are you kidding me?" Makoto's face burned bright red, though she did lower her voice when she noticed the shocked gaze of disturbed diners. She hugged Urawa again, this time with a vice-like grip that, he felt, could have crushed his vertebrae. "Thank you so much, but you didn't have to do all this for me."

"You're worth it, and so is your future, so it's no problem at all," Urawa whispered. After prying Makoto's fingers from the back of his neck, he brought out her chair so she could sit back down before seating himself. "Now if you don't mind, I need a damn drink."

"I won't complain as long as I can have a sip of it," Makoto smiled deviously.

"Hey, you're still eighteen, little lady, you have two more years to go."

"Oh, you're no fun at all," Makoto grinned, but the edges of her smile lowered when she noticed the shade creeping over Urawa's eyes. "Tough case? Is it anything you'd like to talk about?"

"I'm dealing with the deaths of those teenage girls, so-well, it's difficult seeing this kind of thing It reminds me of the dreams I used to have when I figured out that you are, you know, what you are."

"It's never easy seeing people thrown away like that," Makoto murmured, grasping Urawa's hand.

"I just want to know that I'm doing my best for them, that I can help their families in some way."

"You're looking for this guy, that's all you can do." Makoto glance back towards the already blackened skyline, saying, "I always had the same fear, when I joined up with the other girls. You see what these 'monsters' do to people, people just trying to live their lives the best they can, and you don't know if there ever is anything that you can do to honor them."

"You said you 'had' that fear?"

Makoto smiled weakly, "I guess I know now that righting those wrongs is honoring their memory. While we can't bring them back, we can always stop whatever it is that happened to them from occurring again, and that's always the best thing. You can't worry about letting them down because all that will do is take away your focus, and make you less valuable. They need you to act, not to worry."

"I suppose it's just different now, since I'm dealing with peoples lives," Urawa stated matter-of-factly, while motioning for a waitress. "I just don't want to start viewing them as objects, is all. Can I really perform my job if I don't recognize that they're people?"

Makoto didn't answer that, but simply squeezed his hand, the softness of her skin radiating through his nerves, calming him in a way that always surprised him when it happened. The flickering candlelight in her eyes, as she gazed at him, struck him as almost cruel, that whatever God might be out there was taunting him with a girl that knew him so well, but couldn't be his. He wouldn't let her, and while there were nights when he sat alone in his apartment, with only a tumbler of whiskey to keep him company, that he wished that there was some other way, he always knew that keeping her like this, almost at arms distance, never as close as he suspected she always wanted, was the best thing for her.