Disclaimer! All fictional entities featured/ mentioned in this segment belong to Tsugumi Ohba and Takeshi Obata; except Erin Blogger, who I made up for the purpose of this fan fiction. Any other unfamiliar names may be either others original characters or allusions to real-life people. Also, any biases expressed in this fan fiction, cultural or otherwise, are not identical to my own, in case you ever feel offended.
I'm a bit insecure about this chapter. Critique is mightily appreciated.
3. Jumped
The Ginza District in Tokyo did have some nice stuff on display, but I didn't necessarily go there to shop. Mostly I'd come to observe the people, see what they did for fun, maybe unwind some. I sure could've used a little relaxation.
Being a New Yorker and all, I was used to the hustle-n-bustle of the big city. But I had to admit, I didn't remember seeing as many people in one place at one time before I blew in. It was like for every passerby in New York, there were three here. Somehow I managed to sail my way through the human rapids, hat over my eyes like the coat-clad hero in the movies, the restless reporter who went where there was a story to tell. If it didn't feel so out of place with the foreign rock music pounding in my eardrums, I might've whistled.
I was sort of limping, too, and I stiffened my gait so no one would see it. Nothing serious: a while before, I'd tried out this crazy game where you danced on top of a platform and tried to keep up with these flashy arrows on a screen. DDR™, it was called: Dance Dance Revolution. They had a bunch of those machines in town, and it'd looked pretty cool, watching all those kids working it like they were born to do it; I mean, the way they moved so fluently, it looked as easy as it did fun.
Except I'd come down wrong on my ankle before I could reach level three. It was rigged, I swear it was! Come on, how do you do that playing a video game?
I'd managed to walk away, though not with as much dignity as I'd have liked. The girl I'd been playing with and her friends kept hovering over me, garbling words of concern in their native tongues. Once I got away, I decided to go get a paper. Nothing like the smell of fresh newsprint.
I had my camera with me, so I snapped me a couple pictures for the journal, including one of the evil DDR™ game. Someone had to spread the word.
Japan's more dangerous than they let on, isn't it? I thought, and that wasn't just because of the DDR™ game, either. I was thinking about Kira, too, whom for convenience's sake shall be referred to from this point on as a guy. The latest was that he'd attacked a station—Sakura TV—the other night. Held everyone there hostage if they didn't broadcast his message. I saw it on TV, in fact. At least three cops had collapsed in front of the building, and two reporters that Kira had supposedly predicted would die, right on the air. All dropping like puppets cut from the strings of life. Just like that…
The most cinematic gore fest held no candle to this…probably because the whole thing was real, no matter how hopelessly I waited for those men to spring back to life, like they did in the movies. I can't say I'd slept at all, that night. I don't think anyone in the district got a wink, really. Or in the city, or in the country, or the…well, I don't think anyone got a wink, bottom line.
These were only tremors in the war between Kira and the law; things would only get heavier. Why, I wouldn't be surprised if actual cracks started showing up on the concrete under my feet, after a while.
Naturally, with my head wrapped around the Kira murders and other dangers of the country, I sort of lost track of the narrowed path ahead of me. Somewhere down the line, I found myself in the middle of exotic fashion displays advertising fabulous sales. And by "exotic," I mean kind of Goth-looking: dark colors, stripes, crucifixes, a couple of skulls here and there, the works. But somehow, this kind of Goth felt different from the type I saw back at home. It had a lacier, almost flirty twist to it, not the obnoxious "don't-fuck-with-me-because-I-wear-combat-boots-and-five-plus-piercings-in-every-square-inch-of-my-face" type I knew at home. In a vaguely freaky way, it all looked kind of nice. Nothing I would wear, personally, but—
Anyways, it looked like I'd wandered into the Japanese outdoor version of Hot Topic™. The brave journalist in me, however, didn't feel like backing out of this uncharted territory yet. If it looked like a novelty, I felt compelled to check it out, maybe snap a couple pictures. Hey, it was free. How much better could it get?
So here I was with my camera in front of my face, catching shoppers and sellers in their most natural poses. Nobody seemed to take notice, or if they did, they didn't care, which was good, because I liked catching people au naturel. When suddenly, the path in front of me became eclipsed by somebody's backside. A girl's.
I didn't realize it until—FLASH!
I thudded on the concrete on my ass, my camera practically lodged in my eye socket. Whoever I had ricocheted off of landed on her knees with a squeal, while her purse skirted by my side.
"Ah, hey, I'm sorry, I really am!" I sputtered, swinging back and forth between English and spotty Japanese as I fumbled around to give the girl back her bag. She had a pretty weird-looking purse: black leather, with extensions shaped like bat wings. She must've been a regular to this strip of the district. She looked like it, from where I could see under my hat.
My fingers hooked under the flap as I started slinging it back to her, when she suddenly whirled around and slapped a petite hand over my own, piping out something in Japanese. What was she trying to do, snap all the joints in my fingers?
I let go of the bag. "Uh…what?" Man, the only thing more uncomfortable than bumping into a stranger out on the street is bumping into a stranger who probably couldn't understand a word you said.
The girl blinked at me for a second, then flashed a bright smile. "Let me get that!" she trilled in wavering English. She hugged the bag against her like a breastplate. "That's mine! Ha-ha, I'm sorry, are you okay?"
Only because I wanted to get this over with as soon as possible, I said, "Yeah, I'm cool." I had to admit, she sure was nice about the whole ordeal. She even helped me to my feet as she stood up, herself, with her purse tucked underneath her arm.
When she saw the camera around my neck, her eyes lit up. "Ooh, are you visiting?"
"Sure. You…could say that," I said as I dusted myself off.
The girl bowed. "In that case, take care and have fun! And buy lots of cute souvenirs," she giggled. And with that, she bounded past me, her pigtails swaying on the top of her head like short, blonde ribbons. Like nothing had happened. For a while, I just stood there, gathering my bearings.
I nodded. "Yeah, thanks, you take care, yourself." As I started moving on, I looked back to see where she was headed, but she'd already vanished deep into the masses up the street.
I, in the meantime, raised my camera up to zoom in on the gates with the lens, to the highest magnification I could get so I could catch a picture of the holy hell, what is THAT?
Click!
Something from out of the top corner of the screen made me do a double—no, triple-take. This…this thing, this huge, bony, white thing, glided just over the rooftops some fifty or so yards away, in broad daylight. It slumped in mid-air like a grotesque marionette on invisible strings, its limbs dangling like streamers as its tattered bat-wings beat steadily to keep the thing aloft.
My breath hitched in my throat before I could even attempt to shriek (not that I was much of a shrieker to begin with, mind you). Somehow, I wound up—CLANG!—backing into a display and getting tangled up in a striped shirt—with complimentary scarf—selling for thirty percent off. If I hadn't already popped clean out of my skin, I think the landing might've been more painful.
What WAS this thing? Where did it come from? Could anyone else see it? How could they not? The sonofabitch was huge, maybe twice my size! Not that I could really tell, because of the ever-growing distance. And yet people continued to pass by, talking, gossiping, laughing, even, either totally oblivious or just nonchalant. Japan was notorious for freaky creatures, after all…in their media.
Christ, that's what I got for messing around in the Goth section, huh?
I didn't bother to clean up the mess I'd made. It took all the dexterity I still had just to get my damn camera back in my scraped hands. For what felt like forever, my eyes stayed pasted on the thing, wondering where it was headed, where it'd even come from, for God's sake. My mouth and throat had gone almost as dry as sand paper. Whatever little bit of my brain that could still function hissed over the roar of my pulse: Don't just sit there, idiot! You've just caught yourself a monster on film!
It's true. As…witless as I was at that moment, I was still Erin Blogger the journalist. I had taken "monster photos" in the past, like I said before, but all of those were mistakes. This one, THIS one was genuine (if not also the freakiest thing I've ever come across); something this much in plain view HAD to be! Had this miner finally struck sweet, sweet gold after all this time of coming up with pyrite?
My knees became like slinkies as I struggled to get back on my feet. Trembling all over, I peeked up at the sky again, to see where the thing had gone.
That was just it, though. It was GONE, like a kite snatched up by the wind from distracted hands. A very creepy kite, at that.
…
Of course, I didn't tell Ryuga about the rigged DDR machine or the bargains they had up in the Ginza District. I made sure to leave out all of the irrelevant crap.
He wiped away the extra icing off the creases on his plate with his fingers, having obliterated his slice of cake. As he sucked them clean, he continued to stare at me with those abysmal eyes of his. "You spotted it in the Ginza District, by the Ginza Core on the corner of Chuo Dori and Harumi Dori, correct?"
"Yep. I mean, yes. That sounds about right."
"Do you recall when you saw it?"
"Sure do. April twentieth, a little more than a week ago. Saw it right in the middle of broad daylight. It must've been pretty ballsy to want to show up above a crowded street." It felt pretty funny talking about the thing, especially in this way. If I didn't know better, I would've thought Ryuga was interrogating me or something.
"Why do you say that? Did anyone else see it?" he asked.
"No, actually. I don't think so, no one that I know of. Why and how, I haven't the foggiest; this was one big, nasty mother. I-I mean, you know, it was pretty hard to overlook, if you were looking up in its general direction." I hastily stuffed the last chunk of cake in my mouth, in a vain attempt to remove any space in there for my foot.
I swear, you could hear his sucking on his finger from across the room. "Tell me, did anything in particular happen before you noticed it? Like, say, you encountered someone on the street?"
I raised my eyebrows in thought. "Well…I did have a bump-in just a little before then, if that's what you're talking about. I don't really see why that matters."
Well, all of a sudden, Ryuga leaned in even closer than before, one hand clutching his knee, the other still fiddling with his lips. "This person you bumped into…can you recall what they looked like?"
I uncrossed my legs so I could cross them in the opposite direction, and counted off every important detail off of my fingers: "Some girl. Short, petite, blonde with pigtails, kind of cute and bubbly. Oh, and she had a thing for black and stripes."
Ryuga got quiet for a second there, like he was trying to compute everything I'd told him. Then: "Was this thing following someone?"
With an inexplicable flush spreading across my face, I shook my head. "I wouldn't know, sorry. I would've loved to get acquainted, but it up and disappeared without as much as a 'Hey there.'" I guess I felt a little embarrassed, saying that, mostly because I hated being unable to give a definite answer. It made me feel a bit stupid.
I reached for my glass of water to wash the horrid dryness out of my mouth. "So, if you don't mind me asking, why would you want to know all of this, anyhow?"
"It's like I said before: I believe you." I could see his eyes narrow a little, like he didn't like repeating himself. Ppht, he wouldn't have to repeat himself if he wasn't so damn vague. I almost felt like telling him that.
Instead, I asked: "Yeah, but why do you believe me? Have you seen something like this before, or am I just that convincing?" I rubbed my knuckles against the fabric of my shirt, trying to look cool and confident and all.
Gee, Erin, you must secretly love the taste of your foot. Why else does it keep ending up in your mouth?
"I have not. But something tells me that I am not wrong to believe your claims to have seen this…thing."
"So what, you're into the paranormal or something?" You certainly LOOK like the type that's into the paranormal…or more like the type that IS paranormal. "Ah, not that there's anything wrong with that, of course! I think that's worth looking into. Things aren't always as they seem, heh-heh."
Suddenly, I felt myself light up. I slammed my hand down so hard that I must've launched our plates millimeters into the air. "Hey, you know what? If we're both on the same train like I think we are, maybe you and I could do a little collaboration on this thing? With our combined talents, we could track it down in a heartbeat! Whatever 'it' is supposed to be. What d'ya say, huh? How about it?"
It wasn't that I couldn't go at it alone. I'd pretty much been flying solo since my career—or what I'd like to call "my career"—had begun. But that didn't mean I didn't like collaborating with people, especially if they could and would back me up. And teaming up with one of the top students at school, at that? Bonus! For another, I could have the chance to get to know him a whole lot better.
Ryuga paused. That weird deadpan look came over his face again. Then he really stuck it to me: "No, I'll have to decline that offer."
Oh no, had I come on too strong? I tried to make up for it by saying, "You sure? Are you sure you have to decline?"
His eyes rolled up towards the ceiling. He always had to look away once he got whatever the hell it was he wanted off of you. "Yes. Do what you wish, but it would be in everyone's best interest if we carried on independently." I didn't like how he said that, all lackadaisical and whatnot, like he suddenly didn't feel like talking to me anymore and only did because he had to. I mean, if that was how he felt, then why would he bother talking to me in the first place?
"But—but we're both looking into the same thing, aren't we? And I shared my findings with you; doesn't that count as collaborating?"
"Collaboration is, by definition, the act of working together in order to achieve a common goal. I merely said I believed you; I never said I wanted to turn this into a study, much less a group effort. Besides, it would never work. We would each only get in the other's way."
Why, because I'm not as smart as you are? I'm the one with the freaking picture, pal, even if no one can see what's in it. What've you got?
That's when Ryuga started shuffling out of his seat, slipping his feet back in his sneakers. "Hey," I asked, "where ya going?"
"I beg your pardon, my time has grown short. I must be on my way," said Ryuga, burying his hands in his pockets like one of those shady characters in trench coats before vanishing into the darkness of a smoky bar. Or something to that effect. "Thank you for yours."
The smile on my face was all but forced. "Aw, you sure you can't stick around for one more round of cake? I can holler for more."
Ryuga tilted his head up in some random direction and deadpanned, "Thank you, but I wouldn't want you to strain yourself."
That Ryuga: what a piece of work! One minute he actually starts looking all right; the next, he throws a hit like that. It was almost like he didn't really want you to like him. Like he only talked to you at all because he wanted something off of you, and once he got it, he kicked you in the gut so you wouldn't feel like looking for him again.
All of a sudden, I felt like a classic all-day sucker, stripped right down to the crumby paper stick. Geez, it wasn't enough to be a crackpot; I had to be a sucker, too?
In that one moment alone, every nasty name known to human communication that you could call somebody like Ryuga buzzed through my head, including that one word I'd heard Kiyomi use earlier on that day. "Bah-kah."
"O…kay, see you around, then. Oh, hey, Ryuga, one more thing…"
Ryuga stopped in his tracks, sparing half a glance.
"Do you by any chance know what 'bah-kah' means? I mean, not that I don't know. I was just wondering if you knew."
What he answered with instantly made me wish I hadn't asked, at least not like that. Ryuga nibbled on his thumbnail for a moment, then said, "Baka: it means 'fool, idiot, stupid,' et cetera. You must hear that word quite a bit, don't you?"
With that, he made his way-less-than-graceful exit.
Yeah, that's it, back to Mars with you…or wherever it is you came from.
Personally, I liked "jerk" and "bastard" better. "Baka" sounded too cute for its denotations. I wasn't new to being called stupid, but for someone to call you that in a foreign language so you wouldn't even know that they called you stupid…that was a cheap shot, right there. Her Majesty Kiyomi had thrown me a cheap shot, and now Ryuga, too.
Everybody at To-Oh liked throwing cheap shots, didn't they?
…
Huh. That didn't make them much different than American kids, did it?
…
Perhaps the most irritating thing about old Ryuga, if I had to name something, was that I had no idea what to make of him, after that. Honest, I didn't. On the one hand, he had to be one of the rudest, shiftiest, most backassward guys I'd ever met. I'd met plenty of rude, shifty and backward guys—who hasn't?—but Ryuga? He was in a class all by himself. Bold as that statement might be, considering how I hardly knew him, if at all.
On the other… he was the first one to say he believed me (without telling me I was high, afterwards). But after that meet, I started to wonder how much that really mattered. He could've just believed me—or at least said he did—because he was that screwed up, even more screwed up than I was. (Not that I was screwed up in the first place, of course.) I mean, this guy sucked on his thumb and didn't even wear socks. How he got to be a top student, I hadn't the foggiest.
The little interview I'd tried to strike up with him came out to be almost as fruitless as I thought it would be. I mean, it came out worse than I expected. When I managed to sneak back to my room and drum out everything he'd been willing to tell me on a document, I barely had a page; that's how much I had on him. All vague, trivial junk, too, nothing worthwhile, like where exactly he came from or what his secrets to success were. He could've written a novel with everything he got off of me, compared to what I had on him!
I damn near felt like dipping into the dirty inkwell of sensationalism and blowing up everything, just to make it look like something worth reading. I didn't, though, thank God. I wasn't that desperate. Instead, my little article earned a first-class one-way ticket to the wastebasket. And nothing anyone had to say could convince me otherwise.
As I flopped down on my bed in a huff, I stared at the seams underneath the brim of my hat and wondered what'd possessed me to ask him if he wanted to collaborate with me. Of course he'd turn me down, why had I expected anything different? He went by his own terms, after all.
Still, how dare him! That was all I had to think of, for lack of anything better. How dare him! How DARE him! How dare him…
I practically put myself to sleep that night, chanting that over and over in my head like a petulant mantra. I'd recommend sticking to counting sheep, though: chanting an angry mantra might've knocked me out, but it didn't exactly help me sleep well. In fact, when I woke up the morning after, my head felt as though jackhammers had been pounding it from the inside-out all night long.
And about seeing him around? I didn't get to. Because guess what Ryuga did after leaving me at the café? He jumped off the face of the earth, again. Must've found the place where the sidewalk ended and dove right off, or whatever—a tiny chunk of my imagination pictured his Martian buddies beaming him up into the mother ship.
Whatever happened, I wouldn't see him again for almost a whole month.
I, in the meantime, found myself in a rut. You know, when it feels like you got nothing good going for you, when all you can do is manage to get through the daily motions, and when you lay back and wonder how the hell you even got to the end of the day when you'd accomplished nothing worthwhile? I mean that kind of rut.
It was even worse to be stuck in a rut in the middle of a foreign country, where I knew nobody and nobody knew me. With all the kids in their little cliques and whatnot by now, I sort of darted here and there in my free time, like a hummingbird looking for nectar. Not that I was desperate for friends, mind you.
Aw, who needs 'em, barked my inner hard-boiled journalist with a tip of her hat. With nobody to tie you down, you're free to go to wherever the story is.
Sure, if I could find the story. Since that day at the café, I'd go back to the Ginza District in hopes—vain as they might've been—of seeing the thing again, maybe get more substantial evidence of its existence. I'd amble through the streets in the guise of an ordinary tourist, fingers on my camera as a hunter would on her trigger.
I wasted all my off-days in that district, morning to late at night, looking for the thing. And all I got for my efforts were sore feet, a foul mood, and at one time, an almost-brush with trouble. Some cop caught me slumped up against a streetlight—where I was resting my eyes—and asked me what I was doing out at eleven-something at night. What'd he think I was doing? A lot of people like to roam the streets at night, though, and not often for the purest of reasons.
I couldn't exactly say that I was looking for a monster, so I told him, "I'm just sight-seeing. The city sure is a treat to see at night." Lame, but logical enough. Hopefully.
"Where do you live?"
"To-Oh. To-Oh University," I yawned, wiping the crust out of my eyes. I had to admit, I was spent. I didn't feel much like arguing with a cop—he was sort of on the big side—so I told him I'd be heading straight back home. And I guess I have to give him credit; he helped me get there. And he didn't pound me over the dangers of hanging out on the street at night; he was sort of quiet.
Old Moji eyed me from his rear-view mirror. "Just be more careful. I wouldn't want to have to catch you out on the street, again."
"That's nice," I mumbled from the back seat of his squad car, feeling vaguely content to rest my head against warm upholstery instead of cold metal. "Yes, sir, Officer…Whoever-You-Are."
"Moji," he corrected. "Moji Kanichi."
"Mm-hm, yeah, thanks, Kan…Ken…don't worry 'bout it. You won't catch me again." I meant it, too, pooped out as I was. That would be the last night I wasted hunting down that goddamn thing.
…
Near the threadbare end of May at the height of the afternoon, I was crossing the schoolyard with my girls Yuki and Kyoko, having sort of invited myself into their conversation over a magazine they held between them.
Yuki shot me a mildly dirty look. "Have you nothing better to do?"
It would've looked bad no matter how I answered that, so I loomed in on this page they were on. "Hey, who's that chick?" I asked, pointing to the girl who dominated the page.
"No, I guess not," muttered Yuki.
Kyoko, on the other hand, answered, "What chick? That's Amane Misa, Misa-Misa! She is so cute!" I had to admit, this Misa girl did look pretty cute. Big, twinkling brown eyes, blonde pigtails, plump, flirty lips—
Huh. Looking at her, something about that model seemed kind of familiar. Like I'd seen her face somewhere before, only not in a magazine. I mean, like on the street…
I didn't have enough time to study the picture, because Yuki was starting to slip the magazine in her bag. At that moment, the two of them stopped dead in their tracks. Their hands clapped over their mouths like they'd just spotted something amazing.
They did, too. Kyoko gasped something in Japanese, but I could recognize one of the words: "Misa-Misa?"
Yuki also said something in Japanese, but I think it was a term of astonished agreement, telling by the way her eyes widened.
"Huh? Where, where?" I guess I started getting more hopped up than I would've liked, especially since I'd just found out that Misa-Misa was supposed to be a celebrity, and I was turning my head in every known direction when the little starlet was just a couple yards away under a couple of trees, with two boys. I think one of them was Light Yagami. The other, I recognized instantly. He could've been a whole damn district away, and I still would've recognized him.
Well, hang me out to dry. If it isn't old Ryuga, after all of this time! NOW what's he up to? Naturally, I was kind of torn over whether or not I should talk to him. Part of me was still crazy with curiosity; part of me didn't really want anything to do with him.
I didn't have time to think about it, however, when just about every kid who happened to be outside suddenly dropped everything and rushed to form a buzzing circle around Misa-Misa, like bees dancing around a single flower. I was no exception. I mean, hello? A celebrity showing up on campus out of the blue? That was not an event to be taken lightly. And hey, at least I got a distraction from Ryuga.
I stayed cool around the back of the crowd, seeing that I couldn't squeeze in to the front even if I wanted to, and hopped around a little in an attempt to look over the wall of heads. This Misa-Misa was pretty little to be a model—no, sorry, petite. That's the right word. Her voice? Not so much. Trilling and chipper, it turned heads and grabbed attention, right down to the squeal she let out when some guy had apparently grabbed her ass.
Who else was the perp standing right behind her but Ryuga himself? So much for being germaphobic. Somehow, I believed that. I wouldn't have put it past him to do something like that. You should've seen the look on his face: mouth half-agape, as absent-minded as can be.
He pranced up around Misa so he was standing in front of her and declared something in Japanese. I still hadn't mastered the language, but at least I could read actions; I think he might've said something about catching the cheek that did it, the screwball. Whatever he said, it made Misa laugh. Before long, everyone in the crowd was laughing, pardoning the whole situation.
Light? I didn't pay much attention to him. It was kind of hard to, when he just stood in between Misa and Ryuga, looking as though either he didn't want to be here or he didn't want the kids here. Yeah, he sort of faded into the background, even though he was the tallest…unless you count Ryuga, but of course, he was locked in his question-mark slouch. Light's posture was stiff and sure, almost lofty amongst the crowd, like an exclamation point. But that was it on him.
Then this lady in a green suit—probably her manager—barged in out of nowhere and grabbed Misa's wrist. Well, that put an end to the commotion, right away. As the lady started to lead Misa away, the crowd dispersed almost as quickly as it'd formed.
I saw Misa turn to wave her free arm and shout something endearing. I don't know what she said exactly, but I could pick up one of the words she used: "Light." Or something close to that.
Light? As in, Light Yagami? Do those two…know each other?
I watched Misa and her manager head for the exit, and as I did, I twitched and tingled from my toes upward, the way I did when I saw—or at least thought I saw—potential for a great story. Why, you could say my journalist senses were tingling (or as my Aunt Bernice christened it, "joy-nilist senses"). With everybody out of the way, I could finally get a better look at her, and I couldn't help but feel a powerful sense of déjà vu wash over me. I mean, I just noticed how much she looked like that stranger that I'd bumped into in the Ginza District all those weeks before.
That alone had me trailing after the two of them before I even decided to trail after them. Going back to what I said before, you got to jump on opportunity before it gets away, or it may never come around again. Luck was a screwy thing; mine had always been, at least.
Besides, I figured it was high time I climbed out of my stupid rut, and this could've been my golden ticket to do exactly that. I followed the ladies from an extra-safe distance, eyes glued on them from underneath the brim of my hat as I clutched onto my camera like a lifeline. I could hear nothing but the roar of my pulse and the three hundred-plus questions I'd already plotted for Misa-Misa, all at once.
Wonder if she'll answer to an unofficial journalist, I thought as I shimmied over to the far side, behind the foliage. Maybe, a definite maybe; this girl's nothing like Kiyomi, at least not from over here. Wonder how she knows Light? Are they dating?
A model dating a college boy: did I smell a slight scandal? Especially since I thought Kiyomi was already Light's girl. Ooh, I better be careful when I touch on that one, IF I decide to, or it's high school all over again.
I didn't get to. In fact, I didn't get to touch on anything with Misa-Misa. She and her manager had barely reached the front of the building when I saw a group waiting for them, smaller than the crowd from earlier and not quite as spontaneous. In fact, it seemed that they'd been waiting there for a while, almost as if in ambush.
Come to think of it, they didn't even look like fans. They were all in suits…and helmets with tinted glass? No, really! I said I never picked things up out of thin air, didn't I?
I stopped cold in my tracks behind the corner.
What happened next was more of a blur than anything else, like watching a grainy police video on one of those cheap-thrill reality shows: the flashing of badges and the rattle of handcuffs while the startled shrieks of Misa and her manager punctured the air as the cluster of faceless men swallowed them whole like little animals in a quicksand pit of dark suits.
Click! My fingers acted on their own, capturing whatever they could on what looked like the biggest, dirtiest scandal I'd ever witnessed with my own eyes. Way worse than the overworn "who's-getting-hanky-panky-with-who" scandal.
Misa-Misa had been busted.
All the sensation in me from before disappeared. I felt as heavy as the pillar I'd been hiding behind as I watched one of the guys pin Misa's arms behind her, his big hand pressing over her drained face like he was trying to smother her as he barked something into her ear in Japanese. I'd have to use run-on sentences just to try describing what I'd seen. It was that bad.
Now, I wasn't scared or anything, but right then, my mind went as blank as a blackboard on Christmas break. What the hell had that girl done to get jumped like that? You would've thought that she was some escaped psychopath who'd stopped on the way to kill two or three or ten people, or something!
More importantly, what was I supposed to do? An incredible story was unfolding in front of me; what should I have done? Run up there and ask questions like an esteemed member of the press with my notepad waving around? Bold and direct, yes, but on the other hand, I didn't exactly want to end up with bracelets myself. Stay back and spy? Safer, yes, but on the other hand, I wouldn't get the whole story like I wanted, especially since I couldn't understand half of what they said. Ah, the glories of amateur-hood.
When the feeling returned to my legs, I ended up doing the yellowest thing I could think of. I ran. Or to be more exact, I scurried backwards, all the way back down the corridor and around the corner in a cheap spastic imitation of the moonwalk, my eyes never leaving the group as they started to lead Misa and her manager away. I fought to go forward, but the more I wanted to, the more my feet kept yanking me backwards.
Only when I felt remotely safe did I realize I hadn't been breathing the whole time. Did they see me? In all that ruckus, it wasn't likely they saw me. Oh God, they better not have!
Back pressed against the wall, I held the camera in quivering hands and pulled up the new picture on the screen. It was blurred, and I might've shot it a little too high, but I could see Misa's disheveled blonde head prominent against the suits and the helmets. Solid enough, I'd say. But…now what?
Duh, investigate, Erin! What else're you gonna do, let somebody else get the scoop, first?
Adjusting my hat, I started to peer around to see if they were still there. They weren't, like they'd never shown up at all. I winced.
My fist made contact with the wall behind me. GodDAMN it, Erin! You let it get away! You finally had a real million-dollar nugget right there and you lost it! What total PS! Can this get any worse?
I think from that moment on, I'd regret ever asking that.
I turned to my left to find a familiar pair of abysmal eyes staring up into mine from the bare skin of the tip of my nose. Oh, Christ, just the last guy I wanted to see, right then.
Once I managed to climb back into my skin, I sputtered, "Ryuga! No offense, but you really gotta quit doing that."
"Doing what?" Like he didn't know.
"That! That thing, when you get up and…you know!" I wasn't just talking about his lack of boundaries, either. Why was it that when I wanted to talk to him, he had to get all shifty and elusive, but when I didn't want to see him, then he popped up?
I pushed myself off of the wall and dusted myself off, hoping he couldn't see how tense I was. "Whatever," I snorted. "Do what you want." I started to walk away. I had no idea where I wanted to go; I just knew that I needed to get away.
To my dismay, Ryuga started to follow me. Before long, he fell in step by my side, hands buried in his pockets. I wouldn't look directly at him, but I could feel his gaze fixing on me, on my camera, in particular. Bothered hell out of me. I reached up to cradle it in the palm of my hand, like a mother walking alongside a potential baby-snatcher.
"What's wrong?" he asked me.
The lining of my hat became moist and sticky with sweat. Would it be wise to tell him that I'd just seen Misa-Misa get arrested? Probably not, not after what happened the last time I spoke to him. But on the other hand—stupid as it felt—this part of me felt somewhat inclined to spill it to him, just because he'd said he believed me.
"Ah—nothing. Nothing, really. It's just been a crazy day: exams, homework, social obligations. You know, the usual monkey business." I stretched out my arms to try to loosen them up, knocking my hat to the ground accidentally-on-purposely, in the meantime.
"Whoops! Heheh, dropped my hat." As if that wasn't obvious. I bent over to pick it up, just to have it roll a little further away (off the tip of my shoe). So it kept going, and of course I had to chase after it. Hats: gotta love them and their multi-functionality.
Somehow Ryuga wound up in front of me, and I damn near crashed into him. As usual, his face was unreadable when I dared look up at it. Did he know that I was trying to ditch him?
I pushed some stray hat hair back behind my ear and grinned, hopefully not looking too sheepish. "See what I mean? Crazy day."
Ryuga bent at the knees and he, in what I guess could qualify as a half-assed act of chivalry (considering that he'd just touched a girl's butt shortly before), picked up my hat. He held it by the brim out at arm's length, pinched in his fingers like it was a snot rag.
"Er…thanks," I said, slapping the hat over my head. So much for that.
His eyes remained on my camera swinging from my neck, resting a finger on his bottom lip. "Have you seen anything new or unusual lately?"
"Hmph, maybe I have, maybe I haven't. That's not really any of your business, is it?"
He pointed at my camera. "May I have a look?" Oh no, he wasn't pulling that on me, again…whatever exactly it was he was pulling.
"Sorry, pal, but I've got nothing. I really don't."
"Then, if you truly have nothing, I would assume that you would be willing to show me the contents on your camera to verify it."
What was his problem, all of a sudden? I clutched the straps in my fist. "What're you, a cop? I don't have to show you anything, because I got nothing to show. Even if I did, I should let you know, Erin Blogger does not put out for free. Uh, put out my brain, I mean." I might've slapped myself if I wasn't so busy trying to get him off my back.
"It's not like we're working together. You said so yourself. So how's about keeping it that way? All right?" I started heading in another random direction. "See you around, Ryuga," I dismissed with a wave. "No hard feelings!" For some reason, I could feel beads of sweat rolling down the side of my head.
Well, somehow Ryuga circled around without my noticing and stuck his gaunt face right back into my own, looking thoughtful as he nibbled on his fingernail. "If that's the case, then I'd like you to have dinner with me. So we can get to know each other better."
Oh boy, the old buy-the-girl-over-with-dinner trick? Where the hell did that come from? I didn't think he had it in him; he just didn't look like the type. "Sorry, I-I don't think I heard that right. Dinner? Is that what you said?"
"Yes. Dinner at my residence, as early as possible."
I forced an amicable smile as I started to back away. I couldn't say what exactly, but something was off with the way he looked at me, all of a sudden. More off than any other time before, I mean, almost dangerous, even. With every shaky step I took away from him, he moved a step towards me.
I raised a hand out in front of me, waving him off in defense. "Haha, aren't you a regular sweetheart? Thanks, Ryuga, that's a, erm, nice offer, but I…I'm afraid I'll have to decline." Almost exactly what he'd told me before; only difference was that I had a good reason to say it. "I've already got plans for tonight, see—"
"Please, I insist."
"Look, Ryuga, I'm sorry, but I don't—"
Every blood cell in my veins froze into crystals the instant his free hand swung up to squeeze my forearm. All I'd wanted was to get out of my rut, but something in my knotted gut told me that I'd just jumped into something worse. Way worse.
"Likewise. But for your sake, I strongly suggest that you accept my offer."
