Yes this took a while. I might have bullshitted some stuff because I'm not sure of some things, but I hope it isn't off-putting. Oh, and warning to the squeamish I suppose: some descriptions of blood and gore.
Ichigo was at the psychiatrist's office again, but this time he wasn't there to collect any psychology report. Instead he was there on his own accord. The young orange haired detective fidgeted in the welcoming couch of Aizen's office as he waited for the said man to finish talking with his secretary outside who was apparently that receptionist. He thought over why the hell did he made an appointment with the brown-haired man and went 'Ah.'
It was only after the first week of his own investigation, and the second week since the homicide team was gathered. Ichigo had visited the bars to seek out information, and had found little bits of the info he might need. He had visited those bars daily, sometimes going to the other bars that were all over town. You may call it a little excessive, but Ichigo called it perseverance and determination to catch the killer.
On a particular day however – which was just a few days ago – the detective was on his way home from his stake outs at one of the bars. It was in the wee hours of the morning, approximately 2 am, and he was walking along those isolated alleys. Ichigo knew full well it was dangerous, but he knew he was capable of defending himself. He was walking in the deeper parts of the alley network, a shortcut back to his home that he had found over the past week, when Ichigo caught the particular scent of blood. It was a sickly sweet smell, still fresh, and Ichigo immediately went into an alarmed state. The detective sought it out quickly; someone could be injured, dying, or even worse – dead. Following where his sense of smell took him, Ichigo ran. He knew the smell better than anyone.
As Ichigo followed the sharp turn, he saw the limp mass crumpled on the floor and he immediately knew it was dead. Blood was everywhere, and the body had a gaping hole in it. It looked extremely recent, as if the victim had only been killed minutes before he approached.
It's him, the creature inside uttered gleefully. Ichigo went numb at the sight. Bits of flesh scattered on the floor by the gaping hole and body. He felt his body moving without his will towards the body. The stench of blood was so strong, yet Ichigo only wanted to get nearer to it. He took a pen from his pocket and lightly pushed away the remaining cloth on the dead body's back. There, by the right of the hole, was the carved number 6.
The Rokuban Killer had just claimed his latest victim only a few meters from where he was. Ichigo shivered violently at the thought as he studied the body further. The throat had been cut, more violently than the previous victims. The cut looked deep enough to have beheaded the victim if the killer used more force; the head was only really connected by the neckbone with its flesh torn apart. Ichigo could picture the shiny blade of the combat knife slicing into the flesh and through the jugular, gullet, and vocal chords. He could almost see the blood spurting out from the cut like a fountain. The smell of blood around him only heightened the vividness of his imagination.
Something by the body reflected light and Ichigo saw that it was a knife. Was it the murder weapon? No, it was just a normal kitchen knife. The killer uses a combat knife. But there was blood on it and Ichigo looked back to the body. It was then that he almost wanted to take up the knife and stab the corpse. No matter that it was dead, he needed to see the blood flow. He can't get a living victim, so a dead one would do… The evil voice cackling in his head prodded him, but just as Ichigo reached closer to the knife, it glistened from the moonlight and another voice spoke up.
'Ichigo,' the older, gentler voice had said. Ichigo called the voice Zangetsu, but had forgotten how he actually ended up with the name. He had only seen blurred features of the man in his head, but he could always feel the older man's presence in the back of his mind. It wasn't invasive, but comforting, like having a mentor watching him always. And when the voice spoke at that moment, Ichigo got hold of his senses and stopped. The other voice had gone silent.
Ichigo reached for his cell phone and immediately called Urahara.
Three days after that and Ichigo was still shaken by the find. A lot of investigation had to go on, especially on him since he was found on the first direct crime scene of the Rokuban Killer. They had no proper lead on Ichigo so they allowed him back to the team. Rukia had looked genuinely concerned about him, and especially his mental state. She was worried that he would be traumatized, but Ichigo had assured her that he was okay. The rest of the team was concerned as well, and even Ikkaku bought him coffee when he got to the office.
Well, Ichigo said he was okay, but that didn't mean he really was okay. Ichigo himself wasn't sure, actually. He just kept thinking of the body, the blood, the smell, the knife, the gaping hole and that number carved into the flesh beside it. He didn't want to lose his mind over it, and decided to take up the offer by that psychiatrist he had visited before.
"Good evening Kurosaki-kun," Aizen greeted when he entered the room. Ichigo was seated at the sofa, scowling as hard as ever. He hated the room and the man who owned it, but he had chosen to go there in the first place.
"Evening," he muttered out.
"What brings you here today?" Aizen asked. "I saw on the news that you apparently found the latest victim. And it was the first time that the scene of the kill was found too. Are you disturbed by the find or the suspicion that fell on you?"
"…Both," Ichigo said after a moment's hesitation, a little disturbed by how fast and direct the man was. He almost sounded like a reporter, but he guessed they were probably the same when it comes to getting answers. "But more on the find. I could care less about what others think about me but the feeling of everyone's suspicion against you… makes me feel as if I really did kill the victim. They could say I have, since I was only a few hundred meters away when the victim was being slaughtered. I could have walked faster, then I could have seen him, stopped him, saved him." Ichigo sounded like he was muttering to himself, rather.
"And for that are you referring to the victim or the killer?" Ichigo looked up at the psychiatrist with bewilderment.
"What are you saying? Of course I'm talking about the victim!" Ichigo said heatedly, though he swore he could hear a giggle in the back of his head. Shut up.
"Just making sure, Kurosaki-kun," Aizen simply replied with that smile of his.
"Anyway," Ichigo continued. "I'm here because… I feel like I'm getting worse. There was a knife at that scene, and I almost picked it up. Just picking it up would have done a lot of damage to me, my job, my life, everything. Whatever condition I have took me over. He talked to me, kept urging me…" Ichigo was blurting out all those words for some reason to a person he didn't even like. Yet once he spoke a few words it seemed to have dragged others out with it.
"But you didn't?"
"Zangetsu stopped me. The other guy in my head," Ichigo said quickly and not meeting Aizen's eyes, still looking elsewhere. "I'll tell you frankly I'm terrified that I might actually end up losing control of myself and someone might get hurt. I actually wanted to stab the fucking corpse, how fucking sick is that?" The orange haired detective laughed humorlessly to himself as he stared at the floor. Aizen just watched him silently until Ichigo stopped and finally looked up with a blank look on his face.
"Sometimes I think I did kill some people. I keep thinking about it. My imagination is kind of vivid I guess…" Ichigo was staring at blank space. Aizen continued to observe silently. "But I can smell it. The blood. Even when I'm in bed, or in the office, or at some café. And then, there was him and the knife…" Ichigo blinked and turned back to Aizen almost abruptly, as if he was awoken from a trance. "Whatever I just said, it shows I'm nuts right?"
"I'll tell you now that from what you tell me, your condition sounds like a form of psychosis, probably schizophrenia. Though, you still seem very much sane and can maintain your ability to tell right from wrong," Ichigo actually looked scared by the mention of the mental illness. Aizen continued, "It's still very early for me to tell. Who knows, like you said, it could just be very vivid imagination or some psychological-behavioral problem. There is medicine, but it is still too early for prescription, and may not be helpful in the first place. If you're really that scared of yourself you can check yourself into an asylum," Aizen told him straightforwardly.
Ichigo fidgeted in his seat, his brow furrowing as he narrowed his eyes at the man sitting across from him. "You're not really helping me."
"Truth be told, most psychiatric conditions are usually not cured, just suppressed with those drugs," Aizen informed him. "However it doesn't mean we psychiatrists don't help. My way of helping would be different. I don't really trust drugs and I'd like to study and get to the root of the problem before I will guide and properly help you."
"Tsk, fucking shrinks," Ichigo muttered under his breath though he knew Aizen could clearly hear it.
"If you're not prepared for that, you may find another 'shrink' or we can prepare another session," Aizen suggested to him with a smile, but Ichigo could feel the slight cut to those words. He thought over it.
"Just start now. I don't want to keep visiting your office," Ichigo said bluntly, showing how much he disliked the man. Or the profession, at least. Aizen's smile widened.
"Very well. Let's begin with those voices, shall we?" Aizen got himself some paper on a clipboard and a pen before sitting back down. "Before you mentioned there were two and you said 'Zangetsu' stopped you. Since you said you feel you're getting worse, do you hear more voices or the present ones are talking more?"
Ichigo tried to relax himself and set his eyes elsewhere. Anywhere but the shrink. He didn't want to end up socking the ever-smiling man in the face. "Still two. As I said, one usually talks and the other rarely does. That time when I found the victim… The talkative one didn't speak, but I could feel him nudging me to approach the victim, to touch it, to feel the fresh death that the body radiated of. But the other one, the older guy Znangetsu, suddenly spoke up and stopped me. If I touched the knife, I could have been under serious investigation. I would have been the prime suspect for the murder."
"Does the other one have a name?"
"I don't know the talkative one's name, just Zangetsu's," Ichigo said slowly. It was the first time he ever said the name out loud to anyone. It felt weird, and he could almost feel like the old man's presence shift in content at the mention of his name. He never thought he'd ever be talking to anyone about the voices in his head.
"That's a very meaningful sounding name. Is there any significance to it?" Aizen continued asking as he scribbled on his notes. Ichigo meanwhile was seeing flashes of an old incident in his head. He cringed as he mentally saw the reflection of the moon on some shiny object, but couldn't make out what. The knife from the crime scene reminded him of something, but he couldn't put his finger on it either.
"I guess, but I can't remember," Ichigo said. Aizen just smiled at him.
"You didn't do as that… 'bad' voice persuaded you to. I assume you called your captain?" Ichigo nodded. "Tell me more about this Zangetsu."
"Mostly when I am in a dilemma or down in the dumps, he talks to me. He's sort of like a dad, I guess," Ichigo replied. "I noticed though, that when Zangetsu talks, the other one keeps quiet."
"I would take that as a good sign, Kurosaki-kun," Aizen said, this time with a smile that looked slightly genuine. "You seem to have two opposing personas - one sounds like your 'bad' and primal side, the other an older, wiser figure. The latter whom you call Zangetsu seems to be keeping you in check. But since you seem to be prone to the other's urges and persuasions, I'd recommend you have someone voluntarily keep an eye on you. I'm sure Captain Urahara Kisuke would be glad to watch you."
"Okay…" Ichigo said slowly. "So… do I get some pills or something? Medicine?" Ichigo was hoping for something superficial. He wanted some drugs to assure himself he actually did something to try and control himself rather than just talking about himself to another man. His temper was rising quickly.
"Not until I learn more about your condition. We haven't landed on a proper diagnosis, so it is unsafe for me to prescribe medication so soon," Aizen told him.
"Tsk, and how many more sessions would that be?" Ichigo wasn't taking any of that. He needed something… anything tangible that he can hang onto in reality to assure himself that he would feel better. He really wasn't keen on getting no for an answer.
"It depends how much you talk, Kurosaki-kun." Ichigo stood up promptly.
"I'm not here to talk, I need medication that can control these voices in my head," Ichigo snapped. His patience was wearing thin. He swore it wasn't his fault, but one just can't help but get frantic when he had gone quite close to destroying himself earlier. "I was this close to fucking up a dead guy and my whole life. I need something!"
"Then I think you should go to the pharmacy for whatever drugs you need. I do not want to be responsible for misdiagnosis and giving you drugs that may only destroy you," Aizen replied simply without changing his expression. Ichigo glared at him before he walked away, heading towards the door. "I'll see you in the next session Kurosaki-kun," he said just as Ichigo slammed the door on him.
The orange-haired detective forced a smile at the receptionist and quickly walked into the elevator, where he was already shoving his anger back and trying to concentrate on work. He hated talking about himself, he hated his past and he fucking. Hated. Psychiatrists.
Ichigo sighed out loud in the empty elevator and glanced at his watch. No use bitching about it, just concentrate on work. Or sleep. I need fucking sleep, Ichigo told himself. After thinking carefully, he decided to grab some take-outs and get that much needed sleep once he gets home.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
He had been keeping himself busy. A lot of time was taken to learn much about the orange haired detective. Having contacts with the underground made it easy, and with the technology nowadays it wasn't hard to get information. And what he dug up about the young detective was very interesting indeed.
He wasn't really the type to plan things, but sometimes planning and executing can be as fun as impulsive acts. What he pulled off a few days ago had his heart racing as much as it did when he experienced his first kills. So much thrill, excitement and anticipation. Watching the detective was easy as pie; the young man was completely oblivious to people around him, and getting the pattern of his actions was just as simple.
He had watched the man leave his home for work, take a break, do his personal research, and even go to those bars that he usually went to. He was quite impressed with the young detective's deduction and perseverance to actually visit these bars that were clearly not his thing almost daily. It had him smiling, and feeling quite flattered to be the subject of the detective's work.
The detective's life of monotony in office or in the field didn't bother him. He enjoyed watching the man, especially since his interest was already piqued by those eyes. The young man's face was usually set in a frown, but occasionally he would break into a smile and as he watched he sometimes felt almost jealous of those people – his group of freak friends. But it wasn't the smile he wanted. It was those eyes. Even from far he could sometimes see the hidden monster inside. The way he looked at people, the way his lips moved slightly when he utters things under his breath, or the way his body tensed and his head lowered whenever he was controlling his urge.
Oh yes, he can see it very clearly - the lion among the lambs. He had sworn to bring it out and he had it all planned out.
It was only the second week since his last kill, but he didn't care. He looked at the calendar: 16th August. Good, the number 6. A good omen for him.
As usual, he followed the detective that night. He was still scouting the bars, and it was almost endearing to watch the man's commitment. He suppressed his grin and followed into the bar. He let the man go for now and began his plan, picking out a decent prey almost easily. Some guy with a rather built upper body that liked to talk. He humored the man while he waited for the detective to leave, and when the man finally did, so did he along with his clueless prey. He didn't bother with the name, age or even the face. All his thoughts were on a promising young detective.
Again, he let the orange haired man go. This time he'd go a different way. He knew the alleys like the back of his hand. The perfect place where no one would hear you scream, and even if someone did, they wouldn't bother. He led his prey somewhere close to the route the detective usually took. It didn't take him much time to beat the weakling down, leaving him close to unconsciousness but still hanging on. Why was it so hard to find someone who could fight decently nowadays? He then wondered if the detective could fight, but from what he had learned about him, the man probably could.
He grinned at the thought as took out his knife. He loomed over the shivering prey, whose eyes widened as he realized what was about to happen to him. He reached out and turned the man over to lie on his belly, clamping a hand over the mouth to muffle the nameless man's scream. He raised the head slightly as he pressed against the back. Blade on the neck, he pictured the eyes of a detective named Kurosaki Ichigo, and sliced the flesh under the cold steel.
He did the usual things once he was done. He didn't bother to clean up; it was all in the plan. He wanted Kurosaki to see the blood. To smell the stench that was strong enough that you could almost taste it. Every predator would be excited from the sight of blood. He watched from afar, as usual, and couldn't contain his excitement. He had taken out the excitement on the prey too, by cutting much deeper and mutilating the body a little bit more than usual. But it was all specially for a fellow predator.
He wanted to see if Kurosaki was worthy. He wanted to see how much of a monster he was deep inside. He grinned widely when he saw the horrified face on the man's face when he saw the corpse. If he could, he would've grinned like a Cheshire Cat, lips split open from ear to ear, as he watched the expression of horror change into a mix of curiosity, desire and madness. Even from where he was, he could see those eyes glistening gold. Pick it up, Kurosaki. The detective noticed the knife and moved towards it. Pick it up.
But alas, just as his fingertips were about to brush the handle of the knife, he stopped and the lion disappeared. He clenched his fist and punched the wall beside him as he grit his teeth. So fucking close. Why did he stop? He didn't know and was interested to find out what. Nevermind that this chance was blown, there were others. Predators can fail at times when catching prey too, and this was one of those. Next time for sure, he'll bring that monster out.
And when he does, he'll meet him, greet him, and gut him. All for good fun.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Ichigo awoke in his bed covered in cold sweat. He sat up slowly as he panted slightly and waited for his eyes to adjust to the darkness of his bedroom. He buried his face in his hands and exhaled loudly. He had been dreaming for the past few days and they always disturb him.
They weren't exactly nightmares, but they were just uncanny. They were all set in the same place; a peculiar area that would never exist in the real world. In it, there was a great big blue sky with puffy white clouds, but Ichigo was standing on the side of a skyscraper. The whole place was just tall skyscrapers set horizontally, with the sky hovering low above him. The stranger thing was, Ichigo remembered having dreams like this even when he was a kid after his mother had passed on. Just that now, after so long, he was dreaming of this again.
'Ichigo,' someone had called him and Ichigo turned around to see an older man totally dressed in black, with long shaggy hair and shades.
"Zangetsu," Ichigo had felt himself saying. It was the first time he'd seen the man's features so clearly. The man bowed his head slightly, then looked back up at him. Or rather, past him. He turned and had seen a mirror image of himself, but in black and white. That was the most recent dream that had Ichigo waking up in cold sweat. It wasn't freaky to see one's mirror image in black and white, but it was just that figure.
Ichigo knew it was no mere doppelganger. It had black eyes with golden irises that screamed hatred and bloodlust. Its black-teethed grin added the sinister feel to his gaze towards Ichigo. And he had vaguely remembered the thing speak, in that twisted, distorted voice, 'I will kill.'
It was then when he awoke. He felt chills run down his spine as he played back the words in his head. No, Ichigo assured himself, I'll never do such a thing. Ichigo took the sleeping pills and glass of water that he had by his bed and curled up in his bed. With the dreams and the constant, faint snickering in the back of his mind whenever he tried to sleep, Ichigo figured he would have to get more of those pills for his desired dreamless nights.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxx End of chapter 4 xxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Hope that was enough mix of excitement (somewhat) and development for you. I'll say it right now that I'm gonna bullshit through some stuff that I'm not sure with the facts and can't get answers even through some basic research (like the behavior of killers and the psychiatric thing). I just hope it works and wouldn't put you off. This fic was meant to feel realistic, but it's still set in a world different from ours? If that makes sense.
As usual, feedback is much appreciated! Thank you!
