Note: This chapter contains graphic descriptions of violence.
Chapter 4
Closing his eyes, Yasuhara leaned back in the driver's seat and let out a sigh. A cool breeze brought the chirping of insects and an owl call in through the open window. He couldn't remember the last time he had really sat and enjoyed the woods. It had been a long and demanding summer.
Too soon, the fast rhythm of agitated fingers drumming against a hard surface drowned out the tranquil night song.
Yasuhara opened one eye. Gene was slumped as deeply as the seat would allow him, one arm draped over the back of their shared front seat while the fingers of his other hand fell in rapid succession against the frame of the car door.
"Where is he?" Gene leaned forward to peer out into the moonlight-mottled forest around them.
"We're meeting at 10." Yasuhara checked his pocket watch. "He still has five minutes left. Why don't you try to relax?"
Gene scoffed, but when he noticed Yasuhara staring at him, he stopped the tapping and brought his hand to pull at his hat instead.
Yasuhara shook his head.
The Griffith Ghosts. Rumor was they were brothers, Balor and Cheshire. One named for the lord of the demons and the other for his unsettling grin.
No one knew what the ghosts looked like. All anyone knew were whispers— that no one ever saw them and lived. Nonetheless, their terrifying shadow had kept South Boston firmly under the Baxter Street Gang's thumb for nearly a decade. And Yasuhara's boss would have given anything to get them out of the way.
Then one night, along came this bloody, broken boy. He'd practically fallen through their door, standing only because of the hands clamped around his arms, making promises and casting nervous glances across the room. Yasuhara couldn't believe that this was the Cheshire he had heard so much about.
He glanced at Gene, catching him slip a hand inside his jacket. Yasuhara sighed. "Don't."
"What?" Gene sent an innocent grin his way.
"No. Cheshire, we've talked about this. No drinking on the job."
"Aww, come on, Abercrombie," Gene said. "Just a sip." His lip jutted out in the smallest of pouts.
"No. I want you sober for this. You can drink afterwards."
"Now where's the fun in that?"
After nearly three months keeping watch on him, Yasuhara couldn't help but think that the rumors about the ghosts were exaggerated. Gene wasn't terrifying , he was a mess. If left to his own devices, he could barely get out of bed most mornings.
Gene inched his hand further into his jacket, giving Yasuhara a taunting smirk.
Yasuhara found his lips pull up in a small smile of his own. This guy needed someone to take care of him, and it was turning out nice having someone to talk to again. "Alright, how about this. Tonight, I'll join you for a drink. But you have to promise to save it for later."
Gene sat up. "You serious?" Ever since he had opened up, Gene had been trying his best to goad Yasuhara into drinking with him.
"Yes. Deal?" Yasuhara held out his hand, smiling.
"Can we put on the records?"
Yasuhara's smile widened. Gene's face had lit up like a kid on Christmas when Yasuhara brought out the gramophone from his room. Since then, the apartment had been filled with music and conversation.
"Only if you put a towel in the horn, I don't need my neighbors knocking on the door because you are playing music at 3 AM again."
"I can live with that." Gene gave his hand a firm shake, then leaned back against the seat, grinning. "Now that's what I like about you. You ain't as much of a killjoy as my brother."
"As much?"
"My handler was a real stick in the mud too. But you," Gene clapped a hand on his shoulder and gave it a small shake. "I'm gonna have some fun with you."
Yasuhara's smile fell from his face and he turned his attention to the woods, the car's interior suddenly far too small and constricting. Drunk-and-depressed Gene had spent nearly all of his time in his room, but friendly-and-talkative Gene? Yasuhara was finding it harder to keep him at a professional distance.
The sound of a car engine rose over the whine of the insects.
"It's a complement, Abercrombie," Gene said with another pat. But Yasuhara slid away from the touch, moving out of the car as quickly as the door would give way.
The other car rolled into the clearing, its headlights already out. Wheels crunching over dead leaves, it parked beside them.
Yasuhara took a deep breath and pulled on a welcoming smile, trying to ignore the tingle that wouldn't fade from his shoulder. "Vinny," he held out a hand to the large man who had emerged from the vehicle. "I'm glad you could make it."
Vinny hesitated for a moment, eyeing Yasuhara's hand somewhat askance. "Who's your friend?"
Gene stood slouched against their car, raising his flask in salute before taking a sip. Yasuhara made a mental note to take that damn flask when they got back home.
"New recruit. Mr. Cogliano has asked me take care of him."
"Bet you're happy about that, aren't cha?" Vinny smirked.
Yasuhara let the proffered hand fall. "How long of a walk is it to the lighthouse?"
"Less than ten minutes northeast. Let's get moving," Vinny said, heading into the woods.
The lighthouse sat at the tip of a rough-hewn jetty, a white tower with two red bands near the top, glowing in the reflected moonlight.
"Far as we can tell, Baxter Street moved in yesterday," Vinny explained from behind the tree next to Yasuhara.
"I see." Yasuhara leaned against his own tree and peered at the tower. From their vantage point on a short cliff over the road, he could see both the car and the man sitting in front of the tower, but was unable to make out any discernible features. "Yes, this does look like a serious problem."
The man at the lighthouse shifted the gun in his arms.
"Mr. Cogliano thanks you for your vigilance, Vinny."
"We can only assume Delaney offed Frankie and Enzo when he had them take the place."
Yasuhara nodded. It was unfortunate, but spoke to the direct manner of business that was expected of the leader of the Baxter Street gang.
"Is that kid sleeping?" Vinny pointed to Gene, who was slumped against a nearby tree, his head resting on his chest.
So he had started already. Yasuhara was going to have to remind Gene that he was supposed to tell him before he did anything 'unusual.'
This was the real reason the two of them had been asked to handle this particular scouting trip. Gene, Yasuhara had been surprised to learn, had the handy ability to close his eyes and allow his soul to escape the confines of his body, to wander places unseen, to hear and see things without the knowledge of others. Gene had told Cogliano it had something to do with 'other planes,' but the details hadn't mattered as much as the outcome.
"How do you think they realized its value?" Yasuhara asked, hoping to pull Vinny's attention back to the lighthouse.
"Dorchester," Vinny said, as if that was all the explanation necessary.
"Dorchester? You think Mike would sell us out? He seemed smarter than his late brother."
"Can't say that he had much of a choice. When the ghosts show, I figure a fellow would say pretty much anything to make them go away."
"The ghosts..." Yasuhara took a quick look at Gene, but he still seemed unaware of the conversation around him. "You sure?"
"Fits the MO. No shell casings, no one heard a thing, and they found some cigarette butts in the carnage. No one was scratched up though, so it wasn't the cat. Sounds more like the demon's work."
"Shit." Yasuhara chewed his lip. If Gene's brother was active again, that could quickly put Gene in trouble with the rest of the Cogliano family.
Yasuhara saw Gene stir, pulling at his hat and brushing off some leaves as he rose and came to stand next him.
"Have a nice nap?" Vinny said with a glare.
Gene glared back, but Yasuhara cut him off before he could say something they might both regret later. "Well?" Yasuhara looked at Gene expectantly.
Gene frowned, but pointed at the base of the lighthouse. "There's the one at the door and two more inside on that bottom floor. They've all got Tommy guns." His hand moved upward along the lighthouse. "The last guy is at the top. He ain't got nothin' but a pistol."
Yasuhara nodded. "Four isn't too bad."
"Like hell you know that," Vinny said, disbelief clear on his face. "How'd you possibly tell any of that?"
"I don't gotta explain shit to you." Gene started forward, but Yasuhara held him back with a hand on his chest.
"Alright, that's enough." Yasuhara looked between the two men. "We've got what we came here for. Now we take this information back to Mr. Cogliano."
"You wanna leave?" Gene asked, eyes trained back on Yasuhara.
"Yes, our job was to get intel on what happened to the lighthouse. Now we take that back and Mr. Cogliano decides—"
"Bullshit," Gene said, stepping back from Yasuhara and bringing his hand up to point at the lighthouse again. "We know who's in there now, why should we wait for them to change the set up?"
"Maybe because we don't have any weapons," Yasuhara said, matching his tone. "Not to mention that there are four of them and only three of us."
Gene scoffed.
"Shut your mouth, kid," Vinny growled, using all of his height to loom over Gene. "You must be even dumber than you look if you think I am risking my life to go in there with some green kid and a pansy as my only backup."
Gene's hand shot around Vinny's throat, the force of the blow pressing the larger man against the tree with a strangled croak.
"Watch your mouth, Vinny," Gene's lip curled up at the edge, "or I'll carve you a new one." His switchblade glistened in the moonlight as it pressed against Vinny's cheek.
Yasuhara tried to remain calm. "Cheshire, put the knife down."
Vinny's eyes went wide, his fractured attempts at breath growing closer together.
Gene glared up at the other man, seeming to contemplate his options.
Yasuhara brought a hand to Gene's arm and whispered. "This isn't how you make a good impression on the boss."
Gene's fingers squeezed, Vinny's choking gasps going silent. Then he pulled his hand away and started walking.
"Where are you going?" Yasuhara called over Vinny's coughs.
"To work," Gene said, slipping off into the dark.
To work? Was he crazy? What did he think he was going to do against four armed men?
Vinny braced himself against the tree. "The cat! I can't believe…"
Yasuhara lifted his hat, running a hand through his hair and watching the road for signs of Gene. Things had been going so well up to now. He had kept him safe, just like the boss had asked.
"I knew Cogliano was getting desperate, but I never thought—"
Should he go down to help? What could he do? He was an accountant. He was supposed to be keeping books, cooking them if necessary. He wasn't designed for combat situations.
He wrapped a hand around the branch next to him, the tree anchoring him as his eyes scanned the breakers. His breath caught when he spotted a dark shape moving along the rocks of the jetty, closing in on the man guarding the door. His fingers tightened around the tree branch, sure that the guard would spot Gene at any moment.
"—a monster like that!"
Yasuhara could hardly hear Vinny. All he could think about at the moment was that 'monster' lying on dark rocks as waves lapped at cold fingers.
He was gonna die. They were both gonna die. Gene was going to get himself killed and then the boss was going to kill him.
But then the guard crumpled to the ground, revealing Gene standing in the lamplight in front of the door.
Strong hands pulled at Yasuhara's shoulders, shaking him. "You can't just stand here, we gotta get outta here!"
Yasuhara pushed Vinny away, the slam of a door opening snapping his attention back ahead of him. There, once more silhouetted against the brighter light of the inside, stood Gene, the guard's Tommy gun nestled in his arms. "Heya, fellas! Ya miss me?!"
Gene opened fire on the interior of the lighthouse, the loud cry of the gun echoing across the rocks around them in a cacophony of sound that left Yasuhara covering his ears, even after Gene's figure no longer filled the doorway.
"Forget this!" Vinny yelled, taking off back through the woods.
Yasuhara ran, but not to get away. He stumbled on the loose rock that fell away with his scramble and slid the last few feet to the road. The lighthouse loomed closer and his breath was already coming heavy. He had to help. He couldn't let Gene go in there alone.
A wood burning stove stood open, its flames heating the small living space comprised of a dining table, its two chairs, a small bookcase bending under the weight of crowded shelves, and a red velvet sofa. It was almost picturesque, save for the bullet holes that riddled the sofa and the two slumped figures splayed across it, their scarlet-covered skin blending them together with their resting place.
Yasuhara brought a hand to his mouth on reflex, stomach rolling. His head swam, floor unsteady beneath his feet, as his mind called back the image of his father's body, broken and sprawled across the floor, dark pool growing beneath him.
The loud bang of a gunshot sounded above him, followed by a flurry of return fire, snapping him back to the present. That's right, he had come here to help Gene. Throwing himself at the banister, he started up the stairs that spiraled along the circumference of the tower.
There was a grunt, and Yasuhara watched as the Tommy gun fell past him, clattering to the floor below. Above him, a mass he could only imagine was Gene and another man were locked in battle. Any hope of distinguishing the two was lost to the bright light that shone around them.
"Traitor!" part of the mass accused. A growl echoed back and the mass moved, their shadows sliding away. Another cry echoed down, and then silence. Yasuhara's stomach sank, but he finished his climb. Gene's cap rested at the top of the stairs. He picked it up, squeezing the rough wool in one hand and the railing with the other as he peered into the lantern room.
Blood splatter ran down the crystalline structure of the lantern, glistening against the bright light. The shattered glass of the room's walls littered the stairs and floor; the wind, stronger than its counterpart sixty feet below, shifted the shards noisily across the metal grated floor. And from the far side of the lantern came soft grunts, punctuated by a wet smacking sound.
There was no stopping now. If Gene was dead, he should at least confirm it with his own eyes before he was taken himself. Yasuhara stepped onto the grate. Ahead of him, feet became visible around the side of the lantern, twitching in time with the blows. Another step forward completed the gruesome picture. There, straddling the torso of the larger man, kneeled Gene. His knife cast a long shadow above them before it fell back into the meat of the man again, and again, and again.
The snap of broken glass echoed around them as Yasuhara stepped backwards, mind reeling. Gene paused, his head cocked to the side, listening, before whipping around to look back. Bright blue eyes blazed amidst a red mask, his face split into a wide grin.
Yasuhara's breath caught in his throat. He had made a mistake. He had come to help Gene, but Gene, it seemed, wasn't even here. Instead, he stared at Cheshire and the bloody thing that used to be a man beneath him.
His mind told him he should scream, scream and run, escape. But he couldn't, his knees gave out, his hands sliding on the shards as he hit the ground.
The knife clattered against the floor and Yasuhara scrambled into the railing, squeezing his eyes shut. It was three years ago all over again and he still couldn't move. His chest ached, sick with the understanding that he was still just a coward.
Broken glass crunched, the sharp cracks mingling with the pounding of his heart.
"Yasuhara?"
A hand fell on his shoulder and he recoiled, pressing himself against the rail. Praying it would be fast, even if he didn't deserve it.
"Hey, Abercrombie."
The soft voice slowed the rush of blood in Yasuhara's ears and he opened his eyes. Gene looked back, still a gruesome sight, but the fiery eyes and too wide grin of the monster were gone. How? Yasuhara couldn't believe he had imagined it.
Gene's eyes scanned his face. "Are you okay?"
"I…" The words stuck in Yasuhara's throat as he caught a glimpse of the other man again.
Gene followed his line of sight, then moved, blocking the body from view. "Sorry bout that, I got a little, uh, caught up." As if in afterthought, he wiped at his bloody face with a damp sleeve, smearing, more than removing, the crimson substance.
Another round of nausea surged forward. "I came to...make sure you were alright," Yasuhara managed.
A look of surprise formed on Gene's face, before being replaced by a soft smile. "Yasuhara, my plenty rugged accountant, here to save the day." He shook his head. "And you even rescued my hat." Gene took the hat, placed it back on his head, then reached to adjust Yasuhara's hat.
Yasuhara was too confused to even flinch. What had happened? He felt like he was missing something. Or many somethings.
"Hey, your hand..." Gene took Yasuhara's hand, examining it. Three pieces of glass had embedded themselves in his palm. Yasuhara brought shaking fingers to the glass, attempting unsuccessfully to pluck them out.
Gene's steady hand fell over his own. "How about you let me take care of that for you? But for now, can you stand? Don't mean to rush you, but all this commotion is sure to turn a few heads, even out here. I think it's best if we make tracks, and soon."
With help, Yasuhara managed to get back on his feet, and allowed Gene to awkwardly guide him down the stairs until they became wide enough for them to share a step. When they reached the bottom, Gene stopped Yasuhara near the wood burning stove, steadying his shoulders with a firm grip before letting him go to rummage through the kitchen area.
"Got it," Gene said, coming back with a towel that he gently wrapped around Yasuhara's hand, careful not to press the glass any farther into his palm. "There."
Red dots sprang up amongst the embroidered flowers of the towel. Yasuhara blinked. "Are we...going home?" he asked, unsure as to what the proper protocol was for a post-murder spree wind-down.
"Yeah, we're going home," Gene told him. "Now, can you walk or would you like me to help you?"
Yasuhara took a heavy step forward, and when the world did not upend itself beneath him, he took another. Question answered, Gene walked ahead of Yasuhara and waited as his companion reached to grab something from the bookshelf before following him out.
"What's that you got there?" Gene asked, as Yasuhara staggered past him.
He shoved the bottle of whiskey against Gene's chest. "You promised me a drink," Yasuhara said, then continued at a slow but steady pace down the path back to the mainland, Gene's laughter once more bubbling up around them.
Blood slid down Yasuhara's palm, collecting in the crease of his wrist before dripping with a splat into the kitchen sink. He gripped the tweezers tighter, hoping that a firmer hold would minimize the shaking. He knew the tiny tips had made purchase on the glass when a new streak of pain laced up his arm. Turning his gaze to the ceiling and willing his stomach to stay put, he slid the shard from his palm and let it fall into the sink with a soft clink.
Only one more to go. Yasuhara grabbed the bottle of whiskey next to him and took a swig, the burn of it tampering his nausea for just a moment. He looked at his hand, the blood flowing faster from the newly vacated slice. Maybe one more sip first.
A laugh caught in his throat, leaving him coughing. "God, I'm pathetic."
"Hey."
Yasuhara dropped the tweezers into the sink with a yelp as Gene's voice came from right next to him.
"Didn't I say I would take care of that?"
"You needed to get cleaned off and I wasn't planning on waiting half the night to have my hand back," Yasuhara said, retrieving his fallen tool. "Besides, I can handle—" The tweezers fell again, bouncing off the wood of the floor.
Gene stood within reach, skin still damp with residual moisture from his shower, with only a towel wrapped around his waist.
"Oh dear God." Yasuhara turned back to the sink, his face burning with what he hoped would pass as the alcohol. "Where are your clothes?"
"Soaking in the tub. Now, how about you let me see that hand?" Gene said, reaching for Yasuhara's hand, only to have it jolt away as soon as he touched it.
"Cheshire, I really must insist that you put on clothes," Yasuhara told the ceiling.
"Oh come on, don't be such a prude. It's my apartment too. "
"That may be the case, but I—"
"And didn't I already tell ya?" Gene jumped up to sit on the counter next to the sink and shook his head, sending water droplets everywhere. "If we ain't on a job, just call me Gene."
Yasuhara took off his glasses to wipe the water from both them and his face. "You're changing the subject..."
Gene's dazzling smile showed no hint of embarrassment at his semi-nude state. "I can't put on clothes. That was my only outfit."
"What do you mean?"
"Well, I gotta soak it if I want to get the blood out, and you made me give you the other two for the cleaners."
It was Saturday. He always had the laundry taken out on Saturdays so he could have everything pressed and returned before the business week started again. Yasuhara cursed himself for his reliable nature.
"So about that hand." Gene took Yasuhara's injured hand in his own.
Yasuhara didn't resist this time and instead turned his attention to the bottle on the counter. The label was peeling up near the bottom. He took a sharp breath as Gene gently ran a finger across his palm.
"Sorry, did that hurt? I was trying to check if there were any more shards."
Yasuhara shook his head, then added, "There is only the one left near the pointer. I was able to remove the other two on my own."
Gene's fingers gave a tentative prod and Yasuhara let out a hiss.
"Found it."
"Yes, I know."
"Where are the tweezers?"
"Oh, uh..." Yasuhara stooped to look under the sink and scanned the floor, ignoring the dangling legs swinging lightly next to his head, and spotted the tweezers under the sink pedestal.
"So, this your first time?"
Yasuhara slammed his head up into the underside of the sink with a cry.
"Oh shit, are you okay?" Gene grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled him up for closer scrutiny.
Yasuhara nodded, feeling himself waver on his feet. It was the head injury, he told himself. God, he hoped it was the head injury.
"You should probably sit down." Gene hopped down from the counter and pushed him towards the sofa in the sitting area at the front of the apartment.
He wanted to argue, to point out that he should be by the sink to work on his hand, but all Yasuhara could get out was "My hand—" as he dropped onto the cushioned seat.
"I got it." Gene went to work with the tweezers, deftly removing the remaining shard of glass with far less pain than Yasuhara had managed to inflict on himself. That done, Gene stepped away for a moment, returning with a fresh towel to tie around his hand. All of it handled with a speed that seemed untrackable to Yasuhara's throbbing head.
"You're very good at this," he told Gene.
"Yeah, well, twelve years is a lot of time to practice."
"Twelve years." Yasuhara stared at him, the pain dulled as the facts of such a time frame sunk in. Gene looked to be around his age, late teens or early twenties. He wanted to ask how a child would find himself in this line of work, but he was almost afraid to hear the answer.
"But don't you worry none, that also means I have plenty of practice seeing first timers, so I can help you out."
"First...time?"
"Seeing a body. You don't have to worry, it'll sort of fade into the background eventual—"
"It's not my first time seeing a body."
"Oh, well sure. But I know seeing these probably wasn't like watching your grandpa pass or something. Deaths like these, they kinda tend to stick with a guy a little—"
"I've seen murder before," Yasuhara said, staring at Gene. "Three years ago."
Gene's eyes slid away from his, embarrassment finally finding a home on his features. "When you joined?"
Yasuhara looked at his feet and shook his head. "No, I— that was a few months later." He blinked back the sting in his eyes and looked up at Gene, pushing out a smile. "I believe you mentioned something about drinks?"
"You're damn right I did. I'll be right back." Gene ran back to the kitchen and Yasuhara took the opportunity to lift his glasses and wipe at the moisture that seemed determined to make its way out of his eyes. This head injury must have really thrown him for a loop.
Cleaned up as best as he could for the moment, Yasuhara stood and headed for his room.
When he made it back to the sitting area, Gene was sitting on the sofa, still in his towel, with a small army of bottles around his bare feet and two tumblers resting on the side table.
"I wasn't sure your poison."
"I think I'll stick with the whiskey," Yasuhara said, holding out a small pile of grey cloth.
"What's this?"
"Pajamas. I know we've got a pretty nice place, but the radiator has been known to break on occasion, and I can't have you catching your death."
"Oh, thanks." Gene took the offered clothes and stood, pulling on the towel around his waist and forcing Yasuhara to admire the decor of his own home.
"I can't believe you only have three outfits," Yasuhara muttered. "And no house clothes?"
"Well, I didn't exactly have time to pack, did I?"
"Right." Yasuhara shook his head. It's not like Gene had stumbled in that night with a suitcase in hand. What would clothes have mattered if Gene couldn't prove he was worth keeping alive till the morning?
But prove his worth, Gene had done, and then some. Bloody and battered, he had sat in a chair, limbs going loose. To everyone's shock, he then began speaking with a different voice. The voice of Nadia Cogliano, the late sister of their boss, Oronzo.
Yasuhara wouldn't have believed it if he hadn't seen it himself. But Gene— no, Nadia— knew everything about her and Oronzo's life, from how they used to prank the old man at the end of their block, to where Nadia had stashed the load of cash from the speakeasy before she got gunned down six months before.
Then came the wait for the information to be confirmed. Gene struggled to stay conscious all the while, that cocky smile seemingly stuck on his face despite the obvious fatigue and pain that clawed at him. Yasuhara had wondered how he could sit there, so sure that his lies would work out. So unafraid. Was he made of confidence? Was that what leaked from his split lip?
When the men came back, they brought with them the recovered case, containing nearly ten thousand in cash that they had thought lost half a year ago. Gene had spoken the words of someone dead. Could he do that for anyone? Even...his father?
A bump on his arm brought Yasuhara's attention back to the present. Gene was holding out one of the tumblers with a shot of the honey brown whiskey. Yasuhara took the drink gladly, tipping it back as he tried to burn off the shock left by the initial sight of Gene in his second best pajamas.
"Whoa there slugger, that's a sipping whiskey."
Yasuhara wiped at his mouth and held the empty glass out to Gene for a refill. "Did you want to pick the record or shall I?"
"My father was a tailor," Yasuhara said, placing his now empty glass on the table. He was considering whether he wanted a third glass, but found his options limited. In the hour Yasuhara had taken to finish this glass, Gene had managed to finish off the bottle of whiskey, and, it appeared, the scotch. "I learned how to keep books helping in his shop."
Bobbing his head to the foxtrot that came from the now towel-muffled gramophone, Gene held up a half empty bottle of gin and Yasuhara shrugged his consent.
"A tailor? No wonder you're so picky about clothes." Gene pulled the glass closer to him.
"You say picky, I say informed."
"So how's it you're here? With Cogliano?"
"I...my father was his tailor."
At the pause, Gene looked up from pouring to stare at him.
"After he passed away, Mr. Cogliano was kind enough to offer me a job."
Gene stood from the sofa, and with two somewhat unsteady steps, brought the glass back to Yasuhara instead of just reaching across the gap between them. "You didn't want to keep it? The tailor's?"
Yasuhara shook his head and took a sip from his newly filled glass.
Gene leaned against the arm chair and looked down at him. "You should've." He kneeled next to the chair, roughly taking Yasuhara's face in his hands. "Listen."
His breath was heavy with alcohol. Yasuhara pulled his head back on instinct, but Gene only tightened his grip and pulled him closer. "Listen. You're nice, you're attractive." Gene stared into his eyes, his pupils wide and glassy, but commanding nonetheless. "You meet someone, family, kids, everything on the level. You don't have to sit in this shit."
Yasuhara blinked back the layers to that statement that he wasn't ready to look at.
"What about you? Don't you want to… meet someone?"
Gene shook his head, the force of it moving his whole body and pulling Yasuhara's head from side to side with it. "You're not listening. I am this shit. I fucked up Masako's life, can't do that again. Not to someone sweet, like Mai."
He gave Yasuhara's numb cheek a small pat before letting go and sliding the rest of the way to lay on the floor.
"Mai?" Yasuhara could barely hear his own voice. Always the same old story. He should have guessed.
"Yeah." Gene threw his arm over his eyes. "You know, with the hair and the pie. And that cute smile. Mai ain't the type of girl you just have as a squeeze, you know. There's this innocence. God, it makes her light up a whole room."
"And you," Yasuhara took a steadying breath, "you don't think you deserve her?"
"Nah." Gene gave his head another exaggerated shake, his eyes still closed. "She deserves someone— proper. It'd just be Masako all over again, y'know?"
"Masako?"
"My old twist. All I did was drag her into trouble. Can't be doin' that again."
Yasuhara looked down at Gene, splayed out drunk on the floor in borrowed pajamas because his only other clothing was soaking out the blood of his four most recent murder victims. He should be terrified, but instead it was the familiar heaviness of disappointment that draped over him.
"She's even got the same, y'know, sight. Seein' ghosts."
Yasuhara's mind snapped to attention. Mai? She could see spirits as well? How did Gene know?
"And I wanna help her. She seemed pretty freaked out by it. I could talk with her. Help her figure things out, but…"
"But?" Despite himself, Yasuhara's interest was piqued. For as talkative as Gene had become recently, he was still pretty cagey when it came to his special talents. He had never even considered that there could be more folks like Gene. "Is there a problem with her seeing ghosts?"
"Yes!" Gene stared at Yasuhara, expectation and anticipation mixed with a haze in his eyes.
"And that problem is…?"
"What if she starts seein' the people we've killed?"
"Oh. I see, that could be an issue…"
"You're damn right it is! What if she talks to them?"
"That...would be bad."
Gene let out a groan. "I can't let her know I kill people. She's not the type to be okay with that."
"So you think it would be better to pursue a relationship based on lies?"
Gene grimaced. "No, but I'm not— well I am, but I'm not just a— a…see, this is what I mean! I ain't got a chance."
"No." Yasuhara took a deep breath. "I know you're not just your job, G...Gene."
Gene gave a hazy grin at the use of his name.
"I think you should talk to her. Maybe, you take it slow. Use this connection first, see where it takes you. It's been my experience that people aren't as innocent as we like to think they are, and maybe in your case that could work to your advantage."
"Sure, until Noll finds out."
"Your brother? Do you think he would disapprove of Mai?"
Gene looked at the ceiling. "It's not that."
"Do you think he'd be...jealous?"
Gene let out a sharp sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob, but Yasuhara had no help placing it as Gene decided to move his arm back over his eyes.
"What is it?"
"There ain't many of us, y'know. I used to think it was just me and Noll. Then we met Masako and I learned there was more."
"That sounds like it must have been great for you."
Gene gave his head a small shake. "Delaney learned it too."
Yasuhara knew enough about the Baxter Street boss to know that couldn't be a good thing. "You don't..."
"I thought it was hitting on all eight, y'know? I finally had a gal, and she weren't just any gal. She was like me, different, only...she ended up not so keen on what went along with that." Gene reached out blindly for a new bottle, his heavy hand blundering through the collection. "Not that I can blame her, people want normal lives. She sure wasn't going to get that with me."
Gene gave a bottle a swish and, hearing the sloshing of liquid, pushed himself up to sit. "She ran seances for Delaney for a while, but she was more interested in helping the spirits than pumping them for information. So, she tried to leave, said she was made for more than helping some greedy mob boss line his pockets with blood money."
"And Delaney didn't like that." Yasuhara could imagine what happened next.
Gene shook his head and took a swig straight from the bottle. "Noll kept saying 'a smart fella don't poke his nose where it don't belong.' And sure, she weren't my squeeze no more by then, but I had to help her out. Besides, Noll's a goddamn idiot." Gene took another swig and turned back to Yasuhara. "Don't poke ya nose? He just didn't want me to know it was his job to off her when she ran."
"He…"
Gene pointed his finger at Yasuhara's forehead. "Pow, pow. Double down to make sure the deed is done. At least, that's what I heard. I made tracks outta there as soon as they finished putting the screws ta me."
"But if you didn't see or hear it from him, then maybe he didn't do it?"
"He did it." Gene took another swig.
"But how do you know?"
"Because I'm not fucking dead!" Gene slammed the bottle on the floor next to him. Cracks spider webbed their way up from the impact. "Forget leaving, I fucking turned coat! There's only one reason Delaney hasn't made short work of ending my shit life."
"Because your brother..."
"Did his damnedest to clean up my fuck up." Gene brought the bottle back to his lips, whispering into it, "I hate him," before drinking deeply. Tears spilling from tightly clenched eyes.
Yasuhara looked at his own hands, at the glass shaking there. "And...you think, if you got close to Mai, it would happen again?" He looked back at Gene. "That your brother would ki— hurt her?"
Gene looked away, wiping at his eyes. "Who the hell knows?" The heat was gone from his voice. "I ain't got a clue, and I'm his fuckin' twin."
"But you wouldn't put it past him."
"He used to be like you." Gene held the neck of the bottle loosely, watching it move as he rolled it across the floor.
"How do you—
"He used to hate it. The jobs. He didn't say nothing. But he couldn't hide it from me. He never could. But now…" Gene's voice gave out.
"Now?"
Gene's fingers clenched around the bottle and he took a deep breath. "Now he's a goddamn monster. And it's all my fault."
Yasuhara's chin drooped, sending his glasses to the end of his nose and jolting him awake in his chair. The constant shhht shhht of the finished record came from the gramophone, its muffle now pooled on the floor beneath as if it too were too tired to continue on its work for the evening.
Yasuhara wasn't sure exactly when Gene fell asleep, or himself for that matter, but he had no intention of finishing out the night in this chair. On the floor at his feet, Gene's chest rose and fell slowly.
What now? He had helped a very inebriated Gene make it back to his room on more than one occasion, but he had never been completely passed out. And somehow, Yasuhara couldn't bring himself to shake Gene awake this time.
The floor would do. It might not be comfortable, but there was enough space to stretch out, and he could get the blanket from Gene's room.
Yasuhara lingered for just a moment, staring at this mess of a man below him, the heady breath of an alcohol-induced sleep falling regularly from his parted lips. The memory of the terrifying creature he had witnessed hours earlier obliterated by the image of this broken, lost child.
He lifted the needle from the record, silencing its call, and with a sigh, headed to the bathroom for his own shower.
AN:
Thank you to all our reviewers: WhereDidSweetieGo, Snavej, Gally619, FrenchCirce, oxybry, soulsborne123, Samantha-Girl Scout, beegene, darkgenius2003, and our various guest reviewers.