A/N: Well, this was quicker than I expected. It helps that I had barely any finals today, huh? XD
Nova.81 - Oh, yes, she's a nasty woman! X( She will have more to do with the story later on. As for the Harvest Moon Festival, something important does-or did XD-happen on that day, which will be revealed in the next chapter! :D Vegeta does not want to fall again... DX
SaiyansTrueBlood - Thanks :)
peanutbuttergurl6 - I love that part too. I kinda chuckle when I picture his face XD Mrs. Chokorē will be important later in the story, but for now...
C4tloverr - Awwww, thank you :D
KimiruMai - Don't tell Veggie that though XD
miikodesu - Bulma moved into the town 11 years before she met Vegeta face-to-face, but since Vegeta was trapped inside the mirror in her room, he was able to watch her and stuff (Vegeta, you creeper, you XD). So, he basically knows a lot about her. The girl who Vegeta supposedly fell in "love" with will be revealed soon o3o
The Tainted Heart Of Vegeta - YAY! :D
Rebellion's Prodigy - Thanks :D The only problem though, is that the murderer is a guy, so... XD
nikki-michelle - Nawww, it's okay. Whenever you can review is fine for me :) I loved that part to-payback is a real pain XD Could he be falling for her? O.O You'll have to read and see...
DBZRocks153 - Of course they get together XD Wouldn't be a V/B fic without the get-together! (how, you'll see)
Disclaimer: I own nothing, except this story. :3
Mirror
Very few people were in the library, the clusters thinning out as the late hours of the afternoon dragged on. The radiant sun was slowly lowering itself down towards the horizon, no low enough to be called evening yet, but enough to lengthen shadows just a bit more, so they could be identified as more than just dark puddles.
Soft murmurs flitted about the old town from the lips of elders, and eyes that had already seen so much glanced at one person in particular, one whose blue hair would glisten in the sunlight. Bulma subconsciously shifted the purse strap on her shoulder, feeling each citizen's gaze pierce her skin with such ferocity that she could've compared it to millions of tiny daggers. The heiress supposed that someone couldn't keep her mouth shut and blabbed about her investigation of the Ouji house.
I've never realized how much I hate Mrs. Chokorē! Gah—can't she just mind her own business?! I don't care if she owns her own paranormal investigation business—she has no right!
Bulma walked up the steps of the grand library, her feet passing over a plaque in the stone of people who had donated to help built the enormous building. She pushed the majestic doors open and calmly padded over to the front desk. Her sneakers made the floorboards squeak quietly, signaling her arrival. "Launch?"
The dark-blue-haired librarian raised her head—she was looking at the library records again—and she appeared to be surprised to see her. "Bulma! I wasn't expecting you. Is there something you need?"
"I heard the Wi-Fi's back up," Bulma answered plainly, implying her need, "is that true?"
Launch nodded, her shiny, full curls bobbing. "Yes—are you in need of a computer? Is it for personal of business use?"
"Personal."
"Alright then! I'll unlock it so you can use any website!"
The library had a policy in which to use the internet from its computers, one had to tell the librarian what it would be used for—personal or business (school was put under business). If it was for business, a person could only access the sites the library provided; as for personal, the librarian would have to unlock the internet sites on a certain computer so the user would have the ability to search any site out there.
Launch tapped a few keys on her keyboard and clicked the mouse button. "Okay, Computer Number 7 is unlocked."
"Thanks, Launch."
"You're welcome!"
Bulma headed over to her designated computer, and she situated herself on the cushioned chair, shifting slightly. She took the mouse and guided the cursor over to the web browser button, causing it to pop up in her screen. After she fired up the internet, her fingers glided over the keys gracefully as she typed into the library's search engine.
Ouji.
The search results loaded, and they soon appeared on the screen.
Alright, Ouji means 'Prince'—huh, his last name means 'prince'… Somebody Prince…Prince Somebody—agh, focus, Bulma!
She quickly scrolled down the page, scanning for anything thing that screamed at her 'Ouji family'; but, after 100 pages, she gave up. Nothing but a bunch of crap! Darn it! Bulma leaned back in her chair, her eyebrows scrunched up in frustration. She gently sucked on her lower lip, putting her thinking face on. She doubted that if she looked any further on simply "Ouji", she wouldn't get anywhere. If only she knew his first name!
But that's why you're here, remember?
Bulma sighed, crossing one leg over the other, and stared up at the high ceilings. The chillness of the computer lounge gave her goose bumps on her arms and legs.
C'mon, Bulma, think, he must've lived a long time ago—and the Ouji family isn't well known outside this town—I think… Oh, what to put, what to put—oh! I know!
She quickly typed in her address in the search box and hit Enter.
"C'mon…"
Results blipped up into her sight, a smile finding its way to her lips…until one word caught her eyes.
Murder.
The triumphant grin faded from her face, a kind of feeling welling up into her chest and constricting her heart Bulma could only guess was dread. She swallowed nervously in attempt to quell the choking emotion, and she tentatively clicked the link to the web article. The anticipation made her skin crawl—itch, itch, itch…
When the article loaded, Bulma's blue orbs stumbled upon its title that was displayed in all bold and capital letters, like the author was shouting at her.
THE OUJI TRADEGY—THE MURDER THAT TORE A TOWN APART.
So…Goku wasn't kidding…
Although hesitant to what she might find, Bulma started to scroll through the story, absorbing every word.
"On September 15th…"—the year, she realized, was nearly one hundred years ago—"fear and paranoia had replaced the normally serene setting of the quiet little town know as Saiya…"
Well, that was never a good sign.
"…It had been a peaceful day, the only buzz was about the Harvest Moon Festival coming up in two days. A town meeting was to be held at the town hall by the committee of the Festival—hosted by the esteemed Mayor Yasa…"
Okay, town meeting—fun…
"…However, it would be the last time anyone would see the Ouji family alive…"
Bulma froze after reading the familiar surname. He was m-murdered? Oh…I… A tiny shiver shook the young woman's body, her left hand gripping her pants leg, and a fear of reading on struck her. She was living in a house were people had been killed!
I…I don't think I should…
Don't be cowardly! You got yourself into this, so you'll get yourself out as well!
Determined to prove her cowardice wrong, Bulma took a deep breath—inhale, exhale—and she furrowed her brows in quiet determination, continuing.
"The Ouji family had returned home late that night, exhausted from the meeting prior. The residents of the grand mansion had bedded down for the remainder of the night, planning to sleep in the next morning…"
Bulma gulped, her azure eyes scanning the black, plain text before her thoroughly. The people still at the library would pass by her hunched over form, each giving her odd looks as a look of absolute horror was painted on her lovely features, and some would peek over her shoulder, read a paragraph or two, and shake their heads. The younger ones, who didn't know any better, would snicker and snort and be about their way. An unruly teenager even threw a ball of crinkled up paper at her head.
"…A family friend and business partner of Vegeta Ouji, Sr., Nappa, had found them in their gruesome state when he, as the man claimed, had been going to the house to celebrate the success at the meeting last night. Police further inspected the crime scene of the murder and discovered the killer had managed to enter the house unnoticed, judging by the broken back door, and hid in the attic until the Oujis returned. The weapon of choice was later found discarded under the steps to the house—a bloodied hatchet. Officials were unable to trace the weapon back to its handler, and although there were a few suspects, no one was arrested for committing the crime, causing the case to be dropped.
"In the aftermath of the tragedy, Saiya was wrought with beliefs of deceitfulness among its citizens, which soon led to riots and other acts of violence—none were killed during this. It took many years for the townspeople to reestablish their calm order. The Ouji residence has thenceforth laid abandoned since the horror took place within its walls. Locals of the town, to this day, believe that the spirits of the Oujis haunt the very premises, saying that all who enter will be cursed for eternity."
There was a bibliography.
It was then that Bulma released a breath she didn't realize she was holding.
She noticed a photo gallery at the bottom of the page.
Do I dare? Bulma wondered.
An unknown force guided her cursor over the gallery link, blowing up the box to a full page. Bulma looked at the few picture thumbnails with a tentative gaze. Hesitantly, she clicked the first picture.
She nearly gagged.
The photo depicted the bodies of the dead family in all its black-and-white glory. Despite its lack in color, wounds could be clearly seen, as well as the darkened splotches of blood. Gashes littered their torsos—some blows were to the parents' heads—and the area around them was stained with blood. Bulma looked to her ghostly houseguest's mortal shell, puzzled on why he was the only one wearing formal clothing.
Blood—which appeared to be nearly black in the picture—trailed down his forehead and from his mouth, dribbling down to his neck, and the heiress had to cover her mouth to hold back a gasp. His…alright, handsome… features were contorted into what one would call sheer agony. Bulma had never seen such a look in her life—even the panels of fighting manga couldn't match the pain in his face.
She was starting to regret walking through him earlier. What had he done to her? The poor guy had been murdered, for heaven's sake! She was only late for work!
Afraid that she was going to bawl if she stared at this picture any longer, Bulma checked the next few pictures. The house, the funeral procession, the accursed axe…
Bulma came across a family portrait of the Oujis—the very last picture in the gallery. She saw him in the bottom right, sitting under his standing parents and next to a teenager—his brother? Bulma's eyes fell to the description.
It had their names.
Top left: Vegeta Ouji, Sr.; top right: Talerē Ouji; bottom left: Tarble Ouji; bottom right: Vegeta Ouji.
Vegeta…
His name was Vegeta.
…
Bulma kicked a rock with her shoe—it skipped out into the road—and stuffed her hands into her pockets, staring down at the concrete sidewalk.
"It's like I'm part of a packaged deal, you see. If you find out what happened in this house, you find out my name and what the mirror has to do with it."
Boy, did she find out alright.
When Bulma glanced up, she noticed that she was by Shenron Cemetery. Maybe…?
Her feet moved on their own accord, carrying her through the rickety gate, down the rows of graves to the O section.
She found them.
The family's graves were placed side by side, perfectly straight like soldiers, arranged by oldest to youngest. Vegeta's grave was the second to last. All four of the headstones were old and cracked and chipped, decorated with yellowing moss. Bulma, however, could still read the engraving.
It stated his name first in large lettering, then his birth and death—he was 28-years-old?—and, lastly, his epitaph.
"My life fell like dew
Disappears like dew
All of this world
Is a dream after dream."
Bulma almost cried.
She sank to her knees, reading the verse with sorrowful eyes. The stone seemed to leer at her, glaring into her soul and rooting her down to the earth.
Life…it was so cruel…
Bulma couldn't explain why she began to clean of the moss and grime from his headstone. Maybe it was because she didn't like looking at dirty things, or maybe she couldn't keep her hands still for another moment…
Or maybe…
…
The heiress returned home just as the sun slipped under the horizon. She figured her parents were either still out and about or in bed. Bulma headed right past the kitchen—she couldn't even think of food after…after…
Thus, the 27-year-old woman walked towards her room, appearing as though she was in a trance. She numbly opened the door to reveal her phantom roommate standing there, glaring at her teasingly.
"Well, somebody's home late," he pointed out, his baritone voice oozing with sarcasm, like he really was teasing her. He smirked, "Gosh, your generation has such a 'fascination' with libraries that it's almost as if—" He cut himself off when he met her empty gaze, seeing how…off…she seemed. His smirk fell, and he frowned—almost worriedly—and furrowed his eyebrows. "Bulma?"
When she looked at him, all Bulma could see was his body covered with blood, not even registering his voice. She imagined the scarlet liquid leaking from the various wounds he had unwillingly received from an axe maniac, soaking into his shirt and turning the fabric red. She gazed into his onyx eyes, utterly lost in the black depths. How could he have such eyes filled with life when he was dead? Even in the family picture, Bulma saw the fire in his eyes, showing both pride and a will stronger than steel. Could she admit to herself that she was…afraid if she saw his lively orbs dulled?
"…Bulma?" A hand lightly caressed her face, a touch that was gentle—too gentle to come from a mere stranger… Bulma blinked, her eyes returning to normal. The ghost pulled his hand away and let it hang at his side, slightly blushing for touching her…
Bulma frowned, sorrow pooling into her cerulean eyes. "Vegeta," she stated, a little too monotonous and sad for herself, "your name is Vegeta."
Vegeta blinked in surprise, but nodded in confirmation. "Yes." He hadn't thought that she'd figure that out so quickly! But, then again, this was Bulma…
"You…" she continued quietly, pulling Vegeta out of his thoughts, "you lived—and died—here almost a hundred years ago… You had a little brother named Tarble…your mother's name was Talerē…and you were named after your father…" He nodded again, cringing inwardly at the mention of his baby brother. "You were…killed—no, murdered…here, in this room." Bulma moved past him dully towards the old mirror, and Vegeta turned around so he could follow her. "This…this is yours…your blood," she whispered, brushing her fingers across the dried substance. Vegeta found it strange why she wasn't grossed out by it. Weren't women supposed to freak over guts and gore? Guess not…
"And there's more of your blood by the bed on the floor—you put up I fight…" Bulma torpidly persisted, her movements appearing limp. "The stain in the hallway rug…that's Tarble's blood"—Vegeta wished desperately that she wouldn't mention Tarble anymore—"and…I'm sure there's blood in Mom and Dad's room—your parents'…" The woman swallowed slightly, gathering her composure before she broke.
Vegeta said nothing, but simply let her speak. He didn't like how she sounded—she sounded small, tired, weak. Bulma was not weak. She was a steadfast, stubborn woman, with a sharp tongue and spirited attitude. She was strong—she could handle anything!
But even a woman like herself could only handle so much.
Vegeta crossed his arms over his broad chest, intent, but not happy, to listen to her findings.
"You died by an axe—so many wounds…" Bulma shuddered, hugging herself when she pictured his body covered with the deep slashes that had cut so deep into his skin. Vegeta took a step closer to her. "But…the only thing I didn't find is why you're in the mirror." She turned to him, looking up slightly to meet his eyes. "Why are you?"
The young apparition man blinked, sighing softly. She did this much, so… "I…died up against it, so my spirit got trapped inside the mirror. I'm…basically…bound to it." He and Bulma looked at the mirror, but only Bulma saw her reflection. "There's a legend here that says the mirrors are portal to the next world, but if they aren't covered when somebody passes from this world, their spirit is trapped inside—they can only walk the place where they died."
"What happens if the mirror breaks?"
Vegeta shrugged, grunting, "I don't know."
"Oh…"
Vegeta glanced at the blue-haired girl, his frown deepening when he saw the mournful look in her eyes. Why should she mourn for him? He died long before she was born—why did she have the need to mourn his death? Did she pity him? No, that wasn't the look in her eyes. Maybe it was because of how he died…
"…I didn't feel anything else after the third blow," he offered softly. Bulma only grunted, nodding slightly.
"…I'm going to bed," she decided. "'Night…"
Noticing that she didn't say good night, Vegeta replied with the same word, "'Night." He sunk back into the mirror without another word, and he turned away when she started to undress and change into her pajamas. She must be traumatized enough so she didn't care who saw her undressed. He heard her slip into bed and let out a long, tired sigh. Vegeta looked back at her sleeping form, his eyes lingering on her face a bit too long for his liking. He sighed as well and settled down for the night.
Bulma stared blankly up at the ceiling, her blue eyes becoming dark with the darkening surroundings.
It took her a while to slip into the dark deepness of slumber, while thoughts of murder and a bloodied Vegeta on her mind…
Saiya - Pun off of Saiyan/Saiyajin, however you want to say it :3
Yasa - Yasai, vegetable in Japanese (switch it up, you got Saiya!)
Talerē (or Taleree) - Pun off of vegetable, using only the T, E's, and A. My name for Vegeta's mother, since I have no idea what her actual name is... u_u
Review! :D