Hi! I'm back with a new chapter of ' To Save Myself'. Disclaimer: I own nothing!
Not Familiar, Just The Face
His night had not been a peaceful one. Yami had tossed and turned as his dreams took his mind from the pain and confusion in that hospital room to the darkest recesses of his mind. His reflection had been there again. He could see himself lying in a pool of his own blood. He'd shaken himself, called out to himself. But his reflection had slept on. And Yami let him. Why did this keep happening? This was the third time this had happened now? The morning brought him from his dreams feeling frusterated, un-rested and thuroughly irritated as a honey-eyed, blonde-haired, bespectacled man insisted on talking to him. Yami wasn't feeling up to much talk. Besides, this was a hospital. Didn't that mean he was supposed to be allowed to rest as much as he wanted? The shrink either didn't notice his bad mood or decided to ignore his glares as he pulled up a chair from the corner and seated himself close to his bedside. He whipped out a notepad, pen and recorder from his blindingly white coat and presses a button on the small device then set it on the bedside table next to them.
" This is Dr. Joseph Wheeler with Atemu Sennen, session one. 10:30 a.m" Funny. This guy had a strong brooklyn accent. He'd supposed psychaiatrists would sound boring, or russian or some kind of forgein accent. Like in the old movies. Not like they might have lived next door to you at some point. He sighed in irritation and crossed his arms.
" I'm not Atemu Sennen." The doctor nodded thoughtfully.
" Then what do ya want me to call ya?"
" My name would be a good start." He said, his tone snide. Joseph inclined his head politely and began again.
" Session one, 10:30 a.m...Yami." Yami gave the doctor a satisfied nod and sighed.
" Look...I get that I kinda look like this " Atemu" guy. But I'm not him." A disbelieving stare. " I'm really not him. My name is Yami Kujaku okay? That's who I am." Dr. Wheeler clicked his pen and put it to the paper.
" That's what I'm here to find out. First let's jus' get some basic info, kay?" Yami nodded. Joseph drew a line down the center of the paper, then on one side wrote Atemu. On the other side he wrote Yami. On Atemu's side he wrote down the boy's birthday, June 6th 1992. " Okay Yami. Date of birth?" The boy sighed heavily and then rattled off the date.
" June 6th, 1992." What do you know. A match. The doctor recorded the date then moved his pen over and wrote down Atemu's social security number: 231-71-4887. Would there be a second match? He moved his pen to Yami's side of the paper and prepared to write down the same sequence of numbers again.
" Social security number?"
" I don't have one." Well that was different. The psychaiatrist looked up at Yami, peering at him over the lens of his glasses. " Look, when you live with a crack head, who thinks the less people know about you the better, you learn how to keep your mouth shut. Isn't that how kids do it? Learn by example or some shit?" Yami's fingers fiddled with the bed sheets as he pondered, wondering just how much he could really tell the shrink. 'Well...this kind of stuff is supposed to be confidential. I guess it's okay...' " I could always make up a social security number for myself when I got a job. But I could never hold one down long enough for it to matter." Another surprise. Joseph's eyebrows raised as the young man spoke. Atemu had never worked as far as he knew. And did this young man just make a reference to drugs? Joseph fingered the recorder, making sure it was still on. Then he began again.
" Aren't you a bit young to be working so much? What about your parents?" Yami snorted disbelievingly and leaned back in to the pillows.
" What parents? My dad could be anyone in the world for all I know. He didtched my mom when he found out I was holding her hostage in her own body. And Mom...she was more interested in her next fix than me. Whether it be gents or whatever generic street drugs she could get her hands on. I was barely a thought. Look," Yami sat himself up straighter and un-crossed his arms. " I didn't grow up in some cushy, Domino mansion, okay? I grew up in the real world." Joseph looked at the young man sympathetically and leaned forward.
" Where is your mother?" Yami's jaw tensed and he looked away as his fingers fisted the blankets under him.
" Dead. O.D. She was really stupid." Yami shook his head and blinked harshly as his eyes glistened with unshed tears. But he refused to cry. It did no one good to have tears or see them. Besides, he hadn't been lying about his relationship ( If you could call it that.) with his mother. What good did it do to cry for her when she barely ever cared about him-if at all? No, tears were no good here. Meanwhile the doctor listened and watched with fascination. This other personality of Atemu's seemed to be a very elaborate one. He came in assuming to find similar traits that would point to Atemu, but beyond that birth date there was nothing he was seeing of the supposed teen. A completely different person was sitting two feet away from him now.
" How long ago did she die, Yami?" He asked gently. Yami shrugged and looked away from the doctor, his eyes still moist looking.
" Four months ago. We weren't exactly close. Haven't been for years." He added quietly. Yami shrugged his shoulders, as if shrugging off an unwelcome thought and began again. " She ignored me when she could. But I could always count on seeing the palm of her hand on pay day. When she didn't show...I knew something wasn't right. So I went to check up on her. I found her dead."
He rapped his knuckles harder against the wood. He'd been knocking for three minutes. It wasn't like her to miss this day...unless she was passed out or something. He didn't want to see her. He had just come home from " Work" four hours ago. He was still dressed in his " Uniform" and he knew she was bound to harp on about that. She always did like to criticize the way he did things. He was dressed in tight black leather pants, the material hugging his legs nicely. Black buckled boots adorned his feet. A simple back tank top adorned his torso, the hem not quite reaching his waist giving one a nice view of his toned stomach. A red button-down shirt left undone finished off the attire. Watch her start complaining. Though considering the things she did Yami felt her attitude towards him was nothing but hypocritical. He didn't want to see her. He didn't feel like fighting with her. Not today.
' Fine. I'll just come in, drop off the cash, then leave.' He took out a pair of keys from his pocket and put one in the door's lock. It gave easily and with one twist of the knob the door swung open. The apartment was a mess. Clothing and boxes of god-knows-what, then papers and dishes were thrown helter skelter about the room. Directly in front of him was a worn brown recliner...and he could see bright blonde hair peeking overhead. But it was tilted. ' Passed out. I knew it.' " Mom?" No answer. Yami slowly walked in to the apartment and touched her shoulder. " Mom?" Nothing. A sudden sense of dread began to enfold him. Even in her worst stupor she always answered him when he called her. He carefully walked around the couch. Then a hand flew to his mouth as a surge of bile shot to his throat. He was going to be sick. Mai Kujaku stared out at the space ahead of her, her once beautiful violet eyes having lost their light some time ago. Her blonde hair lay around her like a golden halo, her jagged blonde locks framing her face, just like jer son's. A needle was resting in her lap, her fingers holding tight to her strongest source of comfort even in death.
Blood had ceased to leak from her wrists some time ago, and now lay on her skin in a coagulated, drying mess, the puddle under her hands black in the dim light of the room. By the look of things she had not been dead long. Six hours at the most. He was powerless to stop the tears and Yami kneeled down next to the chair, gripping the arm for support as his other hand clamped tighter over his lips, his breath coming ragged through his nose. His hand moved from his mouth to his eyes as he struggled to contain the tears pouring hard and fast from his eyes. He looked back at her and the sight was made all the worse when he caught a glimmer in her lap. With tremblng hands he took it from her. Then the tears began again. It was a picture of his mother and himself as a boy, sitting on the shore of a lake, both smiling at the camera. One of the few times they had been truly happy together.
There had been a time when Mai Kujaku had loved her son, and Yami thought the world of her. Even on her worst day to Yami his mother would always be the most beautiful woman he ever knew. Shimmering, long blonde hair flowed down her back, her bangs shaped just like his. Their eyes had held the same shape, but his crimson could never compare to the violet beauty her's held. Pale, creamy skin stretched over a model-thin frame and her generous chest area. High cheekbones and glossy red lips. She could have been an angel in a past life. And as a boy he had loved to hear her sing to him and read him stories. But her love for him was matched-perhaps even overshadowed by her need for drugs. He couldn't count how many times he had come home from school to find her high or drunk or passed out from partying. Sometimes she wasn't there at all. Mai had, at her pleading son's requests bounced back and fourth from one rehab clinic to another.
Her moments of soberiety were few and far in between. And Yami had begun taking jobs at twelve to help pay off her medical debts. From delivering newpapers to mowing other people's lawn he had done all he could to help her. No one was sure when or why she had begun using, but it had not helped either her or Yami in the long run. And when he found out she had been using his money to buy drugs and alchohol...he gave up. Shouting matches had become a part of their routine, Mai calling him everything but a child of god as he outed her as a drug addict and a whore. And when she slapped him...he left her. He had been fifteen then. Whenever he found a job...whatever it was she would always come knocking, demanding a share, lest she reported his " Hobbies and Buisnesses" to the cops. It had gotten that bad. He believed after their blow-up she had simply stopped fighting her addiction.
Now look what she'd done.
She had given in to her sickness, and planned on dying by it. When that failed it seemed she'd slit a vein or two to finish what she had started. Yami sniffled and wiped his eyes, slowly standing up and looking down at his mother, the picture still in his hand. On the tabe was a manilla envelope with his name on it. He opened the small package and pulled out the first thing he saw. It was a letter, written in shaky but still elegant handwriting.
' My Yami. I know you hate all of this. And me. And I know you'll hate to find me along with this letter dead. Even more to know I'm shot up while writing this. But I can't do this anymore. There is so much I wanted to tell you. Guess it's a bit too late now. I have made many mistakes with you. I know that. But there's alot more you don't know. I can only tell you now that I'm sorry. I am so sorry, Yami. I never thanked you for trying to help me, and love me. I never thanked you for staying with me as long as you did. I'm sorry I didn't say it when I was alive but I'm saying it now.
Thank you, Yami.
Mama.'
He gripped the paper hard as the tears threatened to come again. Taking a rattling deep breath he looked inside the envelope and found something he did not expect. A check for five thousand dollars-cashed already according to the stamp on the paper. The account was from Domino bank. Too confused and hurt to try Yami didn't even bother to make sense of it. The last thing in the envelope was a wad of green bills. He took the picture, the envelope and all of it's contents and ran out of the apartment, slamming the door shut behind him. Then Yami ran out of the building to the streets and ran through sprinkling rain to his own home. In a floorboard under his bed was where he would stash his meager inheritance. A photo, a cashed check, a suicide letter, and a small ammount of cash. He would cry the rest of the day and in to the night.
" Did your mother leave you anything?" The doctor asked gently. Yami blinked hard again, refusing to cry and gave the doctor a curt nod, still refusing to meet his warm honey eyes.
" Yeah. Twenty-seven dollars." Probably all the money she had left to her. He didn't need to know the rest. He didn't need to know about the picture, or the starnge check, or then letter. Those were his. And as he'd been allowed to grieve he'd also began to make sense of things in his mind-try to make it right. ' She barely cared about me then, if at all. Crying for her is pointless. I haven't seen her cry for me in years. She stopped being my mother a long time ago. There's no reason to cry.' Yami forced his tears away then cleared his throat. He looked back at the shrink, his eyes suspicious as a question suddenly took root in his mind. " So tell me doctor... Why does a shrink need one's social security number?" Joseph shrugged and smiled innocently.
" I like to have it for my files." What kind of files exactly? Yami's gare intensified and he gripped the blankets.
" You're one of them, aren't you? One of the proud ' Boys in blue' right?" The psychaiatrist leaned back and his smile faded and he looked at the young man with all the sincerity he could muster.
" I don't wanna lie to you. While I am a shrink, I also do work for the FBI." So predictable. Yami let a humorless chuckle past his lips and he shook his head at the man.
" I fucking knew it."
" But that doesen't mean I care any less for what we do here." He insisted. Yami crossed his arms again and leaned back in to his pillows, his entire body language utterly dismissive, and a superior look to his face. The boy was drawing back.
" Doesen't matter. You're wasting your time " Dr. Wheeler", cuz I got nothing else to say." No, he neede to understand. It was so important Yami try to understand...
" In cases like this, there are specific details dat are withheld from the public to sperate the serial confessor from the serial killer, you undertsand? Now, the pattern of your injuries are identical-not similar. Identical with a girl who was murdured weeks ago. A girl from right here in Domino." What was this shrink saying? The same thing had happened to her? Did she get cursed too? There was only one way to know for sure.
" Prove it." And he did. The doctor clicked off the tape recorder and took his stupid notepad away and left. Then ten minutes later he came back with a thin manilla envelope. Then, blissfully, Yami was left alone. He looked at the small white tab on the side. Miho Kuji. Miho. A nice name. Was she a nice girl? Yami opened the folder...and gasped softly. It was a picture of her body on a metal table. She had been pretty in life, he could tell. But in death she had been disgraced. Her right hand was gone. So was his. Bruises covered her body, small cuts ribboned her lifeless flesh. And on the next photo...her right hand was missing. Just like him. He flipped through picture after picture. Severed hand. Severed leg. Pale face. Cuts. And a picture of what she had looked like when she was whole and alive. He'd been right. she was pretty.
The door clicked and Yami hurriedly closed the folder then slid it under the covers as that woman came back. Atemu's Mom. She smiled warmly at him and closed the door behind her, a blue bag slung over her shoulder. " Hey, Honey." Honey? What was he supposed to do with this woman. Act normal, maybe.
" Hi." He said hesitantly. The air was filled with awkward tension. What did you do with someone who thought you were a stranger, and what did you do with a person who was a stranger? Kira Sennen came forward and set the bag down on a table at the end of the bed.
" I brought some of your things to help make you feel more at home." She was the same. She thought he was Atemu. She thought he was her son. Yami scratched his temple nervously, not really looking at her as she rummaged around in her bag. She gasped and he dared look up. She smiled wide and slowly pulled out a white teddy bear wearing a black suit. The kind you wear to weddings. Was that a lace scarf around it's neck? " This...is Mr. Mozzurt." What the...? She'd spoken to him like he was friggi'n five years old. Her smile faded as she took in his face: Disbelief. Shock. The question was clear on his face. Are you high? Kira lauhed nervously and then her smile turned sad as she set the bear down.
" You don't remember Mr. Mozzurt." Yami shook his head slowly. Nooooo. " When you were little you used to sleep with him all the time. You wanted to name him Motzart, after the musician but you couldn't quite pronounce his name right. How could you, I mean. You were only four when you first got him." She rambled. Yami nodded slowly and huffed through his nose.
" Look, you seem like a real nice lady and all. But I'm not Atemu, okay? I'm not your kid. I don't need this. All I need to know is when I can get out of here." The look on her face...you would think he'd slapped her. She blinked rapidly then shook her head and smiled. Why did she keep smiling like that? She pulled an ipod out of the bag, the headphones wrapped around the small device.
" This is some of your-sorry. Some of Atemu's favorite music. You love your music. And you know, they-they use music to help people come out of comas." She smiled hopefully at him. He'd had enough of this shit. For fuck's sake he wasn't Atemu!
" Lady, does it look like I'm in a fucking coma to you!" He snapped. Her smile was wiped clean off of her face and she flinched back from him, her hand coming up to cover her lips as a tear slid down her face. Now he felt like an ass. Damn it all. He understood. She was obviously a very loving woman who has lost her son, and now she thought he was him. Like everyone else. All she wanted was her son. It must be nice, to be so loved like that. ' Atemu, you are one lucky son of a bitch.' He wasn't Atemu. But at the least he could cut the lady a break. One Goddamn break. " What else is in the bag?" He asked quietly. Kira sniffled and wiped her eyes then reached in a pulled out a picture frame.
" U-Umm...some pictures from home." Then she held it out to him, that hopeful smile back on her face. With a tired sigh Yami took the offered picture and stared. Then his body began to tingle as shock coursed through his system. It was him! He was younger, a little kid in this photo. But by God it was him. His tri-colored hair shined in the sunlight, his blue swimming trunks dotted with pale green sea turtles. The water was sapphire blue and rushing to the shore by the look of it. He was smiling happily at the camera, waving as the tide covered his feet and the white sand. It took several moments before he found his voice again. When he spoke his voice was low and stern.
" Who... who gave you this?" Kira leaned forward, the hope growing rapidly.
" Is something happening, Darling?" He ignored that last bit.
" When I was a little kid-"
" You were seven." She was smiling even brighter, her eyes shining with light. " You, me and Daddy we all wenr to Hawaii for Christmas." Yami frowned. Nooooo. He'd never been to Hawaii before. He fingered the edge of the photo and he began talking. Telling her what he remembered.
" The picture is the same, but different. My trunks were black. The water was...a greenish-brown. Not blue. My mom was in the picture with me. During Christmas break she took me to this lake just sixteen miles away from downtown. She acted like it was a treat or something. to play in comtaminated water and watch frigging garbage float." Still they had really had fun that day, One of the best days they had ever had. It was so strange looking at this picture. He could see now how people might confuse him for Atemu. Were it not for a few very distinctive differences he would have said yes, he was the one in the picture. But he wasn't. Yami let out a small laugh and carelessly tossed the picture on to the bed. The boy in the picture-the him who was not him smiled up at them both.
" I guess all little kids look alike at some point." And as Yami lay back against the pillows, now as disinterested as when they began Kira's hope left again.
Done! Next time: Yami tells his side of the story-and another attack! PleaseR&R and bless your happy happiness!
