Part 9: You Don't Seem Surprised

The past 3 weeks were the longest in Misaki's life.

Hospital was a different sort of torture, only slightly preferable to going several rounds with Bruno, the hulking brute who was formerly lackey to a psychopathic female contractor. Being prodded and poked was par for the course but the boredom from being confined in a tiny room with strangers, who required constant medical attention, was claustrophobic. Then there were the regular phone calls from Tokyo... colleagues, friends... all well-meaning, in their attempts to cheer her up. In the end their futile efforts felt more like backhanded reprimands. Everyone was eager to remind her in a roundabout fashion that things could have been a lot worse and that she had no one to blame but herself as to how matters turned out.

Convalescing was not Misaki's style. To be bedridden for most of those three weeks was a special kind of hell for a woman who had hardly taken a sick day in seven years. Activity, not rest was what she coveted.

Misaki sought temporary refuge from gazing out the window, hypnotized by the rhythm of the rain drops falling on the window ledge. There was therapy in that kind of monotony. It was easy to forget one's troubles when the simple wonders of nature persist in their cycles seemingly unaffected by the chaos that humanity inflicts upon itself. In such a routine there was an underlying reassurance that life would go on... that nature was not the fragile entity that the human race was inclined to believe it to be. There was reason to hope that Nature would outlive the foibles of man. Humans and contractors would destroy themselves and each other long before the planet became a wasteland.

Forbidden to exert herself during the recuperative period, Misaki was forced to engage in a more fruitful thought life. Her memory of what happened in that resort basement was hazy and fragmented. She recalled the interrogation, she remembered only too well Bruno and his imitable style of persuasion. The memory of being in excruciating pain was vivid and then there was that recurring flashback... that in the middle of the madness BK-201 had come to her rescue.

Details, however, were not forthcoming.

Though eager to recover and be back on her feet, she was less enthused about answering the inevitable questions that would come from her superiors. She had acted outside the scope of her responsibilities and perhaps had rashly bitten off more than she could chew. Internal Affairs would be all over it like a rash and while she did aid in the capture of a couple of dangerous criminals, there was also the question of her elusive confederate.

First up she would have to explain the presence of BK-201? How could she? In the eyes of the powers that be, he was the enemy. On the surface, there had been no reason for him to come to her rescue. Yet he had and did on several occasions. No wonder the Syndicate was on to them. To protect his whereabouts and her position with the force, the realistic conclusion was for their partnership to end before further complications ensue.

Had it run its course? That was the question that was heavy on her mind. They couldn't realistically go on like this. And now that their relationship had taken a different turn, it was driving her to distraction, particularly when the most exciting thing on the table these days was the bento box they served for lunch.

It was a distraction that under different circumstances could have been considered welcomed. A light tap on the lips... something resembling a kiss. And yet, that kiss... said it all. More than once during the past three weeks Misaki ran her fingers gently across her lips, straining to remember every tiny detail. It hadn't been much of a moment because she hadn't been able to savour the encounter. Still, they shared a moment of intimacy – a blink of an eye with no ceremony or fanfare. And that look - his eyes... with laser-like intensity burned into her memory. There was something humanly desperate in those eyes – eyes that showed undisguised desire. The unreality of that moment caused her to wonder if all that had just been an absurd dream. But for a single woman who lived with loneliness daily, that look from him would forever hold out a sliver of hope to her parched soul.

That anyone would want her should have been an occasion for rejoicing but a spirit of foreboding had fallen on her. While her feelings toward him remained unchanged, a part of her rued the day BK-201 sauntered into her life.


"Misaki..."

Misaki snapped out of her reverie and noticed the formidable figure of her father standing a short distance behind her –Superintendant Supervisor Kirihara of the Metropolitan Police. Except that he wasn't looking formidable. Mostly, he was looking pensive, tired and uncertain. It was how Misaki remembered him as a child, when he would stagger into the living room after a particularly bad day at work.

"Father. I didn't hear you come in."

"You were deep in thought... and seemed a million miles away." As he spoke, the Superintendent, too, seemed preoccupied.

"I'm sorry." Misaki said quietly.

"I'm sure you have a lot to think about."

"I suppose."

"How are you feeling?"

"Not bad... all things considered."

"I'm sorry I haven't been to see you very much."The Superintendent seemed lost and awkward, unsure of himself.

"I understand, Father. Don't worry."

"Misaki, we need to talk." The awkwardness was abruptly masked by a more urgent, official tone.

Misaki gave out a sigh. "I thought we were talking..." Just when I thought we were doing so well. He has to revert to type.

"Don't be so defensive, MIsaki, this is important."

"It always is. You don't talk to me unless it's important."

"This isn't about you and me."

"It never is."

"Somewhere along the way you and I just stopped communicating as a family."

"And it's my fault..."

"No, I'm not saying that." The Superintendent sounded exasperated. "I'm not blaming you for what happened between us. That's a matter for another time. What I wanted to talk to you about..."

Here we go...

"What do you want to talk to me about?"

"I wish you had informed me about your trip to Okinawa."

"So that... you could have stopped me from going..." Her eyes were dancing balls of fire.

"Misaki, you could have died!" A strangled strain accompanied the words.

The truth of those words broke the thick air of hostility that had been building between father and daughter.

Misaki softened. "I was following a lead."

"Alone? And against my wishes? It was dangerous..."

"It was a chance I had to take." Misaki retorted.

Her father seemed like a man in despair. "Misaki, you don't have to prove anything. Every one knows that you are one of the best officers in the force even if you are my daughter."

Misaki gave her father a dour look. "Do you really think that? Do you really believe I do this job to... prove something?"

"You push yourself too hard... to the point of obsession... "

"I push myself because there are dangerous people out there who are a menace to public safety. I do this job because I want to help people who can't help themselves. And I sleep better everyday knowing that innocent civilians can walk the streets safely because we successfully find the criminals that terrorize them."

"What about your safety? You take too many chances." Superintendent Kirihara protested.

"Isn't that what we do? We take the chances so that the public doesn't have to. That's what we get paid the big bucks to do." The elder Kirihara smiled at that last remark in spite of himself. She was his daughter after all.

"I cannot protect you."

"Nor do I expect you to, Father." Misaki saw the helplessness in her father's eyes. "Your daughter is a grown woman. I make my own choices."

"Even if those choices lead to a place of no return?"

"Yes."

Superintendent Kirihara sank his head in quiet despair. Misaki had always been driven... and independently minded. He understood her better than she knew but attempts to rein her in over the years had come to grief. Although he saw the dangers probably better than she did, he knew there was no persuading her to act against the dictates of her conscience.

"Internal Affairs will want to ask you a few questions."

"I was expecting them to."

"I have told them that I won't interfere."

"I don't expect any special treatment."

"Good, because you won't be getting any." The father responded gruffly.

"So when do they want to see me?" Misaki could sense that the conversation was winding down. She returned her gaze to the window and saw that the earlier downpour had lightened into a drizzle.

"No hurry, when you get back to Tokyo. But the Okinawa police, on the other hand..."

"Have questions for me too, I'm sure."

"They want you to go in, as soon as you can."

"I see. Am I under suspicion?"

"No. Nothing like that. They need your help in their investigation."

"My help?"

"It's Anna Westford... Or at least another woman who calls herself Anna Westford... She won't talk to anyone but you."


"Thank you for coming in, Inspector Kirihara. It must be an inconvenience."

"Not at all. It's my duty to do so. I want to help where I can. Besides I'm feeling better than I look."

A small group of observers were gathering behind the two-way mirror. Kirihara was sandwiched between a tall man with a bad haircut and an older if slightly overweight detective quaffing coffee like his life depended on it. The tall detective introduced himself as Sergeant Takeshi Matsumoto and the plump officer as Inspector Chiaki. Inspector or not, Matsumoto was supremely eager to have an attractive female cop on board which in Okinawa would be a rarer phenomenon than centenarians. Chiaki was less impressed, believing that that nepotism was more likely to have fast-tracked Kirihara's career.

Chiaki cleared his throat before getting the ball rolling, "We hear that you're something of an expert on these kinds of... er... people, Inspector Kirihara."

Kirihara moved in closer to get a better view of the subject. "Expert? Hardly. These days anyone can be expert if they are more knowledgeable than everyone else."

Showing his appreciation for the acerbic comment, Sergeant Matsumoto grinned appreciatively at his colleague who promptly threw cold water at his partner's merriment with a frown. Chiaki was conventional to a T.

"So how long has she been doing this?"

Anna Westford was pacing up and down in the next room like a nervous cat. Every few minutes she would stop and drop onto the floor with her legs folded up to her chest.

"An hour so far today. A couple of hours most days."

"Is this all she does?"

"Aside from eating, sleeping and the other stuff? Pretty much."

"She seems worried about something. Have you asked her about it?"

"She is being very tight-lipped when questioned but we have been observing her these past few weeks. Her behaviour has been very erratic."

"How so..."

"Her behaviour doesn't seem to be what one expects of a forty-year-old woman. Or certainly what little we have on Anna Westford. Every so often she would giggle and mutter to herself. We've been in contact with Scotland Yard to get as much intel about Westford as we can but there's nothing that stands out. Born in Devonshire, was on scholarship at Cambridge for a couple of years doing Law and then drops out. That's probably where she met Blair. After that, she jumps from job to job but doesn't stick around in any for more than a couple of years. 'Highly intelligent but has difficulty working with others. Trust issues.' according to a number of employers. But that's not illegal anywhere in the world as far as I know."

"So she's clean."

"Not even a parking ticket."

"Have you given her a physical?"

"Checked and double-checked.

"What do you think it is?"

"Frankly, inspector, I have no idea. I have never come across anything like this. Before last year, I never even heard of contractors."

"She's not a twin of the dead woman?"

"Fingerprints are different. Dr Izumi says that monozygotic females are nearly identical but may have epigenetic differences and those differences increase with age. Physically, this woman and the one we picked up from the basement are completely identical."

"A clone?"

"That's what some of the eggheads we flew in from Tokyo think. Although we're all having trouble digesting all that we're seeing. Right now we're trying to track down all the researchers that are involved in this kind of work but no one, as far as we know, has even come close to being this advanced."

"'There are more things in heaven and earth...Than are dreamt of in your philosophy.'"

"What was that..."

"Oh, nothing... just Shakespeare."

"Inspector Kirihara, if you don't mind me saying, you don't seem that surprised... or sceptical..."

"Sergeant, the things that I've seen these past few years... some of which would turn your blood cold. This... Anna Westford... whatever she turns out to be... would just be another unexplainable character in a rogue gallery of oddities."

"Now I understand why Tokyo recommended you."

"See that surprises me. Tokyo and I don't exactly see eye to eye on most things these days. I'm astonished that they even dared to mention my name."

Sergeant Matsumoto smirked and, in deference to his partner, wisely kept his opinions to himself. I think I'm really going to like working with this woman.


Misaki entered a large cell containing the bare necessities. A bed on the other side of it and a plain wooden table in the middle. The woman who was huddled up in the corner of it appeared to be sleeping. She jumped with a start when she heard footsteps.

Anna Westford ambled her way to her visitor and looked at her curiously, like a child looking at a new pet.

"It's you... I heard that you're a cop."

"I am."

"You don't look like a cop."

"I'm not sure if I should be happy or insulted."

"You're too pretty to be a cop."

"I'll take that as a compliment."

"Are you here to ask me questions?"

"It depends."

"On...?"

"Whether you want me to ask you questions."

"So, this is like a game..."

"If you like..."

"You're interesting. Not like the others. The other cops are boring and they're always shouting."

"If you don't want me to shout, I won't."

"Okay... you can ask me whatever you like."

"Are you Anna Westford?"

"Well... I am... sort of..." The woman answered thoughtfully.

"Sort of?"

"I am Mina."

"Are you one of Anna's personalities?"

Mina grinned cheerfully. "I am but how did you know?"

"How is it possible?"

"It's crazy, isn't it?" Mina looked at Misaki mischievously. "But you don't seem that surprised."

"I've met Clara too."

"You have? And you're still alive?" Mina gasped.

"Barely escaped with my life."

Mina looked highly impressed. "Wow... that's wicked."

"Are you a doll... or a clone...?"

The suspect shook her head. "It isn't like that. I guess... you could... say that we are closer to being like clones."

"How many of you are there?"

"Dunno... really... Anna might know."

"Where is Anna?"

"We think she's in Naha but doesn't show her face much. We protect her in our own way. Everyone seems to want to hurt her."

"I don't want to hurt her. I just want to talk to her."

"Talk to her about what?" Mina eyed Misaki suspiciously.

There was no need to sidestep the question. "About Lucien Blair. You may have heard that he died last month."

"No kidding!" Mina exclaimed. "Not Lucien? He was the best."

"Clara said that Lucien and Anna were married once."

Mina was sucking her thumb and nodding. "Yeah, a long time ago. Before the accident..."

"What accident?"

"Before... all of us... you know... happened."

"Do you know how... 'you happened' "?

"Not really. We used to be a part of Anna, right from when she was a little girl of six. But she didn't really know about us. She was always sad because she had to live in that horrible, dark basement. Her mother used to bring men home a lot... and some of them were really bad. A nice lady like you can't even imagine what some of these men did to Anna."

"Do you know how we can find Anna?"

"I don't know if I should tell you."

"All I want to do is talk to Anna."

"So you can blame her for Lucien's death..."

"I don't think she killed Lucien."

"Then who did?"

"Clara, most likely."

"Yes... she didn't like Lucien very much. It's possible. But most of us haven't seen him in a very long time."

"So how do we find Anna?"

"Well, you don't. She usually finds us."


Misaki drummed her fingers on the table and stared at the plot plant already thinking about her next move. Mina-Anna had given them much to chew over. Her Okinawa counterparts were studying her with great interest.

"Do you believe her, Kirihara?" Chiaki asked casually. "About the whole split personality-clone thing..."

"It would be easier to but we don't know if this kind of technology exists on a scale that she was talking about. One thing's for sure: She seemed to believe in what she said."

"It could be a scam."

"I haven't discounted that possibility but there's a body in your morgue that needs to be accounted for."

"Yes... that body... very inconvenient. Death by electrocution." The sergeant muttered and Misaki shifted uneasily in her seat. "But they could be twins and she's lying about 'the others'."

"But there's nothing in her birth records to suggest multiple births in her history." Misaki pointed at the file in front of her.

"There's that."

"And if she's right and there are other Anna Westford clones out there..."

"Are they going to be a problem for us?" Inspector Chiaki looked semi-terrified at the prospect.

"I wish I knew..."

"What is your recommendation?"

"Do what you always do... follow the evidence... wherever it takes you..."


Now that she was unofficially back at work, Kirihara felt ready to face the world again. No doubt she was fatigued by the morning's brief labours but work was still her raison d'être. In her world where heaven and hell intermingled everyday, where matters seemed to be spinning increasingly out of control, policing was the rock under her feet... the one thing that felt real when all else made as much sense as Wonderland.

The local police checked her into a room at a boarding house in downtown Naha. The air around it was musty but the room was clean. The owner, according to Matsumoto, was an ex-cop who decided to retire in Okinawa. There was a decent view of the street and Matsumoto assured her that the food in the area was unsurpassed. He promised to check in with her in the morning.

When her colleague left, she wondered where he was. BK-201, that is. She had naturally assumed that he had been laying low after the incident at the Beachside Resort. The Syndicate and Tokyo would surely be on to him, given the evidence. Still, she couldn't help feeling a little put out by his absence. Surely it couldn't be too hard for the Black Grim Reaper to let her know that he was safe... or more importantly, to make sure that she was alive.

Misaki slapped herself on the forehead and scolded herself for acting like they were a couple. She knew she was being silly and there was nothing holding him to her. Nothing at all. Why that contractor insisted on saving her life repeatedly was rapidly turning into a frustrating and perplexing predicament.

Did he do it out of some kind of odd contractor altruism? Did he want something from her? Did he actually have romantic feelings for her?

Can we even have a romantic relationship like normal people?

Could BK-201 have human feelings for a normal woman?

The kiss suggested the distinct possibility that he did but Misaki talked herself out of making too much of it. Soon she had doubts about what had transpired. Maybe it wasn't even a kiss. Maybe I imagined it.

Clearly normality on the romantic front was the sort of thing that happened to other people. She just didn't fit the mould and seemed unlikely to do so.

Hunting contractors by day... moping about one by night. Yup... just another day trapped between Heaven and Hell.


Author's Notes:

Thank you all for your comments. This must be the most supportive fandom that I've ever been involved in. I'm astonished at how interested people are in my absurd story and take the trouble to tell me so. It's not that I'm not loving it but I'm super grateful for the encouragement that I've received after the last two updates.

A few people hinted kindly that it was rather sadistic of me to cynically include a kissing scene when a protagonist has been so brutally er... assaulted. Well, if you watch Jdramas, you'll know that the Japanese don't do real onscreen kissing. They're more like passionless sideways lip touching. I imagine it must have something to do with their censorship laws. And when it looks like the characters might be kissing with more enthusiasm, they dim the lights. Anyway, that's sort of what I envisaged when I wrote that scene in that last chapter.

Anyway, this will be my last update for a couple of weeks, at least. I'm writing for three other fandoms as well and I have job and a family so I'll be taking a break from DTB for a bit. Thanks for reading and stay safe.