•«Phoenix»•
"Our enemy is fear. Blinding, reason-killing fear. Fear consumes the truth and poisons all the evidence, leading us to false assumptions and irrational conclusions."
— Rick Yancey, The Monstrumologist
«PART X»
—•— Saturday, 8 February (3:17am) —•—
He was outside and he had no idea why.
He could only recall being placed on night duty and, somehow, he had woken up on the pavement in the shady back alleys of the city's centre.
Boomer slowly got up and winced when he could feel the way his weak knees buckled under his weight and his muscles hurting. Swiping a tongue across his lower lip, he noticed the metallic taste of blood.
His blood?
Feeling dazed, he somehow managed to stand up and hold on to the sides of the walls for support.
Christ, his head really fucking hurt. And his eye…
He reached up to touch his left eye gingerly and hissed when he could feel the painful swelling.
What the hell did he do? Get drunk and into a bar fight?
God, he hoped not.
It would leave a mark. Perhaps it already had. It only took a few hours for a bruise to form and, from the feel of it, it would be a nasty shade.
In other words, his brothers would notice.
He wasn't too distraught by what Butch would say. He could deal with him. It was Brick's reaction that worried him. His eldest brother was unreadable at the best of times. His emotions varied from angry to indifferent, and it was difficult to tell how he would react to Boomer leaving his post — his duty — to go get drunk and beat up.
Okay, so anger was definitely high on the list of possibilities. Disappointment would probably also follow closely.
Boomer needed to check the damage. Maybe he could get away with it.
Stumbling out of the alley, he looked at his reflection in one of the shop windows. It was dim in this part of the town and the yellow sodium street lighting wasn't working any wonders. He thought he could see a bruise forming, but it could've been his imagination.
"Hey, man. You alright?"
Boomer spun around, his heart thrumming, thinking he had been caught. Caught in what, he wasn't quite sure.
No, it was just a nobody. Someone who Boomer had no recollection of ever meeting. A stranger.
The stranger inched forward, expression set in concern. "Hey, are you okay? You look like you're in bad shape."
Well, that settled it. If a stranger in the middle of the night knew he looked a little rough, there was no way in hell his older brothers wouldn't notice. Especially Butch. Butch noticed everything.
Boomer cleared his throat. A slow nod. "Yeah…" Then a little louder, "Yes, I'm fine."
The stranger looked suspicious. "You need me to call a taxi or a friend or something? You seem a little bit too young to be out here drinking and getting into fights…"
Boomer needed this guy to leave or stop talking. He wasn't helping matters. In fact, he was making him anxious. Boomer had been given strict instructions not to talk to anyone. To stay quiet. To stay hidden.
Clearly this wasn't what Brick had in mind.
Then again, Brick didn't know about the lapses. The fugue states. Boomer swallowed the lump in his throat. And now here was someone who knew that he was underage and could possibly report him to the police. That was the last thing he needed.
Pushing back the rising panic, Boomer forced a gentle smile. "I'm fine. Really. It was nothing serious. I was just trying to stop a brawl between friends. I'll be heading home now."
It was a bad lie. He could taste the falseness in his mouth. Boomer was never good at that. Never good at telling lies. He tried, but it was a difficult procedure. The truth would always be at the forefront of his mind, taunting him, mocking him, distracting him from the made-up excuses he attempted to create.
Even the stranger knew better, but at the end of the day, he was just that. A stranger. And it was the middle of the night — or very early morning, Boomer couldn't tell — so the stranger finally nodded, deciding it was none of his business and he had done what he could. He left.
Boomer couldn't believe this was happening. Not again.
It had been a long time since it had last happened. He had thought…
Thought what? That he was getting better? That whatever happened to him in those blank spaces of memory was disappearing?
God. He had hoped.
Of course it would never be that easy. When had things been easy?
He was frustrated but he knew that pacing back and forth wasn't the slightest bit helpful.
Okay. He was hurt. He needed to heal. He needed to make sure his brothers didn't see this. Brick was stressed enough, and the last thing he needed was the burden of his younger brother losing his goddamned mind.
He wished Butch was here. Butch had a way of making light of things.
No, no. He needed to focus. He knew he couldn't heal himself fully, but he could, at the very least, reduce the injury so that it wouldn't be so noticeable. He could cover the rest with makeup.
He looked around, ensuring that there were no other strangers around, then he closed his eyes, picturing the anatomy. The epidermal layer, the dermis, the hypodermis and everything beneath the skin.
It had taken some time to learn what he could from medical textbooks in a library in Amsterdam. He hadn't quite understood the words, but he didn't need to. He had just needed to memorise the diagrams.
A quick assessment of the damage — it was slightly worse than he had anticipated — and he began to work. Burst capillaries. Haemaglobin. Tapping into his power was much easier than he would have liked to admit. It was always there, touching the edges of his conscious, brushing along the sides of his mind. The difficult part was guiding it. It was complex and there was a certain delicacy that was required when handling it. It took a sense of calmness and coaxing to get it to bend at his will.
After a moment of almost fragile concentration, he was able to reduce the swelling in his eye. Not significantly, but it would have to do for now.
Would a pharmacy or a drugstore be open now? He needed concealer. Or foundation. Or something.
He also needed to work fast. Butch had the shift after him and he would, no doubt, notice that his younger brother wasn't standing guard.
Taking another quick look at his reflection in the window, he left.
—•— Saturday, 8 February (11:04am) —•—
Butch was no stranger to injuries. He'd gotten into his fair share of fights and had obtained scars and permanent marks to prove them. Almost like a trophy than anything. It didn't matter if he won or lost. He would still have that same shit-eating grin after each fight.
Not that Brick would ever approve. Especially if he saw the injuries.
With this in mind, it didn't take Butch long to notice the bruise across his younger brother's face. Or, more precisely, the very poor attempt to hide it.
"If you're going to apply concealer," he started, a lazy drawl in his voice, "at least blend the edges in a bit. You look like you've spread margarine across your face."
Boomer jumped and looked at his older brother, wary. "What do you—"
Butch clicked his tongue. "Oh, please. Are you really going to try playing innocent?"
Boomer said nothing. His brother was right.
Butch revealed a smile. "So what did you do? Try and rob an old lady?"
Boomer could feel his heart thrumming. He shrugged, hoping to feign nonchalance so that his brother wouldn't think this too important. He didn't need this relayed to Brick. "I just got into a bar fight." Unfortunately, nonchalance wasn't his strongest asset.
The truth sets you free. Wasn't that how it went? Or honesty is the best policy? Right now, he couldn't see how either of those were true at this very moment.
Perhaps he should have lied.
Butch looked surprised for a moment and Boomer knew there was no way he was going to let this go. God. He wished he had kept his mouth shut instead. Or applied the concealer better. But he knew that Butch would've still seen right through it anyway. He had an eye for that kind of thing. Always noticing things. Even the smallest details.
"It wasn't a big deal," added Boomer, hoping that Butch would get the hint and shut up.
Obviously Butch got the hint, but he wasn't going to shut up any time soon. "You…got into a bar fight?" He didn't even bother to hide the skepticism.
Boomer hesitated before giving a small nod.
"And you did this during your night shift?"
"I didn't mean to."
Butch was silent for a small moment before saying, "You know, if I'd known you were going to go and get trashed, I would've come along with you."
"I'm telling you, it wasn't like that."
"I'm actually offended you left me behind. Like, damn, I thought we were buddies, man."
"Goddammit, Butch. You have to swear you won't tell Brick."
A grin spread across Butch's face. "And I thought I was the rule-breaker. I underestimated you, little brother. Nice work."
Boomer sighed. "Not nice work. I'm worried, if anything."
Butch raised an eyebrow. "Worried about what?"
"About…what's happening to me."
"You're not making any sense here."
Boomer looked at his older brother for a moment, debating whether or not to tell him. Then he said, "Remember when I said that sometimes things happen that I don't remember?"
"I believe you mentioned something along those lines."
"Well, this was one of those things."
A moment of silence. "You're telling me that you got drunk," said Butch cautiously, "and fought someone, and you don't even remember?"
Boomer knew how this sounded. "I know this sounds crazy but—"
"It really isn't. You were just hammered. I'm not surprised you've forgotten everything. I'm more surprised by the fact that you actually got drunk and got into a bar fight. Never thought that was your style."
It wasn't, but Boomer had to lean back and think. It was tempting to think that what Butch had said was true, but even then Boomer knew that he would never do any of the things that he had done last night. Not if he was in the right state of mind, of course. And that was what worried him. Earlier, these fugue states had been fairly innocent. Or, at least, that was what he liked to believe. With the exception of that small incident when he was young, the blanks in his memories usually consisted of finding himself in places he wasn't at before. It wasn't that bad. But now, after this incident and finding himself hurt, he was secretly terrified that he was going insane. That there was something seriously wrong with him.
Boomer swallowed and nodded. "Yeah, you're right. It's not my style."
Butch was still staring at him, a questioning look on his face as if to say is that all?
"It's nothing," muttered Boomer, stepping back from Butch.
Butch knew that wasn't necessarily true, but he didn't see any reason to push him. If Boomer thought it was important, he would tell him. If not… Well then. What else was there to do?
Butch bent down, picking up the jars one by one and stacking them in the crates. They would have to be discreet about this. Taking crates back and forth between this house and Mojo's would not go undetected.
Butch was glad that they'd be leaving this house soon. He couldn't stand it here. The place felt suffocating.
The air was damp and stifling at times, even though it was cold as shit here. Mould grew in between the cracks of the walls and God knew what else grew with it. Weeds and odd patches of flowers flourished in the corners of the rooms where the floorboards were weak and breaking. And wherever there had been metal, they had all slowly transformed to an orange and brown iron rust.
The place was old, that much was certain.
Butch wasn't a fan of old places, old things or old anything, really.
He had no idea how Brick seemed to stay here. Sleeping here. How he found comfort in this…ancient piece of shit.
Butch only seemed to get sleep when he was outside on guard duty which was counterproductive.
"Let's get this finished so we can leave," he said, under his breath.
Boomer still heard in the silence and nodded in agreement.
—•— Monday, 10 February (9:55am) —•—
Brick was aware of the huge risk they were taking.
No, the huge risk he was taking. This was all on him. If anything went wrong now, he knew it would all topple over him. There was no way he would put this on his brothers' shoulders.
He also knew he couldn't keep travelling to that goddamned house in the middle of nowhere. It wouldn't take long for the girls to realise something was going on there.
No, he needed to keep things like that hidden.
He had no option but to work on the machine here, at the place where he once called home.
"How far are you?" he asked, approaching Mojo, his steps slow and his arms folded across his chest.
His father peered up from behind the machine. "The plates are fitted. I'm only tightening the edges and sealing it up."
Brick stared at him, a calculating look on his face. Perhaps he was thinking about something. Mojo could never be sure. Finally, Brick nodded. "Good. Make sure that it works. We can't afford to make silly mistakes. Not now."
Mojo didn't correct him that, although Brick couldn't, he could afford to make silly mistakes.
Boomer and Butch had been sent to the house to collect the jars. They contained the black particles left behind after Him's disappearance. One of the very few reminders that he had even existed.
It had been a difficult task to collect them all. Extremely difficult. The particles, after the disappearance, had dispersed and spread across the globe, no longer tied to Tokyo City. For Butch and Boomer, it had been a painstaking role to locate them. Each and every single one. And to contain them.
Brick didn't ask how they had done it. He had a pretty good idea as to how they did it anyway.
Things had never been the same since Him, after all. Not since that day…
Something was distorted. Or enhanced. Brick wasn't quite sure. Whatever Him had done, it had changed something. At first, he had chalked it up to adrenalin rush and temporary powers from Him. What he had thought to be momentary fun was something so much more. He hadn't realised that he had abilities within him.
From birth, he had thought he was human. Or a monster. A monster in human-form, perhaps. He hadn't realised that there was so much more written in his DNA, his genes, his chromosomes. That his biology offered so much more than mere normality.
After all, there was nothing normal about him. Not him nor his brothers.
He should have known this straight from the beginning. It had been so obvious and he now wondered why he hadn't realised it before. How had he, for even a simple second, thought he was close to human?
He knew the answer to that now.
Brick's eyes slid to his father who was working on his knees, a spanner in hand and a look of concentration.
Mojo had kept the details of their birth a secret. Brick and his brothers had only found out much later in a humiliating revelation among the villains. In front of Him. The truth.
They weren't like everyone else on this planet. They weren't physically born from another being. Neither sexually nor asexually. Their origin began from no one but themselves.
Still. The DNA had to have come from somewhere. The genetic code, the protein bases, they had all come from his father. And the girls. He only later worked this out from the textbooks he read when he was younger and from bothering his father until he had told him the details.
To think that the power to create another being was in the hands of a chemical with mysterious properties.
Brick eyed the vat of Chemical Z in the corner of the room. Its full capabilities were still such a mystery. Brick had done what little research he could, but most of the information lay with Professor Utonium.
And so his curiosity remained unsatisfied.
Brick looked back to his father.
They shared the same DNA. Well, somewhat. Somewhere, in his genetic code, lay Mojo's bases. Brick wondered what that meant as a result. Clearly he turned out more…human where appearances were concerned. Was it due to the girls' genes? Was it because the human code outnumbered his father's?
It was difficult to tell, and Mojo hadn't clearly thought through the experiment. Not at the time at least. He had been a different person back then. Brick doubted 'person' was the right word to use, but was it even the correct word to apply when it came to him and his brothers? Just how close to 'human' were they?
For a split-second, Brick wondered if, apart from Biology, that he had anything else in common with his father. And it seemed such a normal thought. He recognised the look of concentration on his father's face and, for a fleeting moment, it reminded him of Boomer.
Brick immediately banished the thoughts from his mind. Pushing them out of the way, shoving them into a mental box, and closing the lid with a lock.
No. Don't go there.
He was tired. That's what it was. He was tired and sleep seemed to be creeping up on him. His back was sore from sleeping on the floor, against the wall. He could have went upstairs to his old bedroom. Nobody would have argued against it.
But he couldn't go back up there. Not after what he had done the last time he was there.
The memory of kicking over books, tearing down the curtains and ripping off the bedsheets filled his mind suddenly and caught him by surprise. He cringed in disgust and quickly pushed the images out of his head.
Straightening up and brushing the creases out of his shirt — more out of habit than anything — he left out the door, saying he needed a walk.
—•— Thursday, 13 February (5:43pm) —•—
The Professor's lab was warm today and the late afternoon sun was spreading an orange and gold hue through the windows and across the main sitting area.
"We're missing something," said Momoko. "It's staring us right in the face but we're missing it."
"Let's go over what we know then," said Miyako.
Momoko nodded, opening the lid of the marker and standing in front of the whiteboard. "According to police deductions, we know the killer is a male, has auburn hair and quite possible young adult, judging from the stance, stature and build they found in evidence. We are also aware that he's a villain." Momoko wrote this all down on the whiteboard, the marker squeaking. "Okay. So those are the basics. What else?"
"He clearly knows about our secret identities," added Kaoru, popping a potato crisp into her mouth.
Momoko made note of that as well.
"You should write down the date of the murders and how the victims died. Maybe there's a pattern?" suggested Miyako.
Looking through the reports that the super team were given by the police, Momoko did exactly as Miyako said. "Any patterns?"
"Other than all those disappearing body parts, the suspects being female and having auburn hair? Nothing," said Kaoru.
"Thanks, Kaoru. That's super helpful."
"Always a pleasure."
Miyako frowned at the whiteboard. "Add the missing chemical Z, titanium and uranium to that list."
Momoko did and then said, "Okay. So we've got some sadistic murders and a nuclear reactor. And apparently a young male wants this all to happen. Is this making sense to anyone or am I the only one who's lost here?"
"Don't forget to add that this guy might have an accomplice," mumbled Kaoru, her mouth full.
Momoko wrinkled her nose with distaste. "Ew. Don't do that."
Kaoru opened her mouth wider and Momoko threw the marker at her friend to make her stop.
Miyako looked at the information on the whiteboard. "Do we know any villains fitting this profile?"
Kaoru shrugged. "Well, I know Mojo doesn't exactly fit the villain's profile. He's a monkey, after all." She crumpled the empty crisps packet and raised her right arm, aiming for the bin. A smug expression passed her face when it went in successfully.
"Right. As far as we know, this person seems…human."
"Looks human," corrected Momoko. "The same can't be said of his personality."
"Okay, so how many villains do we know that appear human?"
Momoko suddenly froze. "Oh my God. You don't think that…"
Kaoru looked to her. "What?"
"Sakurako."
The other two immediately understood. Of course. How could they forget? Sedusa. Sakurako's alter-ego. Not that she had much recollection of it. Some vague memories here and there, but nothing solid.
"She's female…" Miyako tried, but even she was thinking the same thing as the others.
Sedusa could change forms. They'd seen that first hand.
Momoko's face paled. "You think she's been transforming?" She thought about the video tape and how she had assumed the person in the video had been her. What if it had been someone disguised as her? Or as close to her as possible?
Kaoru knew what she was thinking. "Okay, first of all, why would she want to disguise as a guy? Secondly, why would she want to frame you? You work for her don't you? I mean, not Sedusa, but Sakurako."
Momoko didn't know. It made sense but it also didn't make sense at the same time.
She was overthinking again. Her mind bursting with possibilities. None of them good.
Take a deep breath and calm yourself.
Miyako nodded. "It's just a theory, Momoko. Don't panic. I'll write her name down on the board and we'll talk about it later. Let's just brainstorm for now."
Right. Okay. Brainstorm. Sure. That was easier said than done when all Momoko could now think about was her boss framing her for murder.
Stop that, Momoko.
"Okay. So that's one suspect on our list. Any more?"
"Himeko Shirogane," said Kaoru, spinning a marker in her hand. The same marker that Momoko had thrown at her earlier.
Miyako rolled her eyes. "We're not putting her on our suspect list, Kaoru."
Kaoru shrugged. "Why not? She's human, isn't she?" A pause. "Well, not that you would be able to tell…"
"She's female. Doesn't fit the profile."
"She could pretend—"
"Doesn't fit the profile," repeated Miyako, a little forcefully this time. Despite this, the smile on her face was still there.
Kaoru snorted. "Fine. Whatever."
"What about the Gangreen Gang?"
"Seriously?"
"They're sort of human, aren't they?"
Momoko listened up. "It would fit the accomplice theory."
Miyako nodded. "Perhaps. We all know how capable they are of tricking people. At least one of them fits the profile. The leader, I believe. I can't remember his name though. But he's male and fits the young adult criteria, don't you think? And it wouldn't be too difficult to disguise yourself in an auburn wig and the red coat."
Momoko shivered at the thought of those guys in her bedroom, taking her ribbons, stealing her coat. "Ew," she muttered to herself.
"Speaking of disguises, Himeko could do the same," piped Kaoru.
"She's short, Kaoru. Our suspect is taller than her. Stop trying to add her name to the list," said Miyako, hands on her hips.
Kaoru grinned in reply.
Momoko took the marker from Kaoru's hand and reluctantly added the Gangreen Gang to the list on the whiteboard. It was getting overcrowded with words. She would have to write smaller.
"What about Miko Shirogane?" asked Kaoru.
Miyako stared at Kaoru. "Do you have something against the entire Shirogane family?"
"Nah. Just thought it would be interesting to see one of them behind bars."
"I highly doubt Miko would be interested in murder and nuclear reactors."
Kaoru raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure about that?"
No, Miyako wasn't sure, but she was definitely sure about one thing. "She's not a villain, Kaoru."
"You never know…"
"She's also studying abroad, last I heard. I don't think she's risking her education to pop into Japan for all…this."
"Fine, fine. I get it. No Shiroganes on the suspect list."
"There is someone else you're forgetting," said Momoko, quietly, looking at Miyako.
Momoko knew it was highly unlikely. She really couldn't imagine him of all people doing all those things. Nonetheless, she didn't want to make the mistake of leaving a stone unturned.
Miyako nodded. "Takaaki. Yes, I knew this was coming."
Kaoru considered this for a moment. "But isn't he, you know, unable to…" She trailed off, looking at Miyako. It was a sensitive topic for her and Kaoru wasn't exactly sure how far she was allowed into that private part of her life that Miyako kept to herself.
Miyako shrugged. "I suppose. Still, it's difficult to tell what time can do to people." She wrote the name on the whiteboard and could hear the taps of the marker against the surface. Everyone was silent.
Well, that was no good.
"Come on, guys. Surely we have other ideas?"
The topic of Takaaki was quickly swept under the rug, just like that, and the change was welcome.
Kaoru smirked.
"What's so funny?" asked Momoko.
"I just had a thought. The Rowdyruff Boys Z."
Momoko and Miyako immediately cringed in embarrassment. They hadn't forgotten the…incident. Or several incidents, for that matter.
Miyako nodded. "I considered that but, you know, they're still way too young to fit the profile."
"Yeah, I know. They just look human, so I thought I'd mention it."
"Of course you would," said Momoko, teasingly.
The smirk immediately left Kaoru's face. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
"I just remember a certain incident in Egypt—"
"Ew, ew, ew. Gross. No. They're kids. Ew. What the hell, Momoko? I don't want to add child predator to my list of nightmares-to-be."
"I mean, you're the one who—"
"Nope, nope, nope. I'm seventeen and they're still children. You are not going to insinuate anything."
Momoko grinned. "Whatever you say."
"And wipe that stupid smile off your face. They're not even in Japan, as far as I'm aware, and you even went to Mojo's house twice. Did he look like he was babysitting three awkward teenagers?"
That was true. The house had been a mess, yes, but she hadn't seen any trace of—
Wait. The picture.
Of course. The goddamn picture. The one she had found on the floor that day. The four scribbled figures. Purple, red, green and blue. She had assumed it was a badly-drawn lollipop of some kind. Had it been them? Had Mojo drawn that, or was it his one of his sons?
She told Kaoru and Miyako this.
Miyako looked surprised. "You think one of them drew a picture of the family? Really?"
"Are you sure it was of them?" asked Kaoru. "It could've been a drawing of anything."
"Well, obviously I'm not sure. But what else could it be? The colours match, don't they?" said Momoko.
And then she remembered where else she had seen that picture. That house. In the middle of nowhere. She had suspected Mojo might have put it there. She still hadn't solved that mystery yet, had she?
She'd have to go back. To check if it was still there.
—•— Saturday, 15 February (12:03pm) —•—
It was a quiet day at work.
Momoko had finished the orders mostly in the morning and was left to sit on a stool and browse through her phone.
Sakurako walked in from the back door. "Hey, Momoko. How is work?"
Momoko immediately jumped up from the stool, her phone slipping into her pocket. "I totally wasn't slacking on work, that's for sure."
Sakurako raised an eyebrow.
"Promise. It's been a lazy day."
"It's the day after Valentine's. I suspected that there wouldn't be many people here today." Her eyes swept around the shop before looking back at Momoko. "Since there's no one here, would it be too much to ask you to help me unload some boxes from my car?"
Momoko followed her boss out of the back door of the shop and into the street.
In broad daylight, this place didn't seem so bad. The street was much narrower than the rest of the roads downtown and some people used the walls as their canvas for graffiti. The majority of the small shops and stalls were open, a computer repair shop with annoying neon lights just across the street from them. A cash converter store next to it was closed, judging from the metal shutter that covered the front.
During the night however, this area could seem eerie.
Momoko shivered at the memory of what had happened here. Twice.
As they passed the bus stop, she could remember her umbrella clattering across the pavement and onto the road. She resisted the urge to look across the street to check if he was there. Of course he wouldn't be there.
She hoped.
"Sorry for parking my car so far away," said Sakurako, smiling apologetically. "Even though our shop isn't busy today, all the other stores are doing great and it was a nightmare trying to find a decent and legal parking spot." She stressed that word, nodding towards Momoko's car which was close to the shop but parked over double lines.
Momoko grinned. "The police don't come around here."
"Honestly. One of these days, you're going to get a parking ticket."
"Ooh. A parking ticket."
"And then, before you know it, you'll be selling illegal drugs, getting into gang fights, killing someone and ending up in jail."
"Those are my life goals. Don't be so rude."
Sakurako opened the boot of her car, revealing boxes of ingredients for the shop.
"I'll carry these two at a time, and you carry the pastry mix one at a time. The pastry mix is really heavy though, so please be careful," said Sakurako, lifting two medium-sized boxes of raspberry coulis.
"On it."
Sakurako left to take the boxes to the shop. Momoko struggled but finally managed to grip the bottom of one of the pastry mix bags and haul it into her arms, grunting.
Christ, she wasn't kidding. This was heavy.
"Need some help?"
Momoko looked up to find Souichiro standing over her slightly bent over form. "Boy, do I ever."
Souichiro kneeled down, picking up the other side of the bag before standing up again. "Okay, let's go take this to the shop."
They began walking, Momoko's hands already going numb from holding the left side. "I didn't think you were coming in today."
"What made you think that?"
"You had work this morning, didn't you?"
"I finished early. This was more important."
"Aw. Cute."
He rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah. I'm Mister Romance."
"Speaking of romance, what happened yesterday?"
Souichiro's face suddenly went a bright pink. "What do you mean?"
Momoko had to hold in her laughter because she didn't want to drop the bag. "I meant, what did you and Sakurako do for Valentine's yesterday? But, you know what, judging from your reaction, I really don't want to know anymore."
He almost tried to defend himself but knew it was a lost cause. Instead, he asked, "What did you do yesterday?"
"Nothing too interesting. My friends and I went out bowling because, you know, that's romantic. We just played against each other. A casual game."
He grinned. "Did you win?"
Momoko almost looked offended. "Of course I won! If I'm not the champion of bowling, then what else can I possibly be?"
"Who really won?"
"Miyako."
"There we go."
After all the ingredients had been moved to the shop, it was nearing the late afternoon and there were still no customers.
Sakurako put her hands on her hips, looking at the front door longingly, as if she could will someone to enter. When it was clear that no one was coming, she said, "We'll wait another half an hour to see if anyone comes by. If not, we could close early for today."
Souichiro got up from his seat and stretched. "Sounds good to me."
"In the meantime, let's start cleaning this place up."
Momoko reached for the broom and began brushing the floor, beginning from the front door and working her way to the back of the store.
Sakurako had put the radio on to play some music in the background as they worked. Souichiro started swaying his hips, trying to get in his girlfriend's way. She laughed, swatting him with a tea towel.
Momoko smiled. It was lovely just being around the two. She was lucky to have a job here.
She suddenly remembered the conversation she had with her friends on Thursday. About the possible villains that fit the profile. Sedusa was on that list.
The smile slowly disappeared and Momoko's eyes flickered to Sakurako.
She was still laughing while Souichiro changed the radio channel to something with rap. He was trying to mimic the song and was failing, terribly.
Momoko just couldn't see it. Sakurako? The villain that they'd been looking for? A killer?
Of course, it was only speculation at this point, and just because they had Sakurako's name on the board, it didn't mean that she really was the villain.
But it made Momoko feel strangely uncomfortable.
She hoped, she truly hoped, that it wasn't Sedusa. If it was…
Sakurako rolled her eyes at Souichiro but was still smiling, a look of deep care and love in her eyes.
If it was Sakurako, Momoko knew she would feel deeply betrayed.
—•— Sunday, 16 February (12:03pm) —•—
It was a hot and sweltering day today. Spring was definitely coming around.
Rolling the car to a stop, Momoko reluctantly turned off the AC. "Here we are."
Miyako took a look out the window. "It looks a lot less scary in broad daylight."
She was right. The isolated town was as bare as it had been the last time they'd come here, but this time, the sun was beating down and shining light across the buildings. The majority of the rain from the last few weeks had even dried up into small puddles.
"We should still take our torches with us," said Momoko. "Just in case it's dark inside the house."
Kaoru hadn't come with them. Her mother had caught her doing stretches in the morning and insisted she stay in bed to avoid disturbing her injury. Kaoru was annoyed. "I was just stretching, not taking a fucking leap across Narnia," she'd grumbled into the phone when Momoko had called her earlier. "It doesn't even hurt that much anymore. Jesus."
Miyako and Momoko climbed out of the car, torches in hand.
Miyako squinted her eyes in the sunlight. "Perhaps we could have waited until slightly later in the day."
"Perhaps."
"Do you remember where the house is?"
Momoko frowned. "I'm not sure. I think so. I'll know it when I see it. Let's head this way." She gestured to the right and started walking, Miyako following behind.
The air was way too warm. She wished she'd decided to wear her summer clothes today. Instead, Momoko shrugged off her cardigan and tied it around her waist. At least that was one less layer to trap heat.
"What, exactly, are we looking for again?" asked Miyako.
"The picture. I want to see if it's still there at the house."
"What happens if we find it?"
"We could send it to Forensics. See who touched it. It can't be a coincidence that the picture was moved to that house when we were there and when there was a high activity of black aura here."
"Right. What happens if we don't?"
Momoko slowed her pace and turned to her friend. "Well then. We have a few questions for Mojo then, don't we?"
Approaching the house, Momoko gently pushed open the door. Placing her foot inside, the floorboards creaked under the pressure.
She hoped they wouldn't break.
The torches were not needed, they both realised. There was a badly boarded up window in the left that provided enough light from outside. Under normal circumstances, Momoko would have said it was beautiful. Enchanting, even. The sunlight made the room illuminate, brightening the walls and turning the wooden floorboards golden where the rays hit. She could see dust motes floating in the air.
There was something unsettling about the house. Was it because of the creepy ambience she had experienced last time, or was it something else?
She was unsure, but something seemed off.
"Where did you last see the picture?" asked Miyako, cutting through her thoughts.
Momoko walked over to the wall, just next to the front door. "Here," she said, placing her hand on the cool surface.
There was no picture.
"Alright. We'll have a look around then. See if we can find it."
Miyako realised that it wouldn't be such a difficult task. The house was empty. Cleared of everything. Where was there to look?
From outside, the house looked like it was two storeys high, but from the inside, it was clear that there was no 'upstairs.' Simply a very high ceiling with more boarded up windows at the top. Though it did look like there had been another floor, once.
The cobwebs weren't here, Momoko finally noticed. Brushed away, perhaps, by the wind?
And the dust… There had been a lot more dust the last time she was here. Much more. The entire floor had been coated in a sheet of it. There wasn't much dust on the floor now.
Maybe it had something to do with the seasonal change. Or it was a trick of the light and she couldn't see the dust as well as she could that night. Or maybe her memory was failing her and the house was the same as always, excluding the picture.
The girls still went around the edges and corners of the rooms, making sure there wasn't a drawing anywhere. It soon became clear that there was nothing of interest in this house.
"Are you sure it's this house?" said Miyako, finally.
Momoko turned to her. "Yes, I'm sure of it."
"It's completely empty. I think we're going to have to talk to Mojo."
Momoko looked down at the edge of one the walls where the dust lay differently on the floor. Circles were imprinted onto the surface. Something had been put here. Many things. All with a circular base. Tins cans, buckets, jars… It could have been anything.
She didn't know if it was recent or not. Perhaps it was. If it had been from a long time ago, wouldn't the dust have covered it?
It felt unimportant and insignificant, but she took a picture with her phone anyway. Just in case. She could have a look at it later.
"What's here?" asked Miyako, noticing her friend taking the picture.
"Probably nothing," said Momoko. "It just looked like someone had put something here along the wall."
"A lot of things by the look of all these circles. Do you think this was recent?"
"I have no idea."
"I wonder what it was. Tinned food? People do that sometimes. They store food in bulk for the apocalypse." Miyako looked back at her friend, a slight tilt at the corner of her lips. "Or something along those lines."
Momoko gave her an amused smile and raised an eyebrow. "You think someone was preparing a safe house?"
Miyako rolled her eyes. "It's a possibility. Unlikely, but possible."
"Hm, true. Still, the circles seem a bit too large to be tin cans."
They both stood in silence, studying the shapes on the floor. Finally, Miyako asked, "Do you suspect Mojo is behind this?"
Momoko took a second to answer. "Maybe." Or, maybe, she just didn't want to think that it was Sakurako who was behind all this. More precisely, Sedusa.
"You were defending him before."
"Because I thought he was acting alone. If so, it would be difficult to pull this off."
"Acting alone?"
"We talked about the Rowdyruff Boys Z the other day."
Miyako nodded her head, knowing where this was going.
"What if they're helping him? It would fit the accomplice theory."
"But they're still extremely young. They wouldn't fit the villain's profile."
Momoko sighed. "You're right. It just seems like all the evidence is pointing towards him."
"I'm not saying you're wrong either. I just…can't see cold-blooded murder being Mojo's area of expertise. The nuclear reactor thing? Yes. Murder? No."
"Even if he had help?"
Miyako's eyes softened. "He was a lot of things, but I got the impression he loved his sons. I don't think he would force them to…kill." A pause. "Then again, maybe that's the surprising part."
Momoko sighed. "We should've solved this ages ago. The police are counting on us to figure out who this villain is and we still don't have a damn clue."
"They know we're trying."
"Not hard enough. I'm so lost for ideas. I feel like I should know the answer or that I'm really close to it, but I still can't see it."
Miyako understood. She felt the same way. She could feel the answer on the tip of her tongue but still just out of reach. Perhaps they were letting down the police and, in turn, letting down Tokyo City.
After a few minutes, Momoko looked around and said, "I have to go home now. My parents rented out this DVD and wants us all to watch it. Family fun time and all that." A roll of the eyes, but then her expression turned serious. "But we should talk to Mojo tomorrow and see if he'll tell us about the drawing."
—•— Sunday, 16 February (10:26pm) —•—
It was a warm night.
Brick pushed opened the doors to the police station.
Not many people were in tonight. It was expected to be quiet, so no wonder. Good. He didn't want an entire audience for this. The less people here, the better.
Walking to the front desk, he found the receptionist talking on the phone. She smiled, acknowledging him while still keeping her attention on the phone.
Brick leaned over the desk and pressed a button to end the call.
The receptionist looked up at him in confusion. "What—"
"I'm the Red Massacre killer," he said, his voice steady.
The receptionist blinked. "What?"
But he knew she had heard. After a few seconds, she picked up the phone again slowly, watching him, and dialled a number. The line rang and someone picked up.
"I…have someone here at the front desk. He…says he's the Red Massacre killer. Maybe you might want to have a look?"
She paused, listening. Someone was saying something but Brick couldn't hear. She put down the phone and looked at him, confusion still apparent in her expression.
"Someone will be here in a minute. You can…take a seat, if you'd like."
"I'm fine standing," he replied coolly, stepping away from her and folding his arms. Waiting.
So it had finally come to this.
He was somewhat impressed that he finally had to do this. He knew that she would work it out eventually. Still, it had taken her so long and he had almost thought that she would never connect the dots. That picture had been so obvious and it had taken her months.
Still, a part of him was relieved. He almost thought it was too easy how he had been, quite literally, getting away with murder. Way too easy. He had been waiting for the shoe to drop and was glad that she had finally caught on. Maybe not fully, but she was getting close and that was good enough for him.
Visiting that house had been proof and he immediately had enough incentive to put the plan in action.
He hadn't told his brothers about this part. He knew what would have happened. There would have been no way his brothers would allow him to go to the police and get arrested.
But he needed this to happen. He needed them to keep working.
"Sir," said a man from behind.
Brick glanced at him.
"You'll need to come with us."
—•— Monday, 17 February (5:12pm) —•—
Momoko, Kaoru and Miyako had set out after school to go see Mojo but were interrupted by a phone call from the Professor.
He sounded…concerned. And he had every right to be.
"The police believe they might have caught the killer. We need you down at the station."
Entering the police station, the girls noticed that the Professor was already there.
The Professor nodded in greeting. "I'm glad you girls are here." His expression revealed worry.
"What happened?" asked Momoko.
"The…supposed 'killer' came in last night and reported himself to the police."
Momoko noted that the Professor used the word 'himself.' Not Sakurako then?
"'Supposed?'" asked Miyako.
"They're not quite sure he's the killer."
"Well, he basically handed himself over to the police," commented Kaoru. "That's super weird, don't you think?"
It was. "Why did you call us here?" Momoko directed this question to the Professor.
"I was called in here soon after their initial interview with him. To sign papers, and to see if he fit any of the profiles we'd been discussing recently."
"And?"
"I want a second opinion."
The girls looked at him in confusion.
"I don't understand," said Miyako.
"I want to confirm that he is who I think he is."
"So this really is someone we know?" asked Momoko.
The Professor hesitated before nodding. "I believe so. Yes." He passed a picture to the girls. "This is the suspect."
The girls studied the face for a few seconds before it finally clicked.
Momoko's eyes widened. What the…?
She knew him. Of course she knew him. And, yet, she didn't.
He was different. So different from the last time she'd seen him. She'd known that he would have grown, but this… She almost didn't recognise him. Almost. She would have dismissed him entirely had it not been for those eyes.
Momoko looked back up to the Professor. "Is this…?"
"Brick Jojo," he finished for her.
Kaoru's eyes flickered to the photo before she shook her head. "No. He's… Not like before."
She was right.
Momoko could see it. In the picture, he had lost the childish baby fat and a clear jawline defined his features, his face accentuated. His hair was no longer short and untidy, and had now been combed into a neat long braid. If it had been anyone else, it would have looked feminine, but with him, it merely looked as if he had tidied it out of his way. Just another way of keeping organised.
The obvious tell-tale signs of growing were there. His facial hair and broad shoulders proved it. There was something in the way that he held himself the way he had never truly done before. Red eyes, looking directly at the camera, serious.
Red eyes. The kind she could never forget.
Jesus. It was him.
She felt like she was looking at a stranger.
Of course, she had to remind herself that she had never known him well before. Hardly at all. But now she felt like she was worlds apart from him. As if she could now never even attempt to understand him.
This was the boy— No, not boy. This was the young man who had murdered women across Tokyo City. This was the same man that had tried to frame her.
Momoko was still trying to digest this. Disbelief. She was only slightly aware that she was in disbelief. Her hands beginning to sweat while she held the photo, her breath held. Then there was the cold fury that was slowly creeping in.
This was the man who had hurt so many people.
She was dimly aware that the others were still talking. It was only when her name was mentioned that she finally broke away from whatever trance she had been under, noticing her heart thrumming in her chest.
"Momoko, are you okay?" asked Miyako.
Her head was swimming with thoughts. Questions. How did he do it? When did he come in? Is he here? What did he say? Has he admitted to who he murdered? Has he confessed to the stealing?
But above all of that, she only had one question that truly mattered: Why?
"Momoko?"
That was Kaoru. They were looking at her now, concerned.
"Are you alright? You look a little pale."
"You can sit down, if you'd like," suggested the Professor.
"Is he…" Momoko cleared her throat. "Is he here?"
The Professor nodded. "Yes. He's been held for further questioning until a decision has been made."
This was…surreal.
Momoko felt lightheaded and it almost seemed to her as if she wasn't even in her own body. Rather, she was watching a film. Through the lens of someone else's eyes.
Had she taken the iron supplements this morning? Or the day before? The bottle would be finished within the next few days. But had she been taking them? Or was she not drinking enough water?
These seemed strange questions to be thinking about at the moment but her heart was still beating too loudly in her ears and she could only vaguely hear the others talking.
"Can I… Can we talk to him?"
The Professor shook his head. "I'm afraid not. At least, not now. The police are still carrying out the interviews with him and we aren't allowed to speak with him unless we're required."
Miyako touched Momoko's shoulder. "Are you sure you're okay?"
Momoko glanced at the hand and then back at her friend. Forcing a smile on her face, she replied, "Yes, I'm fine. Really. Just tired."
No further questions were asked.
The Professor allowed them to head home now that they had confirmed the picture and were up to date with what was happening with the case.
Momoko dropped Kaoru and Miyako off at their houses before she was finally driving in the silence, alone.
Approaching a red light, she waited, her fingers tapping against the steering wheel.
She was tense.
The picture of Brick Jojo appeared in her mind, uncalled for. Unwanted.
She realised, with a grimace, that she would never forget it. That face was now memorised and burned into her memory.
How had a ten-year-old changed so much in four years? He was fourteen now. He certainly didn't look like any other fourteen-year-old she knew of. What had happened?
And that was a good question. What had happened?
What had happened to make a normal ten-year-old kid become a serial killer?
To: Momoko Akatsustumi; Kaoru Matsubara; Miyako Gotokuji
From: Professor Utonium
Date/Time: 18/02/14; 9:21am
Subject: Interview Transcript
Attachment(s): Interview_Transcript_17_02_2014_Brick_Jojo
Hello, all.
The police have reported back to me on their progress so far on Brick Jojo. The superteam has been granted access to the revised and edited copies of the interview transcript, per my request. I have attached the document to this e-mail. Please let me know if you have any problems in opening it.
I don't have to remind you but will state it here anyway: this document is confidential. Please take care to ensure its security. The details of it has not yet been made public. There are reasons for this. I will discuss this with you in detail later.
Regards,
Prof. Utonium
Private Researcher
Tokyo City Private Science Research Laboratory
BRICK JOJO
PART 1 OF RECORDED INTERVIEW
Date:- 17/02/2014
Duration:- 23 minutes
Location:- Tokyo City Police Station
No. of Pages:- 7
Conducted by Detective Investigator [CENSORED]
DI: This interview is being tape recorded. I am [CENSORED] and I'm based at Homicide Investigations which is with the Tokyo City Police. What's your full name?
BJ: Brick Jojo.
DI: I'm just going to fill out a form here. Could you pronounce and spell out your surname please?
BJ: Jojo. J-O-J-O.
DI: Just one 'j' in the middle?
BJ: Yes.
DI: And the same for your first name please?
BJ: Brick. B-R-I-C-K.
DI: And you prefer me to call you 'Brick?'
BJ: Yes.
DI: OK. Thank you, Brick. Could you please tell me your date of birth?
BJ: [CENSORED]
DI: Is that correct?
BJ: It is.
DI: How old are you?
BJ: I'm not certain.
DI: Do you have an idea?
BJ: [pause] 14.
DI: Alright. We'll move on then. I want to remind you that you can stop this interview at any time and you can stop answering questions at any time until you can talk to a solicitor. Do you understand?
BJ: I understand.
DI: You are also entitled to have independent legal advice. You understand this?
BJ: I understand.
DI: You have the right to talk to a solicitor for advice before I ask any questions and have them with you during questioning. You have this right, even if you can't afford to hire one. Would you like to have a solicitor present?
BJ: No.
DI: OK. The date is Monday 17th February 2014 and the time is — let me check my watch — 6:32am. Now, before I begin conducting the interview, I have to make it clear to you that you don't have to say anything throughout this interview. However, it may harm your defence later if you fail to mention something you're questioned on today. Anything you do decide to say today may be given as evidence. So if I ask a question, you are under no obligation to answer. Is this understood?
BJ: Yes.
DI: "I have read the above statements of my rights. I understand what my rights are and am willing to answer questions. I do not want a solicitor. I know and understand my circumstances." Do you agree with this?
BJ: Yes.
DI: Alright then, Brick. Let's begin the interview. You came into Tokyo City Police Station last night — Sunday 16th February 2014, approximately 10:30pm, for reference — and said, I quote, "I'm the Red Massacre killer." Do you agree with this?
BJ: Yes.
DI: Do you understand that this is a confession?
BJ: Yes.
DI: What you are saying is that you are confessing to a series of killings. Do you understand this?
BJ: Yes.
DI: And you admit to being responsible for these serial killings?
BJ: Yes.
DI: I see. OK. Thank you. I'm going to ask a series of questions which I hope you will answer for me, if you please. Is that alright?
BJ: Yes, that's fine.
DI: Victims of this serial killing are all female with long auburn hair, is that correct?
BJ: That's correct.
DI: Every victim has had either an organ or limb removed, is this correct?
BJ: Yes.
DI: Are you aware of the number of victims?
BJ: I believe so.
DI: How many?
BJ: [inaudible]
DI: Louder, please.
BJ: 18.
DI: Thank you. The first Red Massacre murder occurred on Thursday 20th June 2013. You agree to the confession of responsibility for this crime?
BJ: Yes.
DI: The last murder occurred on Tuesday 28th January 2014. You agree to the confession of responsibility for this crime?
BJ: Yes.
DI: Where were you on Tuesday 28th January 2014 at the time the crime was committed? Approximately 7pm for your reference.
BJ: I was at [CENSORED] where a party was being held.
DI: What were you doing at the party?
BJ: I believe that's fairly obvious.
DI: Elaborate. For the tape.
BJ: I killed a girl.
DI: How?
BJ: [CENSORED]
DI: And what did you do afterwards?
BJ: I left the party.
DI: Alone?
BJ: Alone.
DI: And you had the organ with you when you left?
BJ: Yes.
DI: What did you do with the organ?
BJ: I disposed of it.
DI: Where?
BJ: [CENSORED]
DI: Why did you take it?
BJ: [inaudible]
DI: You need to speak up.
BJ: I felt like it.
DI: You felt like it?
BJ: Yes.
DI: Right. What did you do after you left the party and disposed of the organ?
BJ: I took a shower.
DI: So you admit to the killing of [CENSORED] on Tuesday 28th January 2014?
BJ: Yes.
DI: Right. OK. Are you telling me the truth?
BJ: Yes.
DI: You are responsible for all 18 murders?
BJ: Yes.
DI: You confess to the killings?
BJ: Yes.
DI: Could you please clarify for the tape?
BJ: I confess to the Red Massacre killings. All 18 of them.
DI: Did you lie at all throughout this interview?
BJ: No.
DI: Your honesty is appreciated. Do you have any questions?
BJ: No.
DI: Do you want to add anything else to this interview at all?
BJ: No.
DI: OK. I'm just going to sign a document here to confirm that we've finished the interview and that you have answered the questions to the best of your ability. Could you sign here? [pause] And then add the date and time here and here. The date is 17/02/2014. The time is 6:55am. [pause] Alright. Thank you, Brick. I'm going to stop the tape now. Is that alright?
BJ: Yes.
[This is the end of the recording.]
All redactions in this document are made under Section 40(2) unless otherwise marked.
—•— Tuesday, 18 February (4:19pm) —•—
The lab was cool with air conditioning running in the background. The sun, however, was still bright outside.
Miyako dropped her bag onto the floor, beside the sofa, and sat next to Kaoru and Momoko.
"Sorry I'm late," she breathed before blowing away the strand of hair that was making itself a nuisance in front of her face. "I was kept a lot longer in art class than I thought I'd be. I hope I didn't keep you."
"Not at all," said the Professor. "I'm glad you girls came here. I'm assuming you all received my e-mail?"
The girls nodded.
"Did any of you have time to go over the interview transcript?"
"I did," said Momoko. "I had a free period in between class today."
"Don't worry. It's not important as of yet. The rest of you can take a look at it some other time," he said, nodding to Kaoru and Miyako. "For now, I would like you to meet the investigating detective behind the Red Massacre case. Momoko and Miyako, I believe you've met him before."
The detective nodded in greeting.
"He's going to bring you up to speed with what's happening in Brick Jojo's case."
The detective switched his foot from one side to the other. "The interview transcript detailed the questions Brick Jojo was asked yesterday with regards to the serial killings. You can read through it in your own time but the conclusion is that he confessed. Straight away. He didn't try to defend himself at all. Which is extremely unusual and not what we usually get from our suspects."
"If he confessed, isn't that a good thing?" asked Miyako.
The detective sighed. "It doesn't mean that he's telling the truth, and that's what worries me. The last thing I need is to go to court and suddenly realise that we're missing large amounts of information, simply because he lied to us. Or worse, he isn't even the killer."
"Why would he confess if he's not the killer?"
"I don't know. That's exactly the problem. Another problem we have is that his confession is the only evidence we have to link him to the murders. If he hadn't confessed, we'd still be trying to investigate this case, as much as it pains me to admit it."
"Wait," said Momoko. "His confession is the only evidence? What about the CCTV tape?"
"The CCTV tape is mediocre quality at best. Difficult to see details. The tape would be fine as supporting evidence to back up other evidence we provide, but on its own, it can be easily used by the defence and turned to the only other suspect we have." He then looked at Momoko. "You."
"Me?"
"You seem to be our only suspect in this case so far. Any evidence we have found at the crime scenes all belong to you. Even the CCTV tape could be used against you."
"But I'm not—"
"I'm not saying you are. I'm saying that this is what the facts say. The facts are all we can rely on at the moment."
Momoko had to take a moment to let this sink in. There was a chance that these murders could all be put on her while the real killer got away with it. Was Brick Jojo even the killer? "Absolutely nothing to link him to any of the murders? At all?"
"Well, we've taken his fingerprints and some DNA samples, so we're going over the evidence we've previously collected form the crime scenes and see if there's any match. But don't get your hopes up. So far, there's nothing. And we don't even have a murder weapon."
Absolutely no evidence to link him at all? Surely he wasn't that good? He had to have left behind something.
It then occurred to her. The note. From the murder in November. Could that have been left behind by the killer? If so, was there a chance that a clue could have been left behind?
"I have something," said Momoko. "A note. It was left behind in a photo frame at one of the crime scenes in November."
The detective frowned. "You withheld evidence."
Shit. He was right. She'd completely forgotten about the note until now. She'd also forgotten that Kaoru and Miyako were the only others who knew about this. Even the Professor frowned.
"I…forgot I had it," she lied. "But it might have been left by the killer. I'm not sure. It was a handwritten note though."
The detective looked at her for a moment before sighing. "Are your fingerprints on it?"
"…yes."
"Anyone else?"
Kaoru raised her hand.
"Right. We'll need to take fingerprints from you both. Anyone else have anything to add?"
The girls shook their head.
"Alright then. I should also mention that we're having a lot of problems with Brick Jojo and how to go about the investigation. Technically, because he confessed, we're allowed to arrest him, which we have, but we now have to put him through trial or else let him go. This is where the evidence matters because we can't sentence an innocent person without sufficient evidence. Also, there's the problem with his age, as I've already begun discussing with the Professor."
"His age?" asked Kaoru.
"Technically, he was…'born' four years ago." He glanced at the Professor before looking back at the girls. "That would, under normal circumstances, make him four. Clearly, as you've realised, this isn't the case. When he was 'born,' he was ten years of age. Following that logic, you would then naturally assume he is now fourteen. He seems to follow this logic too. Although I have sensed some hesitancy about it. However, physically… It is difficult to regard him as fourteen years of age. Especially given his mental capacity and capabilities, it would be more precise to say he fits the criteria for a young adult. Perhaps in between the seventeen to twenty-one range. It is difficult to tell."
"How's that even possible?"
The Professor spoke up. "I'm still finding that out. I've been asked to help with the investigation in this regard."
The detective nodded. "Nonetheless, his actual date of birth states that he is four, thus under the age of any criminal responsibility." He paused. "This could mean that, if he is the killer, he could get away with murder."
Momoko's eyes widened. That was insane. They couldn't do that. They didn't actually believe that he could avoid criminal responsibility, did they?
"However, following the logic that he is, perhaps, fourteen, he would become a young offender, in that case. He would be put through a family court and given a sentence. Given that, it is important to note that sentences for young offenders here are, unfortunately, very short and not usually appropriate with regards to the gravity of the crime. And with our current evidence, he would be put into a juvenile detention centre for several months, at most, if we're lucky."
Momoko couldn't believe it. So many people had died. So many innocent lives lost. And for what? Several months didn't even begin to cover what had been taken away.
"The only way we can possibly put him through an adult sentence is if he was twenty. However, given the lack of justification, it is highly unlikely that he will be sentenced to an adult prison. It is most likely that he will be put down as a young offender, and that's only if we have sufficient evidence to keep him under arrest and go to court."
"So…he could walk free from all this?" said Momoko.
The detective nodded. "Possibly. However, it's still difficult to tell if he even is the killer. I have a lot of doubts right now, unless I find any evidence to convince me otherwise. His confession is simply not enough."
"Did he say why he did it?"
The detective shook his head. "No, I'm afraid not. He never mentioned it. He has implied that he has killed for no real reason, which I'm finding very difficult to believe. There must be a reason for killing so many times and in such a manner. Especially with the similarities between the victims…" He eyed Momoko's hair. "Nonetheless, this is where we are with the investigation so far. I want to ensure that you all understand that this information is strictly confidential and should not be mentioned to anyone else. The public has still not been informed and will not be informed until we have reached an accurate decision."
That would explain why there had been no news since Brick Jojo's arrest. Momoko had been checking her phone, the TV and the radio, but there had been absolutely nothing.
Of course the police wanted to keep quiet about this.
"That's all the information I can provide for you at the moment. We will make you aware of any further developments."
The detective said goodbye and dismissed himself.
—•— Tuesday, 18 February (5:38pm) —•—
Butch was annoyed, that much was obvious. The grin had disappeared and he looked serious.
Boomer could understand why.
The envelope in his hands was the reason for that. A letter enclosed inside. From Brick. A letter that they were supposed to read after he handed himself to the police.
No wonder Butch was so annoyed.
Brick had failed to mention the part of the plan where he went to the police.
At least he had the decency to write a letter beforehand, outlining instructions that they had to carry out in his absence.
It meant something. A big thing. Brick wasn't a huge fan of relying on others to complete tasks for him. At all. The fact that he trusted them enough to carry all this out…
Boomer wished he'd spoken with Brick. About anything. Anything other than these plans. Something normal.
When was the last time that they had talked about something completely ordinary?
He couldn't remember.
Boomer placed the letter into the envelope and slipped it into his pocket. He then helped his older brother push the sofa back into place in the middle of the sitting room, in its original position.
They had spent the majority of yesterday transporting what they needed back to the house outside Tokyo City and now they had to restore Mojo's house to how it had been before they arrived.
No doubt the police would be coming to investigate Brick's former home.
However, returning the house to its original form was proving to be a lot more difficult than they thought it would be.
Butch rolled up his sleeves to his elbows and then opened the bag of debris that Brick had cleared up when he had first come to the house and saw its messy state. "Trust Brick to play both murderer and mother," he had joked.
"Where's Mojo?" Boomer asked as he walked over to the bookshelf.
It was littered with various nuts and bolts from building the reactor, and it needed to be cleared.
Butch shrugged. "Who knows? Probably out somewhere. Getting some food, hopefully. I'm starving."
"What did you have for lunch?"
"A fucking banana."
"And for breakfast?"
"A fucking banana."
Boomer rolled his eyes and began throwing the odd hardware tools into a bag. He brushed his hand along the top of the bookshelf and—
"Hey, do you remember this book?" asked Boomer, taking it down from the shelf.
Butch glanced at it. The Tragedy of Hamlet. "Isn't that Brick's book?"
Boomer nodded. "Yeah, I think so. He'd highlight all those passages, do you remember?"
"He highlighted a lot of books. I didn't really care enough to remember which books."
Boomer opened the book out of curiosity and a piece of folded paper flew out. He placed the book on one of the shelves and then reached down to pick up the paper that had fallen to the floor.
Opening it up, his eyes widened.
A drawing. Four crudely-drawn circles in purple, red, green and blue.
Of course he remembered this. He'd drawn it after all.
The drawing itself was ridiculous and a two-year-old could have done a much better job, but he remembered drawing it when he was young.
Back then, Butch was going through his extremely curious-impulsive phase, setting everything — including himself — on fire on a whim and eating leaves when others dared him to.
Brick had been relatively quiet and kept to himself. Usually in his own bedroom. He would read, mostly. Not children's books like the other kids their age. Textbooks, study guides, encyclopaedias. Non-fiction mostly. Although a few fictional books crept their way into his reading list. However, there would be times where he would snap and lock himself away for hours until Mojo would would convince him to let them in.
Boomer had been fairly quiet too and would sometimes steal some of Brick's books and read them, or he would draw on the walls in his bedroom — drawing anywhere else in the house wasn't allowed — and then later tag along with Butch and write a diary of all the exciting things they got up to. And all the dangerous activities that they were involved in too.
Boomer smiled to himself.
Back then, they didn't have a care in the world. They were so different, but Mojo still loved them all the same. Equally. Just the four of them. Together.
Back then, they had been a family.
Now he didn't know what they were.
Published: 05.08.2016