Notes: And we discover exactly why I chose "Horror" as a second category for this fic.

Chapter Ten

Ring.

Ring.

Ring.

The annoying, shrill sound pierced Bakura's consciousness. He moaned and turned his head to the side as he silently willed it to stop. But his mental abilities clearly needed work; it continued to wail no matter how much he begged it to be quiet.

Then at last it stopped. "Hello?!"

He blinked, half-opening his eyes. He was laying on the couch in his father's office. Yami Bakura was standing next to him, having snatched the receiver up in obvious aggravation.

The person on the other end spoke loud enough for Bakura to hear. "Oh, it's the spirit of the Millennium Ring!" the White Death exclaimed.

Bakura went chalk-white.

Yami Bakura growled. "What did you do with the boy's father?!" he snapped.

Bakura blinked up at him. "My . . . father?" he said dumbly. He was still trying to piece together what had happened before his awakening. Why had he been asleep in the first place? But the sight of the ruined den brought it all rushing back. The message on the desk, written in blood. . . . The hair and knife. . . . With a cry he sat up straight, his eyes wide as he stared at the telephone.

The White Death clucked his tongue. "Poor James," he said. "We were college roommates, but I couldn't let that stand in the way. After all, he's been keeping Ryou from me for so long, so very long. It's really unforgivable."

Bakura knelt up on the couch, half-grabbing the receiver out of the astonished Yami Bakura's hands. "Where is he?!" he screamed. "If you've harmed my father, I swear I'll . . ."

"I haven't done anything except help you, little Ryou," the White Death said. "That's what I've been doing ever since I came here to your city."

"Help me?!" Bakura cried in indignation. "You've been hurting and killing. How does that possibly help me?!"

"You're so pure and good, little Ryou," the twisted man declared. "You don't deserve to associate with so many evil people so far below you, so I've been removing them for you."

"Evil?!" Bakura gripped the receiver, his knuckles white. "They have black hair, so you're deciding without a doubt that they're evil?! Let me tell you, I've been learning quite a bit about hypocrisy over the last few days. And you're the biggest hypocrite of them all! You're so caught up trying to see evil in superficial ways that you completely ignore the fact that your heart and soul are completely covered in the darkness." Tears pricked his eyes. "You've gone after acquaintances, strangers, my closest friends . . . and now my father! But I won't stand for it any longer. You have him with you! Where are you?!"

A slight pause. "Well, I suppose I could tell you," the White Death said then. "But if you're coming in the hopes of rescuing James, I'm afraid you're out of luck. The best I could do is give you back what's left."

Bakura cried out in anguish and building hatred. Yami Bakura's eyes flamed. He tried to grab the receiver back, but Bakura was holding on too tight. Yami Bakura could only bend down and snarl near the mouthpiece.

"You'll regret all that you've done," he said. "We'll find you. Then you will be wishing you had never attempted to come back into Bakura's life. And whatever you've inflicted on his father, I'll repay you a hundredfold."

"You're feisty! I like that. You must have given some of your defiance to dear Ryou." The White Death did not sound frightened in the least. That, Yami Bakura vowed, would be yet another of the wretch's grave mistakes.

"He is no longer the trusting child you remember," Yami Bakura said. "He's growing up."

"And so wonderfully too.

"Little Ryou!" the White Death exclaimed now. "I'll make a deal with you. I'll let you see poor James' remains, maybe even to lay them to rest, if you promise me one simple thing."

Bakura was still ashen. "What's that?" he asked, his voice stretched to the point of breaking.

"Give the spirit of the Ring to me," the White Death purred. "Have him join my collection. And after you've disposed of James, you must come to me too."

The bile was rising in Bakura's throat, but somehow he pushed it back. "What?!" he choked out. "I can't! I'll never . . ."

He stared as Yami Bakura held up a hand to stop him. The thief shook his head, his hair flying. The hatred he felt for the monster on the phone was displayed all over his visage, but he mouthed, "Tell him you accept."

Bakura could only continue to gawk in horrified disbelief. Why would his Yami want him to say such a thing?! How could he possibly commit to any of it?! He could not turn Yami Bakura over to this madman! And the thought of the collection, of either of them being part of it . . . it filled him with such a strong terror that it threatened to make him slam down the phone and run out of the room, to keep running until he was far away, where the White Death could never find him.

Yami Bakura reached out, grabbing Bakura's hand. "Trust me," he mouthed, his eyes urgent.

Bakura searched the other pair of brown eyes, as he had done so many times in the last few days. This was a hard test for him. If he trusted Yami Bakura's words, he would plunge them deeper into this nightmare. But if he did not give his trust, it would shatter their forming bond, as well as this chance to try to bring the White Death to justice . . . and find his father. He could not leave his father in the hands of the White Death, even if he was already . . .

He swallowed again. "I . . . I'll do it," he rasped. Was the White Death even still there? It seemed like his hesitation had gone on for ages.

But the horrid voice purred from the receiver. "Good! I knew you would make the wise decision, little Ryou. Now, come to this address within the hour." It was somewhere in Domino Heights, a wealthy suburb. Bakura memorized it, mouthing it to his Yami to write down.

"I . . . we'll be there," he said.

"I'll be waiting," the White Death said. "It will be so good to see you again, dear Ryou." With that he hung up.

Trembling, Bakura dropped the receiver back into its cradle. Then he slumped back, running his fingers into his hair. "What are we going to do?!" he half-moaned, half-sobbed. "He . . . he's killed my father. . . . Why . . . why would he do that?! I thought Father would be safe! . . . You said he'd be safe! Do you remember, Yami? I was worried about him and you said he'd be safe! . . ."

Yami Bakura growled, sitting down next to the distraught teen. He knew Bakura did not mean to sound so accusing. But he was angry himself, that this attack had happened without either of them prepared for it.

". . . Your father may be alive," he said. "I couldn't say for certain, but it's obvious that he took the man in order to force us to come to him." He clenched a fist. "And his overconfidence will be his downfall. I'll make certain of it."

Bakura shuddered, looking up at him. "Father might be alive?" he repeated, ignoring the rest of what had been said. If that could be true, then of course they had to go into the lions' den. They had to leave right now and do everything possible to save him!

Yami Bakura averted his gaze, not wanting to see the hope back in Bakura's innocent eyes---not when it might go out again. "I don't know," he said. "I can't predict anymore what this wretch is going to do." He called the White Death a string of names in Egyptian that Bakura was glad he did not understand.

Bakura bit his lip. ". . . If Father really is . . ." He shook his head. Part of him wanted to ask what sort of condition the White Death would have left the body in, but the other part could not bear to know or even think of it.

"What will we do when we get there?" he queried instead.

"We'll play along at first," Yami Bakura said. "I'll try to find a point to overpower him with the power of the Infinity Ring. If I can figure out what the blasted thing can actually do other than make me mortal and allow me to change my physical appearance." He pushed himself off the couch. "We should leave right now. It could take a while to find the place."

Bakura nodded, shakily getting up as well.

Yami Bakura hesitated, watching him. The boy still did not remember the truth about the White Death's "collection," nor had he asked Yami Bakura to tell him. Perhaps he should have done it last night, after all. It was difficult to know what to say about it now that there was this new twist. Bakura might get himself worked into such a state that he would not be able to do anything. But on the other hand, if he was suddenly surprised by the sight of it when they arrived. . . .

"You're going to see a lot of strange things," he said at last as they headed out of the room.

Bakura shuddered. "I've thought about that," he said. "I suppose there'll be all those poor animals, like the white cat Pete Coppermine saw." He walked faster, going back towards the front door. "I hope we can get all of them out of that wretched man's clutches."

Yami Bakura grunted as he followed. "He keeps every white animal he finds," he said. "When they die, he keeps them still."

Bakura froze. "You mean . . ." He whirled, staring at the thief in shock.

Yami Bakura just met his gaze and held it, challenging him to determine the answer on his own.

Bakura gripped the knob, hauling the door open. What did Yami Bakura mean? The White Death could keep their ashes, but would he want to do that, if all he cared about was their white fur or feathers? No, surely it would have to be something that would preserve the whiteness. . . .

He stiffened, whirling to look at Yami Bakura. "He skins them?!" he cried.

"Close." Yami Bakura pushed Bakura out the door. "He stuffs them," he snarled, snatching his coat off the coat tree. "And call a cab. The snow is still falling out here." He dragged the door shut, pulling his arms into the black coat.

Only now did Bakura remember he was still wearing his own coat. "That's so morbid," he said, digging his phone out of his pocket. Then he frowned. "I saw an odd tool in that room," he recalled. "Could I have stumbled across his taxidermy lab? Maybe that was what I saw in the closet---animals in the process of being stuffed. . . ."

Yami Bakura shoved his hands in his pockets. "Is that what you think?" he said.

Bakura paused, his finger poised above the numberpad on his cellphone. "No," he said slowly, "it doesn't seem like that was it. . . ." He finished dialing the number of the cab company and brought the phone to his ear.

"Hello?" he said, his mind occupied now. "Yes, I'd like to send for a cab. . . ."

"Tell them the route to take," Yami Bakura said. "We'll meet them along the way."

Bakura nodded, only half-hearing. But he did as Yami Bakura said, and though the dispatcher was surprised, she agreed. Soon they were walking through the snow, heading towards the cab that had been sent.

Bakura hardly paid attention as they crunched along. What on earth had he seen in that closet? Seeing animals the White Death had been mounting would definitely be a shocking, even horrifying, thing for a five-year-old. There were all kinds of stomach-turning steps required for taxidermy, some that he did not want to think about even now. So why did he feel like it had been something different?

He pushed the door open, running into the room without even stopping to see what it was. That was not important; he would see it when he had the door locked between him and his father's friend.

But as he turned, his eyes widened in shock. This room was all in white, from the walls to the furniture. And everywhere, from the couches to the pillows on the floor, were animals. Dogs, cats, birds . . . many of them breeds that he had never before seen.

A frown crossed his innocent features. These animals were not like the ones in the red room; they were not moving. They stared out with blank eyes, looking across the space or at whatever happened to be in front of them. Some looked through him, not seeing him at all.


"Hello?" he ventured as he stepped forward. "Is there a way out of here? I guess if there is, you haven't been able to use it, have you?"

A cold shiver went up his spine as he advanced further into the room. The animals were as still and lifeless as the plushies he and Amane liked to collect. Maybe that was what they were. Maybe they were not real at all. The thought comforted him as he kept going. There was another door beside the right-hand corner, so maybe he would be able to get out of the house that way.

But he stiffened as he approached the side of the room. One little dog, a Bichon Frise, was sitting by the door on a white pillow, as if guarding it. Its eyes stared as blankly as all the others, its mouth open with its tongue slightly exposed.

He trembled. "Fluffy?" he whispered. He dropped to his knees, staring at the motionless form. Fluffy had disappeared from his street so long ago, never to be found though everyone had desperately searched. He had been told that some kid had probably found the dog and taken her for his own, but he had overheard his parents talking late at night and saying that Fluffy had likely been hit by a car.

And this was her, he knew it was! It looked just like the friendly, happy dog he had played with on so many days. Her collar and tag were even still around her neck, bearing her name.

He shot back, his heart pounding. Fluffy was just like the stuffed animals he had seen in the museum when he had gone to visit his father. All of the animals here were like that.

He leaped to his feet, violently shaking. Panic-stricken now, he pulled open the door and ran into what seemed to be another corridor.

"Bakura!"

He started, snapping back to the present. Yami Bakura was glaring at him in concern as they stood in the road, their path illuminated by the headlights of a yellow cab.

The British boy shook his head. "I . . . that dog I told you about, Yami," he rasped. "The White Death had her. I remember now. She . . . she was in a room filled with stuffed animals!"

Yami Bakura growled. "Is that all you remember?" he said, pulling open the door of the cab.

Bakura nodded as he climbed inside. "I think so," he said. "I ran out of there and then the White Death found me again. . . ." He shuddered. "That was when I tore away in a panic and found that other room . . . the one with the closet. . . ."

Yami Bakura pulled the door shut as he got in after Bakura. "We're going to Domino Heights," he barked, giving the exact address.

"Okay, okay," the driver said, shaking his head. "No need to get all growly about it. I'll get you there. Sheesh."

Bakura turned to look at his Yami as he pulled down his seatbelt. "What did I see in that closet?" he whispered.

Yami Bakura clenched a fist. "I'll tell you when we get there," he said. "When we're alone again."

Bakura gave a numb nod. For the thief to both be so concerned about him knowing and yet to not want to talk about it here only made him all the more anxious.

Please hold on, Father, he said silently. I can't believe you're really . . . gone. I have to believe we can still save you! I have to. . . .

He prayed in desperation as they headed towards Domino Heights.

****

Domino Heights was filled with wealthy people, large and modern houses, and a festive nature. There were some streets where every house was lit with Christmas lights and lawn decorations. Many bore multi-colored bulbs, though some preferred white or a mixture of both. When the cab pulled up in front of their destination, the duo found themselves staring at a completely white-painted house, decorated in all white lights.

Bakura just stared, shaking his head. "It looks like such a normal house," he said. "I never would have thought this would be the place. . . ." His gaze traveled over the icicle lights draped around the front of the building. "Somehow it seems more disturbing to see it like this than for it to be in stark darkness. . . ."

Yami Bakura pushed the door open and stepped out, not offering a comment. "Pay the man," he said.

Bakura fumbled with his wallet, at last managing to extract a bill. "Is this enough?" he asked as he handed it to the driver.

The cabbie's eyes lit up. "Perfect," he said. "So, do you want me to wait here or . . . ?"

Bakura scooted off the backseat and out of the car. "I . . ." He looked to Yami Bakura. "Maybe you'd better wait," he said at last. "And call the police if we're not out within an hour. . . ."

"The police?" The man gawked at them. "Hey, what are you guys going to do?!" he gasped.

"Wait long enough and you might find out," Yami Bakura said. He turned, his trenchcoat flairing out with the movement.

Bakura hurried after him as he started up the long and winding walkway. "Yami!" he called.

Yami Bakura paused, waiting for him to catch up. Bakura ran alongside him, his eyes wide and worried. "How are we going to do this, Yami?" he asked. "Are we just going to march up to the front door?"

"He's smart enough to know that you couldn't and wouldn't trick me," Yami Bakura said. "He'll be expecting us both to be aware of this plan. In fact, he may expect us to try something. So yes, we'll just go to the front door."

But the White Death had other plans. As soon as they stepped onto the porch, a perfect square opened under Yami Bakura's feet. He stared, his eyes widening in shock as he plummeted through the trapdoor and down a bright chute.

Bakura's mouth dropped open in horror. "Yami!" he screamed, diving at the door even as the tomb robber's furious curses echoed up to him. Before he could follow Yami Bakura through the door, it sealed shut. He crashed to his knees on the porch instead.

"Let me in!" he yelled, banging on the closed panel with his fists. "For Heaven's sake, let me in!"

An ominous creaking brought his attention sharply up. The front door was opening now, seemingly of its own accord, revealing a fully-lighted and well-furnished parlor. "Come in, little Ryou," the nightmarish voice purred. "Come in and you'll find him again. Maybe. And you don't want to keep your father waiting, do you?"

Bakura got to his feet, glaring through the doorway. "Where are you?!" he demanded. "I don't see you anywhere!"

"Come in and find out," was the reply. "I've been waiting for so long to find you again, dear Ryou."

"Well, I was hoping never to see you again!" Bakura spat. There was nothing to do but go inside this way and pray that he would indeed find the others---and that they were alright in the meantime. He took a step forward, then another, and walked into the parlor. The door swung shut behind him, closing with a note of finality.

"That's not a nice thing to say," the White Death objected with mock-hurt.

"I don't care!" Bakura retorted. "You have a lot of nerve, to be speaking of 'nice.' You don't even know what it means!"

"The thief has been poisoning you against me, too," the disembodied voice said. "I decided to split the two of you up so you couldn't try any silly plan to stop me."

"That won't help you!" Bakura said, his anger and worry driving him to speak with much more bravery than he felt inside. He advanced into the room, casting cursory glances at the white furniture. "And as far as 'poisoning' me against you, you did that yourself! I was always afraid of you, right from the very start. I only tolerated you because you were my father's friend and I trusted my father!"

"Poor James," the White Death sighed. "I really wish I hadn't had to do what I did, but well . . . as I said, it couldn't be helped."

Now Bakura could see the electronic speaker high on the wall, half-hidden by a vase. "You didn't have to do it at all!" he cried. "Where is he?!" He clenched a fist. "I won't believe you've killed him. I won't!"

"I'm so sorry, little Ryou," said the White Death. "He's really gone. But I have him somewhere in this house. I'll keep my promise and you can take his body, if you find him."

The adrenaline burst through Bakura's veins. He tore forward into the hall, throwing open each door he found. "I'll find him!" he yelled. "I'll find him and my Yami, too! And you'll be sorry for what you've done!"

"I'm afraid not, dear Ryou," the White Death purred, observing the teen's wild run on his security monitors. "I'm afraid you and the spirit will be the sorry ones." He leaned back, lacing his fingers together as a cruel smile split his features.

****

Yami Bakura was infuriated.

His anger came at least partially from the indignity of flying down a slippery-slide chute and landing on a down mattress at the bottom that had popped open, sending feathers flying in all directions. And it came partially from the aggravation of wandering down a long, white corridor filled with dead-end doors and rooms of nothing but white things.

But mostly it came from hearing the conversation between Bakura and the White Death, broadcast over the speakers wired throughout the manor. To hear the monster's wicked taunting and Bakura struggling to be courageous and not show his fear was driving him on, pushing his panic levels to rise. He had never been able to tell Bakura the truth about the closet, as he had said he would upon their arrival. What if the boy discovered it now, without warning?

And what other surprises did the wretch have in store?

"Bakura!" he called. But it never seemed to do any good. Though he could hear the conversation upstairs, Bakura had never been able to hear him down here.

The White Death, however, could always hear him.

"It doesn't do any good to yell, Spirit," the wretch purred. "I told you, my speaker system is set up so that I can hear all, but you and Ryou only hear what I want you to hear."

Yami Bakura's eyes narrowed hatefully. "What is your plan?" he demanded. "Why am I being kept down here?"

"You know, this house wasn't always mine," the White Death mused. "And when I bought it, it came with all of these eccentricities already installed. I just had to repaint everything white. I thought it would be interesting to make you go through the maze I found in the basement."

"I don't find it interesting at all," Yami Bakura retorted. "It's a waste of my time!"

"Oh, you'll find little Ryou soon enough," the White Death said. "After all, I want us all to have a big, special meeting."

A terror-filled scream rent the air. Yami Bakura froze, staring at the speaker.

"What happened?!" he burst out.

The White Death clucked his tongue. "Poor dear Ryou," he said. "He must have found his father."

****

Bakura stood in the middle of the hall, running a hand into his hair as he looked dejectedly around at the various knick-knacks and mounted animals. He had been all over the main floor of the house, distraught and upset over not being able to find either of the missing people. If there was any inside door to the basement, it was completely hidden from him. He might as well go back to the stairs he had seen and go up to the second floor.

Here was a doorway he did not remember seeing, however---half-hidden behind a curio cabinet. He went closer, curiosity and hope perking him up once more. It seemed to lead into a back hallway, brightly lit just like the rest of the house.

"Hello?" he called as he stepped inside. The White Death had been silent for the last few minutes, but it was debatable whether that was good or bad. In some way, it made him more uneasy to know the killer was watching without saying anything.

"Father? Yami?" He walked further into the corridor, staring in shock at a stuffed white tiger to the side, its mouth open in a permanent growl. He turned away, blinking as he caught sight of something blue on the other side of a glass case. "Father?" he called again, quickening his pace.

The blue never moved. As Bakura drew closer, a gasp caught in his throat.

His father was standing on a platform, completely stiff and still. His eyes stared blankly at nothing, the same as . . .

The same as . . .

Bakura fell back, clapping his hands over his mouth. The horror in the closet. . . .

The door swung open, revealing its contents to the stunned and frightened child. An elderly woman, her hair pure white, was standing in the space, perfectly motionless with her arms posed as if reaching for something. Her vacant eyes reflected the same thing he had just seen in the dog Fluffy.

Animals were not the only things the White Death stuffed.

Bakura screamed, falling forward as he threw his arms around his father's lifeless body. He sobbed, the hopelessness and horror threatening to overwhelm him.