Author's Note: I would like to take a moment to once again thank all my loyal reviewers on this story. Your words are a great motivator and reading them means a lot to me. You have no idea how much. So I say again: Thank you! Also, we are now entering the third act of this tale, and I'm kind of sad it's nearing the finish because it has been such a joy to write. I don't think I've had this much fun writing a story since my very first fan fic. and I sincerely hope you all have gotten as much pleasure from reading it as I have from writing it (though I somehow doubt this is true). As always, please leave a review with your thoughts at the end...

Chapter 11:

Wayfaring Stranger

Yu's furtive steps reflected his hesitant nature as he turned the corner onto Ursuline Street. The area was as beautiful as it always was: the lane still elegantly lined with tall Creole townhouses outfitted with large, wrought iron balconies, their roofs covered with rainbow colored Spanish tile like icing sitting on top of an array of bakery cupcakes. As he walked with his head down, skirting away from other pedestrians on the street, he felt his mind jerked back to several nights ago. The night Ferid Bathory had attacked him and taken him from this very sidewalk.

Well, well-Yuichiro Hyakuya. What an unexpected surprise…

Yu shook his head, willing the memory of that terrible voice away. I don't have to be afraid of Ferid Bathory anymore, he thought to himself. That man is dead. He can't hurt anyone ever again.

The Garden District had talked of nothing but Lord Bathory's unexpected death over the course of the last few days. The news had traveled hot and fast like the August heat, leaving everyone to ponder and whisper their theories about all the mysterious juicy details. The entirety of Ferid's Prytania Street mansion had gone up in flames, burned to a cinder, until all that stood was the crumbling exoskeleton of the giant spiral staircase and half of the eastern wall. The ignorant all thought it was an unfortunate accident. Those in the know, who regularly crossed the borders between the district and the quarter, who had private dealings out there, thought differently. They all knew of Lord Ferid's torrid love affair with a certain French Quarter prostitute, who had also mysteriously vanished on the night his mansion had burned down. They all knew of the animosity, the heated conflict between the two; it had been going on for years. Well, these people in the know whispered behind the safety of closed doors that the prostitute-infamous now for more than just his profession-had finally retaliated against Lord Bathory and had murdered him and burned down his house. Others thought it was a murder/suicide, that Bathory, finally driven mad by years of jealousy, had killed them both. Still others thought the prostitute had killed Bathory and skipped town with all his money, laughing all the way to Europe. Whispers in parlors and churches and coffee shops turned bloodthirsty and lurid with all the possible outcomes. There were so many different versions of the tale flying about now, that no one was sure anymore what was fact and what was fiction.

Yu, ever since he'd come out of his drug filled haze, had asked about Mika daily. Yoichi had admitted that he had actually come looking for him at the house on that horrible night. Ever since then, Yu had pressed Yoichi for news, hoping beyond hope that Mika would come back. That by some miracle he would be allowed entrance into Guren's house. It was the only thing that kept Yu going, the only thing that finally got him out of bed and on his feet again. It was this hope that allowed him to finally throw open the shutters of his room and let in the light.

Now, after building up his nerve over the last several days, Yu finally dared to enter the boundaries of the quarter once more. His was bent on finding Mika. His body, heart and soul were all fixated on him. Please don't be true please don't be true please don't be true, he thought as he approached the tall pillars bordering the front door of the House of the Rising Sun. Yoichi had related all the rumors about Ferid's death to him; everything he had heard out in the schoolyard and on the trolleys and in the cafes. Please don't be true please don't be true please don't be true! A lot of these rumors seemed certain of Mika's death, but Yu refused to believe it. The moment he felt well enough to venture out into the world again, he resolved to go to the Rising Sun to find out the actual truth.

Yu banged on the front door and waited. After a few ticks it opened a crack to reveal the same red haired man that had taken him up to Mika's room on the first night he came to the house. The man smiled slyly as he threw open the door. "Well, well," said the red haired man. "I didn't expect to see you back here."

Yu couldn't help the glare that covered his face. The man still had that sly, knowing grin, and Yu wondered uncomfortably just how much this man knew about him and his current situation. Yu walked past him into the foyer. "I'm looking for Mikaela Hyakuya," he announced stonily.

"There's no one here by that name," the man answered with a condescending lilt.

"I know that Mika works in this house-" began Yu.

"-I'm sorry, dear boy," said the red haired man with what seemed to be actual compassion in his eyes. He turned and leaned against the front door, watching Yu. "No one's seen Mika-chan since that night." Yu noticed the red haired man didn't bother to specify which night. "But, of course, you already knew that," the man added without inflection.

Yu stared down at the exotic pattern on the floor runner. "Are you sure? Are you sure no one's seen-"

"-I'm sure," the man answered before Yu could finish. "I have a lot of...friends in both the quarter and the district. There's been no report of him…" The man let his sentence drift off as he watched Yu slowly collapsed against the hallway wall. He rushed forward, grabbing his shoulders to keep him from sliding to the floor. "Hey, are you okay?" The man asked. Yu, flinching at the unexpected contact, squirmed away.

"Don't...do that," Yu said in an almost inaudible voice. It had been less than a week since the night Bathory had kidnapped him, and he still couldn't bear to be touched by another human being. It set his heart to trip hammering in his chest and made his entire body break out in a cold sweat. His hands visibly shook even as he tried to calm himself.

"Uh, sorry, I should have been more careful," the man muttered by way of apology. Yu's head jerked up. Ah, he knows, thought Yu, the sad, pitying look on the red haired man's face confirming all his suspicions. Yu was about to turn and leave when a feminine voice called to him from down the hallway:

"Is that Yuichiro Hyakuya? Crowley, stop being rude and bring the young gentleman in here!"

Crowley's left eyebrow jerked up at this request. "Of course, Krul," Crowley called back down the entryway. Crowley swept past Yu, motioning him down the hall. "The madam of the house would like to speak with you," he said tonelessly.

Crowley opened a door and ushered Yu into what appeared to be a small, well kept office. There was a mahogany desk against one wall, and a small settee with coffee table against the other. A petite woman with delicate, porcelain features was currently sitting at the desk, scribbling notes into a leather ledger. She put down her pen and raised her head as Yu stepped inside.

"Ah, Yu Hyakuya. You're the one who's cost me so much business."

Yu just blinked, not understanding the accusation. Before he could ask her to elaborate, she began speaking again.

"How does it feel to have a man so in love with you that he would brutally murder someone in your name?"

Yu's mouth gaped open. "I...I didn't…"

Krul regarded him coldly. "Please don't say you didn't love him in return, because that, in my opinion, would just be an even greater tragedy."

Yu shifted uncomfortably, caught off guard by the Queen's bluntness. Finally, he said, "I do love him. I do. More than anything in the world. I just wish…" And here Yu trailed off, angrily swiping at the tears that were starting to come unbidden to his eyes.

Krul's icy demeanor seemed to temporarily melt, if only for an instant. "Unfortunately, Ferid and Mika were always a combination set to combust. I just didn't expect it to happen quite so...literally." She turned and began to rummage through the papers on her desk. She pulled out an envelope and handed it to Yu. He looked at it with a questioning face. "What's this?"

"A receipt. For passage on a ship leaving from New Orleans. I found it in Mika's room." When Yu just continued to stare quizzically at the envelope, she went on, smiling her knowing, sphinx like smile:

"I'm the mistress of the French Quarter, Hyakuya. I know everything-everything-that happens in this town. And my Mika was a clever boy. He would not have stayed here after murdering a nobleman in cold blood. He was...a strategist, or rather a pragmatist, in all things." When Yu said nothing, she added:

"Don't lose hope yet, Hyakuya. The end port of call is listed on that receipt. Keep it. But don't speak of it. Because they hang prostitutes who murder their Johns in this town." The Queen turned back to her desk, and Yu felt like he had just been summarily dismissed. He turned and walked out of the office, shuffling with ghostlike steps back down the hall toward the front door.

"Oh, and Hyakuya," called Krul, speaking once again in her usual sly, commanding lilt. "Do let me know if you get tired of your life out there in the district. I have an empty room upstairs. I could turn you out in an instant…"

Ignoring that parting jab, Yu carefully tucked the envelope Krul had given him inside his vest, placing it over his heart.

Charleston, South Carolina

The steamer ship had docked in the port of Charleston early that morning, her horns blaring out her arrival over the blue sparkling water of the harbor. The August sun beat down mercilessly on the wooden dock as its passengers filed down the gangplank: families with small children, salty old sea dogs, dock workers in flat caps, and finally, one young blond haired boy, wrapped in a great black coat, who exited alone. His steps were wobbly as he walked down the plank, his expression pained as he squinted into the early morning sun. He paused, wrapping the coat tighter around him despite the humid weather, staring up at a flight of seagulls that were circling overhead. After a moment, he started staggering along the dock, moving along the waterline, until he came to the wooden benches and large umbrellas and elaborate gushing fountain that marked the beginning of Charleston's beautiful Waterfront Park boardwalk. Ladies with lace trimmed parasols promenaded the planks with men in black bowler hats as a lone street musician played on an old wood cut guitar.

I am a poor wayfaring stranger

Traveling through this world alone

There is no sickness, toil, or danger

In that fair land to which I go

I know dark clouds will hover o'er me

I know my pathway is rough and steep

But golden fields lie out before me

Where weary eyes will no more weep

I'm just going home to see my mother

I'm going home, no more to roam

I am just going over Jordan

I am just going over home...

Mika stumbled over a warped plank and caught himself on the wooden handrail bordering the walk. The intense heat had his vision spinning and his head was throbbing in a way that made it hard for him to concentrate. He held onto the rails and tried to stand, but found that his knees had other plans for him. They buckled, giving way, as he slumped perilously toward the ground.

The music suddenly stopped with a errant Twang! "Hey! Are you okay?" said a young man's voice. A shadow fell across Mika's unnaturally pale face. He looked up to see the street musician, a young man in rolled shirtsleeves and open vest sporting long brown hair tied back in a high ponytail, staring down at him with concerned eyes. Mika let go of the rails and the musician yelled out, "Hey!" before catching him under his arms. The other boy's eyes widened when he saw all the dried blood covering Mika's clothes underneath the black coat. "Oh, shit," he muttered.

"It's not all mine," Mika murmured before completely passing out in the stranger's arms.

Mika woke to the sounds of crockery being banged about. He opened his eyes and found himself lying across a short, lumpy mattress that was flat on the ground. He grew a little concerned when he realized that most of his clothes were gone and his shirt was open. He slid a hand up his side, only to discovered a fresh bandage over the place where his wound was. His nose twitched. "Why do I smell like alcohol?" he croaked.

"Because that's all I had for disinfectant," answered a voice from across the room. Mika struggled into a sitting position and found himself staring across at the long haired street musician from the boardwalk. He was sitting in a rickety wooden chair at a table that had pieces missing from it. A bottle of gin sat on the table, which the young man picked up and took a swig from. "Sorry, it's all I had. Went and got it from the bar downstairs." He raised the bottle in mock salute and took another drink.

Mika looked around at the small, threadbare room. All it contained was the ruined table, a pair of chairs, the mattress, a sink, a guitar, and a set of cupboards. It was tiny and claustrophobic. "We're at a bar?" asked Mika groggily.

"I live above the bar. An Irish bar," said the musician, making a sour face as if he didn't quite approve of his own living arrangements. "I also live across from a couple who like to regularly hit the pipe, if you know what I mean. Gets kinda loud sometimes." When Mika didn't respond to this, the young man said, "I'm Narumi, by the way."

"I'm Mika." He paused, his eyes narrowing suspiciously at the other man. "Why are you helping me?"

The long haired boy leaned back in his chair and shrugged nonchalantly. "You looked like you needed help, so I helped..." He trailed off, staring into space. After a moment, he said, "Uh, can I ask you something?"

Mika rubbed tiredly at his eyes. "Sure," he croaked.

"Right before you passed out, you said, and I quote, 'all this blood isn't mine.' Care to elaborate on that?" It was now Narumi's turn to look at Mika with narrowed, suspicious eyes.

Mika just stared at the other boy. Then he said, as if it were of no more consequence than a simple comment on the weather: "I just murdered the man who raped me when I was thirteen."

Narumi froze. Then he carefully picked up a glass and poured some gin into and slid it across the table in Mika's direction. "Here, I think you need this more than me," he muttered to himself.

Mika got up and walked over to the table, sliding down into the chair across from Narumi. He picked up the glass of gin and downed it in one go. "He did a lot of other things, too," offered Mika quietly. "But that was the start of it."

"Sounds like a real piece of shit who got what was coming to him then," said Narumi pointedly. Mika turned his head, staring off at the one window in the room, it's broken panes half covered with a bedsheet. After a few moments of silence, Mika turned back to Narumi and said, "Where am I, exactly?"

Narumi arched an eyebrow at him. "You don't remember? You're in Charleston, South Carolina."

Mika closed his eyes and nodded, remembering. "And can you tell me where the richest neighborhood is located?"

"The richest?" pondered Narumi. "Oh, well, that would be Battery Park, just South of Broad."

"And the best shopping district?"

"King Street. We're currently on Market. Runs perpendicular. Why are you asking me all this?"

Mika looked at Narumi blankly. "Because I need to land on my feet. And fast. I also need a plan of attack. So first, I'm going to take what money I have left on me and buy a new suit of clothes. A really good suit, from this King Street you just mentioned. It would be great if you showed me the way. And then, after I'm sure I'm looking like a million bucks, I'm going to go out to this, uh, what did you call it, Battery something-"

"-Battery Park," said Narumi. "It's right on the water. Has the best view in all of Charleston. Has all the rich mansions, too."

"I'm going to go out to Battery Park and try to find myself a decent mark."

Narumi crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair. "Are you talking about-" Narumi left off, giving Mika a chance to refute what he was about to say. When Mika just smiled at him, Narumi said. "Hustling. You're talking about hustling."

"Yes."

"I play in the park regularly. There's already a lot of that going on down there."

"Oh, good, so you're knowledgeable about the area and what goes on there. Excellent. Your intel will prove invaluable."

"Intel? Mark? Plan of attack?" Narumi snorted. "You make this sound like some kind of military operation you're running here."

"It's pretty much the same concept," replied Mika pointedly. "I just need a good opening, and to make some rich, decent connections-"

"-and then what?"

Mika smiled at him, but the smile didn't hold any warmth. "And then...I'm going to burn through this Battery the same way General Sherman burned through Atlanta…"