I scramble after Mother, jumping into the middle of the pavement outside our house, watching as she carries that sharp knife in her left hand.
There is absolutely no way I can let Mother do this, there will be witnesses for sure. There's no one outside at this time right now, but with the screams and sounds that Mother will make happen. This is far too reckless, and even though I could have sworn that Mother's eyes had been glowing, it's obvious that I have to be the one to stop her. I trip over the stairs on my way down, chasing Mother and trying to grab onto her arm, but I quickly regain my balance and rush up to her, hoping that I can convince her to go back inside.
The knife in Mother's hand flashes, reflecting the light from the street lamps still active, and glimmers ominously through the night. She crosses the road almost immediately, shifting through the darkness of the night like a shadow, and I watch helplessly as a figure slowly steps out of the car that Mother is advancing towards. Mother finally reaches a halt but doesn't show any signs of displacing her murderous intent. The figure that stepped out of the car doesn't seem intimidated, and as he took off a brown hat on his head and revealed his face, I knew for sure that it is the Journalist. His sharp, rough features shaded in the dark but his deep voice echoes clearly to us.
"Look how old you've become." Is the first thing the Journalist remarks to my Mother, his full appearance still mostly hidden by the night and the thick coat around himself.
Somehow, he seems to be completely composed and stoic, not even shaking like I am. Is he putting on a false front? Or is he actually not scared of the woman with the knife in her hand?
Mother continues to remain still. The way the knife is held in her hand shows that she's ready to lung forward and attack at any moment, but her face itself shows no expression. I watch silently as muscles pulsate and move around under Mother's skin, curling and bulging out, showing just how strong she is. I was never aware of that. She shoots a glare back at the Journalist, her grip tightening on the kitchen knife, and she completely ignores me standing behind her. Someone will pass by at any moment, we are all going to be arrested at this rate, but my curiosity of seeing these two people talk together like this keeps me from interfering for now.
"I gave you two chances to leave my husband and I alone, but you keep coming back for more? Well then, this time I'll be sure to get rid of you for good." Mother hisses back, hatred dripping from her tongue. It's not the kind of voice she has ever talked to me with, she's a completely different person right now.
I glance momentarily at my left hand, it is still shaking with fear. It's absolutely absurd. Why am I suddenly so afraid? Something like this shouldn't even faze me, but the ominous aura emitting from Mother is forcing this kind of fear out of me without any of my own consent. I cannot be afraid like this. I shouldn't be afraid.
But for whatever reason, perhaps the glowing eyes I am seeing Mother wield, I am terrified.
"I haven't just come for you," The Journalist mutters back, his attention turning towards me. "I have come for your entire kind."
"Is this because of the loss of your career? That's why you're still bothering me?" Mother grunts back with irritation, as though speaking to a child now.
"You took everything from me. My life, my work, my reputation."
"Oh, boo-hoo." Mother whispers back mockingly.
"And now, with the allies I have supporting my every move, I shall rid this world of your kind once and for all." The Journalist growls, ignoring Mother's mockery.
The knife in Mother's hand flashes again in the light, curling around playfully in Mother's grasp.
"Come on then, rid the world of me."
For a moment, I expect the Journalist to jump forward and fight my Mother. A clash between old enemies, that knife in Mother's hand to cut into some flesh. A small part of me actually wants to witness something like that happen, even though we would all be exposed because of something so foolish.
However, the Journalist doesn't attack. For the longest time, he simply stands there in the darkness, facing Mother, and saying absolutely nothing.
Too afraid to move, perhaps? Or was planning on a fight in the first place?
"I won't kill you now," The Journalist grumbles, taking a few cautious steps back. "My allies will take care of you soon enough."
But Mother refuses to let him retreat. With every step he takes backwards, Mother takes another daring step forward. The Journalist's right hand reaches behind him and gropes for the door handle of his car, his emotionless face finally showing signs of uncertainty and worry. It's clear now, he wasn't expecting Mother to come forward like this and ask for a fight, he must have originally planned to escape before we got close.
"Oh, you're not going anywhere. Let's have our little showdown right here and now."
"You're insane," The Journalist hisses back to Mother, still walking worriedly backwards, his deep voice cutting through the ominous atmosphere. "We're out in the streets, in public. You'll be exposed if you attack me."
"Better than letting you leave to annoy me again later, I've given you enough chances to leave me be. I'll just pretend like this was self-defence or I'll just twist the truth another way, you know I can. Either way, I'm not resting until your blood is on my knife."
I remain cautiously behind Mother. She…really thinks a lot like me.
She feels the frustration of letting a target walk away. She's always thinking ahead of her murders, knowing that even a murder on the spot can be covered so that you remain safe. I stare at Mother with a new light as she approaches the Journalist more and more. I no longer see an irritating, lovesick parent. I now see something I never thought I would ever see in Mother.
I see myself.
"D-Don't do this." The Journalist stutters anxiously, his hands now held defensively in front of himself. His words don't seem to reach Mother, but he attempts to convince her anyway.
My urge to stop this before they really start fighting is now gone. I know that someone might walk into these streets and witness this at any moment, but I don't care anymore. This man has been a pain in my back this whole time, and seeing Mother as a reflection of me now, I don't want to get in the way of her slaughter. I stand back and watch silently as Mother goes in for the kill.
Mother lungs forward, thrusting her knife at the Journalist in hopes of getting a clean cut through his stomach, but the Journalist steps backwards just in time. He growls as the knife flashes before him, his own hands are empty and he has absolutely nothing to fight with. He glances back at his brown car, parked just a few steps away, probably considering if he can run to it and drive away before Mother can strike again, but Mother gives him no time for that.
She slashes forward again, this time aiming for his head, and the Journalist falls over and loses his balance as he dodges it. He frantically tries to get back to his feet but Mother kicks him in the chin, throwing him onto his ground, and then she steps over him and holds her kitchen knife in both hands. She's going straight for the chest, and the Journalist pants weakly as he watches her swing the knife downwards
At the last moment, just as the edge of the knife reaches his shirt, he catches Mother's hands and grips them with his own, struggling to pull the knife out of her hands. What do I do? Do I help?
I can't just stand here and watch Mother fight this man, I have to step in as well.
Just before the Journalist can take Mother's knife, I rush over to him and swing my left foot backwards and smash it right into his face, causing him to coil backwards and howl in agony. He finally gets to his feet again and stares at both Mother and I, his eyes full of anger but fear at the same time. He wasn't confident about his chances of fighting Mother, but he knows for certainty that he cannot hope to hurt the both of us together. Mother glances at her knife, still present in her hands, and then looks back at me with a grateful expression.
"Thank you, dearie. That was very brave of you." She says to me and I try my best to hide my roll of the eyes back at her, I've gone through a hell of a lot worse than kicking someone in the face.
"You fools, my allies…will not stand for this." The Journalist growls back at the both of us before I can respond to Mother. He is holding his nose and I see dark blood oozing out of his nostrils.
Not going to lie, that must really hurt.
"So, you've got dangerous friends, have you? Good. Killing you will send a good example to them and show them that we are not people to be messed with."
When hearing those words, the Journalist throws away any sense of pride he has and lunges for the door to his car. Both Mother and I are startled, not expecting him to just run away like that, and I react first by running towards the car as well. He can't just be a coward and run away, this fight isn't over yet.
I reach the car door first but the Journalist grabs me by my left arm and chucks me aside, and before I know it I'm on my back, feeling the cold ground beneath me. I didn't know he's this strong. I jump to my feet and grab his arms as he tries to open the door, but he attempts to shake me off. Feeling my grip on him loosen, I decide that the desperate times call for desperate measures. I open my mouth and bite onto the hand he is trying to open his car with, squeezing my teeth and sinking them into his fingers, hearing him shriek and cry out in pain. I've never had the taste of human flesh in my mouth, but I can say with certainty now that I do not enjoy the sensation, but I don't loosen my bite on him to keep him from escaping.
While I'm biting on his hand, Mother comes from behind and digs her knife deep into his shoulder, causing him to scream out even more and kick me in the gut, and I collapse to the ground and have trouble breathing.
The gut.
Why is it always the gut? Why does everyone always hit me in the one place that hurts like hell?
Now, only needing to deal with Mother while I'm gasping on the ground, the Journalist forces the knife out of his shoulder blade and shoves Mother away with whatever strength he has left. He now has the knife in his hands, but seeing it covered with his own blood, he knows that fighting any further will end terribly for him. He glances at Mother and I for a few seconds before finally opening the car door and leaping inside.
Everything is a daze but the sounds of car tires screeching echo throughout the street and I watch from the ground as that damned brown car drives off with the Journalist inside. We let him escape. He got away and we failed.
Mother is motionless and she doesn't help me up. She's facing the other way, staring down the road that the Journalist had escaped by, and I realize that I'm going to have to lift myself up. I groan as I get to my feet, every part of my body is sore and I have a terrible pain in my hand. I wipe my left hand over my forehead, just wanting to wipe away any sweat on it but my eyes widen as I see blood on my hand instead. My head is bleeding.
Suddenly, all the adrenaline that has collected up in my body is drained out and I feel myself drop to my knees. I press my hand against my forehead to check again, and as I suspected, there's more blood coming out. Bleeding from your head cannot be good can it? Maybe I should…tell Mother…or…
The world around me gradually fades and I feel my eyes getting heavy, in my last seconds I groan and reach out a hand to Mother before finally collapsing on the ground and losing my consciousness.
The pavement around me becomes stained with my blood as I faint.
Waking up from something like that is terrifying and shakes you, and that's exactly what happened to me.
I leap upwards from a lying position and glance at my surroundings. I'm in bed, in my bedroom.
There's a thick bandage wrapped around my head, and as I trace my fingers across it, I realize it's still wet from my blood. Mother is standing by my bed, her arms folded and an unreadable expression on her face. I wait for her to say something but she remains silent. I suppose I'm going to have to be the one to talk first, huh?
"My head hurts." Is the only thing I can think of to say to her. Everything still feels like it's spinning around me uncontrollably, and I have a terrible case of nausea.
"A wound opened on the right side of your head, but it wasn't deep, you'll be fine." Mother responds quietly, not showing signs of worry like I would expect her to be doing.
She used to be a clingy kind of parent, worrying sick about their child all the time, but she's no longer doing that now. It seems like it was all an act, being that kind of person. That incident with the Journalist last night might have ended in defeat, but now I'm finally starting to see what person Mother truly is. I'm uncertain whether or not I'm ready to learn this yet, but the curiosity I'm feeling is forcing me to push forward regardless.
"You and that man are old enemies, aren't you?" I whisper, gradually sliding out of my sheets and standing on my feet, the pain in my injured foot seeping back into me with an unpleasant sensation.
"Yes," Mother answers back without hesitation. "It's been going on since the incident that occurred at your school many years ago."
"…you're the girl that was accused of murder…aren't you?" I frown as I look at her, trying to find even the smallest sign of a reaction on her face. There isn't one.
"I am. I was accused of killing another female classmate."
"Did you? Did you kill her?"
Finally, Mother shows an expression.
The problem is it's the exact kind of expression I didn't expect to see on her face as a response to my question.
"Oh, I wouldn't use the word 'kill'. I just…disposed of her." She mutters back with a large grin, her eyes staring directly into mine. "You've been following the same line of work yourself, haven't you?"
"How do you know?"
"There's no other reason the Journalist would be after you otherwise."
Interesting.
Mother calls that man 'the Journalist' as well. Does it mean she doesn't know his name or she just prefers to call him that? Either way, it doesn't seem like she's willing to tell me his real name even if she knows it herself. More work for Info-chan then.
"He told me he wants to kill our 'kind'. What did he mean by that?"
"People like us that are in love with someone and are willing to do anything to get to them. That is what he means by our kind."
"There are people like me out there?"
Another smile appeared on Mother's face, this one seeming a lot more calm and light-hearted, as though she's teaching a child about the ways of the world itself. She scratches the back of her head and shrugs.
"Sure, why not? There's people every day that are helplessly in love with someone, the only difference between us is the methods we use to get to our lover."
I pause. That reminds me, Mother is the girl from the incident. I need answers from that. Info-chan said it herself, that case could be exactly what I need to get rid of the Journalist once and for all. And knowing that Mother understands me and my feelings, at least to a certain extent, makes it a lot easier to talk to her about it.
And on top of that, she's the heart of that incident, she's the very centre of it, so she must know all about what happened.
"What was that incident about, anyway? Was it just about the murder of one student?" I gather up my courage and ask Mother, and once again she decides to answer me casually.
"Of course not. Why would the authorities act so antsy and cowardly about one incident if it was just about one murder? It's infamous because it brought the police down to their knees."
"How so?"
Mother grins.
"The incident is officially referred to as 'The Youth Nightmare'." Mother explains with her eyes closed, probably enjoying thinking back to her past. "One day, a schoolgirl was found dead in Akademi High's bathrooms, and the police only had one suspect."
"You," I whisper slowly, lingering onto every word that comes out of Mother's mouth.
"Yes, I had dropped my guard and the police had accused me of the murder. They took me straight to court and tried to label me as the murderer of that young girl. The problem was, they didn't have enough evidence to win that court case."
"Where did the Journalist come into this?"
"He came after that. After the police had been shamed for trying to arrest a young girl like me with no evidence, they had one last attempt to accuse me of the murder. They secretly brought in the Journalist to collect evidence against me."
"Was he able to?"
"Unfortunately, yes. He's a fool but he's very good at his job. He actually used to be a detective before I took that title away from him. He followed me around secretly from the shadows and eventually gathered up enough evidence to file another court case against me."
Mother pauses her storytelling for a moment and wanders slowly over to my bedroom's windows, staring out of it blankly. She takes in a deep breath and her smile fades, no longer seeming confident in front of me.
"It was close," She continues quietly, not looking at me. "They almost found me guilty, they had nearly defeated me…but…"
"But?" I repeat back anxiously.
"But the people were on my side. They could never believe that an ordinary schoolgirl could ever be capable of murder, and with the fake, innocent act I was putting on, they desperately wanted to set me free and find me not guilty."
"The people helped you?"
"Yes. In front of everyone I was crying my eyes out, saying how I was innocent and that the police want to take my entire lift away from me. The country itself shed a tear at my act, and eventually I was found innocent."
"And that brought the police to their knees?"
"Exactly." Mother sighs, looking back at me again. "They had accused a young schoolgirl of cold-blooded murder and were shamed by everyone. They had never been so weakened. Because of their failure, to this day, they're still afraid of investigating murders at schools, and the Journalist lost everything."
"So, it's revenge that the Journalist wants." I whisper to myself, my own arms folded now.
"He never got over The Youth Nightmare. It still eats away at him and he's sworn to kill me no matter what. And if what he said about having powerful friends is true…"
"He'll be a formidable foe?" I finish for Mother, thinking I've finally gotten into her head, but she returns a cheeky smile and shakes her head.
"No, he'll be a pain in the ass."
This is the point where a normal family would laugh happily together or just have a silly chuckle, but Mother and I aren't like that and she simply nods her head at me and leaves my bedroom.
I don't mind. We're just not like that. We are similar in many ways, but we don't feel that kind of affection towards each other, we're just a family because that's how things turned out. Still, it's good to know that we are the same inside, and that we've both done similar things for our lover. I wonder just how many people she has killed? It would be interesting to know.
I glare back at the clock resting next to the Senpai Shrine, it's nearly time for school. I should get changed and leave soon.
But even walking my way to the wardrobe is a challenge right now. The injury that I received while fighting Hanako hasn't gotten any better, and now with the injury on my head, I have never felt weaker. Mother carried me all the way to my bedroom while I was unconscious and attended to that wound, but did she see the one on my left foot? I pull up my sock and look at it, it doesn't look like it has healed all that much, and from the pain I'm feeling I can also guess that it isn't getting better anytime soon.
Great, now I've got a cut on my forehead and a hole in my ankle, isn't this just wonderful. Just in the perfect condition to kill Hanako once and for all.
I sigh.
For now, I suppose I should just go to school and check up on the situation. Some things may have changed since Hanako got attacked, maybe she won't show up. If that's the case, then I can finally spend time with my beloved Senpai again. Taking photos, admiring him from afar, watching him sweat during Exercise Practice…I'll be in heaven once more.
I throw on my school uniform, tie my hair up, look at the wound in my left ankle one last time, and finally head off to school. I decide to take a taxi again, ignoring the small talk that the driver attempts to give me, and stop at around the area near my school. Stopping a block away from the school might seem a little strange, but with everything going on, I need to clear my mind and a walk is exactly what I can use for that.
I step out the taxi and begin to walk. The weather has started to get colder and colder as we're almost at December. It'll be Christmas soon, won't it? Hopefully I'll be able to get special pictures of Senpai dressed up as something, now that would be the perfect Christmas gift.
I stare at the road beside the pavement I'm walking on, there are absolutely no cars passing by. Peculiar. This early in the morning people should be rushing to school or work, but there are no cars to see at all. And now that I notice it, there aren't many houses around me either, just wooden fences and broken down huts. This…isn't the place I asked the taxi driver to take me, this isn't a street I recognize. Did he take a wrong turn? I can't even see the school in the distance.
Where am I?
A sharp howl pierces through the air. A dog. Nothing to be worried about.
But it still startles me.
I begin walking faster, gradually picking up my pace. Wherever I've been dropped off by the taxi, it must be further away from Akademi High than I thought. I should keep moving. This area isn't emitting a good atmosphere towards me.
The barks of savage dogs echo around me but I keep moving normally, the pain in my left ankle still here to drive me insane. Whatever neighbourhood I've fallen into, getting out of here is my top priority now. I pull out my phone and stare at the screen, I have no signal to call anyone. Great, the one time I would actually call Info-chan and my phone can't receive any signal. My feet splash in the damp puddles that have accumulated along the pavement like landmines, causing my socks to go moist and my left ankle's injury to sting even more, but I insist on moving faster.
A stick snaps.
A figure moves in the background.
Another howl. Another bark.
This isn't right. I did not expect this. I've studied maps over and over again to find different routes to Senpai's house, but this street is completely new to me. I am not ready for this, this is a miscalculation, and miscalculations are unacceptable. I have to leave this place and gain a clear understanding of where I am.
Around me I finally see a few people. Homeless people from the looks of it. Disarrayed clothing, torn shoes, dark and dirty faces and hands. They glare at me with hungry eyes, for once I'm sticking out in the crowd, and I am not enjoying it in the slightest.
I avoid eye contact and keep moving, eventually reaching a wall of fences at the end of the pavement and a bridge looming over me. Who places a fence over the area leading to the next street? Do people just bypass this place with the bridge above? It doesn't make any sense, and I don't see an entrance for reaching that bridge, it bypasses completely over this street with no way to enter it from here. The best course of action now is to trace my steps backwards and find the other end of this street, that should solve this.
For some reason, I really wish I had my kitchen knife right now.
I hear more steps circulating around me ominously, but I cannot see anyone close to me. It doesn't intimidate me. I move at a normal pace now. There's nothing to worry about, this is just a street representing the suburbs, there is nothing to worry about at all.
Shadows continue to stare at me from a distance, their eyes glued to me, but I walk fast enough to leave their line of sight as soon as possible. Just keep moving. Don't stay in one place. Keep moving and don't stop. I don't need any trouble.
A man walks out of one corner and advances towards me, I glare at him, ready to fight, but he looks like an old man and he doesn't attack me. He simply raises his top hat, revealing a wrinkled and tired face with bright blue eyes, he smiles crooked teeth at me and holds out his hand.
"Excuse me, do you have a lighter?"
I remain silent for a moment. He has a limp and he's wearing a normal sweatshirt, he must be in his sixties. He's no threat to me at all.
"No, I don't." I eventually respond to him. Why would he think that a schoolgirl would have a lighter? Is that just how bad this neighbourhood is?
I walk off, stepping around him, and keep moving, but his gruff voice echoes behind me.
"Ah, wait young lady…" He trails off, his voice weak and pathetic, I keep walking. Some old man isn't going to slow me down.
"You dropped your cat mask." He finishes and I freeze in my position, my heart suddenly stopping.
An image of the café flashes inside my mind, going back to when I wore a cat mask and tried to attack Hanako. I wore that mask to hide my identity and then tried to kill her inside the changing room. How does that man know about that? I turn around, half expecting the cat mask I used on that day to be on the ground, but of course it isn't. I disposed of it that night.
The old man grins at my surprised expression. I haven't dropped anything, he's just telling me that he knows, and as a knowing smile spreads slowly across his face I realize that he is in fact trouble. He knows that I was the one wearing the cat mask that night.
"What? You really thought you could just get away with something so ballsy as attacking someone in public? We watched you, Ayano Aishi. We have been watching for a long time now." He speaks again, this time in a much different voice. It's deep and threatening, but what can an old man do to me in the middle of an alleyway?
"You can't lay a finger on me, whoever you are." I hiss back at him, taking a few steps away. If he's one of the powerful friends that the Journalist had talked about, then I should leave as soon as possible.
"I'm not going to lay a finger on you, he is." The old man chuckles as he looks pass me.
And that's the moment I realize someone has been standing behind me.
I try to turn around and see who it is but large arms grip tightly onto my neck before I can do so. I gasp and cough, desperately searching for air, but a tissue covers itself over my mouth. With everything I've got, I try to bite into the tissue to rip it apart and let me breathe, but a familiar smell enters my lungs.
It's chloroform.
No, I cannot go unconscious in the hands of my enemies.
I'll get out of this man's grip, I'll tear him to pieces.
I'll…
I will…
Ayano Aishi then collapsed and went unconscious. The man that had subdued her stood back and gave way to the old man, looking pleased with himself.
The old man grinned at the unconscious Aishi and pulled out a cigarette, puffing on it a few times as he watched his sleek, black limousine pull over on the side, with several of his assistances stepping out and standing beside the old man, awaiting their next commands.
"Sir?" One of the men in a black tuxedo asked of the old man, his arms respectfully behind his side.
The assistances were circled around Aishi's body, standing there and waiting for the commands of their boss.
And eventually, the old man finished his cigarette, tossed it aside, and waved his hand dismissively at his men.
"Put her in the trunk."