"I see," Toma whispered softly, as he reached over and grabbed another folder from the side. "They sound like wonderful people."

"Y-yeah." the boy murmured then, uncomfortable writhing his fingers from one hand to the next. "They were."

Toma then withdraws two photographs from the file. He places them in front of Akira, the two figures jolting the boy's memory. He looks hard at their faces, and at that moment, his pupils never left their tranquil expressions. His brain begins rewinding itself, days, weeks, months, all of which meant little along morality's strict timeline. Emotions that were already slipping away from his closely guarded mindset grew more torrential, to the point where everything revealed their agonizing struggles. "So can you tell me about your friends?"

Akira blinked, the tension building from within his muscles. He took a deep breath, and calmed himself. "They're dead."

"Yes, I know they died. I'm asking you what they were like when they were still alive."

The boy narrowed his eyes. "Why do you want to know about that? I mean, shouldn't you focus more on the people who survived?"

"I am."

"Huh?"

Toma stares at the two with a serious frown. His fingers kept tapping the white outlines of the photographs, his dark corneas examining every hidden emotion both Natsuno and Megumi brushed aside. He bites his lip, and seemed a bit reluctant to continue on. However, he pushed his doubts away, and, from Akira's standpoint, continued to trust the boy's maturity to lead the investigation. "There are still a couple of bodies police are trying to identify, but the number of casualties we've gotten is around 1300. However, so far none of the evidence we've gathered from Sotoba matches their DNA specifically. Also, a few people actually came out and said they've seen these two walking around at night."

"The whole mountainside burned to the ground," Akira said stubbornly. "I don't think either Megumi or Natsuno made it out alive."

"No place to hide, right?"

"Right!" Akira's eyes fell back to the pictures, at his friends' faces, before resolution settled in his mind. "They'd never do something like that. They aren't killers."

"You've got a lot of faith in them."

"Besides," he continued, "how could they do anything? Once you're dead, you're dead."

Toma cocked his head. "You've seen their bodies?"

"No, but the other villagers were talking about it…"

His voice faltered, recalling the gruesome, horrific conversations the village men delved in. He remembered clearly the stakes in their hands, their killing intent glistening throughout the darkness. He could still see every single smile that crossed their faces, every little cheer they made when one of those monsters were killed. Obsessed with tradition, devoted only to their civilization's mindset, they played by their own rules, eliminating whoever stood in their way, while the paranoia clawed through their souls. Akira, unfortunately, was one of the many who became swept in those unstable emotions.

He straightened then. "I know they're dead. Those people probably just got them confused with someone else."

Toma smirked. "So what would happen if they were alive in the end? What would you do if you found out they were the serial killers?"

That immature sense of justice found its way to the boy's heart, and as he reminisced on his past days with Megumi, his brief but fierce moments with Natsuno, he hardened his will. "I don't think they'd want to live like that," he answered. "I think they'd rather die."

"You'd be the one to execute them?"

Akira clenched his fists, and gulped. But before he could answer, Toma held up his hand, stopping him altogether. "Sorry, I got a little carried away. Your story was just so fascinating, I guess I got caught up in all of it."

The boy relaxed, unaware of how uncomfortable he was during those moments. "N-no, it's alright."

"Let's get back to the subject then," he requested, as he grabbed the photographs hastily. He shoved them back into the folder, then placed his elbows on the table, his analytical smile returning to the interrogation. Akira's gaze lingered upon that folder for a while, but somehow, he managed to tear himself away it, and proceeded with the peculiar session. "The okiagari. That's what you called them?"

"Y-yes."

"Have they always been there?"

"No," he answered. "Like I said, the Kirishikis started the whole thing."

"So they moved in?"

"Yeah. They lived in a really big house. It looked so gloomy and sad, and everyone kept talking about how weird they were. I've never seen them before, but a lot of the neighbors did."

"What made you think they were behind the incident?"

"Because before they arrived, everyone was fine," he said confidently. "When they came, people started dying left and right. At first, we all thought it was just some summer cold, but when even healthy people started getting sick, the villagers started wondering what was going on. It's not like we've got some fatal disease or anything, so-"

"You used the Kirishikis as scapegoats, right?"

Akira shook his head. "I didn't."

"Then how did-?"

"The adults say Dr. Ozaki found out about it," he answered. "He managed to figure out everything about them, right before the village burned down."

"Huh," Toma murmured, writing the fact down on the folder before returning to the conversation. Akira stared at the elegant handwriting, the ink trailing across the light background. "If I asked your sister this, would she say the same thing?"

"Definitely."

"So the Kirishikis died, correct?"

"It's true."

"I still don't get it Akira," Toma said then. "We've got a theory now, but what does this have to do with the serial killer? You think something might've followed you out of the village?"

Akira balled his fists. What else could there be, really? So he nodded. "I'm not making this up."

"I know. You don't seem like a person who'd lie about stuff like this. You're a good kid, aren't you?"

Akira breathed a relieved sigh, that old spark of wonder coming back into his system. "I mean, someone had to know. Because we didn't tell anyone, Mr. Saito died-"

"It's not your fault. I doubt he'd believe you anyways. It's already hard enough to find the bad guys. Asking someone to believe your story is kind of like telling a person to fall off Mt. Fuji and guaranteeing they won't break a rib or two. You understand, right?"

"I…guess I do." He looked up. He didn't want to leave, but at the same time, Mori-san was probably starting to wonder where he was, Kaori too. "Is that it then?" he asked. "Should I just…?"

"Don't worry; we're done." Akira hid the disappointment from his face deftly as he stood. He slipped an arm into the sleeves and grabbed his scarf. "But before you go, I'd like to ask you one last question."

Akira instantly beamed brightly at his newfound friend. "What?" he asked, unable to conceal the smile from his face.

"Do you love Kaori?"

"Of course!" he answered happily, as he wrapped the scarf around his neck. "I mean, she's my sister! What kind of question is that? Wait…"

"It's nothing like that," Toma added calmly. "I was just curious. I mean, if you love someone, you're going to want to protect them, right?"

"That's right. You do whatever you have to to keep them safe." After all, she was probably the only one left, the only thing that tied Akira back to the peaceful life the two of them shared. It wasn't an arrangement he complained about, and though it was difficult now, in the end it'll be worth it. He just knew it.

"Correct. So just promise me this, alright? Aside from me and the police, you won't tell anyone else about the okiagari, alright? We don't want to freak anyone else out after all."

"Right."


Natsuno stared out the window, his arms to his side, his body leaning back against the dark, bloody curtains. The cool, icy air that was still embedded into his disposition, reflected off to the outside world without much hesitation, or delight for that matter. The silhouette which stemmed gracelessly from his frame kept careful track of the shadows around him, as the forlorn atmosphere continued on within the city streets, never once stopping to see the corruption within it. Far off lights danced along the tunes of noisy car engines, and cacophonous melodies erupted from the nearby red-light districts, all the while staving off the inevitable dread of morning's light. Even from here, he felt those careless vibrations, the howling wind pounding against the glass.

He scans the busy crowds, seeking out unrecognizable faces, delving, once again, in his usual, meticulous searching. He sees a family walking down below, with a child who was pointing upwards toward the skyscrapers, jubilantly asking who lived there, who worked there. There were a few police officers wandering about, ignoring the disgusted looks from their unusually hostile audience, as well as some teachers, all of whom were ready to throw away their careers if only for a single night of fun. Groups of teenagers shivered along the arctic breeze, and lovers were hounded by their beloveds into nearby stores, doing whatever they could to stay warm within the troubled moments. He could even make out a few of the yakuza, who were now aimlessly walking through the city, unsure of where they were supposed to be, what they were doing.

"Yuuki?"

Slowly, he lifted his gaze toward Shimizu, who was working on yet another design for a pressing deadline. A famous male idol in the UK requested it, so her boss decided to allow her to work on her own, despite the fact so many assistants were anxiously waiting to be picked up by the famed designer. She'd been complaining about the task long enough to make him, at the very least, memorize the cause of her headaches. "What is it?" he asked.

"Haru came by today." she answered, as she continued working on the sketches.

Once again, he turned his attention elsewhere. "I know."

"He wanted to apologize for not visiting. Apparently, he still had a lot of school work he had to do."

Natsuno remained silent for a bit, before smirking. "He never was a good liar, was he?"

"I suppose not," she chuckled painfully. He heard her put down one pen and pick up another, redrawing the exquisite sketch, the utmost care steadily balancing within her fingertips. "This is the second time he's done that, right?"

"Yeah," he acknowledged quietly, moving past his reflection to see the still dimly lit offices near the edge of the fashion district. Emotionlessly, he observed the procession of shadows dancing about the gray pavement, the white stripes glaring up at the onlookers as they walked on by, no cares in the world. "When he came in, he smelled a bit like Toma, didn't he?"

At that instant, the scratching stop. Natsuno felt Shimizu's eyes bore his back, the tense silence drawing in the two with its callous nature. A few minutes later, she turned away. "Do you remember the school fashion show, and that boy lying on the rooftop?"

"Do you still think Kaori's got something to do with this?" he asked. "From Ken's perspective, she's innocent."

Shimizu scoffed. "It was clear that boy was trying to kill her, and when I ran into Kaori that night, our Yuki was in on the game."

"Kaori came with Haru to that other show too, didn't she? An hour later, police squads rammed the tent and caused everything to crash and burn."

"I met Toma then."

Natsuno tore his gaze away from the window, and stared at Shimizu, who was coloring in her design, her back guarding her empty expressions.

That's right; she did, didn't she? And when he finally found her, she was already gouging out her own organs, the tears profusely cascading down her face. Perhaps her sudden interest in suicide afterwards was what surprised him the most, that feral creature reduced to a whimpering victim with nowhere else to hide. "Do you remember anything?" he found himself inquiring.

"A nightmare. I never got to thank you-"

"It's fine," he dismissed. "What was the nightmare about?"

"I don't remember all the details, but I saw Kaori there. Mom and dad too, and the rest of the villagers." she answered, as she set down her pencil to examine the artwork she created, the masterful piece lying before her happily. She stayed quiet for only a second, then picked up her eraser and tore away the sleeves.

He tilted his head a bit, his piercing orbs meeting the darkened hearth from afar, entranced by her monotonous tone. Yet at the same time, the shock came before him so easily, his own nightmare relaying from behind his shrouded sins. He closed his eyes for a moment, then stared at the curtains front of him, which took the form of tenebrous glass falling subtly from reality's edge. "I had that same dream."

"What'd you think of it?"

"It was a trial," he explained. "I remembered seeing Tooru there. He was the judge, but I don't think I ever got a sentence."

She set down her eraser then. Calmly, she placed both hands on the drawing and pushed it aside, and from the corner of his eyes, he caught her reflection gazing at the door. "I never got one either," she replied, the black returning to her eyes. "What was Tooru like anyways? Was he anything like Haru?"

He closed his eyes, weariness overcoming his thoughts then. "Where's this coming from?"

"I…he looked like him. That's all."

Neither hostility nor anger clouded her voice, and for some reason, Natsuno didn't hesitate on answering. He merely recalled those old, broken ties he had with his friend, the significant hours spent with him wearily replaying within the contents of his mind.

"He wasn't anything like him," he said inexpressively, albeit the twinge of remorse left remaining on his tongue. "Everyone liked him. He was my best friend, so we hung out a lot."

"…I see."

Natsuno kept on, the pale moonlight staring him down. "He wasn't broken. He was always friendly, someone you could easily open up to. Whenever you were in trouble, you could always count on him to be there, no matter how annoyed or upset you are. He cared about his friends and family."

He smiled at the memory, and though that demonic ghoul remained attached, Natsuno didn't allow it to discourage what little contentment he had left towards the village. "He had a crush on Ritsuko. She was a nurse who worked at Dr. Ozaki's clinic."

"He liked someone?"

"That's right. He was too scared to ask her out, since she was older, so he wanted me to go with him." His voice faltered, remembering the board that carried the two shikis, the resignation both had on their faces. It was an informal goodbye, one that couldn't satisfy that faraway dream Tooru had in mind. "He was always a bit of an idiot, but he was good."

Again, the quiet came between the two. Natsuno stared out into the city, the background changing with each swing the pendulum carried. Different people came out of different restaurants, with a variety of stories from which their memories depended on. Scratches of color filled the silence, but before long, even that too faded.

"He sounds nice." she said silently.

"He was."

"So what about now?" Shimizu asked. "What about Haru and Kaori? And everyone else who survived? Would they feel the same way?"

"I doubt it," he chuckled emptily. "Sotoba's a cancer everyone wants to forget, a horror story no one wants to see. In the end, it'll fade out of existence; it'll take along with it those precious traditions, and dig its own grave."

"A backwoods village. That's all that place will ever be, I guess."

Natsuno flickered his eyes toward the shiki. He pushed himself away from the wall then, his attention carefully trained on her, a trace of mourning entwined within the backbone of her words. "You don't mean that."

"Yuuki, everything I've done I've done to get away from that place," she stated bitterly. " I hate Kaori because she represented everything I hated about Sotoba. I followed the Kirishikis because I wanted to survive, and somehow make it to the big city. Even before that, I had this ridiculous goal in mind about being scouted and then spending all my time in night clubs. And the dresses here?" she continues, shoving up the crumpled papers in her hand. "Whenever I dress up, everyone would just laugh at me for it. I hated them. I hated them so much and I was happy when they were all dead."

I'm sorry.

That very phrase echoed from the depths of his mind, as did her frightened guilt, her own, projected fears instilling themselves within that deep, dark chasm they both called sanity. He could recall her shame, the desperation everything she could possibly have thought of, if only for a bit more time to remain in that comfortable abyss. Crying, pleading, demanding she be spared from the pain of judgement, but in the end, no one heeded her prayers. And he couldn't help but wonder a bit, asking himself the same, sinful question, the hedonistic freedom of humanity knocking at their doors.

It's not my fault.

Slowly, he made his way toward her, his footsteps a steady rhythm, differing so very sharply from the now dying car honks. He leaned over,catching a glimpse of the latest design.

"The cross should go on the waist."

Shimizu blinked, looking down at her paper. "What?"

"The cross should go on the waist." Natsuno repeated, as he set himself next to her.

Wordlessly, she corrected the mistake.