15

The following two weeks were insane.

I was discharged from the hospital a few days after being admitted. There'd been threats to send me to an institution, but the threats soon dissipated.

Not even the mental health services cared about me anymore. Not that I was complaining, I hated the mental health services.

When I returned home, Pasha was waiting for me. He hadn't been joking, and was even starting to move in.

I spent my few days off from work in bed or at Shinjuku. I was so tired, and I saw little point in existing without exercise. I just watched Trev or did my schoolwork all day.

I'm like a cat, really. I mean, I'm arrogant, self-absorbed, I like doing my own thing, and I can watch a goldfish all day.

To my horror, the doctor said I couldn't have any rough sex for six weeks. That meant no more one night stands or female clients.

At least my hands and mouth were OK.

I refused to not exercise, so throughout the weeks I took part in whatever I could—mostly upper body and ab workouts, some with weights, I admit.

Pasha tried to stop me, but he gave up. He was a very good roommate. He didn't leave his stuff everywhere, he cleaned up after himself, he asked permission to use things; he was great.

He even brought his own weightlifting equipment, (which I hoped I could steal when I was recovered).

He had a little Pomeranian—Alexei—who was the sweetest little thing I'd ever met, and a parrot, Kiwi. Kiwi talked a lot, and she sat on a playground in the living room most of the time. She could say 'Hello', but most of the time she just swore in Russian. She was a bit annoying when I was trying to study or do yoga, but other than that she was fine.

This is why I deal with fish and insects—little noise...depending.

I prayed that Pasha living with me meant I could at least get something for Shuu Tsukiyama. I wondered if I would have to use my, 'wiles', to get what I wanted.

Though, I wondered how Pasha could even bear to live with me after how I'd treated him. I didn't understand him at all; why was he so nice and forgiving? It was definitely suspicious.

It wasn't just him. Lydia Kristofdottir was also nice to me. It was really suspicious.

On my second day back at work, I received a gift.

"Charlotte!" Lydia had pounced on me when I got in.

"Yes?" I asked, ready to start.

"You didn't tell us you had a secret admirer," She giggled.

"Sorry?"

"Aren't they beautiful?" She beamed.

"I don't understand—"

"Someone sent you flowers," Pasha said, walking up to me.

"What?" I was so confused. "Who?"

"I did not check. She probably did though,"

Lydia gasped. "I would never!"

I looked at the flowers. They were gorgeous—unlike anything I'd ever seen before.

What really caught me was their colour.

Pink and red roses, plump, healthy and brilliantly bright.

I pursed my lips. "Who sent these?" I asked.

"I don't know, Sweetie," Lydia shrugged.

"Who brought them in?"

"I found them in my office, Sweetie, addressed to you,"

"Has anyone else touched them?"

"Why would you ask that?" Pasha asked.

It was then I noticed Sergeant Kaito Yamamoto lurking in the background.

I didn't reply, taking the envelope from the flowers. It was a get well soon card with a tanuki on it. It read; 'YOU'RE MUCH PRETTIER THAN YOUR GOLDFISH'.

I disagreed with the quote. I assumed she'd seen Trev, so she must've seen that my goldfish has incomparable beauty.

It didn't say who they were from. Before jumping to conclusions, I took a photo of them.

"What are you doing?" Pasha asked.

"Instagram," I lied, sending the photo to Shuu Tsukiyama. I looked back at the flowers.

"Do you want me to keep these in my office?" Lydia asked. I said no, and kept ahold of them.

When I was free, I took the flowers to forensics. I knew lots of the people working there, as I was hoping to do some work experience there after finishing my Bachelor's.

I vaguely explained what it was about, lying that it was under—

"Me. It's my case," Said a voice.

I turned around sharply.

Sergeant Kaito Yamamoto stood there, innocently blinking and staring at me. "Fisher," He motioned for me to follow him.

The flowers in their vase were sent off and I followed him.

"What's this all about?" He asked. "You didn't seem too happy to be getting flowers,"

"No, sir,"

"What's wrong then?"

I hesitated. Tsukiyama had me under strict instructions not to tell anyone, but she'd been in my house, in his house—that wasn't something I could just let slide.

I asked to speak to him privately, before telling him everything—well, I left out Tsukiyama being a ghoul and also a huge creep too.

However, I feared I might've shoved Tsukiyama in it by mentioning that he'd followed her to my...'job interview'.

When I was done, Yamamoto eyed me, thinking. He'd asked me usual questions—did I know anyone who'd do this to us, etc.

I waited nervously for his response. He coughed and sat forward.

"Why didn't you tell anyone before? You knew she was in your house," He asked.

"I...Tsukiyama was worried about the press, and being honest, I thought I'd lost my job; maybe you would think I was creating drama out of revenge or something,"

"That's ridiculous," He said. "Bring the other stuff she gave you into the lab. Oh, and change your locks, you know how to look for any weak points?"

"I do,"

"Call Tsukiyama and have him do the same,"

I nodded. There wasn't much anyone could do, and I wondered why the fuck I'd been so stupid and blurted everything out.

Still, I felt better having told someone, even if there wasn't anything they could do.

Aside from that, work was uninteresting. I continued to bring food as gifts, but now it was more because I was apologising to everyone for my previous behaviour.

I was yet again unable to infiltrate the homicide case.

In a few days, Shuu Tsukiyama called me to his personal manor for our first session together.

Whilst I couldn't really train myself, (though I was), I could still train him.

It went smoothly, though he undermined me a lot, even though I was the professional.

"You don't exactly follow your own advice, do you?" He was saying, in a rest.

"Sorry?" I sighed, staring at weights as a dog would stare at a slab of beef.

"You telling me to make sure I'm eating enough when you...clearly aren't,"

I was flattered by this statement, but all these comments about my weight were starting to annoy me. I didn't know why, because I wanted people to look at me and say, 'oh wow, she's so skinny, I wish I looked like that,' but it felt like he was lying and laughing at me behind my back.

"Your rest's up," I said, continuing on.

Sessions don't really last very long, not in weightlifting. They're normally only about an hour long.

When we were done, I did ask if I could check the windows for weak points. He said that the windows were all reinforced regularly and that he'd already changed his locks.

Then we had to address the roses.

"Were those roses yours?" I asked.

He looked away. "Yes, they were. I've been meaning to ask; where did you get those from?"

I explained, before saying that I'd sent them to be tested.

"What? Pourquoi? I told you, specifically, not to involve anyone—"

"I had to. She was in my house, that's not okay. Those flowers could tell us exactly who she is and we could stop this. I had to,"

He was enraged, to say the least. It was quite scary, and to my embarrassment, I started crying.

I cry when I get scared and confused, I can't help it.

He showed no sympathy, only mocking me more, before leading me outside to see the mangled rose bush. By then, I was begging—screaming—for forgiveness.

He tried to lecture me, but it made little sense. I hadn't even told him about Yamamoto yet.

As he was starting to calm down, and I was crying less, I noticed his attention fall on the large swimming pool in the garden. He walked towards it, with me following.

He stopped at the water's edge, peering into the water. It was me, however, that saw it—a small body in the corner of the pool, a red trail growing behind it.

"What is that?" I asked.

"What?" Tsukiyama looked up.

"That," I pointed. I started to shake, fearing a poor rat or other rodent had drowned.

Tsukiyama narrowed his eyes and called for a servant to come and get it out of the pool.

I felt queasy and dizzy, though I didn't know if that was the anorexia or the dead animal.

Tsukiyama seemed unfazed by it, until the servant he'd called had let out a little gasp. He'd walked over immediately.

"Oh! Good God!" He cried.

I could see it. I could still see the red trail in the water. I approached, then retracted, feeling sick.

It was a cat. A large, white, fluffy cat.

It'd had a lilac collar with a white tag on it, only the tag was red with blood.

If it'd just been a dead cat, no one would've reacted so violently.

Only it wasn't just dead.

It's head. It didn't have a head.

It'd been completely removed.

It was just...gone.

"I...That's...That's disgusting," I choked, sniffing.

"It's her," Tsukiyama said. "It has to be,"

"Poor kitty..."

"Where is it?" He asked the servant.

"Where's what, sir?"

"The head. Where's its head?"

"I don't know, sir...I can't see it,"

"Then find it,"

"Should I call the police—"

"Just find its head,"

"Yessir,"

I was fully crying again now.

That poor cat...It didn't do anything wrong. Why would anyone do that?

"Stop crying," Tsukiyama snapped.

"Why would anyone do that?" I whimpered.

"Why would anyone put it in my pool, for starters,"

"Don't touch it!"

"I was only going to look at the collar,"

"No! I'm calling—"

"Don't you dare,"

Too late.

I called Yamamoto, telling him in a teary mess, whilst Tsukiyama tried to stop me. Yamamoto said he'd be there and hung up.

I was still crying, now getting angry at Tsukiyama for being a bit of a dick. Eventually, he called a stop.

"OK. Ça suffit! That's enough!" He snapped. "Quarrelling won't get us anywhere,"

I sniffed, looking at the cat before turning away in disgust again.

"I'll have someone cover it, we should just leave it, shouldn't we?"

"Until the police get here? Yes,"

"No. No, I want to call your police—"

"Absolutely not. She killed an in-innocent animal and left it here. This is—it's...disgusting,"

"But I—"

"No. I'm not listening to you,"

"It's my house,"

"I don't care. Go inside. I'll start looking around until the police get here,"

There was more squabbling, but eventually, I forced him inside. As he went in, he called out to me.

"Fine. You look around then, but you know; curiosity killed the cat,"

"As you said; it's in your house,"