Chapter 5

A pulse. A heartbeat pounding like a runaway horse. Every fiber throbbed with driving influence as vision narrowed into a tunnel. Not just any tunnel, but a rapturous passageway to the most irresistible place of all.

Nowhere to go but through! All it took was …

~ID~

This wasn't the first time Fukuda had felt such a sensation. Of course, in his case it had been different. The tunnel offered relief. It seemed odd now, this fusion between Anaido and his true self. But it didn't make one lick of difference.

This sensation, this … feeling, gut deep. There was only one way to handle it with the thrum of the flute's melody. The vibrations seeped into his core.

Answer it. Answer the call.

In the chrome his wide eyes reflected accompanied by a twisted grin. At the rest measure he leaned backward and threw his gaze to the sky, laughing. This was it. The way, the only way to clarity!

A moment later he dashed his head against the silver keys of the flute, a long smear of crimson left behind …

~ID~

The turbulent rhythm careened onward taking Hondomachi on the wild ride. She danced as she played, working the violin bow with a fevered pitch. This—she had never felt quite like this. With Hijiriido's special insight talent she took in every movement of the piece as a whole.

Why couldn't the world experience this? The pure and utter thrill of the sublime. It was wondrous. She could play this music, weaving in and out of its strings as a deer might leap through a forested glade letting the foliage brush its sleek flanks.

To be one with the music. Yes, that was what she needed to complete this omnipotence.

To be one with it.

To become it.

The maddening smile gleamed brighter as she leaned down and pressed her neck against the finest string.

To become one with it …

~ID~

Freedom, as if one could fly. Narihisago had hardly considered himself as imaginative, frankly Sakaido had a higher dosage of that than he. Maybe that was why … here and now he was both at once. A strange fusion of the two. But any inhibition vanished, whipped away by the infectious rhythm as he struck the hanging bells with increasing vigor.

Each time they vibrated to the mallet strike the very sound echoed and welled up in his body like a siren's call. All he desired to do was ring like the bell. Resound like it. Make a beautiful sound. Now that he understood the power of music, how it moved and took over the soul … he wanted to embody it. To merge with it.

So easy. The bells sounded off in glorious intonation when he struck them.

He held the mallet before his eyes for a moment. That was it. That was the pathway. He could become the melody. The glorious beautiful melody!

All it would take was …

He raised the mallet high, laughing maniacally.

Down it came, fast and vicious. Again, and again, and again …

The mallet struck the floor, framed in a pool of blood.

~ID~

The music stopped.

Blank stares at the screens filled the silence as it stretched out. As if in some orchestrated crescendo, all three of the brilliant detectives had simultaneously delivered their own death blows. Now they lay: Anaido slumped against the blood smeared flute, Hijiriido across the strings of the violin still dripping scarlet, Sakaido on his back staring blindly at the sky with a cracked skull and the mallet still in hand.

It was a train wreck. A terrible, tragic train wreck.

Togo forced her eyes away from the horrific dive. There were real people on the other end of this! All three pilots lay in their cockpits. The faint green light of the dive pads washing over their faces left an eerie impression. But not half so much as the smiles on their faces. Countless times she had seen Sakaido die in the well. Never had Narihisago been grinning as a result, if anything he had always grimaced. Every—single—time!

This was … not right.

Their pulses were all stable. Vitals within the normal range. It was almost as if not one of them had registered what had occurred.

Momoki coughed, fighting to recapture his composure. "What just happened?"

Almost trance-like, Habutae offered, "They all died."

"Not just that." Wakashika rubbed his eyes to clear them. "They all offed themselves. At the same damn time. What the hell kind of magic bullshit is this?"

"Easy everyone. Let's not jump off the cliff of conclusion." Momoki held up a hand. "It's no magic. Magic doesn't exist." He turned and glared down Wakashika before he could bring up another argument. "We've never seen this before. We need to get to the bottom of it. In an id well every detail is important."

"Director," Togo pointed to the tablet, "all three brilliant detectives are dead."

He'd been stunned by this. Far too stunned to react well, his own pulse still raced. "I uhh … pull them. You know what to do. Don't wait on me for that." That had been harsh, he winced even as he said it.

Togo's fingers brushed over the pad. A moment later three simultaneous gasps echoed over the speaker. On the dive chamber screen they weren't smiling anymore.

Momoki called out, "You guys alright?"

~ID~

Narihisago snapped open his eyes. The whole of the dive crashed in on his psyche and churned his gut. At the same time his head throbbed as if clubbed. That made sense. The last he recalled he had hammered it like a bloody dulcimer! Or at least, Sakaido had. Damn it, straightening out that mental tangle was a pain in the ass.

Leaning forward he cupped his head and groaned. The fact was, he wasn't alone. Hondomachi panted and rubbed her neck. In the other cockpit, Fukuda rubbed his own head and glared around with barely focused eyes.

"You guys alright?"

Ultimately, Fukuda broke the silence, "What the hell? Narihisago—you can do that talking people to death in wells now?"

Narihisago glared back. "Not hardly." But a moment later it occurred to him—the well within a well, the serial killers … he already had! But no, that wasn't right. That wasn't what happened.

"Seriously," Fukuda snapped, more animated than usual, "I know what it feels like to embrace that idea. And that wasn't my idea in there, you twisted bastard!"

"I didn't have anything to do with it." Still trying to sort it out, the disorientation didn't help. Narihisago, for all his despair, had never been compelled enough to end it all—entertained the idea, but never to commitment. What was the strange notion that had gripped him? Brought him to the brink? It was a twisted euphoria, dancing on the edge of madness. Now madness, that he knew! But this was something new … had that been what he had made others feel? It was possible. Completion. The full circle. But that wasn't right.

Narihisago rubbed the bridge of his nose. It couldn't be right. That wouldn't have been his own MO. Nor was it Fukuda's. If it had been Fukuda's that would have involved drills. There were no drills in the well. Distantly he recalled seeing Anaido headbanging against the chrome like a demented heavy metal fan. Not something he had pegged him for.

Hondomachi stood beside her cockpit leaning on it heavily, a bit cross-eyed. "Narihisago, you better not be lying. That wasn't funny."

"Huh? You even think it was me?"

Fukuda waved a hand, "If the shoe fits."

Pounding a fist, Narihisago growled, a moment from getting up himself, before he recalled he still required a crutch to stand. "Than why did I die too?"

"Who says you did?"

Hondomachi locked accusing eyes with him. "Wait a second, were you playing me the whole time with that not knowing music? You better not have been."

"I wasn't! Will you two shut up for a moment so I can sort out what just happened!"

"The three of you all committed suicide in concert."

That brought all pairs of eyes up to the ceiling. No one spoke, they just stared.

Hondomachi slowly turned to Narihisago. "So … someone else has Narihisago's ability?"

"Bloody hell." Fukuda blinked half-lidded eyes. "That's about the worst news of the day."