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f a l l e n a n g e l s
part four
The four boys relaxed their concentrations and exchanged equally puzzled glances as they
listened to Sakura's footsteps fade away up the steps.
Youji was the first to speak. "Why, that little . . . I could just--"
Omi started to laugh. "Youji-kun . . . she was right, you know! You do that to me even when
we're dead."
Youji glowered at the youngest member of the group, and then conveniently changed the subject.
"Anyway, what was she talking about just now? 'I know where he'd go,' she said."
Omi shrugged. "I've got no idea what it was-- or even who she was talking about."
Ken glanced at Aya out of the corner of his eye. The older young man was still leaning against the
wall, his face emotionless and immobile. Ken sighed, and asked, "The only 'he' that Sakura
would be talking about down here is Aya-kun. But she knows we're all dead, so why would she
be looking for him?"
Youji's eyes narrowed as he leveled a flat stare at Aya. "There's something you're not telling us,
isn't there?" It was more of a statement than a question.
Aya raised an eyebrow-- nothing more. "She might have seen me yesterday," he said quietly.
Omi's eyes widened. "What? Aya, that's--"
Aya interrupted smoothly. "But I was sure that I left before she saw who it was. At most, she
probably just thinks that I was there. She'll forget about it soon."
"But--"
Youji broke in. "Omi, calm down. There's no evidence anywhere that any of us are here. And
there's plenty of evidence that we're dead. So you see? There's no way . . ." His voice trailed off,
staring into the corner where Aya was standing. The other two boys looked at Youji for a few
moments, puzzled, before their gazes swivelled towards the red-headed man. He was no longer
lounging against the wall-- he was standing up straight, and his eyes were widened slightly. For a
minute, his mouth worked soundlessly.
Youji blinked in surprise. "Aya? What's wrong? All I said was that there was no evidence--"
Aya took a step forward, his mind obviously racing. Again his mouth opened and closed finally,
he blurted, "Sh-Shit!" And with that, he jumped the over the banister to the stairs and sprinted up
and out of sight.
A stunned silence hung in the air for a few moments, until Youji swayed backwards and
gracefully flopped onto the couch. "Well . . . who wants to be the next one to go insane?" he
asked jovially.
Omi crossed the room to the stairs and looked up towards the door. "Where'd he go? What if he
gets seen?"
Youji ran a hand through his hair and pulled a slightly bent cigarette out of his pocket. "First of
all, you take a deep breath and calm down. You're way too high-strung."
Ken's face was troubled. "No, Youji, he's right . . . where is Aya going?"
Youji shrugged as he lit the cigarette and leaned back. "What that blockhead does in his spare
time is his own business. What does it matter?"
Ken glanced nervously towards the stairs. "I've got a really bad feeling about this . . ."
Sakura sighed as she hurried back to the flower shop from her trip to the hospital. Aya-chan
would sorely miss her help at the shop if she stayed away much longer, no matter what the
cheerful girl said to reassure her. But somehow, the brief break did nothing to assuage the feeling
gnawing at her. The bitter edge of disappointment cut at her deeply, and she shook her head. It
wasn't the hospital's fault that Aya hadn't gone to visit.
"Aya is dead!" Sakura said aloud to herself. "Dead! He can't visit a hospital, idiot!" But despite
her firm self-assurances, her eyes filled with tears and for the first time, she began to cry for him.
On the opposite side of the street from Sakura, Aya walked quickly in the opposite direction,
trying not to attract attention as he hurried on towards the hospital. Oblivious that the girl he was
seeking was right across the street and walking in the direction he had just come, he continued on
to the hospital. Entering the doors, he scanned the waiting room of the hospital. Neither Reika
nor Sakura was there-- he breathed a sigh of relief. If the place Sakura had thought he was going
had been the hospital, she could have come and met Reika, who would have most certainly
recognized his description. Just to check and be sure, he asked at the desk. The woman there said
that Reika had stepped out to help her father with something, and that she hadn't seen anyone
fitting Sakura's description come in recently.
Aya nodded and thanked the woman, hurrying back out the doors again. He'd better get back to
the flower shop and explain to the other members . . . Aya winced in expectation. Even if Omi
forgave him for running out like that and probably scaring the youngest boy half to death, Youji
would never let him live it down for apparently running out after a girl . . .
Youji let out a derisive snort. "Look, he's just going and running after some girl!" He grinned
almost slyly. "Didn't know he had it in him, I have to admit."
Omi shook his head earnestly, trying to get the eldest to see his point. "But Youji! What if he
actually catches up to her? She'll see him, and then our whole cover will be blown!"
Youji shrugged. "Aya's not stupid, at least not intellectually. Emotionally, he's a goddamn block
of wood. But he's not stupid enough to endanger our situation here-- he'll think of something."
Ken spoke up. "Youji, I've got a really bad feeling about it. I can't describe it-- there's
something almost tugging at the base of my skull-- it's not a good feeling."
Again, the eldest member shrugged nonchalantly. "Take a couple aspirin. You've probably just
got a headache."
Ken shook his head vigorously. "No, that's not it! It has to do with Aya-- when I think about
him running off, it gets stronger. And when I think about something else, it sort of almost goes
away."
Youji frowned, puzzled, but Omi suddenly said, "Ken! What if it's your 'talent'? Like my new
connection with electronics?" Youji nodded thoughtfully, and Ken raised an eyebrow.
"My talent is getting a major headache when I think about Aya? Somehow, I don't think--"
"No, silly!" Omi grinned. "I meant that what if it's some sort of foresight? Like, I don't know,
maybe you know something bad is going to happen to Aya, so you have this ache in your--"
Suddenly, all the color drained out of Omi's face as he realized what he had just said.
Ken's mouth opened slightly as if to reject this idea, but then found he had no evidence to
disprove it. "But . . ." he said, his face growing troubled.
"Ehh!" blurted Omi, and he looked over at Youji. "S-Something bad's going to happen to Aya!
We have to go after him now!"
Youji's face was grave, and all of the jovial nonchalance had disappeared. He sat up,
extinguishing the cigarette against the bottom of his shoe and tossing it into the little ashtray on
the table. "I think I'm going to have to admit defeat on this one," he said with seeming calm, but
the other two had known him long enough to detect the slight edge of worry in his voice. "Let's
go, before something really has the chance to go wrong."
At Ken's insistence, they paused long enough to pick up their weapons and store them
unobtrusively about themselves, and headed quietly up the stairs and out of the flower shop.
Reika had an expertly crafted expression of cheerful unconcern on her face as she reentered the
hospital-- it wasn't hard, really. You know what? she thought to herself absently, as she signaled
to her co-workers that she'd come back, I just talked yesterday to a man who's been dead for
weeks, and now I'm sitting calmly at my desk, organizing patients' files. I think I'm losing it.
And strangely enough, that thought didn't phase her at all. It was as if she'd gone right past
"shock" and straight into the "padded walls and no sharp objects" stage without the slightest
resistance. She sat down in her chair by the counter, shoved the folder containing the information
on Aya and the other three with him under her keyboard, and put her nurse's hat back on her
head, tucking her short, dark hair in carefully.
She found herself scanning the hospital lobby every so often, to see if she could catch a glimpse
of red hair among the people entering and exiting the glass doors. She shook her head, ruefully.
"It's not as if I'm attracted to the guy," she said to herself. "I'm just . . . kind of interested in him.
Like I'd be interested in a traumatized cat." As she thought about that, she liked the comparison
more and more. For even though she'd talked to him all of fifteen minutes, she'd gotten the
irrepressible feeling that his almost creepily intense gaze wasn't entirely natural.
Not entirely natural? He's dead, Reika! She laughed under her breath, a high, tinny, near-hysterical laugh. "I have to get a grip on myself," she murmured aloud.
"Come again?" asked a warm voice just in front and a little to the right of her.
Startled, Reika looked up. She hadn't noticed anyone approaching the desk when she'd been
looking for that "Ran" guy, but she was rather distracted, to say the least, so maybe she missed it.
Leaning almost lazily with one elbow on the counter, was a tall young man with an almost girlish
slenderness, chin-length brown hair, and violet eyes that were peering amusedly back into her
own. "E-Excuse me," Reika said, blinking a few times, "I didn't see you there." She paused,
remembering that she was supposed to say something. "Oh-- can I help you?" What was
distracting her now? There was something about his face . . .
"I was actually wondering what you were saying to yourself," he drawled with a grin, pushing up
the sunglasses that were perched precariously on his nose. "But I suppose I'd be content with
your name."
There was a low, almost annoyed-sounding sigh from the left of the smooth young man. Reika
nearly jumped-- she hadn't seen anyone beside the guy. The newcomer had short, sandy-blond
hair and eyes almost exactly like the other one's, except in shape, and looked the exact picture of
cherubic innocence. He couldn't be more than sixteen or seventeen; definitely the other man's
junior by several years. "We don't have time for this," he whispered to the older one, who
ignored him without even a glance in the boy's direction.
"Well?" he asked, drawing Reika's attention back to him.
"Oh . . . Reika. It's Reika."
"Reika?" the first man asked, looking pleased. "That's a lovely name, to suit a lovely face." He
leaned forward, grinning conspiratorily as he curved his hand around his mouth and whispered,
"Well, Reika-- may I call you Reika?" Without waiting for a reply, he went on, "Don't tell them
I asked you this, but are you over eighteen?"
"Youji!" said an exasperated voice to the right of the flirtatious one. "Didn't you hear Omi?" This
came from yet another young man, this one dark-haired and scowling slightly, his hands in the
pockets of a dark-brown leather jacket. His eyes, Reika noticed, were the exact color of those of
the other two-- maybe they were brothers? No, they couldn't be. They looked too different . . .
The one he'd called Youji straightened up and gave the third visitor, who looked to be of an age
somewhere in between the first two, a slightly pained look. "I was just trying to be friendly, Ken-kun," he said a little testily.
'Ken' rolled his eyes towards the ceiling briefly, and then turned back towards Reika, who was
looking slightly dazed. "Don't pay any attention to Youji there. He's just a big idiot, really,
behind the handsome face and all that smooth talking."
Youji crossed his arms over his chest. "Che," he muttered, and then glanced towards Reika and
gave her a quick wink, unseen by any of the other members of the group.
"Anyway," began the blond-haired one, "we need to ask you a few questions . . . do you mind if
we do?"
Reika hesitated, her eyes taking in all three boys' faces. There was something hauntingly familiar
about them, the memory just beyond her reach. Unable to find a reason to deny them, she
shrugged. "I'm pretty new here, so I might not have the answers you're looking for, and I can't
tell you anything confidential. But you can go ahead and ask. "
"I'll take care of this, Omi," said Youji, his easy-going manner subsiding somewhat. "I'll be
serious," he added, when he saw the identical looks of skepticism on the faces of the other two.
When they made no objections, Youji grinned triumphantly and leaned backwards against the
counter, looking over his shoulder at her. "So. First things first: are you the usual person here? I
mean, are you always the secretary, or whatever the job is, here at this time of day?"
Reika nodded, hiding a smile. "Nurse, not secretary, though really there doesn't seem to be much
difference as of yet. As I said, I'm new. And yes, this has been my shift for the past week or so.
Before that--" She halted mid-sentence, and gave the three a suspicious look. "You aren't
reporters, are you?"
Youji rolled his eyes. "Reporters? Hel-- er, heck no." He nodded his head towards Omi briefly.
"Two things: someone that young couldn't be a reporter. And also," he grinned widely, "you can
trust a face this pretty, right?"
"Youji . . ." said the one called Omi warningly.
"All right, all right, I was just trying to get her more relaxed." He turned his gaze back upon
Reika. "And she could definitely do with some relaxing," he said, his eyes narrowed somewhat.
"You can feel the stress rolling off her in waves."
No sooner had he said that than Reika actually felt a little better, a little less tense, a tiny bit more
at ease. Almost enough to laugh at herself a little. She grinned, hesitantly. "I've . . . had a long
day." No kidding. Finding out you've been talking to dead people, going insane . . .
Youji raised an eyebrow, but didn't ask. Then, the look of easy indifference gone, he peered at
her intently. "Have I met you somewhere before? You look really familiar, for some reason."
Reika swallowed. She'd just been thinking the same thing-- not only did Youji look familiar, but
the other two did as well. Some memory deep in the back of her mind was screaming at her, but it
was as if there was some wall between it and her consciousness so that she couldn't hear anything
but a muffled warning. She shook her head, a smile automatically coming to her face. "You're
good," she murmured.
Youji shrugged, grinning easily again. "Well, you honestly do. I never forget a pretty face after
all." Before any of the others could take him to task for wasting time, he went on to ask, "So,
what made you stop talking about yourself so suddenly? Where'd you work before here?"
Reika shrugged slightly. "I'm only a . . . well, sort of a junior here. If I want to be a full time,
fully payed nurse, I have to do internships in the different sections of the hospital. Before this
desk job I was down in the morgue."
Youji leaned back a little, a distasteful expression on his face. "The morgue? A pretty little thing
like you?" Without even looking at his friends, he said, "And calm down, you two, stop getting so
annoyed." Reika distinctly saw them close their mouths, whatever it was they were going to say
snatched right from their lips. Youji shook his head. "To think that they'd make girls have to deal
with that sort of thing. Nasty business, if you ask me. Of course, I know a lot of men who would
handle it a lot worse than the majority of womankind would. Your race is forever surprising us,
you know." He paused, and then grinned sheepishly. "Don't let me get distracted anymore, okay,
Reika?" The man had an unnerving ability to say her name like an endearment. Probably due to
lots of practice, thought Reika wryly. Though despite the fact that you know he's a play-boy just
by the way he walks and talks, you can't help but like him.
Youji added, echoing her thoughts, "Anyway, you can't help but like us, can you?" He either
didn't notice the look of surprise on Reika's face, or ignored it, and went on. "So. You used to
work in the morgue. But, now you're here. And you've been here for . . . what did you say? A
week or so?"
Reika nodded. "Mm-hmm. Where's this leading to?" The feeling tugging at her was getting
stronger, and it was making her nervous. Usually she'd have liked to talk to these three-- they
were all distinctly good-looking-- but now, for some reason, she wanted them out of her sight.
Youji sighed. "Well, to tell the truth . . ." He paused, a sign that he most surely was not going to
speak truthfully. "To tell the truth, the three of us are florists."
Reika looked blankly at him. "Florists."
Youji nodded. "Florists." After a split-second, he added helpfully, "Meaning, we sell flowers."
Reika blinked and shook her head. "I know, I just thought you were models or something."
Youji laughed, with a self-deprecating shrug. "We've found we can sell flowers just as easily as
we'd be able to sell pictures. And when we're selling our merchandise in person, we get to meet
and greet the customers in person, as opposed to them looking at our pictures all by themselves.
Works out better that way for everyone, right?"
Reika felt herself smiling, despite the strange feeling of wrongness she was getting. "So what does
that have to do with the hospital."
"Ah," replied the self-proclaimed florist. "That's where things get ugly. You see, there's actually
four of us, not three."
"And where's the fourth person?"
"He . . . hmm. Well, you see, he was never a very good worker. Didn't take care of the
customers, you know the sort of thing. He just stood there sulking and looking disdainful the
whole time." His voice was tragic, disappointed, but his violet eyes were sparkling mischievously.
Ken's eyebrows went up a little. "Youji . . ." he said, softly.
"Hush, Ken-kun. Let me finish our sad story." He patted him on the shoulder, which only served
to make the younger guy bristle slightly. "So, anyway, this guy mooched off us horribly, never
contributing what he was supposed to or anything. We all dealt with it, each of us taking on a
little of the burden he was supposed to take to try to make it bearable for us." He sighed, then,
dramatically. "But then, one day, he was gone."
Reika, though skeptical, couldn't help but feel curiosity. "Gone?"
Youji nodded mournfully. "Gone. We woke up to find all the money in the cash box gone, and
his room locked from the inside. And when we finally got the door open, we discovered that the .
. . the . . ." He seemed to be searching for a good word. "We discovered that the loathsome
traitor had slipped out the window, taking our savings with him. We put out a search, but no trace
was found. We think he must have left the city."
Reika resisted the urge to roll her eyes. This guy was enjoying himself to totally telling the story
that he wasn't realizing how outrageously over-dramatic he was being. "And so? Again, what
does that have to do with me and the hospital?"
Youji leaned a little closer. "We have reason to believe that he would have visited here before
leaving the city."
Reika nodded, finally getting the gist of what he was asking. "And so you want to know if I've
seen him. I get it. So, how long ago was this?"
Youji paused, recalling the facts of his story. Managing to look a little sheepish, he said, "This
morning."
Reika bit her lip to keep from laughing. "This morning? You had time to search the city for him in
just a few hours?"
Youji's expression darkened a little. "They were quick searchers," he muttered sullenly.
Omi broke in, giving Youji a hopeless look. "Excuse his dramatics, Miss Reika. But we really
need to know where he's gone. He used to have a little sister here in the hospital, and he still has
the habit of visiting here a lot even though she's been released."
The sense of wrongness returned doubly strong, like déja vu but somehow backwards. "C-Can
you describe him?"
Omi suddenly gasped, and from his face, it looked as if someone had stepped on his foot, hard.
"Yes-- you look worried about something," Youji asked, peering at her as if gauging her
thoughts somehow. "But yes, we can describe him. He's tall, a little shorter than me, with short
red hair and longer bits at the front. Eyes like mine. Sort of . . ." He trailed off, blinking at Reika.
Her eyes were wide with horror. The wall on her memory had come crashing down, as she
realized where she'd seen these three people before. They'd been alongside the man they were
describing. The man that Reika now recognized as Ran Fujimiya, or as most people seemed to
know him: Aya.
Youji took a step back. "Uh-oh," he murmured distractedly, almost to himself.
The other two looked back and forth from her to their companion in confusion. "Eh?" asked Ken,
nudging Youji's arm with his elbow. "What's 'uh-oh'?"
Youji was watching Reika as she slowly looked down at her desk, her hands reaching for a manila
folder tucked under her keyboard. "She knows," he whispered. "I don't know how I know that
she knows, or even know how she could know, but she knows."
Ken blinked. "Am I the only one that really didn't follow that?"
Before anyone had the chance to answer, Reika placed the folder on top of the counter, and took
a step back from them, looking at them with something hard-- not quite challenge, but not fear
either-- in her eyes. "Look--" she began, but stopped to clear her throat. "Look at that, and then
try to tell me you're just looking for a thief."
Ken reached out and picked up the folder, opening it quickly. Inside were four pieces of paper,
each with photographs paper-clipped to them.
Omi leaned over his shoulder, reading the information written on the paper. "Death certificates?"
he asked, puzzled; then his eye caught the photographs. "O-Oh," he replied softly. "That's . . ."