DICLAIMER: It's disclaimer time again, boys and girls. You know the drill by now. Digimon isn't mine (worse luck!) it belongs to Toei and Saban. This story, however, IS mine, and to all people even THINKING about plagiarizing, I warn you, I took a crash course in circus skills during my day off, and am now a crack shot with knives, (as well as many other kitchen utensils.) If you do decide to risk my wrath, then I promise you, I will not be held responsible for my actions! (I lose more knives that way.)
Blurbish over, I now open the door to the third part of my fic. This chapter may seem a little strange at first, but trust me; all shall be revealed later on. For now, just sit back, enjoy, and try not to vomit too much.
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"The Darkness Within" By Scribbler
Chapter Three ~ "Broken Dreams"
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"A man is not old until regrets take the place of dreams." -- John Barrymore
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The little boy cowered into a tiny ball. Around him walls of flame glowed brightly, licking his skin and singing his hair. Silently he cried, tears sliding down his grimy cheeks. He looked down at his hands. They were smeared with a deep red. His clothes too were stained with the same dark liquid, and tears dripped from his face to mix with the sticky fluid.
He had to get away. Had to. But around him were angles, too many angles, blocking any escape, and beyond them the flames growled hungrily. He tried to climb out, but slid impotently down into the pit below. He attempted to call for help, but no words would come. Who would he call anyway? Nobody cared. Nobody would come to save him from the flames.
All at once the brilliant portent of death evaporated, and the boy cringed. Blood dripped down from somewhere above his head, running through his hair and across his scalp. The stench of burned flesh filled his nostrils as he gazed horrified at the scene before him.
"I didn't mean to." His voice protested, tinnily, as if he were trapped within some giant metal container. Then another voice, his and yet not his own. Deeper, but no less scared. "I didn't mean to."
Blank eyes stared accusingly at him, and he scrambled backwards until his back struck something soft. A pair of small arms grasped him in a frightened embrace, and he whispered comfortingly to them. Protection. That was all the boy could think about. Protection. He wouldn't let her down again. Not this time. Not now.
A bolt of pure darkness flew from the void. Protection. Protectorate. He twisted to cover the fearful arms. Pain. Agony. Lancing through his body like an electric shock, the blackness pierced him. He felt it slice his flesh. Felt it fill his chest, consuming his heart into the void.
"Sorry." Was all he could murmur. "I'm so sorry."
Feeling his life seeping away, he turned to gaze up at the towering inferno of flesh and fire. Their struggle seemed so far away now. He could feel himself drifting on a sea of nothingness. Dying. So this was what death felt like. It felt.... empty.
What was that? A voice? A voice calling him back. She sounded so afraid. He hated her being afraid. It was his job to protect her from her fear. His, and his alone. The tiny boy fought against the darkness with all his heart and soul, but he was losing. He was leaving her all alone.
Suddenly, a light exploded in his chest. Was it in his chest? Or did it come from outside? Whatever its origin, it drove the darkness from him, filling his veins with brightness so glaring he was forced to shut his hazel eyes.
When he opened them again, he recoiled in horror. Gone were the burning and the frightened hands. Replaced by a tableau so grotesque it caused bile to rise in his throat. He gagged as a bony hand reached towards him, dripping with crimson juice. His hands were wet; he could sense the blood running down his face. He'd done this. It was he. The darkness had won, and now he was the enemy.
Turning, he ran. Ran and ran until he could run no more, but still he kept going. He was one with the enemy. A child of darkness. It was his fault. His fault! He was created in the darkness. Forged in the garden of evil. It was his fault. He did this. He caused all this pain and suffering. It was he!
A face. He held out his hand. Help me. Take me away from here. Take me away from the darkness, into the light. But the face was already gone, and he felt ribbons of new blood running through his fingers.
Why was he doing this? Why? Why did the darkness not let him die? Death was an escape, yet he couldn't die. It wouldn't allow the vessel to die. He stopped, panting, threw his head back and screamed at the blackness encasing him.
"Why me? Why do I do these things? WHY?"
His only answer was mocking laughter. It slithered inside his ear, wrapping itself around his brain like a noose. Slowly, his hand began to rise by itself. The boy struggled to stop it, but some inexorable force pulled his muscles, overriding his commands with ease. He watched, helplessly as his fingers became steel knives, wickedly sharp and gleaming, though there was no light for them to gleam in. They shone with a cruel dark light. A mockery of all the light stands for.
With a gasp of pain, he plunged the blades deep into his chest. Slicing through skin, bone, and organs with ease the knives went, until they found their prize. Ripping, cutting, lacerating he grasped the pulsing trophy and wrenched it free with a might not his own. There was a wet splat of entrails hitting a floor that wasn't really there, as his arm stretched out unbidden before him. He gazed excruciatingly at his own heart beating in his hand. It dripped existence onto the floor, and he fell to his knees in agonized torment, watching as it slowed. Yet he didn't die. He bled, he hurt, he cried, but he didn't die. With a final heave the heart ceased to beat, and the boy collapsed face down into his own pulp and mess. He'd failed. He'd lost. And now everything would come to an end. He could feel the darkness creeping across his skin, permeating his being, and taking him for the last time. The world would end. And it was all his fault. His fault....
Then there was only black.
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With a jolt, a hazel-eyed figure sat bolt upright in the shadows. His breathing was harsh, coming in short wracking gasps, and his heart beat like a galloping horse's hooves. Inadvertently, he turned clumsily onto his hands and knees and vomited violently, all over the ground. Panting, he clutched at his chest with one hand. His heart....
Where was he? How did he get here?
He couldn't remember.
Gradually his breathing slowed, though he didn't remove his hand from its position on his chest. His slim fingers curled into the slack clothing covering his body as he sank back onto his haunches. He'd been dreaming again. But it had seemed so real. He had felt the knives pierce his skin, seen the pulsing organ ripped from his flesh by his own hand.
What was happening to him? Why did that dream seem so real?
The mysterious figure narrowed his eyes and glanced around him. He was in a deserted alleyway, quite far from the centre of the city considering the distinct lack of noise. There appeared to be no one else around, and he released a lungful of air slowly through his mouth.
The last thing he remembered was searching for someone. Someone he knew from long ago. The identity of the person remained tantalizingly out of reach as remnant haziness from his sleep reluctantly released his jumbled mind. He'd found the person, a girl. She'd seemed so sad. He remembered feeling sorry for her, and sad along with her. Then what? Had he just left and gone to sleep in this alleyway? That didn't make any sense, why couldn't he remember leaving? Or getting here, wherever here was? And why would he sleep in an alleyway where anyone could find him?
All at once it struck him. It had happened again. Just as it had happened all the other times. A moment of true emotion, then a black out, then the dream. Finally he would awaken, hands covered in...
Panicked, he glanced down at his hands. They appeared soft grey in the incongruously gentle moonlight. Tracing the pattern of lines and wrinkles etched into his skin were strange dark markings, almost black in the poor light. With a sickening lurch, the figure recognized them. Dried blood. Not his own either.
What had he done? Who had he hurt this time? He knew it had been a bad idea to return to Tokyo, so why had he come?
To see them. To see her...
That girl! What had he done? The figure scramble desperately to his feet, stumbling slightly such was his speed. Was the blood hers? Had he...
No, he couldn't bear to think about it. He couldn't bear to contemplate what he might have done. He shivered, as the chilling memory of a child's face hove into his tattered mind. A smiling face, framed by wispy flaxen hair, so warm and caring, offering him friendship and compassion. Then the same face, bloodied and wide eyed. He stepped backwards, regaining his balance. He wouldn't let it happen again. He wouldn't make her like all the others who had touched his life with warmth.
Coat flying out behind him, heedless of the biting chill whose teeth gnawed at his skin, the enigmatic figure fled down the dark alley. His feet slapped against the frosty ground, and as he ran, he couldn't help sensing that a substantial amount of time had passed whilst he'd slept. How long, and how he was aware of this remained unknown to him, as the indescribable urge to find that girl filled his brain.
I'm coming. Oh God, what have I done? But I'm coming....
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Sora stirred the three mugs of cocoa absently; watching as tiny white marshmallows haltingly sank beneath the warm brown surface. Like soggy icebergs they cruised around inside each of the mugs, spinning slightly as she created minor whirlpools with her spoon. The chestnut haired girl laid down the utensil in the sink and picked up the tray on which the mugs rested - she'd clean it up later. It wasn't as if her mother was here to nag at her for being untidy. Mrs. Takenouchi had decided to stay at a friend's house, unwilling as she was to play gooseberry in an apartment full of teenagers. Gratefully, Sora had accepted her mother's decision, and when eight o' clock arrived the older woman was already safely despatched across town for the night, leaving her daughter and friends to their own devices.
Carrying the tray through to her bedroom, Sora pushed open the door with her foot, tilting slightly as she balanced on one leg. Matt and Mimi looked up as she returned from her foray to the kitchen, and smiled at her from where they sat cross-legged on the floor. Mimi had exchanged her white skirt for a pair of stonewash jeans and stylish sweater, whilst Matt wore his trademark black T-Shirt. Setting the tray down on the atrocious pink dresser, Sora joined them, passing out the mugs as she did so. Mimi sipped delicately at hers before widening her eyes considerably and going into a coughing fit.
"I was about to warn you," Sora began, taking the beverage from her friend and slapping her on the back, "that's it's still boiling hot, so you'd better leave it for a while or you'll burn your mouth."
Mimi glanced up at her with watery eyes. "Choke now, talk later." Was all she could manage to gasp before another cough racked her body. Matt laughed and she shot him a murderous look. "And what's so funny?"
"You." He replied irreverently. "Trying to act so cool and sophisticated, then spilling cocoa down your front like a baby." He pointed, and Mimi's hazel eyes travelled down to where a sticky brown stain was smeared vertically down her yellow sweater.
"Oh no!" She cried. "I only just got this today! Do you know how difficult it is to get cocoa out of wool?"
"I'll soak it for you if you like, Mimi." Sora offered. "That might get some of the mark out, and you could wear something of mine instead."
"Something of yours?" Mimi repeated incredulously. "No thanks, I think I'll stick to my ruined sweater. I don't really think soccer shirts are my style, and I doubt you have much else. You've probably thrown out all the clothes your mother bought for you."
"If I had a death wish, yeah." Sora replied, giggling. Mimi's face cracked at the sight of her friend laughing, and she dissolved into a fit of helpless laughter.
Matt smiled. It was so good to see Sora laughing again. She did it so rarely these days. He set his cup down beside him and leaned forward to pick up a video from the small pile Sora had laid out. She and Mimi had wheeled the TV into her bedroom before he arrived, as well as renting an assortment of films for them to choose from. He read the title critically.
"Splatter Knife?" Both girls turned at his words.
"Yeah, what of it?" Sora questioned innocently. Matt picked up the next cassette case.
"I Was A Teenage Vampire? Vacation Of Fear? It Came From The Cafeteria? Did you guys rent anything other than second rate horror movies?"
"Nope." The pink tressed girl gurgled. "Plenty of gore, bad acting and cool locations. What more could you ask from a movie?"
"Um, how about a plot?" The blonde youth suggested. He fell backwards as a pillow hit him in the face.
"Picky picky!" Mimi tutted, then squealed as he tossed it back at her. Spitting out a feather she added; "It was either that or Titanic."
"Forget what I said!" Matt cried, taking 'Splatter Knife' out of its case and pushing it hurriedly into the machine. "I'd rather watch a thousand horror movies then sit through that again."
"Aw, I liked it." Sora protested as she sat next to him. He curled an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close.
"Um...Should I leave?" Mimi asked, an edge of mischievousness to her melodious voice. She ducked as two pillows simultaneously flew at her.
The screen hummed into life and the obligatory rock music opening credits blazed across its slightly curved surface. Mimi sat down, making sure no pillows were in the immediate vicinity. Sora snuggled against Matt, taking comfort in his warmth. He let her lean against him as they watched.
Sora sighed softly. Despite her outward display, she felt peculiar. As if something wasn't quite right. She'd carefully been around the apartment after Matt's arrival, checking that all the doors and windows were locked securely in the hope that this might alleviate the strange feeling of uneasiness growing inside her. It hadn't helped, but she'd decided not to broach the subject with her companions lest she destroy the happy atmosphere surrounding this cosy evening.
It must just be because I'm preoccupied, she reasoned with herself, not concentrating on the movie in front of her. I'm probably just depressed because of what time of year it is. Yeah, that's it. Nothing else. Yet her attempts to reassure herself failed miserably, and the odd sensation increased as the movie went on. Somehow it seemed to centre around the cold part of her heart. The part that had been frozen for so long. The part that not even Matt's affection, or Mimi's friendship could defrost. A blizzard, trapped within her soul.
As the film finished, Matt gazed down at Sora. She hadn't moved her head from his chest for the entire duration of it, and one look at her face told him that she hadn't registered a single minute of gaudy, second rate footage. The tape clicked, whirred, and began to rewind itself. Mimi sat up and stretched.
"Well, wasn't that fun?" she attempted to make light conversation. Matt obliged with an answer.
"Complete tripe, if you ask me. Give me a -" He stopped suddenly.
"Well what do you know about...?" Mimi began in her high-pitched voice, but Matt held up his hand for her to be silent. Sora sat up and looked at him curiously, waffle marks visibly clear on her cheek where she'd been leaning against him.
"What's the matter, Matt?" She whispered. He shook his head.
"I'm not sure. I thought I just heard something."
"Heard something?"
"Yeah. It was coming from outside there." He gestured to the curtain covered glass double doors, which led out onto Sora's balcony. Mimi looked at him with a mixture of disgust and indignance at being silenced.
"Oh, honestly. How could anyone have got out onto Sora's balcony without us knowing? The only way onto it is through this room, unless they decided to fly up for a visit."
Sora ignored her friend's chatter. Matt's hearing had always been very sharp, better than most people's in fact. Perhaps that was what made him such a good musician. Whatever the case, if Matt said he'd heard a noise, then Sora would stake her life that there was something to it.
Matt rose silently to his feet, careful not to knock the empty mug over with his foot. Soundlessly he crept over to the sliding glass doors. One had been left open a crack to let some fresh air into the stuffy room, and he coiled his fingers around the edge of the frame.
The abnormal feeling in Sora's chest was growing rapidly. Her heart started to beat faster as adrenaline inexplicably began pumping through her veins. Something was coming. She didn't know how she knew this, but with ultimate conviction she was sure that something was coming. Something big.
Mimi glanced across at her friend. Sora's eyes were wide, and her hands had balled themselves into tight fists, as if she were hanging onto her silence by a thread. She knelt unmoving in the middle of her bedroom floor, watching Matt unblinkingly as he tensed his muscles. The pink haired teenager transferred her gaze to their companion. A small bead of sweat trickled down Matt's temple, as if he too could sense the tension that hung in the air. Even Mimi felt a distinct change in atmosphere within the room, and she was usually quite unperceptive as far as these sorts of things went.
There was complete silence for a moment. The world seemed to have halted to a standstill, and even the 'Hello Kitty' clock on Sora's wall appeared to have stopped ticking. Everyone held his or her breath. Then, with a sudden burst, Matt wrenched the door and curtain open.
Cold air billowed into the room, and the trio looked eagerly out onto the tiny balcony. Sora gasped, and her hands flew to her mouth. Mimi's jaw dropped, and Matt just stared unbelievingly at what they beheld.
A figure stood outside, back pressed against the metal railings in fear. It wore a tattered black trench coat over what might have once been a grey tracksuit, although it was hard to tell in the poor light filtering from the bedroom. Its arms were thrown up in front of its face, shielding both its eyes and its identity from them. Nobody moved. Then slowly, the figure lowered its arms to reveal a pair of startlingly wide hazel orbs, filled with fear and panic at being discovered. A slash of blue traced its forehead, pushing a substantial amount of brown hair from its tanned visage.
Sora's own eyes grew wide, and she emitted little choking noises of shock. He was slightly older than she remembered, dirtier too, and there was a terror in his eyes like that of an animal caught in the headlights of an oncoming car which hadn't been present the last time she'd seen him. But she knew who was cowering out on her balcony. She knew with all her heart and soul who it was. A face she'd longed for, but thought she'd never see again.
Tai Kamiya.
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AUTHOR'S NOTES: So, you like? Or not? I absolutely ADORE reading feedback - both good and bad; they both help me with the quality of my writing - so please, review, review, review. Many thanx 2 all who have already read the previous two chapters, and could prise themselves away from the toilet bowl long enough to review them. Much obliged! (Gives thumbs up 2 the screen, then realises it is just that - a screen, and cannot actually answer.) But I digress. If NE1 thinks I need to seek medical assistance rather than continue with this fic, then let me know that too. All R&R welcome, and I'll answer from the loony bin's PC if they let me out of my straight jacket long enough to type. (!)
By the way, sorry about the haphazard way I keep uploading these chapters. I'm still really new at this, so I'm not sure how fast I'm supposed to get them online. I didn't put NE up yesterday because I got an offer from a university thru the mail and was out celebrating. (YAY!)
On this end I still have several instalments ready and waiting, so if people would like 2 know what happens next then drop me a line and I'll upload them according to feedback.
Ta muchly.
Scribbler ^_^ (I like this face better than the others, don't U?)
Blurbish over, I now open the door to the third part of my fic. This chapter may seem a little strange at first, but trust me; all shall be revealed later on. For now, just sit back, enjoy, and try not to vomit too much.
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"The Darkness Within" By Scribbler
Chapter Three ~ "Broken Dreams"
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"A man is not old until regrets take the place of dreams." -- John Barrymore
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The little boy cowered into a tiny ball. Around him walls of flame glowed brightly, licking his skin and singing his hair. Silently he cried, tears sliding down his grimy cheeks. He looked down at his hands. They were smeared with a deep red. His clothes too were stained with the same dark liquid, and tears dripped from his face to mix with the sticky fluid.
He had to get away. Had to. But around him were angles, too many angles, blocking any escape, and beyond them the flames growled hungrily. He tried to climb out, but slid impotently down into the pit below. He attempted to call for help, but no words would come. Who would he call anyway? Nobody cared. Nobody would come to save him from the flames.
All at once the brilliant portent of death evaporated, and the boy cringed. Blood dripped down from somewhere above his head, running through his hair and across his scalp. The stench of burned flesh filled his nostrils as he gazed horrified at the scene before him.
"I didn't mean to." His voice protested, tinnily, as if he were trapped within some giant metal container. Then another voice, his and yet not his own. Deeper, but no less scared. "I didn't mean to."
Blank eyes stared accusingly at him, and he scrambled backwards until his back struck something soft. A pair of small arms grasped him in a frightened embrace, and he whispered comfortingly to them. Protection. That was all the boy could think about. Protection. He wouldn't let her down again. Not this time. Not now.
A bolt of pure darkness flew from the void. Protection. Protectorate. He twisted to cover the fearful arms. Pain. Agony. Lancing through his body like an electric shock, the blackness pierced him. He felt it slice his flesh. Felt it fill his chest, consuming his heart into the void.
"Sorry." Was all he could murmur. "I'm so sorry."
Feeling his life seeping away, he turned to gaze up at the towering inferno of flesh and fire. Their struggle seemed so far away now. He could feel himself drifting on a sea of nothingness. Dying. So this was what death felt like. It felt.... empty.
What was that? A voice? A voice calling him back. She sounded so afraid. He hated her being afraid. It was his job to protect her from her fear. His, and his alone. The tiny boy fought against the darkness with all his heart and soul, but he was losing. He was leaving her all alone.
Suddenly, a light exploded in his chest. Was it in his chest? Or did it come from outside? Whatever its origin, it drove the darkness from him, filling his veins with brightness so glaring he was forced to shut his hazel eyes.
When he opened them again, he recoiled in horror. Gone were the burning and the frightened hands. Replaced by a tableau so grotesque it caused bile to rise in his throat. He gagged as a bony hand reached towards him, dripping with crimson juice. His hands were wet; he could sense the blood running down his face. He'd done this. It was he. The darkness had won, and now he was the enemy.
Turning, he ran. Ran and ran until he could run no more, but still he kept going. He was one with the enemy. A child of darkness. It was his fault. His fault! He was created in the darkness. Forged in the garden of evil. It was his fault. He did this. He caused all this pain and suffering. It was he!
A face. He held out his hand. Help me. Take me away from here. Take me away from the darkness, into the light. But the face was already gone, and he felt ribbons of new blood running through his fingers.
Why was he doing this? Why? Why did the darkness not let him die? Death was an escape, yet he couldn't die. It wouldn't allow the vessel to die. He stopped, panting, threw his head back and screamed at the blackness encasing him.
"Why me? Why do I do these things? WHY?"
His only answer was mocking laughter. It slithered inside his ear, wrapping itself around his brain like a noose. Slowly, his hand began to rise by itself. The boy struggled to stop it, but some inexorable force pulled his muscles, overriding his commands with ease. He watched, helplessly as his fingers became steel knives, wickedly sharp and gleaming, though there was no light for them to gleam in. They shone with a cruel dark light. A mockery of all the light stands for.
With a gasp of pain, he plunged the blades deep into his chest. Slicing through skin, bone, and organs with ease the knives went, until they found their prize. Ripping, cutting, lacerating he grasped the pulsing trophy and wrenched it free with a might not his own. There was a wet splat of entrails hitting a floor that wasn't really there, as his arm stretched out unbidden before him. He gazed excruciatingly at his own heart beating in his hand. It dripped existence onto the floor, and he fell to his knees in agonized torment, watching as it slowed. Yet he didn't die. He bled, he hurt, he cried, but he didn't die. With a final heave the heart ceased to beat, and the boy collapsed face down into his own pulp and mess. He'd failed. He'd lost. And now everything would come to an end. He could feel the darkness creeping across his skin, permeating his being, and taking him for the last time. The world would end. And it was all his fault. His fault....
Then there was only black.
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With a jolt, a hazel-eyed figure sat bolt upright in the shadows. His breathing was harsh, coming in short wracking gasps, and his heart beat like a galloping horse's hooves. Inadvertently, he turned clumsily onto his hands and knees and vomited violently, all over the ground. Panting, he clutched at his chest with one hand. His heart....
Where was he? How did he get here?
He couldn't remember.
Gradually his breathing slowed, though he didn't remove his hand from its position on his chest. His slim fingers curled into the slack clothing covering his body as he sank back onto his haunches. He'd been dreaming again. But it had seemed so real. He had felt the knives pierce his skin, seen the pulsing organ ripped from his flesh by his own hand.
What was happening to him? Why did that dream seem so real?
The mysterious figure narrowed his eyes and glanced around him. He was in a deserted alleyway, quite far from the centre of the city considering the distinct lack of noise. There appeared to be no one else around, and he released a lungful of air slowly through his mouth.
The last thing he remembered was searching for someone. Someone he knew from long ago. The identity of the person remained tantalizingly out of reach as remnant haziness from his sleep reluctantly released his jumbled mind. He'd found the person, a girl. She'd seemed so sad. He remembered feeling sorry for her, and sad along with her. Then what? Had he just left and gone to sleep in this alleyway? That didn't make any sense, why couldn't he remember leaving? Or getting here, wherever here was? And why would he sleep in an alleyway where anyone could find him?
All at once it struck him. It had happened again. Just as it had happened all the other times. A moment of true emotion, then a black out, then the dream. Finally he would awaken, hands covered in...
Panicked, he glanced down at his hands. They appeared soft grey in the incongruously gentle moonlight. Tracing the pattern of lines and wrinkles etched into his skin were strange dark markings, almost black in the poor light. With a sickening lurch, the figure recognized them. Dried blood. Not his own either.
What had he done? Who had he hurt this time? He knew it had been a bad idea to return to Tokyo, so why had he come?
To see them. To see her...
That girl! What had he done? The figure scramble desperately to his feet, stumbling slightly such was his speed. Was the blood hers? Had he...
No, he couldn't bear to think about it. He couldn't bear to contemplate what he might have done. He shivered, as the chilling memory of a child's face hove into his tattered mind. A smiling face, framed by wispy flaxen hair, so warm and caring, offering him friendship and compassion. Then the same face, bloodied and wide eyed. He stepped backwards, regaining his balance. He wouldn't let it happen again. He wouldn't make her like all the others who had touched his life with warmth.
Coat flying out behind him, heedless of the biting chill whose teeth gnawed at his skin, the enigmatic figure fled down the dark alley. His feet slapped against the frosty ground, and as he ran, he couldn't help sensing that a substantial amount of time had passed whilst he'd slept. How long, and how he was aware of this remained unknown to him, as the indescribable urge to find that girl filled his brain.
I'm coming. Oh God, what have I done? But I'm coming....
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Sora stirred the three mugs of cocoa absently; watching as tiny white marshmallows haltingly sank beneath the warm brown surface. Like soggy icebergs they cruised around inside each of the mugs, spinning slightly as she created minor whirlpools with her spoon. The chestnut haired girl laid down the utensil in the sink and picked up the tray on which the mugs rested - she'd clean it up later. It wasn't as if her mother was here to nag at her for being untidy. Mrs. Takenouchi had decided to stay at a friend's house, unwilling as she was to play gooseberry in an apartment full of teenagers. Gratefully, Sora had accepted her mother's decision, and when eight o' clock arrived the older woman was already safely despatched across town for the night, leaving her daughter and friends to their own devices.
Carrying the tray through to her bedroom, Sora pushed open the door with her foot, tilting slightly as she balanced on one leg. Matt and Mimi looked up as she returned from her foray to the kitchen, and smiled at her from where they sat cross-legged on the floor. Mimi had exchanged her white skirt for a pair of stonewash jeans and stylish sweater, whilst Matt wore his trademark black T-Shirt. Setting the tray down on the atrocious pink dresser, Sora joined them, passing out the mugs as she did so. Mimi sipped delicately at hers before widening her eyes considerably and going into a coughing fit.
"I was about to warn you," Sora began, taking the beverage from her friend and slapping her on the back, "that's it's still boiling hot, so you'd better leave it for a while or you'll burn your mouth."
Mimi glanced up at her with watery eyes. "Choke now, talk later." Was all she could manage to gasp before another cough racked her body. Matt laughed and she shot him a murderous look. "And what's so funny?"
"You." He replied irreverently. "Trying to act so cool and sophisticated, then spilling cocoa down your front like a baby." He pointed, and Mimi's hazel eyes travelled down to where a sticky brown stain was smeared vertically down her yellow sweater.
"Oh no!" She cried. "I only just got this today! Do you know how difficult it is to get cocoa out of wool?"
"I'll soak it for you if you like, Mimi." Sora offered. "That might get some of the mark out, and you could wear something of mine instead."
"Something of yours?" Mimi repeated incredulously. "No thanks, I think I'll stick to my ruined sweater. I don't really think soccer shirts are my style, and I doubt you have much else. You've probably thrown out all the clothes your mother bought for you."
"If I had a death wish, yeah." Sora replied, giggling. Mimi's face cracked at the sight of her friend laughing, and she dissolved into a fit of helpless laughter.
Matt smiled. It was so good to see Sora laughing again. She did it so rarely these days. He set his cup down beside him and leaned forward to pick up a video from the small pile Sora had laid out. She and Mimi had wheeled the TV into her bedroom before he arrived, as well as renting an assortment of films for them to choose from. He read the title critically.
"Splatter Knife?" Both girls turned at his words.
"Yeah, what of it?" Sora questioned innocently. Matt picked up the next cassette case.
"I Was A Teenage Vampire? Vacation Of Fear? It Came From The Cafeteria? Did you guys rent anything other than second rate horror movies?"
"Nope." The pink tressed girl gurgled. "Plenty of gore, bad acting and cool locations. What more could you ask from a movie?"
"Um, how about a plot?" The blonde youth suggested. He fell backwards as a pillow hit him in the face.
"Picky picky!" Mimi tutted, then squealed as he tossed it back at her. Spitting out a feather she added; "It was either that or Titanic."
"Forget what I said!" Matt cried, taking 'Splatter Knife' out of its case and pushing it hurriedly into the machine. "I'd rather watch a thousand horror movies then sit through that again."
"Aw, I liked it." Sora protested as she sat next to him. He curled an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close.
"Um...Should I leave?" Mimi asked, an edge of mischievousness to her melodious voice. She ducked as two pillows simultaneously flew at her.
The screen hummed into life and the obligatory rock music opening credits blazed across its slightly curved surface. Mimi sat down, making sure no pillows were in the immediate vicinity. Sora snuggled against Matt, taking comfort in his warmth. He let her lean against him as they watched.
Sora sighed softly. Despite her outward display, she felt peculiar. As if something wasn't quite right. She'd carefully been around the apartment after Matt's arrival, checking that all the doors and windows were locked securely in the hope that this might alleviate the strange feeling of uneasiness growing inside her. It hadn't helped, but she'd decided not to broach the subject with her companions lest she destroy the happy atmosphere surrounding this cosy evening.
It must just be because I'm preoccupied, she reasoned with herself, not concentrating on the movie in front of her. I'm probably just depressed because of what time of year it is. Yeah, that's it. Nothing else. Yet her attempts to reassure herself failed miserably, and the odd sensation increased as the movie went on. Somehow it seemed to centre around the cold part of her heart. The part that had been frozen for so long. The part that not even Matt's affection, or Mimi's friendship could defrost. A blizzard, trapped within her soul.
As the film finished, Matt gazed down at Sora. She hadn't moved her head from his chest for the entire duration of it, and one look at her face told him that she hadn't registered a single minute of gaudy, second rate footage. The tape clicked, whirred, and began to rewind itself. Mimi sat up and stretched.
"Well, wasn't that fun?" she attempted to make light conversation. Matt obliged with an answer.
"Complete tripe, if you ask me. Give me a -" He stopped suddenly.
"Well what do you know about...?" Mimi began in her high-pitched voice, but Matt held up his hand for her to be silent. Sora sat up and looked at him curiously, waffle marks visibly clear on her cheek where she'd been leaning against him.
"What's the matter, Matt?" She whispered. He shook his head.
"I'm not sure. I thought I just heard something."
"Heard something?"
"Yeah. It was coming from outside there." He gestured to the curtain covered glass double doors, which led out onto Sora's balcony. Mimi looked at him with a mixture of disgust and indignance at being silenced.
"Oh, honestly. How could anyone have got out onto Sora's balcony without us knowing? The only way onto it is through this room, unless they decided to fly up for a visit."
Sora ignored her friend's chatter. Matt's hearing had always been very sharp, better than most people's in fact. Perhaps that was what made him such a good musician. Whatever the case, if Matt said he'd heard a noise, then Sora would stake her life that there was something to it.
Matt rose silently to his feet, careful not to knock the empty mug over with his foot. Soundlessly he crept over to the sliding glass doors. One had been left open a crack to let some fresh air into the stuffy room, and he coiled his fingers around the edge of the frame.
The abnormal feeling in Sora's chest was growing rapidly. Her heart started to beat faster as adrenaline inexplicably began pumping through her veins. Something was coming. She didn't know how she knew this, but with ultimate conviction she was sure that something was coming. Something big.
Mimi glanced across at her friend. Sora's eyes were wide, and her hands had balled themselves into tight fists, as if she were hanging onto her silence by a thread. She knelt unmoving in the middle of her bedroom floor, watching Matt unblinkingly as he tensed his muscles. The pink haired teenager transferred her gaze to their companion. A small bead of sweat trickled down Matt's temple, as if he too could sense the tension that hung in the air. Even Mimi felt a distinct change in atmosphere within the room, and she was usually quite unperceptive as far as these sorts of things went.
There was complete silence for a moment. The world seemed to have halted to a standstill, and even the 'Hello Kitty' clock on Sora's wall appeared to have stopped ticking. Everyone held his or her breath. Then, with a sudden burst, Matt wrenched the door and curtain open.
Cold air billowed into the room, and the trio looked eagerly out onto the tiny balcony. Sora gasped, and her hands flew to her mouth. Mimi's jaw dropped, and Matt just stared unbelievingly at what they beheld.
A figure stood outside, back pressed against the metal railings in fear. It wore a tattered black trench coat over what might have once been a grey tracksuit, although it was hard to tell in the poor light filtering from the bedroom. Its arms were thrown up in front of its face, shielding both its eyes and its identity from them. Nobody moved. Then slowly, the figure lowered its arms to reveal a pair of startlingly wide hazel orbs, filled with fear and panic at being discovered. A slash of blue traced its forehead, pushing a substantial amount of brown hair from its tanned visage.
Sora's own eyes grew wide, and she emitted little choking noises of shock. He was slightly older than she remembered, dirtier too, and there was a terror in his eyes like that of an animal caught in the headlights of an oncoming car which hadn't been present the last time she'd seen him. But she knew who was cowering out on her balcony. She knew with all her heart and soul who it was. A face she'd longed for, but thought she'd never see again.
Tai Kamiya.
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AUTHOR'S NOTES: So, you like? Or not? I absolutely ADORE reading feedback - both good and bad; they both help me with the quality of my writing - so please, review, review, review. Many thanx 2 all who have already read the previous two chapters, and could prise themselves away from the toilet bowl long enough to review them. Much obliged! (Gives thumbs up 2 the screen, then realises it is just that - a screen, and cannot actually answer.) But I digress. If NE1 thinks I need to seek medical assistance rather than continue with this fic, then let me know that too. All R&R welcome, and I'll answer from the loony bin's PC if they let me out of my straight jacket long enough to type. (!)
By the way, sorry about the haphazard way I keep uploading these chapters. I'm still really new at this, so I'm not sure how fast I'm supposed to get them online. I didn't put NE up yesterday because I got an offer from a university thru the mail and was out celebrating. (YAY!)
On this end I still have several instalments ready and waiting, so if people would like 2 know what happens next then drop me a line and I'll upload them according to feedback.
Ta muchly.
Scribbler ^_^ (I like this face better than the others, don't U?)
