Chapter 2.
Ran was packing again that afternoon, canceling the classes he'd finally scheduled to teach. Ken had agreed to seek another house for his use. As Ran folded his clothes and placed them back into the boxes he'd pulled them from just yesterday, he paused to consider the young man.
Ken claimed to be a fan of his sword style, and had been thrilled to see him in town. Ran was low on money from paying for his sister's hospital bills, and even more so for bringing her here, to a hospital specializing in head trauma. Ken had stepped right in, offering cheap rent of houses owned by the Historical Society he was a part of. Sometimes, it was nice to have someone else who took the time to care about him, as he cared for Aya.
Ran lifted his head to hear the floorboards squeak upstairs. Upon seeing that ball come down the stairs, he'd accepted that he wasn't alone in the house. Not alone, and yet he was. He hadn't believed in ghosts, or hauntings. But now it had happened to him. And it was getting more and more aggressive.
Doors opening, the squeak of floorboards. That chill he felt pass through the room he was in from time to time that raised the hairs on the back of his neck.
He heard a knock at the front door, and hurried to open it. Ken looked at him with an expression that indicated he had something to talk about. Behind him was a tall blonde man with a cigarette hanging from between his lips and a manila folder under his arm. A pair of sunglasses perched precariously on his nose. Ran frowned at the choking scent of the cigarette, resisting the urge to cough.
"Hey Ran." Ken tugged at the collar of the blue flannel shirt he wore, sleeves rolled up past his elbows. "This is Kudou Youji, a friend of mine. He's also a private investigator, and I asked him to check up on the house."
Youji tilted his head, plucking the cigarette from his lips and holding out his free hand. "Nice to meet you."
Ran looked at the offered hand, and back up at the thin face housing dark green eyes. A sharp intelligence rested in them, and a spark of mischief. Ran wasn't sure he trusted that mischief.
Youji retracted the hand when he realized it wasn't going to be taken. Clearing his throat, he pulled out the manila folder. "You might find this interesting."
----------------
Ran glared at the police picture of Reiji in his hands as Youji and Ken shifted through the papers spread out across the large oak dining table.
"This, is Takatori Akira." Youji held up an age-browned picture of a happily smiling elderly man in a business suit. "He was a self-made millionaire. He built this house back in 1924. He died of a heart attack at age 71 in this house."
The floorboards creaked upstairs and all eyes flew upward.
"Ahem, suspect one," Youji continued, looking back to the papers. "Akira had three sons, the eldest being Takatori Saijou. Saijou died of an aneurysm at age 39. In this house."
Youji glanced up again incase the boards creaked again. When they didn't, he went on.
"Suspect Two. Now to the present. Saijou had two sons. Reiji, and Shuuichi." He nodded toward the paper Ran held. "Shuuichi owned the house. Reiji was already involved in crime, so Saijou willed all of the family fortune to Shuuichi."
Ken nodded at Ran with Youji's words, eyes quietly serious.
"Shuuichi, he died of cancer 10 years ago." Youji held up a death certificate from the mess of papers. "With no heirs. So he willed the family fortune to Reiji's youngest son, Mamoru."
Ran nodded, ignoring the sound of something sliding across the floor upstairs, while the other two stared upward in silence.
"Go on," he said calmly.
Youji looked back to him, hand sliding toward his shirt pocket for his pack of cigarettes, then moving away at Ran's warning gaze. Youji grimaced, then slid a newspaper clipping across the table toward him.
"At age eight, Mamoru was kidnapped by ransom seekers. Reiji paid the ransom, but the boy was killed anyway."
Ran glanced over the yellowed newspaper story, taking in the title "Takatori Heir to Millions Kidnapped."
"The family fortune then went to Hirofumi, Reiji's eldest son. When Hirofumi hit eighteen, he inherited the family fortune. And that's when Reiji went big league. At that point, they sold this house to Katsuhiro Otomo. Otomo died of old age, in this house, making him suspect three."
"So one of those three men is probably who's up there." Ken pointed up, leaning forward on the back of the chair he had reversed before straddling. "The thing is, no phenomenon had been previously recorded in this house. Nothing was ever mentioned about anything like this by Otomo, or the Takatori's. I mean, we ask about this kind of stuff when we take an old house like this."
"Meaning what?" Ran asked evenly.
"Well, it's Otomo, or..." Ken looked around, then back into Ran's eyes. "Or, there's something about you that is making this happen."
Ran stared back at him, pouring coldness into his look, trying to force the young man to look away first. Ken finally did, concern filling his face.
"We can find out," Youji spoke up quietly, noting the stare-down.
"His wife is psychic." Ken nodded.
"A medium, Ken." Youji sighed. "She doesn't see the future. Medium, say it with me."
"Medium." Ken rolled his eyes, turning his head slightly so Youji couldn't see.
"Medium," Ran repeated. "She talks to ghosts."
"In a fashion." Youji nodded. "Sometimes it comes in real handy on a case."
Ran sighed, lowering his head into his hands, stroking his hair back. "I just want out of this house. I don't have anything to do with this. I don't care."
"Sorry, Ran." Ken shook his head. "You're not leaving till we find out what's going on. You're part of this now, whether you like it or not."
--------------------
That evening, Ken opened the door to allow Youji and a dark-haired young woman into the house, looking spooked.
"You look like you've seen a ghost." Youji chuckled at him.
Ken stared back at him with hollow eyes. "It's gotten stronger."
He led the couple into the dining room where Ran was sweeping up bits of broken glass and china.
"Whoever it is trashed a cabinet." Ken pointed to an antique display case, the glass broken from the front doors, two leftover china plates lying facedown on the shelves. Ran looked up from sweeping, glancing at the two.
Mrs. Kudou looked around the room, dark eyes straying to the walls, then up toward the ceiling. She was small, dressed in a long overcoat.
"Ran, I'd like you to meet my wife, Kudou Asuka," Youji introduced. Ran nodded at the young woman, who offered him a small smile, and stepped back toward the foyer.
"Dear?" Youji blinked after her. Asuka wandered back into the foyer, standing at the bottom of the stairs and gazing up them.
Ran swept the mess into the dustpan, quickly dumping it and going to follow the others, Ken having trailed after Youji. He joined the group at the bottom of the stairs. Ken and Youji were looking at Asuka, who was staring up at the top of the stairs.
Asuka finally turned to look at him, past her husband. "It's very strong. I can feel it down here, and it's up there."
"Do you know what it is?" Ran asked.
"No, I don't talk to them like that." She grinned. "It's a bit more complex."
------------------
"I'm going to record this, is that okay?" Ken asked, placing a tape recorder on the table. Asuka nodded as Youji dropped a pile of papers in front of her.
"Why don't you get the video camera, Ken?" Youji winked at him.
"Because someone else has the video camera." Ken frowned in disappointment. Youji chuckled and sat down to the right of his wife with Ran sitting to her left.
"Now, don't try to talk to her." Youji looked to Ran. "It disturbs her concentration."
Ran nodded, taking a deep breath to prepare for what was to come.
Asuka squeezed her husband's hand once before taking up the pencil next to the papers. Holding it in her fist like a child, she rested it over the paper and closed her eyes. Ran watched her, waiting and wondering exactly how this kind of thing worked.
Ken hit record, and settled down to watch. They sat in tense silence as Asuka concentrated.
"Don't be afraid," Asuka said softly. "We are here to talk to you."
Ran looked around, waiting for some kind of response. The pencil in Asuka's hand began to scrawl across the paper aimlessly.
"Will you talk to us?" Asuka asked. Ken cleared his throat, drawing eyes to him, and he looked back guiltily.
The hair on the back of Ran's neck suddenly stood up with a chill as goosebumps spread down his arms. He looked around quickly, and saw Ken's eyes widen as goosebumps rose on his own bare forearms.
"Will you talk to us?" Asuka asked again, voice having gone monotone and soothing. The pencil jerked across the paper, and Youji pulled the first sheet off as the pencil took to the next, drawing zigzags. Then it oriented, and made quick movements.
"Yes," Youji read the word from the paper, looking up at Ran and Ken. He ripped the sheet off.
Ken looked around at each of them, eyes darting nervously. Ran kept watching the pencil.
"Good," Asuka said softly. "Are you Katsuhiro Otomo?"
The pencil scrawled in wait, then quickly wrote in messy letters.
"No," Youji read aloud.
"Are you Takatori Akira?"
"No."
"Are you Takatori Saijou?"
"No." Youji blinked, pulling the paper free and dropping it to the floor.
"What is your name?" Asuka asked softly and slowly.
Ran found his breath speeding up. It was cold. The room was cold. Bitter, biting cold. He listened to the pencil scratch on the paper as he tried not to rub his arms for warmth.
"Mamoru," Youji nearly whispered.
"Are you the child Takatori Mamoru?"
"Yes."
"The child that was kidnapped nine years ago?"
"No."
Ken's head rose in startlement as Youji himself blinked.
"Another?" Ken whispered. Youji gave him a look that told him to shut his mouth. Ken blinked at his own visible breath, brow furrowing as he finally saw the small puffs of mist coming from everyone's mouths or noses. Was it really that cold in this room?
"Mamoru, are you the youngest son of Takatori Reiji?"
The pencil scrawled aimlessly, filling the paper, and Youji ripped it off, and yet the pencil continued its wordless movement.
"What's wrong with it?" Ken opened his mouth again, watching his own breath.
"It's confused," Youji hissed at him.
"Mamoru, why are you in this house? Why can you not find rest?"
The pencil took action, and Youji opened his mouth to read, then closed it again, frowning and staring at the paper. Ran leaned forward to look. A square surrounded a circle, and around the square the pencil was busily doodling some kind of creature with four legs.
Ran looked at Youji in question, who frowned back at him, equally perplexed.
"Mamoru, why can you not find rest?"
The pencil carefully doodled a few more of the creatures, then moved down to the circle within the square, coloring it in.
"It's a child," Youji whispered. "They get sidetracked."
Ken wanted to laugh, but it died in his throat. Ran clenched and unclenched his fists, wanting the spirit to get on with it. He had better things to do.
The pencil drew what looked like a house near the circle within the square, then wrote a large 'X' over the circle.
"Mamoru, why are you in this house?"
The table jumped, and Ken scooted back from it in a hurry. Ran lifted his hands from the table, glaring down at it as if daring it to do it again.
"Mamoru, did you die in this house?" Asuka changed the question.
"Yes." Youji nodded to the others as the words reappeared.
"How did you die, Mamoru?" Asuka's voice changed, sounding more gentle and caring, like a mother speaking to her child. The pencil began its aimless scrawl again and Ran gripped the edge of the table, getting impatient.
"Mamoru, are you angry about Ran being in this house?" Asuka changed her question again.
"No."
"Mamoru, do you want Ran to leave?"
"No."
"Mamoru, is there something you want from Ran?"
"Yes."
Ran blinked, staring at Youji, who looked at him ominously as he ripped the page off.
"What is it you want from Ran, Mamoru?"
The pencil jerked in its haste.
"Help." Youji ripped the pages off. "Help. Help. Help. Hel-"
The pencil broke in two in Asuka's hand and the papers on the floor flew into the air, sending Ken to his feet out of his chair, edging toward the door. Asuka opened her eyes with a gasp, staring at nothing for a moment before she started blinking. Tears formed in her eyes and she began to sob.
Youji put his arms around her, pulling her to him as she wept into his shoulder. Ran finally rubbed his arms as the room warmed. Ken stood where he was, gulping air as the last of the papers fluttered to rest on the floor.
Youji looked to Ran as he rubbed his wife's back to soothe her. "Now you know who and why. What are you going to do about it?"
--------------------
Ran picked listlessly at lint balls on his black shirt as Ken looked the papers over. Youji had taken his wife home, who had not taken the experience well.
"I thought this kid had been kidnapped." Ken sighed, looking at the doodle.
"Apparently not," Ran said quietly, not taking his attention from the shirt.
"He wants you to help him." Ken looked back over his shoulder. "Why you? What can you do?"
Ran lifted his eyes, looking at him through his eyelashes.
"No offense," Ken stuttered. Ran looked back down at his shirt.
Ken sighed and put the papers down. "I didn't understand any of that. It's Mamoru, he doesn't know if he's Reiji's son, doesn't know why he's here, how he died, and didn't tell us what he wanted you to do."
"Tough." Ran flicked a lint ball. "I don't owe the Takatori family anything."
"Ran, you've got to help him," Ken insisted. "It's a kid, Ran. He didn't run over your sister. He's dead!"
"He's a Takatori."
Ken clenched his fists. They heard the chandelier in the foyer rattle. Ran sighed.
"I have my boxes packed. I'm ready to leave. If you can find me another house, I'll take it graciously. If not, then I'll make due."
Ken closed his eyes, turning away from him.
"You know," he said quietly. "I looked upon you like a hero. The great Ran Fujimiya, swordsman extraordinaire. I always thought you'd stand up to protect the innocent and wronged, because that's what heroes do."
Ran looked at Ken's back, seeing the disappointment in Ken's slumped shoulders.
"Now, this kid, is calling out to you from beyond the very grave, begging for help, and you're turning your back on him."
Ran looked at the floor, crossing his arms.
"Maybe you aren't the hero I thought you were."
Ken turned his head to look at him, and Ran didn't return the look.
"I'll find you a house, Ran," he said quietly. "And I'm going to help this kid. Because someone needs to."
Grabbing his tape recorder, Ken headed for the door, anger apparent in his steps.
Ran finally looked after him, watching the chocolate brown head disappear around the corner.
"There are no heroes left, Ken," he said quietly. "There is only revenge."
There was the sound of exploding glass echoed by Ken's scream, and Ran dashed forward, sliding across the smooth wooden floor. He grabbed the doorframe to catch himself, staring down at the scene before him.
The window in the front door had shattered, with Ken lying on the floor, covered in glass shards. Blood streaked his face from behind the arm still held up to shield it. Something thumped against the stairs, and a small red ball flashing a white star bounced off the last step to roll to a stop near Ken's head.
Ran was packing again that afternoon, canceling the classes he'd finally scheduled to teach. Ken had agreed to seek another house for his use. As Ran folded his clothes and placed them back into the boxes he'd pulled them from just yesterday, he paused to consider the young man.
Ken claimed to be a fan of his sword style, and had been thrilled to see him in town. Ran was low on money from paying for his sister's hospital bills, and even more so for bringing her here, to a hospital specializing in head trauma. Ken had stepped right in, offering cheap rent of houses owned by the Historical Society he was a part of. Sometimes, it was nice to have someone else who took the time to care about him, as he cared for Aya.
Ran lifted his head to hear the floorboards squeak upstairs. Upon seeing that ball come down the stairs, he'd accepted that he wasn't alone in the house. Not alone, and yet he was. He hadn't believed in ghosts, or hauntings. But now it had happened to him. And it was getting more and more aggressive.
Doors opening, the squeak of floorboards. That chill he felt pass through the room he was in from time to time that raised the hairs on the back of his neck.
He heard a knock at the front door, and hurried to open it. Ken looked at him with an expression that indicated he had something to talk about. Behind him was a tall blonde man with a cigarette hanging from between his lips and a manila folder under his arm. A pair of sunglasses perched precariously on his nose. Ran frowned at the choking scent of the cigarette, resisting the urge to cough.
"Hey Ran." Ken tugged at the collar of the blue flannel shirt he wore, sleeves rolled up past his elbows. "This is Kudou Youji, a friend of mine. He's also a private investigator, and I asked him to check up on the house."
Youji tilted his head, plucking the cigarette from his lips and holding out his free hand. "Nice to meet you."
Ran looked at the offered hand, and back up at the thin face housing dark green eyes. A sharp intelligence rested in them, and a spark of mischief. Ran wasn't sure he trusted that mischief.
Youji retracted the hand when he realized it wasn't going to be taken. Clearing his throat, he pulled out the manila folder. "You might find this interesting."
----------------
Ran glared at the police picture of Reiji in his hands as Youji and Ken shifted through the papers spread out across the large oak dining table.
"This, is Takatori Akira." Youji held up an age-browned picture of a happily smiling elderly man in a business suit. "He was a self-made millionaire. He built this house back in 1924. He died of a heart attack at age 71 in this house."
The floorboards creaked upstairs and all eyes flew upward.
"Ahem, suspect one," Youji continued, looking back to the papers. "Akira had three sons, the eldest being Takatori Saijou. Saijou died of an aneurysm at age 39. In this house."
Youji glanced up again incase the boards creaked again. When they didn't, he went on.
"Suspect Two. Now to the present. Saijou had two sons. Reiji, and Shuuichi." He nodded toward the paper Ran held. "Shuuichi owned the house. Reiji was already involved in crime, so Saijou willed all of the family fortune to Shuuichi."
Ken nodded at Ran with Youji's words, eyes quietly serious.
"Shuuichi, he died of cancer 10 years ago." Youji held up a death certificate from the mess of papers. "With no heirs. So he willed the family fortune to Reiji's youngest son, Mamoru."
Ran nodded, ignoring the sound of something sliding across the floor upstairs, while the other two stared upward in silence.
"Go on," he said calmly.
Youji looked back to him, hand sliding toward his shirt pocket for his pack of cigarettes, then moving away at Ran's warning gaze. Youji grimaced, then slid a newspaper clipping across the table toward him.
"At age eight, Mamoru was kidnapped by ransom seekers. Reiji paid the ransom, but the boy was killed anyway."
Ran glanced over the yellowed newspaper story, taking in the title "Takatori Heir to Millions Kidnapped."
"The family fortune then went to Hirofumi, Reiji's eldest son. When Hirofumi hit eighteen, he inherited the family fortune. And that's when Reiji went big league. At that point, they sold this house to Katsuhiro Otomo. Otomo died of old age, in this house, making him suspect three."
"So one of those three men is probably who's up there." Ken pointed up, leaning forward on the back of the chair he had reversed before straddling. "The thing is, no phenomenon had been previously recorded in this house. Nothing was ever mentioned about anything like this by Otomo, or the Takatori's. I mean, we ask about this kind of stuff when we take an old house like this."
"Meaning what?" Ran asked evenly.
"Well, it's Otomo, or..." Ken looked around, then back into Ran's eyes. "Or, there's something about you that is making this happen."
Ran stared back at him, pouring coldness into his look, trying to force the young man to look away first. Ken finally did, concern filling his face.
"We can find out," Youji spoke up quietly, noting the stare-down.
"His wife is psychic." Ken nodded.
"A medium, Ken." Youji sighed. "She doesn't see the future. Medium, say it with me."
"Medium." Ken rolled his eyes, turning his head slightly so Youji couldn't see.
"Medium," Ran repeated. "She talks to ghosts."
"In a fashion." Youji nodded. "Sometimes it comes in real handy on a case."
Ran sighed, lowering his head into his hands, stroking his hair back. "I just want out of this house. I don't have anything to do with this. I don't care."
"Sorry, Ran." Ken shook his head. "You're not leaving till we find out what's going on. You're part of this now, whether you like it or not."
--------------------
That evening, Ken opened the door to allow Youji and a dark-haired young woman into the house, looking spooked.
"You look like you've seen a ghost." Youji chuckled at him.
Ken stared back at him with hollow eyes. "It's gotten stronger."
He led the couple into the dining room where Ran was sweeping up bits of broken glass and china.
"Whoever it is trashed a cabinet." Ken pointed to an antique display case, the glass broken from the front doors, two leftover china plates lying facedown on the shelves. Ran looked up from sweeping, glancing at the two.
Mrs. Kudou looked around the room, dark eyes straying to the walls, then up toward the ceiling. She was small, dressed in a long overcoat.
"Ran, I'd like you to meet my wife, Kudou Asuka," Youji introduced. Ran nodded at the young woman, who offered him a small smile, and stepped back toward the foyer.
"Dear?" Youji blinked after her. Asuka wandered back into the foyer, standing at the bottom of the stairs and gazing up them.
Ran swept the mess into the dustpan, quickly dumping it and going to follow the others, Ken having trailed after Youji. He joined the group at the bottom of the stairs. Ken and Youji were looking at Asuka, who was staring up at the top of the stairs.
Asuka finally turned to look at him, past her husband. "It's very strong. I can feel it down here, and it's up there."
"Do you know what it is?" Ran asked.
"No, I don't talk to them like that." She grinned. "It's a bit more complex."
------------------
"I'm going to record this, is that okay?" Ken asked, placing a tape recorder on the table. Asuka nodded as Youji dropped a pile of papers in front of her.
"Why don't you get the video camera, Ken?" Youji winked at him.
"Because someone else has the video camera." Ken frowned in disappointment. Youji chuckled and sat down to the right of his wife with Ran sitting to her left.
"Now, don't try to talk to her." Youji looked to Ran. "It disturbs her concentration."
Ran nodded, taking a deep breath to prepare for what was to come.
Asuka squeezed her husband's hand once before taking up the pencil next to the papers. Holding it in her fist like a child, she rested it over the paper and closed her eyes. Ran watched her, waiting and wondering exactly how this kind of thing worked.
Ken hit record, and settled down to watch. They sat in tense silence as Asuka concentrated.
"Don't be afraid," Asuka said softly. "We are here to talk to you."
Ran looked around, waiting for some kind of response. The pencil in Asuka's hand began to scrawl across the paper aimlessly.
"Will you talk to us?" Asuka asked. Ken cleared his throat, drawing eyes to him, and he looked back guiltily.
The hair on the back of Ran's neck suddenly stood up with a chill as goosebumps spread down his arms. He looked around quickly, and saw Ken's eyes widen as goosebumps rose on his own bare forearms.
"Will you talk to us?" Asuka asked again, voice having gone monotone and soothing. The pencil jerked across the paper, and Youji pulled the first sheet off as the pencil took to the next, drawing zigzags. Then it oriented, and made quick movements.
"Yes," Youji read the word from the paper, looking up at Ran and Ken. He ripped the sheet off.
Ken looked around at each of them, eyes darting nervously. Ran kept watching the pencil.
"Good," Asuka said softly. "Are you Katsuhiro Otomo?"
The pencil scrawled in wait, then quickly wrote in messy letters.
"No," Youji read aloud.
"Are you Takatori Akira?"
"No."
"Are you Takatori Saijou?"
"No." Youji blinked, pulling the paper free and dropping it to the floor.
"What is your name?" Asuka asked softly and slowly.
Ran found his breath speeding up. It was cold. The room was cold. Bitter, biting cold. He listened to the pencil scratch on the paper as he tried not to rub his arms for warmth.
"Mamoru," Youji nearly whispered.
"Are you the child Takatori Mamoru?"
"Yes."
"The child that was kidnapped nine years ago?"
"No."
Ken's head rose in startlement as Youji himself blinked.
"Another?" Ken whispered. Youji gave him a look that told him to shut his mouth. Ken blinked at his own visible breath, brow furrowing as he finally saw the small puffs of mist coming from everyone's mouths or noses. Was it really that cold in this room?
"Mamoru, are you the youngest son of Takatori Reiji?"
The pencil scrawled aimlessly, filling the paper, and Youji ripped it off, and yet the pencil continued its wordless movement.
"What's wrong with it?" Ken opened his mouth again, watching his own breath.
"It's confused," Youji hissed at him.
"Mamoru, why are you in this house? Why can you not find rest?"
The pencil took action, and Youji opened his mouth to read, then closed it again, frowning and staring at the paper. Ran leaned forward to look. A square surrounded a circle, and around the square the pencil was busily doodling some kind of creature with four legs.
Ran looked at Youji in question, who frowned back at him, equally perplexed.
"Mamoru, why can you not find rest?"
The pencil carefully doodled a few more of the creatures, then moved down to the circle within the square, coloring it in.
"It's a child," Youji whispered. "They get sidetracked."
Ken wanted to laugh, but it died in his throat. Ran clenched and unclenched his fists, wanting the spirit to get on with it. He had better things to do.
The pencil drew what looked like a house near the circle within the square, then wrote a large 'X' over the circle.
"Mamoru, why are you in this house?"
The table jumped, and Ken scooted back from it in a hurry. Ran lifted his hands from the table, glaring down at it as if daring it to do it again.
"Mamoru, did you die in this house?" Asuka changed the question.
"Yes." Youji nodded to the others as the words reappeared.
"How did you die, Mamoru?" Asuka's voice changed, sounding more gentle and caring, like a mother speaking to her child. The pencil began its aimless scrawl again and Ran gripped the edge of the table, getting impatient.
"Mamoru, are you angry about Ran being in this house?" Asuka changed her question again.
"No."
"Mamoru, do you want Ran to leave?"
"No."
"Mamoru, is there something you want from Ran?"
"Yes."
Ran blinked, staring at Youji, who looked at him ominously as he ripped the page off.
"What is it you want from Ran, Mamoru?"
The pencil jerked in its haste.
"Help." Youji ripped the pages off. "Help. Help. Help. Hel-"
The pencil broke in two in Asuka's hand and the papers on the floor flew into the air, sending Ken to his feet out of his chair, edging toward the door. Asuka opened her eyes with a gasp, staring at nothing for a moment before she started blinking. Tears formed in her eyes and she began to sob.
Youji put his arms around her, pulling her to him as she wept into his shoulder. Ran finally rubbed his arms as the room warmed. Ken stood where he was, gulping air as the last of the papers fluttered to rest on the floor.
Youji looked to Ran as he rubbed his wife's back to soothe her. "Now you know who and why. What are you going to do about it?"
--------------------
Ran picked listlessly at lint balls on his black shirt as Ken looked the papers over. Youji had taken his wife home, who had not taken the experience well.
"I thought this kid had been kidnapped." Ken sighed, looking at the doodle.
"Apparently not," Ran said quietly, not taking his attention from the shirt.
"He wants you to help him." Ken looked back over his shoulder. "Why you? What can you do?"
Ran lifted his eyes, looking at him through his eyelashes.
"No offense," Ken stuttered. Ran looked back down at his shirt.
Ken sighed and put the papers down. "I didn't understand any of that. It's Mamoru, he doesn't know if he's Reiji's son, doesn't know why he's here, how he died, and didn't tell us what he wanted you to do."
"Tough." Ran flicked a lint ball. "I don't owe the Takatori family anything."
"Ran, you've got to help him," Ken insisted. "It's a kid, Ran. He didn't run over your sister. He's dead!"
"He's a Takatori."
Ken clenched his fists. They heard the chandelier in the foyer rattle. Ran sighed.
"I have my boxes packed. I'm ready to leave. If you can find me another house, I'll take it graciously. If not, then I'll make due."
Ken closed his eyes, turning away from him.
"You know," he said quietly. "I looked upon you like a hero. The great Ran Fujimiya, swordsman extraordinaire. I always thought you'd stand up to protect the innocent and wronged, because that's what heroes do."
Ran looked at Ken's back, seeing the disappointment in Ken's slumped shoulders.
"Now, this kid, is calling out to you from beyond the very grave, begging for help, and you're turning your back on him."
Ran looked at the floor, crossing his arms.
"Maybe you aren't the hero I thought you were."
Ken turned his head to look at him, and Ran didn't return the look.
"I'll find you a house, Ran," he said quietly. "And I'm going to help this kid. Because someone needs to."
Grabbing his tape recorder, Ken headed for the door, anger apparent in his steps.
Ran finally looked after him, watching the chocolate brown head disappear around the corner.
"There are no heroes left, Ken," he said quietly. "There is only revenge."
There was the sound of exploding glass echoed by Ken's scream, and Ran dashed forward, sliding across the smooth wooden floor. He grabbed the doorframe to catch himself, staring down at the scene before him.
The window in the front door had shattered, with Ken lying on the floor, covered in glass shards. Blood streaked his face from behind the arm still held up to shield it. Something thumped against the stairs, and a small red ball flashing a white star bounced off the last step to roll to a stop near Ken's head.
