Author's Note: Sorry, everyone, for leaving you at that cliffhanger from the last chapter so long! Forgive me! Here's a new chapter, with another appearance by Juunana and his ax (he takes off some clothes, too! *_*). Plus, more angst for Kuri-kun! But we're nearing the end--please stick with me, it'll be possibly one or two more chapters (and then an epilogue, to match the prologue).
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Kuririn pushed his way through the crowd until he reached the chain-link fence that had been erected around the disaster to keep the onlookers out of the way of the clean-up crew. The disaster area in downtown Chamomile looked much worse in person than it appeared on television. A massive crater was blown into the ground where Schinky's Boutique had stood only days earlier. Dirty brown water pooled in the center of the giant hole. Hunks of concrete and dirt lay about like pebbles scattered by a giant child. Broken pipes and wiring poked through the debris, forcing the cleanup workers to move carefully for fear of electrocution. Dusty shreds of clothing clung to some of the rubble, a sad testimony to both the store and the lives ruined by this act of violence. Kuririn trembled as his eyes took in the scene. Juuhachigou, his mind shrieked at him. Juuhachigou did this! Juuhachigou! JUUHACHIGOU!
"Oh, dear God," Kuririn whimpered. His fingers gripped the fence so tightly that the wire began to bend and break. He abruptly let go and stared at his hands--hands that had fought evil most of his life, yet hands that had also carried Juuhachigou's inert body to safety. Once again, the guilt flooded his soul: If I had killed her, this would never have happened.
He would have to use these same hands to stop her; that would be his penance.
"Excuse me," a male voice said softly. Kuririn reflexively moved aside as an old man dressed in black stepped up to the fence. He attached a photo of a smiling, young, green-haired woman to the fence, then stuck a red rose through the links beside it. He bowed his head and tears fell from his wrinkled face to the ground.
Kuririn felt bile rise inside him with shame and guilt. My fault…
"I'm--sorry!" he choked out, tears streaming from his dark eyes. The old man looked up, his own face wet, and turned up his lips in a smile full of pain and compassion. He put a weathered hand on Kuririn's shoulder and squeezed it.
"Did you lose someone, too?" the man asked. Kuririn's eyes widened.
"Yes," he answered. "Yes, I have." He removed the old man's hand from his shoulder, bowed respectfully, then wandered back into the crowd. As he walked away from the ruins of the shop--the ruins of so many lives--it began to rain. Kuririn shoved his hands into the pockets of his black pants; he hadn't thought to change clothes before flying away from the Western Capital. His clothes were filthy, and he felt dirty to the core of his being, knowing he had once saved the life of a mass murderer.
The rain came down heavier, and Kuririn stopped to look up, wondering if the heavens were trying to wash him clean again.
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Plip. Plip. Plittaplit.
Juuhachigou shivered in the dark, watching the blood trickle onto the cement floor.
Plip-plip. Plip-plip.
It dripped faster and the puddle began to pool towards her. She tried to back away, but scraped her bare shoulders against a cold, rough stone wall. She was naked--but the long scar on her body was absent.
Plip-plop-plippaplip!
The dark red blood splattered on her; it was hot on her icy skin. Suddenly metal hands reached out of the darkness and yanked her up. "No, let me go!" she shrieked. "LET ME GO!" The hands dumped her onto a metal table and pinned her down; she tossed her head back and forth, still struggling even though the rest of her body was restrained.
Plip-plop. Plippaplop.
Blood dripped from the table next to her. Her eyes widened: a body lay there, connected to countless wires and tubes, covered with blood. "What have you done to my brother?" she gasped. A pair of glowing blue eyes appeared in the dark above her. "The same thing I'm going to do to you," a familiar voice answered. "I making you both better."
Then something cut into her flesh and--
Juuhachigou woke up in her bed, alone.
Plop. Plippaplop. Plip-plop.
A damp stain was spreading slowly over her comforter where a liquid was dripping on it. She held out a hand and caught the droplets; they were clear, not red. There was no blood here--only water, leaking through the ceiling over where she lay. She could hear the rain drumming on the roof.
There was no blood. She was okay. But in the dream--
She peered underneath her shirt; the scar was still there.
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His ax had more than one use, Juunanagou discovered. Not only could it cut down trees, but it could also cut down a giant bear that had been angered at the destruction of its forest. Despite the rain, Juunanagou smiled as he dragged the headless carcass through the mud with one hand, while the other carried his treasured ax. Killing with weapons like a normal human was always much more entertaining than zapping someone with energy.
He reached his home and dumped the dead animal on the front porch, out of the rain. The brown fur was damp, muddy, and blood-crusted, but he would clean it up and use it as a rug, perhaps. And he would eat the meat--all of it. Just like a normal man. Maybe he could even convince Juuhachigou to have a bite or two, just so she would stop being so different all the time--so aggravatingly non-human. His sister simply did not know how to enjoy life; she preferred to lurk about the cabin, wasting her time staring blankly at a dripping water faucet or out the kitchen window. He seemed to be the only one who understood how to have fun.
He wondered how one actually went about skinning a bear. Maybe he should wait until the rain stopped.
The front door swung open and Juuhachigou came out onto the porch. "Juunana--" Then she halted, her eyes wide. He realized she was staring at his chest, so he looked down. His black Red Ribbon shirt was soaked by the rain, as was most of his clothing. But the bear's blood, although invisible on the dark shirt, had stained his undershirt, his jeans, and even his hands crimson.
"Blood," Juuhachigou whispered.
"Yeah, I know I'm messy," he agreed, "but look at this guy! Chopped his head off with my ax!" He brandished the bloodied tool proudly, then twirled it in the air and stuck it into the wooden railing of the porch.
"Blood," Juuhachigou repeated softly.
"Fine, I'll clean up before I go inside," Juunanagou muttered, untying his bandana and pulling his filthy shirts over his head; he draped the soggy clothing over the porch railing. He ran his fingers through his tangled black locks and squeezed water from them. The drops splattered onto the porch: plita plit plat plip.
"No, stop it," Juuhachigou whimpered.
"What?" A black eyebrow arched as he noted Juuhachigou's strange behavior; he couldn't remember her ever sounding so--fragile.
"Stop the blood," she pleaded softly, wrapping her arms tightly about herself. "I can't stop it, it's too late!" Her voice rose. "Too late, too late, he got you he got you he got you he got us both he got us--"
Juunanagou stepped forward and grabbed her shoulders. "What's wrong with you?" he demanded, shaking her, and she stopped babbling. She stared at him.
"He got us and we'll never be the same again," she stated.
"What are you talking about?" Even as he uttered the question something in his guts lurched; he knew the answer.
"Don't you see?" she asked, her voice still tinged with hysteria. She jabbed a finger at his bare chest. "This! See this!" Juunanagou looked down again; her fingertip was on the beginning of the long scar that ran down his chest and stomach. A thought surfaced in the back of his mind, trying to claw its way to his consciousness, but he smothered it before it could bring him pain. "Don't you see it?" his sister shrieked. "Doesn't it bother you?"
"No. I don't see it. What I don't see can't bother me." He closed his eyes. "It's not real."
Games of make-believe are best played alone…
He didn't see it coming, standing there with his eyes closed, but the impact would stay in his mind for years afterward. Juuhachigou punched him in the stomach. Hard.
He hit the ground a mile away, skidding through the mud until he banged to a stop against a boulder. He was too stunned to get up right away--stunned by the blow that had caught him offguard, stunned by the fact that his sister had delivered it.
When he finally returned to the cabin, Juuhachigou was gone.
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Yamucha hated hysterics. So it hadn't been too hard for him to leave Korynna and Gigi back at the apartment after Kuririn had "jumped" out of the window. The girls clung to each other, weeping about the "suicide", and stubbornly refused to accept his explanation about ki-controlled flying. He couldn't even convince them to look outside and see that no body lay on the ground. Finally, Yamucha decided the best cure for their condition was to climb out the same window and float. The girls panicked and screamed at him to leave them alone, as if he were a monster. Angered, Yamucha was glad to comply with their wishes. He landed in the parking lot and got into his car. Driving attracted less attention than flying around the city, obviously.
He went to Capsule Corporation to see if Kuririn had gone there. Dr. Briefs opened the door. Yamucha lied and said that Kuririn had asked him to deliver his things to an apartment he'd found. Bulma's father nodded and showed him to Kuririn's room. Yamucha asked to speak with Bulma, but was informed that she was still in bed. So he left and picked up Puaru at the apartment they shared.
Then he, the cat, and the suitcases drove a few hours in the general direction of Kuririn's ki, which led them to the city of Chamomile.
"He's got to be here somewhere," Yamucha muttered as the car waited at a red light. Puaru nodded, too entranced by the movement of the windshield wipers to say anything. Yamucha tried to pinpoint Kuririn's ki, but he was out of practice--besides, it was difficult to sense a specific person in an urban area. A car honked behind them.
"Light's green," Puaru observed belatedly.
"Yeah, yeah," grumbled Yamucha and drove through the intersection.
Suddenly he felt it--Kuririn! The ki was clearly his; he had to be nearby. Yamucha slammed on the brakes and yelled at Puaru: "Get out of the car! He's around here somewhere!" The cat immediately rolled down the window and floated out into the downpour. The car in back of him honked again, so Yamucha pulled into an empty parking space a few yards up the street. He got out--narrowly missing a passing car--and ran down the sidewalk, splashing heedlessly through the puddles. He spotted Puaru floating above a short man who had to be Kuririn. The man was talking to the cat, but he turned as Yamucha approached. His hair was plastered wetly to his head, his face was haggard, and his soaked clothes clung to his body. He looked like death personified, pale and dressed in black.
Geez, has he been out here the whole time? Yamucha wondered. What happened to him?
"Why are you guys here?" Kuririn asked.
To rescue you from yourself, my friend. "To find out why you had to leave in such a hurry," Yamucha replied. "But let's discuss that someplace dry. I don't like standing in the rain!" He jabbed a thumb over his shoulder, indicating where he parked. "I'm sure we can find a decent hotel or something. Come on. We've got your suitcases in the car."
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Kuririn sat with Yamucha and Puaru in the diner next door to the Sweet Suites Hotel, where they had checked into a room for the night. Kuririn had no appetite for food at the moment, but Yamucha was forcing him to eat some pizza anyway. The food was hot, his clean clothes were dry, but all the comfort of the world couldn't get rid of the cold pain inside him. Still, Kuririn was grateful that his friends had found him--but also ashamed. They probably thought he was crazy.
They're probably right, though.
Yamucha took a bite of a pineapple-and-ham pizza slice, swallowed, then asked the inevitable question: "Why did you come here?"
Kuririn stalled by taking a sip of his soda, but Yamucha and Puaru gazed expectantly at him. Better to tell it flat out. "I have to find Juuhachigou," he stated.
"What?" Yamucha laughed; it hurt Kuririn even more. "You've still got a crush on her? Oh man! So that's why you had to leave Gigi so fast--you didn't want to be unfaithful! That's great, really! But why do you think you'll find her here?" Puaru giggled.
"It's not like that," Kuririn answered, trying to keep a tremor out of his voice. He buried his face in his hands. "She blew up a store downtown--I know it. She killed people. So I have to find her because it's my fault."
"Your fault?"
"Yeah. I saved her life, remember?"
Yamucha was quiet for a moment. Then he asked, "So what will you do if you find her?"
Kuririn lifted his head. "I'll--" He hesitated. "I'll--" He stared down at the table.
I'll kill her.
But there was no way he could do that. He wasn't strong enough, even if Yamucha joined him.
So I'll let her kill me.
That will be the punishment for my sin.
"I'll die," he said simply, not looking up. "That will be enough."
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Yamucha felt the world shift the moment Kuririn uttered his death wish. It was one of those rare moments where he knew that whatever he did next would take him into one future and close off another forever. Death is not an option, he decided immediately. But, honestly, Yamucha could not say he liked Juuhachigou. She was a machine programmed to kill, plus she had a lousy personality and she wasn't particularly good-looking either. Why Kuririn was so attracted to her, Yamucha could not imagine--but even though Kuririn denied it, it obviously was an attraction. It didn't matter what motive Kuririn had for chasing after Juuhachigou, whether it was repressed romantic feelings, a perverted sense of responsibility, or simply a desire to be relieved of the burdens of life. The problem was that he was obsessed with trying to find her in the first place! Yamucha had absolutely no desire to see that woman again. He'd been worried--no, terrified--of what that cyborg might do ever since Kuririn told Dende to heal her after Cell had been killed. Maybe Kuririn should feel guilty for Juuhachigou's most recent victims--after all, the cyborg was an evil killer, and he had preserved her life. Plus, he had removed the only means of destroying the cyborg when Shenlong had removed the explosive bomb inside her; Juuhachigou was now unstoppable, thanks to Kuririn.
But he couldn't tell his friend and comrade-in-arms any of his misgivings. Especially when this friend was depressed and suicidal. Although it was strange that he hadn't noticed any unusual behavior last night when they went out with the girls. He must be on an emotional roller coaster, high one day and down the next, Yamucha realized. That damn cyborg has really screwed with his mind! He sank into contemplation of the female ability to make men suffer--something he had experienced too many of times himself.
"Hey!" Puaru hissed in his ear. "Say something to cheer him up! We can't just let him get killed!"
Yamucha nodded, thought a moment, then reached across the table and lightly punched Kuririn's chin to get him to lift his head. "Hey!" he said. "Cheer up! You can't just let yourself get killed!" Puaru groaned and slapped his forehead.
"Why not?" Kuririn retorted, rising in his seat. Anger flooded his face, but drained just as quickly, leaving him even paler than before. He slumped down again. "I deserve to, don't I? It's my fault she's still alive--my fault she's killed--" He hung his head again; his hands were trembling, but he balled them into fists to make them stop.
"So how will letting her kill you bring anybody back?" Yamucha demanded, then softened his tone. "Why don't you just use the dragonballs instead?" Kuririn looked up again, blatantly surprised.
"I--forgot about them--" Kuririn stammered. A smile quivered across his lips before he dropped his head onto the table, burying himself under his arms. "Oh God!" he groaned. "I'm so stupid! So damn stupid--"
"I think he's crying," Puaru murmured.
"Hush," Yamucha whispered. "Of course he is. He's spent only Dende knows how much time hating himself for something he could have easily changed. Give him a minute."
Puaru nodded and floated over to Kuririn to pat his back sympathetically until his shoulders stopped shuddering. Yamucha waited a bit longer he spoke. "Tomorrow we'll head back to the Western Capital and get the radar from Bulma to start the hunt for the dragonballs, okay?" Kuririn sat up and scrubbed a hand over his red-rimmed eyes before nodding in agreement. Yamucha smiled, relieved that for now the search for Juuhachigou was over. He announced his next plan, one that had helped him through many of his own problems in his life, and would surely allow Kuririn to forget his problems: "Tonight, though, let's go see what this town has to offer! We'll relax, have a few drinks, listen to some music, and forget about everything for a while--you'll feel better, I know it!"
Author's second note: Please let me know what you think of this chapter. Did you enjoy it? Did you notice the line about games of make-believe best being played alone? Do you remember it from Ch.3 "Reflections"? Eh? ^__^ Beware of the parallels! Ahahaha, and you know why Bulma's still in bed so late? Because Veji is back! ^_~
Thanks again to my sis for giving me the idea with the rain. Her penname here is Sygirl, so check out her poems and tell her I sent you! ^_~ Hey, I've got new poems too! Read them, too! (And review, please!)