A/N – Hey everyone, I'm back! After a three week break, I can finally get back to updating this fic regularly. Once again, I apologise for the delay. For those who are interested, I really enjoyed my trip to British Columbia. ^_^
Before we put Ruri's head back on the block, I have a few things to say. Firstly, I've been really thrilled with the reviews I've received while I was away. I wasn't expecting to get so many since I wasn't updating, but since I left England I've received eight reviews, which takes my total to a healthy nineteen and makes this by far the most successful story I've ever written. I'd like to thank everyone who reviewed in my absence, you guys are the best! ^_^
By the way, chalk any errors in this chapter down to eight hours of jet lag. ^_^
An additional note to Liam Roy – I admit you made a very good point in your review. However, remember that Nergal aren't opposed to breaking the rules when it suits them. I believe they'd go ahead with sending Ruri to the orphanage no matter what the law said. I'm also assuming that few people know who Ruri's real parents are, so who would try and stop them? Certainly not Ruri herself – she doesn't believe she has anywhere else to go.
Well, that's enough authors notes from me. On with the story!
Seventeen
It was an ironically beautiful night. Absolutely no cloud blemished the purple sky, allowing it to be illuminated by the light of a million stars. The low buildings of the village were clearly silhouetted to a beautiful effect. It was deathly silent except for the occasional sound of a dog barking elsewhere in the village.
Ruri, however, was in no position to appreciate this. At the moment, it was all she could do to keep herself still and silent while her captor bound her hands behind her with a strip of cloth. There was no mistaking it was the same man as before – he had the same deep scar running from forehead to chin and the same ruthless eyes that had been haunting Ruri since their last meeting.
Talk about negligence. There was no denying that yesterday's lack of activity had lulled her into a false sense of security. A fragment of her mind had been denying that an assassin could be after her and had helped her assume that the orphanage was a safe zone. She'd wanted that security so much that she imagined she'd had it. How idiotic. Of course, it was far too late to change things now. Yesterday's complacency was about to cost her everything.
With a final yank her wrists were pulled together, sufficiently tight to threaten her circulation. With a grunt of satisfaction the scarred man gripped her shoulder, firmly enough to assert who was in control at the moment
"Right. Get moving," he grunted from behind her. Once more Ruri felt the point of the knife press into her back, almost breaking the skin there. She drew a terrified breath and started to walk forward at a steady pace. As she was marched along, she felt the powerful jaws of dread close around her. Though she remained quiet, her mind was screaming a hundred different incomprehensible things at her, none of which made any sense. She'd gone beyond fear, into a chasm of unreality.
"Calm down!" she barked inwardly, giving herself a mental slap. "If you want to stand a chance of survival, you'll need your wits about you. Now is not the time to lose control."
Yes, she had to observe that thought. But at the moment, escape didn't seem like much of a possibility. There certainly wasn't an obvious way out, no matter what angle you looked at it from. She decided to talk to him, on the grounds there wasn't a lot else she could physically do at the present.
"You would be Matador, correct?" she inquired, recalling his name from the Nergal network.
The assassin behind her hesitated a second, but did reply. "I see my reputation precedes me. I guess I shouldn't be surprised,"
"Why are you doing this?" she asked, her voice trembling uncontrollably.
Matador snorted disdainfully, as if her question was completely stupid. "For the money of course! Some bastard's paid big to have you taken out!"
"You place personal wealth over a person's life?"
"Hell yeah! The way I see it, other people just exist so I can kill them for money. If you're not a client, you're better off being on the receiving end of my blade!" He laughed repulsively to top off the sentence, causing Ruri to grimace. This idiot was talkative, perhaps she could exploit that.
"So what are you going to do to me?" It was a hard question to ask since the fate he intended for her was unlikely to be pleasant, but she needed to know so she could plan ahead.
"You ask a hell of a lot of questions. No wonder someone wants you dead," Matador murmured. "I going to use the traditional method for snuffing out a kitten,"
Ruri hesitated before asking, "And that it?"
She could feel his warm breath on the back of her neck as he leered down at her. "Drowning in a bag,"
Just hearing those four simple words caused her to take a horrified breath. Temporarily losing her composure, she blurted. "W-what?"
"It's simple," sneered Matador gleefully – he was obviously enjoying this. "All you need is a sack, a rope and a deep river! Even a kid can figure it out!"
"Oh God," Ruri felt her throat tighten as she put the pieces together. Hearing the manner of her future death made her want to stop and throw up right there in the middle of the street. For a wonder, she kept her stomach composed and even managed to toss an accusation behind her.
"I suppose you're intending to set it up as a suicide,"
With a quick laugh, Matador replied, "It's a common enough story you know. Lonely, unloved orphan girl gets all depressed with life and decides to end in all in one final act of drama. No-one will blink an eye when they find out you're dead,"
"That may be true, but your plan won't work. I wouldn't have been able to tie myself into a bag. They'll know its murder," she found herself saying. A part of her wondered why she was bothering to point that out. Would another death be any better at the end of the day? No, it wasn't that. It was her fear that was speaking – it was making her nervously logical.
Matador didn't take kindly to her comment – he thrust her forward so that she overbalanced and fell down onto the pavement with a cry. She landed painfully on her face and had barely recovered from that before fresh pain came as the assassin kicked her sharply in the ribs. Even as she yelled out in pain, she was hoisted back onto her feet, the unyielding grip once again on her shoulder.
"Understand this," Matador growled. "If you ever insult me like that again, I will make your death more slow and painful then you could possibly imagine. Now get walking!"
Ruri obeyed him, though she was still smarting from the fall. Her cheek had been cut and was wet with blood, but with her hands tied behind her there was no way she could reach up to wipe it. Against her better judgement, she spoke again. "But how…?"
Matador cut her off with an angry exhalation. "Stupid kid. The idea is that I drown you in the bag first, then bring you back up so I can get my photo. And then I dump your body in the river. They'll find you washed up on the bank somewhere and think you jumped in the river to kill yourself. Understand it yet or do I have to use bloody diagrams!?"
"Yes, I see now," murmured Ruri, not wanting to anger him further.
"Well good! Sheesh you're such a dumb kid," He paused for a moment, then said, "Course, before you go in, you will be marked," he said
"Marked?"
The assassin traced the blade up to her cheek. "All my kills bear the 'Mark of the Matador'. You will too when we reach the bridge and you should wear it with pride. Your life is being taken by a true master of the trade,"
What an idiot, to be so wrapped up in his own apparent artistry. To Ruri it seemed that any kind of mark on her would look suspicious, especially a distinctive one. She kept silent now though. Tiny grains of an escape plan were gathering in her mind, though they were being hampered by her increasing fear.
"I must stay calm. I must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer. Fear is the little death that brings total obliteration. I will face my fear,"
Yes, she had to keep her cool. She had to think logically about things.
Well, before she could do anything, she needed to cut her bonds. While it was only a band of cloth that held her hands together, it was still fastened tightly enough so that she couldn't twist out of it. She would need something sharp to cut through it. Course Matador wasn't about to give her one of his knives, but maybe something else could be used, something else with a sharp edge.
As if summoned by her own thoughts, a possible solution presented itself to Ruri. As they walked along through the suburbs of the town, she scanned the pavement ahead, until her eyes fell on something by an empty fuel-drum. Someone had broken a bottle here, leaving fragments of brown glass strewn across the sidewalk. Many of them were large and vaguely triangular. Would they serve her purpose?
Only one way to find out.
Acting impulsively, Ruri feigned a trip and threw herself to the ground. She didn't need to fake the groan she made upon landing and instantly rolled over the glass with her back arched, as if the pain was making her writhe. Though her face was wrenched with real hurt, her bound hands were frantically scrabbling around behind her, trying to find a suitable piece.
"Huh. You're not only stupid, you're clumsy too," Matador reached down and roughly hauled her back onto her feet again. Ruri closed her hand about the glass fragment she had collected – it was the about half the size of her palm and had a sharp point at one end. It would have to do. Angling it towards her restraints, she began to work away at them, shifting her fingers to create a cutting motion and all the while desperately hoping that she'd have enough time to free herself before Matador decided to finally finish her off.
* * *
So far, this job had been even easier then he'd expected. She hadn't even tried to oppose him this time. Once he'd had his knife on her, her resistance had melted like butter. This time there was no way out from her. Even if she did get the chance to make a run, he had his gun on him so he could take her out with a bullet. But that was a last resort – a gun death would never be seen as a suicide and in any case it was a dirty, inartistic way to snuff someone out. He did things with style.
They were nearly at Tapi Bridge now. It had been a twenty minute walk, but it was the only suitable location around here for his 'cat-in-the-bag' scheme. Besides if he wanted to make the death look like a suicide, the river was the best place to ditch the body. Sure he could have killed her first and then dumped her, but he couldn't be bothered to carry her all this way when she could walk it. In any case, he was enjoying escorting the freak girl to her death. Although she hadn't been as frightened as he'd hoped, it was still satisfying to revel in her helplessness.
Here they were. Tapi Bridge was only a small wooden footbridge which connected the river banks, but was still wide enough for four people to walk along, side by side. A set of weathered, but sturdy, wooden railings, ran along each side, protecting any pedestrian from a ten-metre drop into the water. The river itself looked calm enough from here, but was actually deceptively powerful – Matador had read that in the last year two people had lost their lives by falling into it. Within ten minutes a third would join them in their watery grave.
"We're here," he smirked. His captive shuddered, but didn't reply. Matador snorted in disgust – why couldn't she show more fear?! She was sucking all the pleasure out of this job!
Well, no matter. It was time for her to die now. All she needed was a mark.
He took out his marking knife, which had a small, but exceptionally sharp blade like a tiny vegetable knife. He held it between two fingers and a thumb like a paintbrush and brought it over to her cheek, its sharp point just a centimetre away from her pure white skin.
Normally when he cut his mark onto his victim, they just stood there quivering, perhaps emitting a pathetic whimper when the first blood was drawn. Sometimes they would instinctively pull away, not that it did them much good. They hardly ever tried to slap the knife out of his hand. And they certainly never followed that up by stabbing him in the eye with a very sharp piece of glass, with a hand that should have been tied.
As his right eye exploded in agony he yelled and clutched at it wildly. For a moment he was unable to control himself for pain but once the initial wave had died down, he remembered his priorities and forced his good eye open. Through the tears, he saw the Hoshino girl reaching over the edge of the bridge, looking down at the river. Clearly she'd dived for the knife, but it had skidded off the side into the water below before she could reach it. That cocky little runt! Who was she to think she could defeat the great Matador!?
"You bitch!" he screamed, hauling her up by the collar of her nightdress. She just gaped back at him with bulging eyes, like some moronic goldfish. Grunting in rage and disgust, he dropped her back down to the floor. As she strove to stand again, he brought out the empty sack he'd had slung over his shoulder. It was time to end this now.
With an aggressive growl, he flung the sack over the girl, taking out her legs so he could get at the opening. She gave a frightened yelp, but otherwise didn't resist as the sack swallowed her up.
"Take your last look at the stars, freak-girl!" he bellowed, tying up the opening with a rope, pulling it tight, then fastening the other end to the bridge railing with a dexterity that contradicted his rage. Once he was satisfied that both knots were secure, he crouched down and lifted the sack containing the girl. She was struggling now, but without much enthusiasm.
"Greet your death!" he shouted. With that, he hauled the sack over the railing into the dark waters below. After a second of freefall, the sack broke the water with an intense splash and began to sink. A few moments later, it had anchored on the river bed, pulling the rope attached to it nearly taut. The execution had begun.
Matador found himself breathing heavily as he watched it disappear below the depths. Pain and the thrill of the kill had combined to create a large adrenaline rush within him, so he brought out a cigarette in the attempt to calm himself down while he waited for the brat to drown. It took him six attempts to light it since his hands were still quivering with rage. What was made the pain worse was the frustration that such a defenceless entity could wound him so severely. That bitch had struck a substantial hit, probably damaging his eye permanently. He just hoped the wound wasn't as serious as it felt. The thought that a worthless rat like her should leave a scar on him…it was too much to take.
He tried opening his injured eye. Doing so brought no extra vision, but served to reignite the unbearable pain. He found himself manically gripping onto the hand-railing of the bridge, bracing himself against the agony searing through his head.
"Damn, damn, damn that bitch!"
Well, at least she was being put to her deserved death. Even if she'd tried to hold her breath, she'd still be dead within five minutes. He'd leave her in for ten to make sure of it. Part of him regretted not making her suffer more before putting her in the drink, but the pain had made him act on impulse. Perhaps that was for the best – any more marks on her would have looked suspicious. He decided that he'd be satisfied in the knowledge that drowning was one of the more horrible ways to go out.
Just as those thoughts had lowered his annoyance to a stable level, something unexpected happened. Something very simple, but with a great implication.
The rope went slack.
Matador's eyes flew over to the end of the cord, which was now being pulled along by the river current. What was happening?! No tension in the rope meant there was no weight on the other end. No weight on the other end meant…
Matador immediately darted across to his end of the rope and frantically started to pull it up. There was no resistance to his efforts, which was sufficient to confirm his suspicions, but he still pulled in the futile hope that they could be proved wrong. Of course that was never going to happen. After a few seconds the sack emerged from the water, drooping like a wet rag. Somehow it had been split and was now completely empty.
"No," Matador shouted in disbelief. "No! No! No!"
His words of denial couldn't change the facts before him – the Hoshino girl was gone. Probably dead in the river somewhere, but still missing. Whether she was alive or dead did not matter now. Without her lifeless body, he couldn't attain the photographic evidence of her death which he required. And he wouldn't get paid.
"No! I will not be beaten like this!" With a defiant snarl, he ran off downstream.
He spent the rest of the night running up and down both river banks, searching for her body or any other trace of her. But despite his efforts he found absolutely nothing. No sign of her whatsoever. It was approaching dawn by the time he finally gave in, and began to frenziedly pummel a tree with his fists, while screaming in absolute rage.
It was unbelievable. One way or another, the girl had won again.
A/N – Man, that was a tough chapter to come back on, but I'm kind of satisfied with the result. The good news is that a lot of Chapter 18 was already written before I went away so it shouldn't be too long before I update again. Is Ruri alive? And if so, where the hell is she and how did she get out of the sack? You'll find out next time! ^_^
