Title: Angel's Fall
Part: 1/?
Author: focsfyr
Pairing: TasukiChichiri
Warnings: yaoi, language, AU (reincarnation), angst
Chapter Rating: PG-15 (for bloody/graphic imagery)
Disclaimer: I don't own them and have no money. No copyright infringements are intended.
Archive: my site and any/all official ML archives, anyone else, just ask
C&C: please!
Author's note: this is sort of a filler chapter to set the stage for the rest of the story, as well as introduce a few characters that will be mentioned/playing a part in the next few chapters.
Many thanks to my wonderful beta and list-sib, Asidian Morris
::thoughts::
emphasis and the occasional sound
random language that I made up
ANGEL'S FALL
The guard heaved a sigh of relief as Detective Kou approached the cellblock, flashing her badge as proof of identification.
"Jiang, thank god you're finally here!" He unlocked the heavy gate. "He's been asking for you for you for hours and just won't shut up. Keeps raving 'bout how he's gotta see the bitch—no 'fense Detective—that found him at least once before he dies."
The gate slammed shut behind her with an ear-splitting screech. Jiang flinched. ::Feh.:: She took a deep breath to calm her nerves. ::Get a hold of yourself, girl. Don't freak out now!::
For months, she spent every waking moment tracking down a serial killer, a mass murderer that butchered his victims and tied them up with their own entrails, then ate breakfast at their kitchen table while tracing patterns in the congealing blood.
For nearly three months, Garret Ayuru had been the center of her life, taking precedence over friends and family. She spent more time studying his patterns and profile than she did with her long-time lover. But she had only once laid eyes upon him. Immediately upon capture, he'd been carted away, and she hadn't seen him since.
He hadn't even been in the courtroom when she testified against him.
"Too dangerous," the police chief told her, "there's no telling what he'll try. His actions could bias the jury and we don't want the hassle of a mistrial." Ayuru loathed his captor—meaning her, the one who had managed to track him down—with a burning obsession symptomatic of his psychosis. It was all too likely he would've made an attempt on her life right there before the judge.
So she never again met him face to face. And she was thankful. Jiang was a good detective, didn't let things get to her, but just having to track him sent shivers down her spine.
After seeing the remains, finding the evidence, drenching her hands in another's blood while futilely trying not to step in the victim's face—hell, it'd been hard to find enough to call a victim—she wasn't sure she could face him. The list of horrors was too long, the number of victims too high. She wasn't even sure how she herself would react to really meeting him, and as a member of the police force, that element of uncertainty was disconcerting.
Yet here she was, the day before the execution, braving the demon in his own lair at his own behest, walking into hell with her eyes wide open.
::What the fuck am I doing?::
For a moment she considered leaving, running back to the precinct with her proverbial tail tucked between her legs, but by the time the thought got past her stubborn pride, it was already too late. The second set of gates was locked behind her. Detective or not, she was now on foreign ground where the Warden ruled supreme, and every caged inmate would gladly rip out her throat for an extra pack of smokes.
The battle had been joined, and tough-as-nails Detective Kou had never been one to surrender.
The petit redhead's confident footsteps echoed hollowly as she made her way down death row. It was eerily silent. There were none of the jeers or catcalls a woman—even a cop—earned, simply by virtue of entering. Usually, anyone remotely female (and some that clearly weren't) was met with comments lewd enough to make a whore blush.
But not today. Stillness hung like a pall over the entire building. Silent shadowed figures huddled in each cell, the glitter of eyes betraying their presence, following her every step.
The skin on the back of her neck began to crawl. It felt like there was a gun aimed between her shoulder blades instead of emotionless eyes. Pure stubborn pride was all that kept her from quickening her pace.
Finally, after running the gauntlet, she reached the door that lead to the private quarters. The room the doomed spent their last seven days in.
"White" was the only way to describe it, because there really wasn't much more. Behind steel bars that sectioned off half the room, a grinning figure sprawled carelessly in a pale green plastic chair. With his limbs draped so haphazardly, the corners and arms had to be digging into him, but somehow he managed to look both comfortable and confident. He looked more like some rich little snob waiting for a limo than a serial killer awaiting Death.
Half a dozen video cameras swung around to mark her entrance as she closed the door and sat down in another irritating little chair. She swore they were made specifically to give people backaches because the only possible way to be comfortable was to sit so straight you'd think you had a pole up your ass.
She fought the urge to squirm as an uncomfortable silence filled the room.
God, she hated this.
Cameramen lined the walls like vultures, filming every moment of the bastard's last day for a documentary.
The death of a killer. People were fascinated by things like that. Any sort of disaster, scandal or atrocity was guaranteed to catch the public's attention and morbid curiosity. Then it would get broadcast on the six o'clock news so that thousands of people across the country could cluck their tongues saying "oh, how awful!" and then go on about their mundane lives without ever taking it seriously.
The only time anyone actually cared was when they numbered among those who were directly affected. To most of the public, it was nothing more than poorly scripted diversion.
The world's tragedies were entertainment as much as anything else and it made bad news one of the most lucrative businesses there was.
Damn the media and its blood money.
Jiang almost jumped as a sudden bark of laughter sounded from the holding cell. She mentally congratulated herself for not looking as unnerved as she felt. Hell, at least she'd caught herself before her fingers twitched toward her shoulder holster. Having that show up on national television would've been more than a little humiliating, and her Irish temper did not enjoy embarrassment.
"So, Detective, we finally meet." There was an intensity to his eyes that burned like dry ice, totally at odds with the voice that spilled from his lips. It was a baffling double standard that caught the detective off guard, a voice so soft and velvety it could lull anyone to sleep, coupled with eyes so full of cunning and malice they would likely haunt her nightmares for weeks.
It was the eyes that did it...that made him so terrifying. They were a crystalline blue so pale he almost looked blind, with a thin rim of dark indigo edging the iris. But Ayuru's (she refused to think of him as "Garret;" using his first name would have made it to personal for comfort) voice could convey volumes, as if to compensate for the aching void in his harsh... soulless... eyes.
You could stare into those eyes forever and not learn a thing about him, because there was nothing to see. He was concealed behind an absence—of emotion, of fear, of reaction and heat—everything except an echo of lust, which smoldered beneath the surface, just waiting for an excuse to loose its hunger.
But until it did, the killer stared out from dispassionate eyes not unlike those of a wolf... a wolf that knew exactly what he was doing.
------
Scuffed steel bars set in a foot-deep slab of concrete separated Ayuru from the rest of the room, but that didn't stop them from being terrified of him and it didn't stop him from enjoying their fear.
Professional opinion aside, fear was not sensed so much as smelled, in the faint traces of cold sweat on the skin and slightly sour scent of a mouth suddenly gone dry. All he had to do was let their terror feed his exhilaration and his eyes tell them that, yes, they should be afraid.
Because he knew what people saw when looking into his eyes.
They could see in his stare that he didn't care whether they lived or died, their fate depended entirely upon their reaction to him. Should they flee, he would give chase. Should they defy, he would reach down their throats and rip out their hearts.
There were very few actions that would allow his prey to live—if there were indeed any. So far, he'd tallied nineteen known responses that resulted in death. Four had been repeated ::How boring.:: by more than one victim, bringing the body count to a staggering twenty-seven dead in two and a half months.
----------
Jiang swallowed nervously, trying to moisten a mouth gone dry with fear.
Ayaru's lips twitched in a brief semblance of a smirk.
Until this man—this monster—had looked her in the eye, she'd never really understood the reality of the word 'neutral.' Now, she wasn't sure that she wanted to.
Ayuru effortlessly uncurled his body and, with the deafening screech of plastic on concrete, dragged his chair to the limits of his cage so only three feet and inch-thick steel bars separated him from his foe. He settled himself almost primly on the seat, clasped hands resting in his lap, unblinking eyes staring at her from behind a veil of golden silk.
The shining strands of hair that had fallen loose across his face did nothing to mute the force of his stare. Again, Jiang resisted the urge to rest her hand on her gun. This was neither the time nor the place to give in to a show of nerves.
"I'd wondered what kind of woman it was who was talented enough to find me so quickly." One elegant hand caressed lovingly through the air, following the curve of her face. He laughed softly. "Your appearance belies your competence, Detective. Someone like you looks more suited to sewing. Soft, feminine...so easy to break..."
Jiang's nostrils flared and her eye gave a twitch. Her brother and sisters would have recognized that sign as a warning to all to get out of her way, because she was pissed off her temper ran hot. Her fierce gray eyes almost screamed 'I am anything but soft! I earned my rank and respect, so go ahead and try pushing me... you'll lose.'
Her siblings would've been shocked at how calm she remained. "You'd be surprised how many people have thought that...at first." The pause was just subtle enough to avoid sounding arrogant, but she saw the point strike home nevertheless. "But being underestimated can have its advantages."
"I know—"
"Thought you would—"
"—and you got into my mind. That's something I didn't think anyone could do."
"Yeah, well it wasn't a picnic—"
"It wasn't supposed to be. I didn't think anyone would dare walk so far into the dark. You might have got lost, and then what would you do?"
"I have a good sense of direction. I got back by myself." Her dark eyes held steady; she was too stubborn a bitch to lose this staring match.
His eyes narrowed. "I see..."
"I'm sure you do—"
...and flashed angrily. "I wasn't finished—"
"I know." It was her turn to taunt him with a mocking smile.
His expression remained cold and her smile grew a notch.
This was familiar ground, this game of words. She'd played it with her siblings whenever she was at home. When you can't openly trade insults (like when your mother's in the room) it's all in the wording and the little tiny snubs.
Nervous or not, in this game Jiang was the master, and this heartless bastard wasn't going to win. She would not be manipulated like some grass-green cadet who couldn't tell the trigger from the slide!
"Typical redhead, aren't you?" Only because she was listening for it did Jiang catch the note of anger in his voice. "Fiery little bitch with a temper to match—"
Her lip lifted in a snarl and she ground out "Yeah, no shit. Runs in the fam—"
"Ah yes, how is your brother...and sisters?"
Ice ran down her back as Malice rose in his eyes.
::Fuck, he's playing my game!:: His expression just screamed 'I know something that you wish you knew' and she'd caught that short pause ::What's he know 'bout Shun'u?:: that targeted her brother ::what's he done, how'd he know?!:: and something was wrong but she just couldn't place it...
"In college now? Or did your mother just throw them to the dogs? No? Well, he'll wish she had because ysaa'ra telirne dar ankeshen, telist. I'Duvaeol aal Dhar, vir Aeal nan im t'si." Jiang's blood ran cold. Though she couldn't understand the words that he spoke, they were somehow terrifying.
"Such a...sweet little family," he drawled out the words as if savoring the taste, "and such beautiful children."
She was well out of his reach, but could still feel his touch on her hair...
"Proud as a wolf, and every inch as lovely. 'Twould be a shame, wouldn't it, if someone broke that fire-bright spirit." His low purr moved fluidly from English to Japanese.
"If he fell in with the wrong people and got hooked on something so bad he'd do anything for the high. Sell himself, sell his body, anything so long as he got to shoot up. Flat on his back with his heels in the air, spreading his legs for anyone who will take him. Blood coating his thighs and the customer's cock as he pounds into that sweet ass—"
"Shut up," she whispered.
"—and your baby brother's teeth tearing into his own lips because of the pain in his ass and the bruises lying stark on young flesh. Tears on his face stinging the cuts and scrapes—"
"Shut up," a command, not a plea.
"—just like the trick's cum burns him up inside. Even as he tries to ignore the agony, the hot blood that trickles down his leg. He just takes his fee from the customer and slides the needle beneath his skin. Just a taste of bliss to tide him over until tomorrow night—"
CRACK!!!
Every one of the media men jumped as Jiang surged to her feet, the edge of her flimsy chair chipping as it crashed to the floor. She lunged, face twisted in fury, and dragged him forward by the collar until he was stopped by the bars.
She could feel the camera's on her back, taping her every move, but paid them no heed, instead focusing on the face mere inches from hers. She could feel his breath and his hair tickling her cheek. "Not one more word against my family," she hissed. "That had better not have been a threat, 'cause if you or any of your friends so much as touch one of my siblings, you'll find out just how hot this bitch's temper runs."
Her glare met a dark grin. "Is that a threat, Detective?"
"A fact." He hit the floor hard as she pushed him away with all the not inconsiderable strength in her wiry body.
The cameras' blank eyes followed her out of the room before the door slammed in their faces.
::Scavengers, all of them. Jackals.::
Not like wolves.
Wolves were hunters. ::Genrou.:: Her brother's childhood nickname, still used by his friends meant 'wolf' in their father's native language. Who knew how it'd started—perhaps because of his eyes—but somehow it stuck...maybe because he despised his given name so much.
Whatever the case, the name certainly suited him, wild and loyal, a fighter to the core with 'fangs' to bare and golden eyes to boot. He was the only one in her family besides herself who inherited the red hair. Jiang and Shun'u, the oldest and youngest; all their other siblings were dark blond at best and blunter of feature.
Though Jiang, like Genrou, was far from vain, they both knew they'd gotten the looks in the family. But they'd certainly been deprived of the height. At a mere five foot four, Jiang was at least five inches shorter than even her youngest sister, and the tallest towered three inches over Genrou at a staggering six-two.
::Genrou.:: She picked worriedly at her nails as her thoughts turned back to Ayaru's words. They weren't at all based on fact. Logically, she knew her brother was fine, but...
But...she was worried, for no reason at all...except that even though Ayuru was securely behind bars, his words had the feel of a threat. Then there was the reference to wolves—she knew he'd been talking about her brother—and the snippet of unknown language gnawed cruelly at her mind like it should mean something to her...
...something unpleasant, something...vengeful? Perhaps, but whatever the intent, it had felt like a threat against the only one of her siblings she could really stand to be around, and she couldn't stop thinking that...
She sighed worriedly.
She didn't know what to think.
----------
Jiang Kou didn't watch the news the next day. She didn't have to.
All it was was a stale second-hand account of the execution of Garret Ayuru, coupled with a brief report on the near-riot of protestors that had mobbed the prison gates. Whether the protestors were for or against the execution, no one seemed to know. Everyone had their own reasons for joining the crowd, and no one was inclined to voice them on national television.
Thus the chilling facts of Ayuru's death remained locked in the minds of the few who witnessed the deed.
The public never knew of how the murderous blond was hobbled with the weight of half a dozen thick chains. Or how the other prisoners hooted and jeered, raucous as a murder of crows, but then fell strangely silent when Ayuru sauntered past, looking for all the world like an eccentric aristocrat. If one didn't know better, it would seem as if the guards that flanked Ayuru were a mere escort, and the firearms meant to protect him.
There was no mention of chained feet that followed dance steps on their way down the corridor, or the velvet voice, heavy with laughter, which crooned out a taunting song as the rattle of shackles morbidly marked the beat.
They didn't tell the public about how he kept humming that same tune, feral grin on his face, until the noxious hydrocyanic gas [1] silenced him forever.
Only one person, a petit redhead, noticed that from the moment he entered the room, Ayuru's eyes never left hers. Only she took note of that look, that knowing, dark look that vowed a long procession of pain and suffering to come.
She took to heart the foreboding warning in the tune. She felt the chill touch of truth in his words, in the soft statement that he would be back.
By the time she got home, Jiang was exhausted. She left her clothes in a heap by the bed and curled up in her down comforter. Moments later, she had dozed off, lulled by the song echoing in her head.
"Tiiiime is on my siide..."
Jiang didn't sleep well that night. Her dreams were fraught with demons.
TBC
[1] Yep, that's the stuff used in the gas chambers—barbaric practice that it is. It's not terribly quick, nor is even remotely humane.
The little bit the demon says in the weird language is: vengeance is sweet and torture, even sweeter. The Fallen embody Evil, and I'm out for blood