Rain
By: Psychotic Tanuki
Chapter Two: True Fear
I would've given anything for it to have been just a bad dream, to forget that I had ever seen anything. It's been three months since that fateful rainy day, and each passing day has only grown more peaceful. To my surprise, there had been no news of a murder in Rockefeller Park, or of a dead body floating in the Hudson River. There were no reports of an amber-eyed serial killer or police investigations.
It was almost as if it had just been a nightmare. Perhaps it had been. There was no dead body; there were no murder weapons, and no evidence that it had even happened. Even better, I hadn't run into a single redhead in the last three months. Feeling better, I stopped to drop my visitor's button into the glass box when I could feel all my cheer disappear as quickly as it had come.
Staring out the glass doors of the Metropolitan, I felt an ominous discomfort as furious rivulets of water shattered across the streets as a stormy fury raged on outside. It had been bright and sunny when I had entered the museum, and now nature had decided to rain.
For reasons that are quite obvious, I've felt an aversion to rainy days. For the past three months, I've spent rainy days locked up in my apartment or at school—just as long as I was not in the rain. Thus, I had two options: I could either go buy a new umbrella from the gift shop, or I could wait out the storm inside the museum. Neither option seemed to hold any appeal to me. Regardless, I had to meet Tae at three-thirty (and it was now two-forty) meaning I had no time to dilly dally at the museum. Thus, I set off in the direction of the gift shop.
The gift shop was classy looking and filled with various trinkets and merchandise—all of which, were ridiculously overpriced. Filtering through the various T-shirts, books and other miscellaneous junk, I grew disheartened to find that there were no umbrellas, and if there were, I could not find them.
I ran a hand through my bangs, and heaved. I had no idea as to how long it had been raining, so logically, all of the umbrellas had been bought. As if to confirm my guess, my hand found its way to the empty umbrella display and my eyes bugged out at the price marker. Thirty-five dollars for a dinky umbrella with an asinine "M" on it—absolutely ludicrous! I'd rather walk in the rain and get completely soaked than spend thirty five dollars on an umbrella.
"A bit pricy for an umbrella, wouldn't you agree?" Chills ran down my spine as a predatory growl rang through the air. Whirling around, I was greeted by the wolfish visage of a man in his late thirties to early forties. He was lanky, with spindly arms and legs encased in an armor of a blue NYPD uniform. He peered at me through squinted eyes, which were masked by a curtain of spikes of hair that had escaped from the gelled prison of the rest of his head. Curled tightly, his hands clutched onto a battered, cylindrical object.
"Ms. Kamiya, I believe that this is yours." He motioned towards the object in his hand, and with faint surprise, I had no trouble recognizing it. It was the umbrella that I had carelessly tossed away at the park. I hadn't put my name on it, and so, policeman or not, I was wary.
"How do you know my name?" Voice shaky, I brought myself to my full height as to try and like less of a pushover. As if sensing my discomfort, the man smirked arrogantly—after all my full height of five foot three inches was nothing intimidating.
"I believe that you lost this at Rockefeller Park did you not?"
"I believe I asked how you knew my name." Staring at my faithful umbrella, I could feel my palms grow slick with sweat and my heart beating savagely against my ribs. There was my proof that it was more than a dream. There was my evidence that it had actually happened. Slowly but surely, I could feel my heart become heavy with anxiety.
"I have my sources. You lost this at Rockefeller Park did you not?"
"I don't remember."
A sly grin spread across his wolfish face, "Come now Ms. Kamiya, lying isn't your forte. Takeda Kanryuu, does that name mean anything to you?"
I snorted. "Of course. The entire city knows who he is." It wasn't far from the truth. Takeda Kanryuu was the well known doctor who was busted with a cocaine smuggling ring five years ago and every news station had covered his release from jail a few months ago.
"He was murdered in Rockefeller Park two months ago. Your umbrella was found ten feet away from his dead, mutilated body."
"I didn't murder him." The policeman's eyes twinkled with amusement as he sneered hatefully.
"Of course not. You're too small and weak to rip a man apart into twelve pieces," he waved his hand nonchalantly as he handed me my umbrella and pulled out a cigarette, "I want to know what the man who did it looks like." A part of me bristled at his insult, but another part of me shuddered violently; he'd been ripped apart into twelve pieces. If I told the policeman, I had no doubt that I would be the next person to be ripped into twelve pieces. The thought gave me shivers; I could not tell him.
"I don't know. I wasn't there." At my answer the policeman's face lost all sense of false politeness as a glint of feral agitation shone in his eye.
"I don't appreciate being lied to Ms. Kamiya." His voice was icy as it cut through the air with its venom. "I'm not stupid so you can stop pretending to be ignorant."
"Well I don't talk to arrogant police officers who like to coerce information out of innocent bystanders." A nervous adrenaline ran through my veins. I had no conclusive idea as to where such courage had come from, and quite frankly, I was afraid he would slap handcuffs on me and drag me down to a police station. Turning on my heel, I walked away from the insufferable policeman. I clutched my umbrella and hastily made my way out of the gift shop, through the door and down the steps of the Metropolitan Museum of Arts.
The sidewalks were coated with a sheet of moisture and the streets were riddled with lakes of murky rainwater. Above my head, the rain pounded mercilessly upon my umbrella and flashes of lightning streaked across the gray sky. Water dripped off the spokes of the umbrella and trailed onto my pant legs in a spotty trail. The air was heavy with humidity, dampening everything along with it.
I glanced at my cell phone to see that it was only three o'clock—and I had thirty minutes to walk seven street numbers and two avenues to Tae's restaurant, the Akabeko, for a job interview. I had been in such a rush to get out of the museum, and now that I was forced to walk in the rain, I began to wonder why I had been in a rush. Sighing, I trudged on through the puddle infested street feeling dejected, disappointed and frustrated.
All I had wanted was to find something worthwhile. My neighbor Misao had her music and Aoshi (who in turn was very passionate about his work as a private detective), my best friend Megumi had her dream of becoming a doctor, Tae had her restaurant, and Misao's roommate Soujiro had his track career. Of all my friends I felt as if I was the only one without a goal or a passion. It was already sophomore year of college, and I had no extraordinary talent or defining characteristic besides my notorious temper.
Worst of all, it was still there—that sense of emptiness. It hadn't disappeared or faded away, rather it had grown larger and I still couldn't find out why I had anything to feel empty about. I had good grades, loving family and friends, a sweet but boneheaded boyfriend—what could possibly be so wrong to make me feel so…empty? Dumping Shougo, while oddly satisfying, had not helped alleviate the problem, nor had plunging myself 100% into my schoolwork, or spending more time with friends. Perhaps I just wasn't, normal. Brushing my bangs away from my sweaty forehead, I stopped to view my reflection in a restaurant's window.
I was "okay" looking and according to Misao, if I tried I could be cute. I could stand to lose a few pounds, but it wasn't necessary, and when it came to oh-so-fashionable-much-too-painful heels or my hole ridden sneakers—I'd pick my sneakers. I looked normal, but the fact remains that normal people don't go running around in a thunderstorm and get guns put to their heads, normal people don't lie or piss off police officers, and normal people don't stare at their reflections in public to soul search.
"Oi, Missy! If you're gonna stare like a zombie at the window you better come in and eat something. You're giving me the heebie jeebies." A lanky man with incredibly messy spiked up hair drawled roguishly and I could feel flames of embarrassment tinge my cheeks. He'd tied a red bandanna around his forehead and wore only a wife beater and jeans under his stained apron. He was handsome in a "devil-may-care" sort of way, with an impish smile, chiseled face and dark eyes. Eying my cell phone, I had twenty minutes and the Akabeko was just down the block so I figured that I would take the man up on his offer.
He sauntered rather lazily, slouching all the way and yet, there was still an air of bad boy sexiness that was appealing. Passing by a table full of teenaged girls, I could see his smirk as the girls erupted into a fit of giggles. A bit disappointed, I decided that he was a little too "friendly" for my taste. Still, I was stressed, and like it or not, this was a restaurant.
There was an old, yet clean air about this diner type. It was small with only a few two-person tables and a bar that could fit about fifteen people. It was so small that its kitchen was stationed right behind the barstool and its staff right along with it. The diner seemed to be popular seeing that all the tables were taken and there were only a few barstools left. A lively mood seemed to permeate the air as people talked animatedly as orders were flying back and forth from the "bartenders" and cooks. The playboy, whose name tag read "Sanosuke", sat me at the red cushioned barstool, which happened to clash with the dark blue countertop of the bar.
"Name's Sano—Can I getcha anything?" I glanced at the menu which was scrawled in mainly illegible handwriting on a mounted chalkboard above the stove.
"Chicken soup sounds good." Sano laughed for a reason that I couldn't name as another man (whose name tag read "Katsu") slapped him on the back with tears of laughter streaming down his face.
"You know, it's not good for business to insult your customers." I bristled with indignation. I hadn't come inside to be laughed at and good looks can only get you so far before a crappy personality set in—a lesson I had learned from Shougo.
"It's an inside joke between Katsu and me, no need to get angry. Katsu and I apologize." A twinkle of mirth sparkled in his eyes as he set off to get me my soup and Katsu set off to work the cash register. Sano returned a few uneventful minutes later with my soup, and I began to eat—not knowing how hungry I really was.
It was good soup and for the moment, I could forget the inclement weather outside, the asshole of a policeman and my fear of a man with dark red hair and burning amber eyes. For the moment, I could relax and enjoy the noodles, carrots and bits of chicken floating around in a yellow broth and the pleasant chatter of the busy diner. So enamored with the temporary respite from walking in the rain, I paid little attention to anything else which appeared to disappoint none but Sano and Katsu.
"You shouldn't have angered the policeman. Now he knows that you know something. Once Saitoh knows something, he doesn't give up easily." I dropped my spoon, which had been midway to my mouth, and it clattered loudly into my soup bowl. The voice was as icy as I remembered it to be. Slowly, I turned my head to see that the demon was not looking at me, rather, his eyes were fixed upon the menu and his long locks of hair were pulled into a ponytail at the top of his head.
He had seen my encounter with the policeman, meaning that he had been following me for more than half an hour. With the dawn of this realization, the hand of fear quickly gripped at my heart, which responded by thudding loudly in my ears. Eyes searching desperately, I was disheartened to find both Sano and Katsu engaging in lively conversation with the group of teenagers I had passed by earlier.
"And that means that I might have to kill you after all." He turned his head slowly. Contrary to our last encounter, there was no ferocity or steely urgency in his countenance. He almost seemed…more human. His face seemed to have an almost reluctant culpability which hid itself in his pursed lips and tense brow. As if responding to my own scrutiny, his demon eyes regarded me carefully and a flicker of something unreadable flashed within their cool depths before he turned back to the menu.
"So tell me, are you still afraid that you are dead inside?"
"No." I swirled my soup with my spoon. I had known all along that I was not dead inside, and thus my fear had been translated into something more substantial.
"No? Then what are you afraid of?" His voice, deep with some sort of unidentifiable pain, chortled with scornful amusement. The clock above the menu read three-fifteen. Throwing a five-dollar bill onto the counter, I left my soup unfinished and his question unanswered.
The truth was, I was afraid that before this nightmare was over, he will have killed me before I could replace my fear with something worthwhile.
AN: Yay…chapter two is done... It's occurred to me that Kaoru and Kenshin don't know each other's names but that's okay—it'll be remedied within the next chapter. Oh…and for Blonde Goth who asked who Shougo was, he was the Christian dude in the anime. I
On another note, I was going to have this out earlier but my internet went whacko for a couple of days. That and I tried to be as accurate as possible on describing the Metropolitan Museum being that I haven't been there in a while, and Rockefeller Park is an actual park as is Battery Park City. :D
Please review—thank you.
Thanks to megitsune, kean, Nguardian, hiei's.punk.rocker.girl, Poppy2, Blonde goth, blue jeans, tomboy-chic, and Ayame, in Kouga hating mode for reviewing. I really appreciated all of them.