You'd think by now, everyone would know how utterly horrible I am at keeping up a decent writing pace. Man, I'm sorry. But I say that every time.
Two more chapters left after this one. Man, I –never- thought I'd get this far.
Huge thanks to Catie, who supported the concept of this chapter 100 and to Colin, who managed to keep an open mind. (or at least open enough to forget how he first hated it. snickers)
And hey, thanks to all of you. It means a lot to me, that people actually like this fic.
-- Spanish Doll --
I had never been down the alleyway in my life. Truthfully, I preferred taking subways home… established routes. My sense of direction had never been very accurate and I didn't like to run the risk of wasting time by getting lost.
It was chance that had me turning away from the safe paths that night. I felt like walking, not even minding the fact that I had gotten vaguely lost. I was only a mile or two at most from my apartment.
Chance that I happened across her. I stared, remembering another time when warm, red raindrops fell on my cheeks, seeming like tears for a heartbeat until they slid down my face slowly. Red smears left on my bare fingertips. A light yellow dress, barely distinguishable under the rust that stained it.
Tonight was different though. There was a light mist, little pinpoints of water that didn't deserve to be called rain, and the dress was blue, torn and dirty. She had been crying before… tears streaked down the visible side her pale face, matting her dark hair to her cheek.
There was blood, staining the ground, the soles of my shoes. More than I remembered from the first time I had seen this.
A girl, nothing more than a child, sprawled bonelessly in front of me like a discarded toy, a hole ripped through her. It was an obscene display that threatened to turn my stomach and I stared at her, feeling the familiar, pressing darkness close in on me… only this time I was alone and the blackness was only a product of the night and my imagination.
Slowly, I lowered myself to one knee, reaching out tentatively to brush her hair back from her face. It was sticky, matted together slightly. The skin under my hand felt almost plastic, fake. It was too cold.
Her features were blurred, generic and it was eerie how much she echoed my memories of my first meeting with him, sprawled almost gracefully in odd angles.
I wondered distantly how many children Seishirou had killed. Unlike his other victims, they were innocent sacrifices… they weren't political targets. He didn't get paid for them, did he?
Yet I knew he had created scenes like this before, countless times. It chilled me a bit because I knew that the only thing that prevented me from lying like this at his feet was curiosity and a silly bet. He always was impulsive. Something I had started to realize that hadn't been an act, the first year.
I used to think that it was a combination of shock and Seishirou's illusions that kept me from running that day, that kept me there.
Now, I wondered if I wasn't also somewhat curious. I had never seen someone die before. Had never been subjected to any real danger before.
It fascinated me. Then and now… and perhaps that was part of the reason I still found myself drawn to him, even though I recognized the relationship for the farce it was.
Lately I had been thinking, turning over everything that had passed between us, examining it from as many angles as possible. It's amazing how I used to keep the truth from myself. I blamed him unconditionally, just like I loved him.
I couldn't blame him any more. In so many ways, I had set myself up for a fall. I depended on Hokuto too much, was too assured of the stability of my life. But no one is invulnerable. Everyone is alone.
I realized with a bit of a start that I was unconsciously arranging the body in front of me. Pulling the tangles out of her hair, straightening her dress.
I never knew that blood itched as it cooled. It was making my clothes stick to my skin, strangely stiff. I straightened a bit, noticing that the darkness was lightening, blue flashes piercing it through. The police were here. They hadn't seen me yet though, nor did they know what they were dealing with. A neighbor had probably called them. I stood up slowly, a bit regretfully. I should go.
I looked over her once more, quickly, to verify that there wasn't any traceable evidence on her body. Unlike Seishirou, I hadn't been trained on how to erase those telltale signs yet, and it wouldn't do for the police to trace this back to me.
It wouldn't do for the Sumeragi to be revealed as a murder. At least not until it suited my purposes.
Satisfied, I wrapped illusion around myself, continuing on my way home.
