Galatea
Seventh Movement: Requiem for a Nightmare
"You live with your thoughts—so be careful what they are."
Eva Arrington
BAM BAM BAM
A thin eyebrow twitched in annoyance beneath the sheet Hiwatari Satoshi was snuggled under, seeking in vain some warmth to carry him through the night and into this early morning. It twitched again when the banging continued, like a little bird pecking away inside his skull, pulsing in his mind: wake wake wake. Wake wake wake.
BAM BAM BAMAn eye cracked open, a single pupil dilating, turned towards the window, greeting the morning sun on a day he shouldn't have been awake for yet—it was Sunday, why was he not being allowed to sleep in? The past few days arguing back and forth with Hiwatari Kei had begun to take its toll on him in the form of dark baggy circles underneath his eyes, standing out on the smooth pale flesh of his face.
He squeezed his eyes back shut again and buried them in the pillow, drawing in a deep breath, then dragged his arms up from either side of his body and steadied them beside his head so that he could ease his body into an upright position. Slowly, slowly, he managed the task, listening to his weary back crack under the stress, and released a great yawn.
Finally, sufficiently conscious to understand that he had to go answer the door—on the other side of which someone was still banging—he set his feet onto the cold hardwood floor and padded slowly into the living room.
7:00 was not really that early in the morning, but it was a Sunday, so it counted as early today—so early that he didn't seem to really care the state he greeted his guest in, forgetting his tousled hair sticking out in cowlicks, or his mismatched striped pajamas, or even the drunken, half-awake state he no doubt exuded from every pore.
BAM BAM BAMHe could hear angry voices—lots of them, in fact—muffled through the door, and furrowed his eyebrows over half-lidded blue eyes, alert enough to wonder now why whoever it was at the door hadn't simply buzzed from downstairs to even see if he was awake yet. Or even more so, how they'd gotten inside in the first place: his apartment was a "closed environment." Guests couldn't enter unless escorted by a resident.
"I'm coming…I'm coming…" he murmured just loudly enough to rouse himself more, though he knew full well that whoever was pounding on his door wouldn't have heard it. Rubbing his eyes once more with his left hand, he reached his right out and unfastened the lock system, slowly cracking it open. "…Yes?"
He discovered that opening the door probably hadn't been in the best of interests.
"You're Hiwatari Satoshi-san, correct?"
"Hiwatari-san! What comments do you have on the situation?"
"Could you give us a moment, Hiwatari-san?"
"Hiwatari-san! Do you know anything about the murder?"
"Excuse us, Hiwatari Satoshi-san! Please—how close were you with him, tell us!"
Eyes which had a mere few seconds ago still been half-asleep now popped open fully awake at the sight right outside his little apartment door. A quick scan showed him that his hallway, even all the way down to the elevator, was jam packed with people, dozens of reporters and television newscasters it seemed, from their cameras set up on shoulders and microphones shoved in his face.
"OUTTA THE WAY!" a deep booming male voice ordered, scattering a few of the more aggressive reporters nearest to Satoshi, who appeared to have been trying to pull him further out into the hallway. "If you don't have a press pass you've no right to be here—we're checking them now so get them out if you've got them. Now, MOVE BACK!"
Satoshi stared blankly, emotion washing from his face, as a familiar form stepped through the throng, pushing the boy back into his own apartment, followed by a few other officers who managed to slip in behind him. The last one—a young rookie it looked like, probably fresh out of the academy and not looking all that comfortable with all this attention outside—shut the door and muffled the loud thrum the crowd was making; the living room was once again dead quiet.
Having backed up a good few feet when Saehara had burst in, Satoshi was now moderately relaxed standing behind his couch at the far end, hands nonchalantly stuffed in his pajama bottom pockets, and giving the elder man a look that said, "What the hell was all that?"
The inspector ran a harried hand through his slightly thinning black hair and sighed loudly. "We weren't expecting such a crowd this early—it's barely been an hour and already…but it can't be helped."
Satoshi supposed this was to be taken as the best apology for the intrusion the man could muster at this point, and moved his hands from his pockets to cross them, annoyed, over his chest. "Saehara-san," he began in his usual clipped manner, suppressing the yawn that threatened to surface, "…If you hadn't noticed, I'm not a member of the police force anymore—I certainly hope you didn't come here looking for guidance on some case. Moreover, it is Sunday, I am a middle-school student, and it is my only opportunity during the week to sleep in—if you have something to discuss I beg you to make it quick."
The slightly relaxed air that had permeated the room before now dissipated, and Saehara stretched up straight, adjusting his tie. "I only wish it were that, Hiwatari-san." The boy flinched inwardly, not yet comfortable with this much less formal address than his usual "Supreme Commander" he'd entertained prior to his retirement, despite his distaste for the title.
Saehara opened his mouth again, as if about to make an addendum, then abruptly shut it once more, sighing low, and passing his eyes up and down the boy's form, doubt running rampant through his mind. He pursed his lips into a thin line and his brow creased: baggy pajamas in wrinkled disarray, wispy blue hair sticking out in every direction, and dark bags that attested loudly to the fact that he'd just been woken up…the boy hadn't even bothered to put on his glasses, and this made him appear all the more…
'…Innocent… He has to be… I would know if it was him, I'm sure of it… He couldn't hide it from me, but he can't have done it… You're so calm, it couldn't be you… Please don't let it be you, please…'
Satoshi stared, mildly perplexed to say the least, and shifted his focus from Saehara in front of him to the door they'd just entered by, no doubt questioning the mayhem outside. The sight of him like that made him appear all the more young, the more childish, just a kid woken up early—he didn't even consider putting up his usual "genius-prodigy-already-graduated-college-at-thirteen" persona he normally projected—it was just too early.
Turning his gaze back to the couch, he noticed now that his apartment was not in the most clean of states, hardly fit to entertain visitors, and he bent down abruptly over the back of the sofa to move piles of papers and notes to the side, completely missing the sudden tensing up of the officers, hands flying to their badly-concealed guns hanging from their belts.
"Then what is it? If you needed some information from me, you could have called me down to the station—I've still got all my notes as you can see." Having cleared away a spot for them to sit on, he tuned his eyes back to the detective. "I'd really like to get back to sleep—though I'm equally interested in knowing exactly why there is a media frenzy outside my front door. It's thick wood—I could have comfortably rested another forty-five minutes before they knocked through it, you realize?"
Taking a cue from the boy, Saehara motioned to his men to hold back and calm down, then took the proffered seat, inviting Satoshi to sit beside him. "Hiwatari-san…there's been…there was…" He faltered only a moment before slipping into "debriefing" mode, much more comfortable rattling off cold facts to his former superior than trying to explain things to one he saw as a "little boy".
"At 5:37 A.M. this morning, approximately one hour and twenty minutes prior to our arrival here, a corpse was discovered by a security guard in the central ball room of the Art Preservation Museum in an eastern prefecture. Units were immediately dispatched and a report was filed—"
"And?" a cold voice interrupted; Satoshi had little interest in police matters anymore—especially ones that did not involve Dark. "That's the police's job to investigate, is it not? I no longer work with you."
Saehara narrowed his gaze, brown eyes darkening forebodingly. "The victim…was the High Official Police Commander…Hiwatari Kei."
…Dead?
Saehara continued to babble for another five minutes or so, but Satoshi easily tuned him out, thoughts turning inward as he struggled to process the news.
No…how could he be dead? Kei was…not his most favorite person in the world—especially of late—but it…it just wasn't right. Satoshi had just talked to him the day before! How could…how could he be dead now?
Not just dead, no…he had been murd—
"Hiwatari-san?" Saehara interrupted his train of thought, and the boy blinked a few times to readjust his focus on the worried face staring across the couch at him, "Did you…hear me?"
"Ah, I'm…I'm sorry Saehara-san…it's just…it's something of a shock…would you mind repeating it?"
Saehara grimaced. It had taken a bit of courage to even ask the question in the first place, and the boy was being so damn polite that he wasn't making it any easier. "I…I said that we've come by…to ask you to accompany us down to the station for…for questioning." Satoshi narrowed his eyes a bit, and the inspector tried to allay any suspicions that might be forming in the shrewd mind of the fourteen-year-old, "Ah—please, don't think of it as an interrogation…rather, we'd prefer to inform you of our evidence gathered thus far, and…and see what perceptions you might have to offer…"
A pause, and Satoshi turned away, slipping back into his coma-like state, "I see…Could I…at least get dressed then?"
Saehara scrambled an apology and assured him that this was perfectly fine—it wasn't like they'd come to arrest him or anything, and the boy slowly pushed himself up off the couch and wandered like a zombie back into his room.
Kei…he'd been Satoshi's guardian for…it must have been nearly eight years now…when the Academy had shipped him out to attend public school and finish his education. He'd been living on his own for a while now, but before that he had lived with Hiwatari…so it still felt…empty to think he'd not see him again.
He could still hear the voice from their last meeting the previous Thursday—it was still there, in his head! Telling him he'd better make his choice to go back to the police soon, or he'd take matters into his own hands, would take care of Niwa himself, would…
…Take matters into his own hands? Would he have…could he have really done that?
A soft knocking on the thin wooden door snapped the Hikari boy back to the present, and he whipped his head up from buttoning his shirt. "Hiwatari-san?…Are you ready yet?"
"Y—yes! One moment please!"
He finished the remaining buttons in a flurry of fingers and slipped on a pair of loafers before grabbing his keys from the nightstand. Pulling the door open, he offered the detective a reassuring smile, who still appeared a little uncomfortable with his situation, having to bring his former superior in for questioning. "I'm ready, Saehara-san."
"All right." He ushered the boy back into the living room and nodded to one of the officers nearest the door, who lifted a walkie-talkie to his mouth and informed whoever was listening in that they were about to come down. After an affirmative reply, the small group pulled the door open again and eased into the still-bustling crowd.
The throng erupted once more into a storm of questions and comments that rained down upon Satoshi with the fury of a hurricane, just as it had come down when he'd first opened the door to let Saehara and the others inside. He refrained from offering any of them so much as a chance to meet his eyes, and instead kept his gaze focused on the immaculate black shoes of the rookie in front of him.
"Hiwatari-san! Could you give us any words for the paper?"
Oh, he had words, he had lots of words…but none that would be appropriate for publishing in any public paper. Most of them involved his wanting to get down to the station as quickly as possible and find out what the hell was going on and why his father was now dead…
All too quickly, though, a dark sneaking suspicion was forming in his mind…but he would give him the benefit of the doubt. His actions of late merited at least this much. Satoshi would wait until he was provided more information before forming any hard ideas on the identity of the murderer.
'You just keep sleeping, Krad…I'll call you when I need you, which may be sooner than I'd like.'
The crowd didn't thin out any even when they got outside of the building, and Satoshi remained shielded from pushy reporters by his escort until safely inside the black police car that had been sent to shuttle him downtown. A collective sigh was released when the doors shut and the car pulled away, but the feelings of anxiety which had brought it about returned once they reached the front steps of the Azumano District Police Station, once again greeted by a great gathering of cameras and microphones. Saehara did his best to scare off the younger ones, but the older, more experienced "news hounds" refused to relent until Satoshi was safely inside and out of their reach.
"Please, take a seat, Hiwatari-san," Saehara intoned, gesturing to a chair situated across from him in a dimly lit room he'd just been led to. The boy knew this room well enough; he'd been in it before, though only then as a bystander, monitoring the interrogations carried out by Saehara or some other detective beneath him.
The elder man motioned for one of the other officers to bring a file from a table over to him, and then he in turn passed it across to Satoshi, instructing him to leaf through it. "These were taken at the scene about an hour ago, as soon as my men arrived at the old Hikari Mansion—"
"Hikari?" Satoshi looked up from the manila file he'd just opened, leafing through a few pages of generic rules and regulations regarding the material, about to peruse the photographs, "He died…he was killed…at the Hikari Mansion?"
Saehara studied the now alert features of the boy who'd been so quiet and passive a moment before, something having been ignited inside him with the mention of the location of the murder. "Yes…" he affirmed hesitantly, then continued on as if he hadn't been interrupted, "Most of them are copies of the coroner's documents—we left him down there with a few other officers so he could give us at least some vague assessment of what might have conspired when we go back this afternoon—but there is quite a cache of evidentiary photographs as well. You may, however, have trouble…identifying the victim…"
The man certainly hadn't been lying. His blue eyes widened significantly in shock, breath hitching in his chest as he flipped through the images.
"We never would have known it was him if he hadn't had his badge on him…"
Kei—or he assumed it was Kei—impaled Christ-like on the wall, clothes hanging from him in bedraggled tatters, any exposed skin sliced open and still glistening in the light of the morning sun streaming in through a skylight.
A close-up shot: It was the Toki no Kusabi, no mistake, entrails hanging off it like so much garland, gleaming hilt stained red and slick with body fluid.
Another close-up: Two tiny golden crosses impaling his hands like nails, tendons caught on the razor-sharp blades.
A wide shot: The False Prophet written in blood above the head.
Chest shot: rigor mortis had set the back arched forward in an effort to push the weapon off his chest, with his skin broken and bleeding as if scourged with a whip made of razors.
But the worst was near the end…Saehara noticed the boy pause on one of the pictures and turned an eye down to see what had captured his gaze.
"We're still…not entirely sure how that could have been done…" He gestured to the coroner's close-up shot of what remained discernable of Hiwatari Kei's face, bloodied and bruised and missing an eye, lower mandible twisted open in a perpetual scream. "The coroner suggested some…some thin sharp object had—"
"Excuse me." Satoshi pushed back from the table abruptly and scuffled to his feet, darting out the door and down the hall to the bathroom, and did not come out until his entire stomach had been emptied of its contents.
Some time later Satoshi finally found the strength to put himself back together and return to the interrogation room where the detective sat patiently awaiting him, and apologized for his sudden departure.
"It's alright, really—and…I think that's enough for now. We'll call upon you again when we've got more information." He pushed his chair back and led the boy to the door. A few men beside him appeared to object to this, about to speak up, but he easily silenced them with a harsh glare. "Go home, try and focus on something else for now…leave this to us this time, Hiwatari-san."
Nodding mutely, Satoshi let himself be led, once again, like a docile sheep back out to the waiting police car, by now used to the swarm surrounding him as he made the short walk from the glass doors to the safety of the vehicle.
After finally being escorted back up to his apartment and urged to stay there unless he absolutely had to leave (and so that he might avoid any reporters as well), Saehara returned back down the stairs and left the boy alone with his thoughts.
Or rather, not quite alone…for he definitely had something to say to someone now.
He'd given him the benefit of the doubt—given it so freely and had it thrown in his face. But really, should he have expected any differently? There he was, being stupid again. As if he hadn't learned the first time.
"…You did it…didn't you?" Krad didn't respond, though the boy knew it wasn't because he was still resting. He could feel the waves of consciousness pulsing in his mind like a migraine, never ceasing, never relenting. "You killed him…!" Squeezing his eyes shut, he slammed a fist into the wall angrily, then winced and cried out as he remembered this was the hand he'd sliced open only a couple of weeks before, and it began throbbing anew.
"You couldn't just…" His voice trailed off into a whisper, and he clenched his hands into fists and roared in frustration, "Couldn't just leave this to me! This was my choice! You had no right to interfere! No damn right! I never asked for—for that!" He slid to the floor just inside the living room, cradling his head in his palms, and fought back tears of anger. "I never…would never have asked…"
'That is the sheer beauty of it—there was no need for you to ask me, Satoshi-sama. I simply did what was most expedient to attaining my goals. You should trust that I had sound reasoning, as I always do.' Krad shimmered into view a few feet from his host's slumped form, refusing to succumb to the boy's emotional attacks.
"Sound reasoning?" he almost laughed, an incredulous tone in his raspy voice, and gave a feeble sniff, "My father is dead now, simply because you fancied that I might like it better that way—"
'Tut tut tut… Must everything be about you, Satoshi-sama?' Krad crossed his arms defiantly, daring his host to respond to the bait. 'Hiwatari…was a threat. A threat to you, a threat to me…and I merely executed that threat for the sake of our own survival. It was, as you humans call it, "self defense"—'
"Self defense!" he cried, voice cracking, and he finally looked up at the blonde, blue eyes quivering in anger, "For a crime he hadn't even committed!"
'That does not erase the fact that he was willing and able to commit it.' Krad wrinkled his nose in disgust at the memory, 'Dangling that Niwa boy over your head like a carrot and telling you to jump—you would have gone back, wouldn't you?' Satoshi turned his head away but said nothing, 'And I…I would have been without purpose, would have faded away—and we can't have that, now can we? He had to be disposed of, Satoshi-sama, you know he did. You may refuse to accept it in your mind, but in your heart of hearts you know that this was what had to be done. You should be thanking me, not having to dirty your own hands.'
Satoshi lowly pushed himself to his feet, using the wall behind him as leverage, and shook his head grimly, "…Where does it stop with you?" Krad simply stood there, letting the boy let his frustrations out. "How far…how far will you go on the excuse that t was just to save yourself! To save me, to keep this damn clan going! An innocent man is dead—"
Krad frowned and interrupted, 'I would hardly call Hiwatari innocent—'
"He was!" Satoshi snapped, eyes glinting angrily, "And you know it! You couldn't take being forced back in your little corner, back into your passive role where you just sit back and let me run my life as I please! So you killed him—and you did so in what looks to be the most horrific way possible. Gods, you enjoyed it, you always enjoy the thrill of taking a life! And nothing is worth that…least of all you…" Krad's face washed free of any emotion, his Tamer's words sinking deep into his being and stirring up feelings of guilt within him. "…Isn't there some point…where it all becomes senseless? How many more must die as an excuse to keep this tri-century feud going? Wouldn't it just be better, if…if…if it were all over and done with—if we were all gone? Haven't we reached that point—where it's just wrong to keep trying so hard to stay alive…when we're better off dead anyway?"
The blonde stepped forward slowly, golden eyes fixed on his Tamer's flushed face, and gingerly cupped the boy's chin as he leaned forward to whisper softly in his ear, 'Oh never, my Satoshi-sama… We shall never reach such a point…for no matter what, I will protect you until I should fade away into so much astral dust…and from there I will watch over you from the heavens and guide your art…'
A shiver ran through Satoshi, breaking Krad's spell, and he waved a hand through the image, breaking it up before him. Pushing through the scattered remnants, he stomped off towards his room, silently seething and wondering why he even tried to reason with his curse. "You can consider the agreement off."
Krad balked at the doorway to the room—he'd thought it would be sufficient to simply let his Tamer slough off his frustrations, and in a few days this entire matter would be forgotten, Satoshi would realize how much better things were without Kei meddling, and the two would continue their relationship as before.
'You…but…' Golden eyebrows pulled together in indignation, 'What is the meaning of this? You can't be serious…'
Satoshi stopped at the foot of the bed and turned to his curse, almost laughing at the pitiful sight, "You thought you could do such a thing and escape scot-free? That I wouldn't retaliate in any way?" Krad gave no response, and it was evident now to the boy that he'd thought just that. "Oh no, no… Congratulations, you've just destroyed any hope of my giving you my trust in any way. I trusted that you might follow our agreement and not kill—"
'Did you not hear what that stupid detective told you? Hiwatari is dead—not the Niwa boy! I have not touched him, as per our compromise—'
"Anyone!" the boy erupted, mouth twisting into an angry snarl that actually made his curse take a step backwards, "You knew that applied to anyone! That was why you didn't harm those officers when Dark took the Yume no Yumi! You told me! You—promised…"
'…I promised no such thing, Satoshi-sama. Those officers were in no way threatening either of us, so I allowed them to live. Dark as well, as he falls distinctly under our agreement, but…I would never agree to simply sit back and allow myself to be rendered useless. You should know better than that. And if someone has made themselves into an obstacle, if they should prove to be a hindrance to either you, or me, or both of us as the case may be…I won't hesitate to dispose of such a threat.'
Satoshi now slumped onto his bed, eyes shut, weary from arguing with the blonde. "…Nothing ever gets through to you…You always do this, make assumptions that you know I would never allow…You're like a little child I have to keep my eye on or else you'll wander off and do something naughty like slitting a throat…"
A corner of Krad's mouth twitched and he crossed his arms, 'Satoshi-sama…are you lecturing me?' The words rolled off his golden tongue with an air of incredulity, like some impudent teenager receiving a scolding from his father.
"That depends," Satoshi returned coldly, "Am I having any effect on you?"
'Oh yes, yes… you have the worst effect on me…'
The Hikari boy scoffed and muttered softly, "Gods, it's always the same…nothing I say makes a difference…everything's one grand joke in your eyes… You don't even care that you've just committed the highest crime punishable by man! That there's one less life in this world…and that it's your fault…"
Krad regarded him for a moment, mildly confused, before replying in all honesty, 'You're absolutely right. I don't care.' Satoshi's head shot up—he hadn't actually expected his curse to confess the fact so freely. 'For I cannot—if I indulged in such a luxury I could not have survived these three centuries to come rest in your consciousness. I could not have kept up with Dark if I honored such a notion as sparing a life if at all possible. I adopt the most expedient manner to retaining myself in my current incarnation, whatever that might be. I will kill whom I need to, and spare in the same way—'
"You most certainly will not," the boy stated defiantly. "Not with my body—not without a fight," he amended.
Frowning, Krad pressed, 'Satoshi-sama, you must try and understand—this is not a subject open for discussion. It is ingrained in me—part of my purpose, simply another aspect to it. You cannot keep me from it; we both know how successful that's been in the past…' Satoshi covered his face with his hands in defeat.
'Do not fight me, Satoshi-sama…I don't want to hurt you.'
The hands lowered, and he pushed himself up slowly to stare incredulously at the blonde, then scoffed roughly, "Well, you're off to a bang-up start then, aren't you?"
"Inspector Saehara…" the man began, slightly flustered at being put under so much pressure, "…I—you know I can't give a proper analysis of the body for another few days at least. I need time to examine the victim. To ask me to assess the situation and give a probable cause of death within a mere few hours is…asking for a flawed inspection."
"I'm perfectly aware of that, Doctor." Saehara nabbed one of the officers running back into the ballroom of the Art Preservation Museum and told him to have the body wheeled out into the foyer area where they were currently standing. "And we'll release it to you as soon as I file the appropriate paperwork. I simply…want some general idea. So I at least know just what to classify this as." The detective shook his head and stared at the double doors the officer had just gone through, "Never…not in over thirty years on the force…I've never seen a piece of work like this." He turned his gaze back to the man before him. "Just give me something, Dr. Nakayama. What could have done…all that to that poor man?"
Nakayama sighed and slumped his shoulders, then reached into his pack and took out the pad on which he'd jotted notes following his cursory examination. "Fine. This is only what I could derive in the mere couple of hours you gave me when you left this morning. We'll start with…well, I suppose the head is as good a point as any."
A squeaking noise interrupted the doctor, and both men turned to see the officer Saehara had just sent away rolling in a long dolly covered with a sheet. The detective nodded and dismissed the young man, and Nakayama reached forward and pulled the material down to the collarbone.
"First, the skull."
"Oh? Feeling a bit of apprehension now, are we?" Krad's laugh was high and soft, truly enjoying the sensation of holding such power over another living being. Ah, he hadn't felt this way in so long, in so many incarnations; there'd always been something stopping him. No host for Dark, or an unwilling host, or some other such nonsense. It felt…right to be here again. …
Kei's eyes darted back and forth around the room, mind latching onto the faint hope that perhaps the monster before him had forgotten to lock the oaken doors behind him. That perhaps, if he made a run for it…
"Don't even think about trying to escape, Hiwatari—we'll be far too busy conducting business tonight for you to consider such an option."
This didn't seem to deter Kei, who eased along the wall nearer to the doors as subtly as possible—quite a feat—gaining nerve when Krad didn't seem to be interested in stopping him. After a split-second's thought, he dashed across the polished tile floor, and Krad simply rolled golden eyes, twisted his finger around an invisible something, then pulled back with a flick of his wrist.
"The victim has a complex fracture here." He gestured with his pen to an area of matted blood at the top of the skull just behind Kei's right temple. "It's perpendicular to the superior temporal line, on up into the right parietal eminence. He might have gotten it…tripping? Some kind of head trauma? A fall onto a solid surface might have caused it."
Kei's head throbbed with a gentle pulse, and he brought a trembling finger up to massage his skull, then gasped when it came away bloody. He shot a frightened gaze over to his abductor, who smiled innocently, head cocked to the side.
"You should watch your step. Slippery floors they have here."
"The throat…I can't imagine what might have caused that. If it weren't for all the blood, I'd suggest some sort of strangulation—perhaps with fishing line. I've never seen it cut so deep, though."
"Do you still doubt these threads, Hiwatari? Even as they bite into your flesh and stain you with your own life-blood…can you still doubt them?" Krad twisted more and gave a little yank, and the man cried out as he flailed at his neck, choked by means he couldn't comprehend. …
"T—Take—sto—" The plea was gurgled and drowned out as he coughed up more blood, spattering the floor before him.
"If only you could appreciate how truly beautiful a sight you are right now, all red and glistening and pawing at your own threads, slumped down on your knees surrounded by the very family you so envied…" Kei coughed again, and gasped roughly for air. "Yes, I knew you, knew how much you wanted to be one of us—an elite Hikari member. Even going so far as to adopt Satoshi-sama, in that vain hope that some of his majesty might slough off into you…the dregs of greatness, that was all you could aspire to. Pathetic."
The doctor reached to pull the sheet down further. "Moving down to the legs—"
"But what about…that eye? And…surely you've got some idea of…just what in the hell happened to his chest…" Saehara prodded.
Nakayama frowned. "It's…I could only offer faint possibilities. It's as if…the entire bulb of the eye was pulled out of the socket, but to do so would have snapped the optic nerve at the base. Instead we're left with…simply the nerve sheath—the entire vitreous body seems to have been drained, hanging from the orbit. In other words, it's an empty eyeball. A limp sac that once was one of this man's sight organs. As for the chest—we already know exactly what happened to it—he had that blasted artpiece shoved into his ribcage, according to that poor flustered security guard who found it. I want to address that particular wound last, as I feel it serves as a jumping off point for our killer's motive—I'm working my way through the lesser ones first." Saehara grunted an agreement. "Very well. The lower limbs, now…"
Krad stifled a disinterested yawn, growing bored with simply teasing the man writhing on the floor before him. It was time, he decided, to step up the pace. The night was well under way, and he wanted this bit of business taken care of before the sun rose. With any luck, Satoshi wouldn't witness any of this.
"You know…" he drawled, cocking his head to the side, "Satoshi-sama is really not going to be pleased with me, I've realized. Much as he does despise your methodology, he was fully intent on returning to his position—though I doubt it was from any grudging respect for you." Kei had barely the strength to lift his head up and gaze at Krad, neck spurting fresh crimson ribbons. "I think I may be in for quite the tongue-lashing in the morning…how inconvenient. We were just starting to get along, too…"
He appeared to contemplate the situation for a moment, finger on his chin in thought, and then smiled softly at Kei. "Very well…" He bent forward to peer into the flushed face, relishing the eyes quivering in fear. "The door is behind you, Hiwatari. If you leave quickly—if you scramble to your feet this very moment, you may never see me again."
Kei balked; he wasn't stupid enough to take the bait unflinchingly. After a moment's contemplation, though, he summoned up the remaining strength in his body to push himself upright. He took a few tentative steps, then slowly looked over his shoulder at his captor, as if testing his leash.
Krad was still smiling, eyes tiny slits, and made a shooing gesture. Kei wasted no more time and began hobbling across the room, not knowing if this was real or if perhaps he'd slipped into some chaotic dream state.
He learned soon enough, just three steps away from his freedom, that such hopes were not intended for him. He had sinned, and he would pay—pay most dearly.
There was a faint clinking of metal on metal from behind him, but Kei didn't dare turn around, and instead reached out for the doorknob with trembling fingers—only to feel something slice white-hot and scalding across the backs of his knees, tearing apart his—
"—hamstring muscles. Completely slit apart the semimembranosus and semitendinosus. I dare say he had a hard time walking after the murderer did him that way. And to make matters worse—" He pointed down to the ankle now, "You can see the same thing was done to the tendocalcaneus here—his Achilles tendon. If we put that with the head trauma, I say the poor man tried to run away and got caught, so his captor clocked him and cut him up for safe measure."
"You really believed me?" Krad chuckled, his new toy dragging on the floor beside him as he approached Kei, slumped on the floor and sobbing loudly. "Come now, you should know I bow to the whim of no human." He sighed dramatically. "Satoshi-sama will no doubt be angry with me, I admit, but he will see this is all for the best. For him, for me…and for you as well, Hiwatari-san. For you will no longer be blinded by Satoshi-sama's radiant light, no longer burned by his presence… Am I not a most merciful being?" ……
He noticed Kei's gray eyes resting on the object he held in his grip, and pulled the handle up over his head, letting the length trail along the floor, clinking lightly. "You haven't seen this one, have you? My seventh Tamer, Hikari Akira, fashioned it—he did so enjoy metallurgy, but more so the 'hands on' aspect. He would sit in that stifling forge for hours, and I never understood his fascination…until I first laid hands on this whip…this piece of art." He squatted down on his haunches to give the immobilized man a better view.
"It isn't a painting, nor a statue or musical composition…but as you can see, it is still art." Kei made no response, for his voice had nearly disappeared from screaming, and Krad grew a bit miffed, "Don't you think it's a beautiful work, Hiwatari-san? I must say it is at the very least original…" He stood back up, and picked up the end of the whip, frowning.
Had Kei been in most any other situation, not slumped on the floor of the Art Preservation Museum bathed in his own blood, he might have been able to appreciate the object properly. It was a good eight feet long, not that impressive, but then…there was the fact that it was unlike any whip he'd ever seen before. Rather than a thong made of rope or cowhide, the unique piece Krad held looked to be nothing more than a long metal chain with a nasty dagger attached at the end, ready to impale whatever the Hikari curse chose to crack it on.
"It's very accurate and easy to manipulate, you know. Akira-sama prided himself on it—unheard of, a whip made of metal. After all—how could such a heavy thing be used?" He flicked the instrument in a flash and opened up a long gash along Kei's back, sending the man into new howls, having apparently found his voice again. "Just like that, Hiwatari-san. Just like that."
Krad shook his head in pity and sighed. "Why, human, do you assume that I must have mercy on you? Why do you think that, sooner or later, I will relent? Do you think your stubbornness means anything? Do you think it impresses me?" He gave a feeble laugh, completely devoid of mirth. "You, human, are a transient speck. You mean nothing. Not to me. Not to the world. Not to Satoshi-sama.
"Before you die, though…you will amuse me. You will beg. You will grovel. You will offer to debase yourself…in the most hideous of ways. And I will not listen. Then you shall truly suffer…" He leaned forward and pushed the man over onto his back with the handle of the whip, the cold metal stinging his exposed flesh. "You will then, truly scream… And then…you will die. In full knowledge of your insignificance. Your cowardice. Your ignorance… And in pain, you will die a most exquisite death, human. Let me…begin."
"The talus was crushed at some point—there went his ankle joint. You can see the surrounding ligaments have been ripped apart, so it was probably stepped on sideways and pushed out of plane with the other bones." Nakayama moved up the leg to the thighs now, with Saehara following in horrified attention. "Not much more damage to the upper leg than that, though, apart from these thin gashes all over them—the muscle cutting must have happened early on, and so there was no reason to do any more damage to his lower appendages, it seems. From here…" He hesitated a moment, then steeled himself, "I think we can now address the chest wounds.
"The Toku—Toko—To—"
"Toki no Kusabi," Saehara supplied as the doctor stumbled over the artwork's title.
"Y—yes. That sword." Nakayama shifted uncomfortably and returned to his notes, "As you know, the victim was, at some point, crucified on the wall of the ballroom with the Toki no Kusabi." He gestured to the chest with his pen and swallowed, "The point of the sword was forced into the chest cavity, cracking the sternum in two at the body, and just grazing the heart, puncturing the right lung as he was staked to the wall."
"Come Hiwatari-san," Krad crooned, "Stand up—surely you can stand, can't you?" Kei's reply was a long moan and sobbing hiccup. "No? Then how about kneeling? Kneel, and beg for your life. Here, I'll even help you." He leaned forward, dropping down to one knee, and extended a hand with all the feel of saving grace.
The beautiful man with his equally beautiful golden voice… It was the quintessential delusion of humans: that beauty equates goodness.
"I see you're having a bit of trouble accepting my offer," Krad chortled, and turned and walked the length of the room into an area cordoned off by shadows. Kei could only whimper—he would almost welcome death now, anything to end this torture. He was bleeding from too many points to count, couldn't run away or even stand, simply sat there, mutely awaiting whatever the monster had in store.
"Do you remember this work, human? I quite admire it—though it is but a mere shell now of its former glory." He cracked a smile at the man on the floor. "There is no magic in it anymore, only a glint of the beauty its Hikari master imbued it with. Surely you cannot have forgotten the Toki no Kusabi, could you?"
He gave the whip in his other hand a crack and wrapped the chain thong around Kei's neck and hoisted him up, back against the wall, chuckling darkly as the man flailed wildly about. "I would be more gentle, but I don't like to touch things of the mortal realm if I don't need to. Don't worry—I'll free you from this chain whip's grasp soon enough."
Without further delay, he thrust the sword forward with all celerity right into Kei's sternum, grunting softly when he met with the resistance of bone, and simply hammered it further in. "Such a beautiful scream, human. I have enjoyed listening to it this night."
"The victim was still alive at this point—enough to further hurt himself by struggling against the stake. Shredded his right lung with all his moving about, and started to asphyxiate. The killer had him hoisted just high enough off the floor that he couldn't stand; whoever he was, he had apparently planned this elaborate murder ahead of time. He knew how to crucify a victim."
"Do you know what the fascinating thing is about crucifixion, human? It's actually…" He made an effort to push the sword in even further, apparently not quite satisfied with the depth it had been buried. "It's actually death…by asphyxiation, you know. The way the arms are pushed out, just like this—" He grasped a thread connected to Kei's right hand and lifted it up flush against the wall, then drove a needle-sharp cross directly into the palm, relishing the gurgled gasp. Kei could no longer scream. "—makes the process of breathing so difficult and exhausting that eventually one can no longer do it… Though I don't think we need to worry about you breathing for much longer. ………
"The hands were secured to posts—or walls—so that they couldn't rest… Sometimes just with ropes, and sometimes like so—" He grasped the thread of Kei's left wrist now, staking it to the wall like the right. "And sometimes—sometimes, you see, the lungs would fill with fluid…so the victim would have them punctured, to drain it." He smirked at the blade holding the man to the wall. "I really don't think that's necessary in this case—though I may relieve you of some of this weight holding you down."
He took a step back and flicked the whip over his head in a graceful arc, slicing the gut open and letting some of its contents spill out. Kei's response was to arch his back forward, rending him from the inside out as he slid along the blade of the sword.
It was quite amazing to Krad how the man was still holding up through all this, albeit on the very verge of shuffling off the mortal coil. "Death by crucifixion was so popular with the Romans because it was such a long, slow, and incredibly painful death. It could take days, sometimes a week, depending on the weather and the appetites of the animals that happened along." He waxed thoughtful now, "I've long wondered just how long an indoor crucifixion such as this might take…but this museum opens in a mere few hours… So that answer must wait until later."
He reached into his pockets now, and began putting his gloves back on in a clinical manner. "Satoshi-sama sends his love, I'm sure, Hiwatari-san." He shot an icy glare at the man staked to the wall, "And please, stop sniveling. Who knows—in a few hours he may actually have pity for you." He turned quickly and began marching towards the door, robe flowing behind him. "After all, everyone speaks better of a man after he's dead."
"The rest is up to you, Detective. I'd like this body turned over to me as soon as possible for a full analysis, but I do understand you need it for your report." Saehara nodded, shaken. "I hope I've offered at least some insight. I stand by none of my observations though—I told you that already. Not until I can examine him at my leisure will I allow that."
"Of course, Dr. Nakayama. And thank you for offering what you could. You're free to go now—I'll have to body sent to you at the morgue as soon as possible." The doctor nodded and gathered his things, leaving the detective with the body.
Saehara shuddered internally—what kind of monster could have exacted such a brutal murder? Never, in all his years on the force, had he witnessed such a crime. Sure, he'd seen murder scenes—gang shootouts, yakuza business and the like. But this…this was so different…so unexpected. Hiwatari hadn't been head of the department long enough to develop enemies like Saehara himself had—it was completely illogical.
So…could it have been random? Was there a serial killer somewhere in Azumano, hiding down an alley behind the Femme Fatale? Or lurking in the shadows down by the tennis courts of Azumano No. 2?
No, it was too random—that was the problem. The location said as much; why would a murderer drag his victim so far outside city, and yet commit the crime in a place the victim was sure to be found?
And what of this phrase, "The False Prophet"? Saehara sighed in frustration and radioed a unit to come pick up the body. Just too many questions, and he had hardly any idea where to start looking for suspects. The boy Satoshi, he was almost positive now, had no connection whatsoever. The look on his face that morning had convinced him as such. Perhaps forensics could work with the coroner and come up with something.
The week ahead would certainly be a long one.
It was merely the fact that if he didn't do it he would find himself under even more suspicion than he already was that made Satoshi attend his father's funeral. It had taken a good week before the police had decided that they'd learned all they could from the indiscernible remains of Hiwatari Kei and had allowed them to be disposed of in whichever way his single living relative—Satoshi—saw fit.
Inspector Saehara, in a moment of compassion for the now-orphaned Hikari boy, solicited Azumano's well-to-do for the fee for a less-than-modest funeral, which what seemed like half the town attended.
The Niwas included.
Seats had been reserved for the four-person group, for Satoshi had somehow known that such an event would not be passed up by his rivals, whether they saw it as a chance to express their sympathy or simply laugh at how low the boy had been brought.
The mother—Emiko was her name, he recalled—was fidgeting nervously between her husband and son, shooting glances all around them at the other guests, apparently believing that Satoshi had planned all along to use this as a chance to dispatch Daisuke.
'Yes, that's right, Niwa Emiko. Rather than shoving your son into a bathroom stall at school and slitting his throat in privacy, I figured a flashy execution in front of a few hundred people in broad daylight would be a better route.'
Well, there was one thing he would give the woman—she was a shrewd matriarch if he'd ever seen one, well-versed in her family's history. And he'd rather Daisuke be over-prepared, he'd admit, than under-prepared.
"A Hikari is never unprepared!" He could still remember her harsh words to the redhead from a few months ago, shortly after the Toki no Byoushin incident; though she'd been shouting, she'd probably thought Satoshi hadn't overheard.
That's all he was to her, wasn't it? Just "that Hikari boy." Krad's host. Out to get her precious Dai-chan. He scoffed internally as he watched her fiery red eyes scanning the ceiling—most likely searching out trap doors from which Satoshi could pounce upon Daisuke from above. 'If I truly wanted him dead…he'd be dead, woman.'
No, much as the Niwa mother would refuse to believe it, today wasn't about a feud. It didn't even, really, directly involve the Niwa or Hikari families. This was a funeral for Hiwatari Kei, his adopted father and guardian.
'Some guardian.'
The man on the end…Kosuke, wasn't that his name? Niwa's father…yes, they'd spoken before, he remembered. On the same occasion as when he'd heard Emiko's warning to her son not to be unprepared around the Hikari boy. It had been…an interesting talk with the elder man, to say the least.
Niwa Kosuke had smiled so warmly at him, spoken as if he were Daisuke himself, so easily, without preconceptions that biased him as they did his wife.
"You're…Hiwatari Satoshi-kun, aren't you?"
Hiwatari…Hiwatari…yes, to Niwa Kosuke he wasn't "that Hikari boy," he was Hiwatari Satoshi. He didn't want to be related to his blood family, so to that man he was as good as being from a completely different clan.
Currently the brown-haired man was fervently trying to get his wife to calm down, aided by his son and father-in-law. Emiko was in turn trying to get them to all be more alert—a battle she was quickly losing as her family members tuned her out and shook their heads, sighing.
Moments later the throng quieted down and took their seats, and a few impassive eulogies were delivered by elder members of the police force who'd worked with Hiwatari the longest. Unlike at most funerals, there were no long bouts of wailing or quiet mourning, simply people who felt it their duty to be there to see off the Police Chief.
The crowd stood as one and formed a long line to pay their last respects, and Satoshi took his place by the coffin—they'd opted for a closed casket, for obvious reasons—and bowed respectfully at the passers-by who lay flowers or other ceremonial gifts at the base.
He was beginning to develop a small crick in his back from bending forward so much, and silently rejoiced when the final few people passed by, noticing a pair of shiny black shoes stop in front of him. Pulling up, he found himself staring up into the warm gaze of Niwa Kosuke.
He gave a low bow to the boy. "My sympathies, Hiwatari Satoshi-kun," and laid a lily on top of the casket, then turned to move back over to his family, of which Emiko was tapping her foot angrily, glaring at her husband. Daisuke seemed a bit embarrassed by the whole ordeal and was tugging on the cuff of his sleeve, averting his eyes from Satoshi's gaze.
When the man stepped away, Satoshi surprised even himself by reaching out suddenly and grabbing hold of his sleeve, holding him in place in front of him. Kosuke turned his head slightly when he felt the tug, and looked down at the boy curiously, who had by now become aware of how childish his action was, and had turned his eyes away.
"I…I'm sorry…" he spoke in a tiny voice, quickly releasing Kosuke's sleeve and bringing his hands back to his sides.
Emiko was about to burst, and began to call her husband in a light voice which hid her rage, "Kos—" But she stopped immediately when the man held up his hand to silence her. She curled her hands into fists and probably would have marched forward right then and given him a piece of her mind had she not had her father and son restraining her.
Instead, Kosuke turned fully to face the boy. "For what, Satoshi-kun? You have nothing to be sorry for—it is a day for mourning, not for seeking forgiveness, you know." When the boy didn't reply, he misinterpreted the reason for the silence and began to apologize for his wife, "Ah…really, don't mind Emiko-san. She's always been a bit high strung about…about…your family…"
Satoshi shook his head and clenched his fists, hissing in a low voice that the Niwa mother wouldn't be able to hear, "No…I'm sorry…but it—it wasn't me!" He turned his face upwards and Kosuke paled at the sight—the usually emotionless voice cracked, spilling out his fervor as his eyes threatened to spill out tears. "It wasn't me!" he whispered again in quiet desperation.
Someone had to know—someone. He had to tell someone who could understand how it wasn't his fault his father was dead. "He…he did it…but I swear I had nothing to do with it!" His hands rose up and clutched at Kosuke's lapels, as if about to shake the truth into the man. "You know what I'm talking about, don't you? Niwa? You know it, don't you?"
Kosuke blinked rapidly and brought his hands up to remove Satoshi's grip from his jacket, steadying the boy against him. The watery blue eyes stared up with empty hope diluted in them, praying that this one time a Niwa would look at him and not see the wrongs Krad had done, but would see the desperate Satoshi inside.
"I…I didn't…" His voice cracked, and he swallowed hard, leaning into Kosuke's comforting embrace, wondering in the back of his mind if this was what it was supposed to feel like when your father held you. Warm, safe, like nothing else mattered, that you'd be protected by him…loved—for who you were, their child, and nothing else.
Hiwatari had cared for Satoshi for one reason: Krad. But Kosuke…Kosuke no doubt cared for his son for many reasons, least among them being Dark.
"I know you didn't, Satoshi-kun…You aren't like him, you aren't—I know, Daisuke knows, and Emiko-san…she…deep down she knows too." He pushed Satoshi back slightly so that he could face him fully, and bent down a little so the two were at the same height, and wiped away a stay tear. "I don't…I don't know what you want us as Niwas to do, but…I know this isn't easy for you, so…just…" He fished around in his pocket for a moment before withdrawing a small pencil and slip of paper, scribbling something on it, and then passed it to Satoshi, not giving him time to refuse. "Just…call, anytime, for anything… Don't think of it as even talking to a Niwa, if you don't feel comfortable with that—I won't tell Emiko-san or Daisuke, it'll just be you and me, like father and son almost."
Satoshi suppressed a gasp and furrowed his eyebrows, staring down at the tiny slip of paper. Another moment passed, and he eventually stuffed it in his coat pocket. "Th…thank you…Niwa Kosuke-san…"
"Please—" the man urged, standing back up to his full height and wandering back over to his wife, "Call me Kosuke." He gave another small bow and hurried back to his family, with Emiko hastily shuttling them out the doors.
"It'll just be you and me, like father and son almost."
Perhaps the Niwas weren't as bad a clan as he'd been taught. At the very least, Niwa Kosuke wasn't. Satoshi now saw where Daisuke had gotten that nature of his that so endeared most anyone to him—it was all but impossible for one not to like Niwa Daisuke.
He turned slowly and regarded the coffin behind him, its handsome mahogany lid shut tight and clasped. Satoshi frowned, imagining what state the body was in inside its satiny interior—had they even bothered to make it somewhat presentable, despite the closed-casket funeral?
If he opened it right now, would he see that mangled, blood-smeared face, with its single eye rolling backwards and mouth twisted open in a perpetual scream? If he listened hard enough, could he hear that scream? If he closed his eyes and concentrated, could he transport his essence back to a week beforehand? Could he stand in Krad's stead and drive the Toki no Kusabi into Hiwatari Kei's chest, would he feel the same rush?
'I hated you, Father… More than you could ever—or will ever—comprehend. And now that he's taken you from me…I don't hate you as much. Does that please you?'
He gave a soft laughing cough—everyone always spoke better of a man after he was dead.
Author's Notes: For those of you who made it through the murder scene, conrgrats on strong stomachs. As a reward, any further scenes of a graphic nature will be of a slightly different type... Update, as usual, in one week!