Notes: Kudos to anyone who's found every Phantom reference (both deliberate and accidental ones) so far! I love this fic. And Liu is mine, but her name was suggested by Aubrie.
The group continued on down the hall until they came to a stairwell leading upward into a large storage closet that went the entire length of the stage. Gerald curtly explained that they were now directly above the stage and that the woman with him was the assistant stage manager Andrea. But then neither he nor Andrea said any more, as they were nearing the place where Andrea claimed that the body had fallen. Everyone tensed as they approached.
But then they were all immediately appalled. There was no body on the floor now—just the crowbar that Andrea had mentioned. Whoever had been there was now gone—or else the body had been moved.
"Guys, this is getting really creepy," Tristan muttered, narrowing his eyes at the sight. He couldn't help feeling a certain knotting in his stomach. Obviously they were already plunging into a series of strange and disturbing events. And he was getting sick of it. He rarely had any time to attempt at getting closer to Serenity while all of these things were happening. The only consolation he had was that Duke usually didn't, either. Though, he had to wonder what the raven-haired boy was doing right now. . . .
"Are you sure this is where the body was!" Gerald yelled indignantly, gesturing at the crowbar. He was seriously irritated over this. He was having enough problems already, what with the Phantom and the accidents and the stage light falling. He didn't need bodies to go missing!
"Yes," Andrea retorted impatiently. "Mike found it in here. See, there's the two backdrops." She pointed upward.
"Well, there's nothing here now," Seto growled in annoyance. "It doesn't even look like 'Mike' is here." He was bored with all of this already, but he knew that it all had to be solved if he didn't want Mokuba to be hurt—or for KaibaCorp to be sued. Idly he wondered if the crowbar could be dusted for fingerprints. Deciding to try it, even though he knew it would likely be futile, he bent down with a handkerchief and picked the metal object up, then placed it in his briefcase. He would dust it at home and then run the prints through the master computer in the basement.
"So maybe Mike was just seein' things then and he went to lie down somewhere?" Joey wondered half-hopefully. With their luck, such a thing wasn't likely. Perhaps whoever had killed the first person had come back for Mike. Or maybe the "body" hadn't been dead and it had taken Mike prisoner. Or even Mike could have taken it somewhere else. There were plenty of logical or semi-logical explanations for this.
"I'm afraid not, Joey," Yugi said worriedly. "After all, Andrea saw the body too." He looked around, hoping against hope to find some sort of clue. But everything seemed perfectly normal. It didn't look at all as though something out of the ordinary had taken place . . . at least, not until he looked up and saw the crimson drops splattered near the bottom of one of the backdrops. The boy swallowed hard, shaking a bit at the sight and what it meant.
"Guys . . . you'd better come look at this. . . ."
Instantly the others were there, looking at the blood with mixed feelings of horror and alarm and confusion. It was definitely fresh, so it was either the body's or Mike's, most likely. But the crowbar wasn't stained red, which meant that it had either not been the weapon or that it had not been the only one.
"Well, there goes the hallucination theory," Tristan muttered, shoving his hands in his pockets and growing more uneasy all the time. This was definitely not a joke. Whoever this T.G. was, he had a purpose in pretending to be the Phantom of the play that the theatre was attempting to put on. And they would have to determine what that purpose was. But in the meantime, what were they searching for, exactly? Two corpses?
"Oh my," Bakura gasped, biting his lip and turning away from the sight as he tried to contemplate what they should do. As he did so, he couldn't help but notice something small on the floor that reflected the light. Curiously he bent down to examine it further.
"What's that?" Marik asked, turning to look. He blinked in surprise when Bakura held up a belt buckle that was oval-shaped and a dull silver in color.
"I just found it on the floor now," Bakura said slowly as he straightened up. But where had it come from? Was it Mike's or the corpse's? Or had one of them torn it off their attacker?
Mokuba's eyes widened as he got a glimpse of it. "Let me see that!" he exclaimed. Obligingly Bakura held it out and Mokuba took it, turning it over in his hands thoughtfully. He was certain he recognized it. And it only served to confirm the suspicions he'd been harboring for the last several minutes. "This is Alister's!" the child declared. "I'm sure of it!"
"Alister's!" Téa repeated in disbelief. "But what would he be doing here!" The bikers had made themselves more or less scarce after the events at Julio Industries and then after the Christmas get-together at the Kaiba Manor. None of them had really seen much of the trio since then, though they had known that the former Doom warriors were living in the city. And Alister just didn't seem the theatre type, though he was capable of throwing his voice around in an expert manner.
"I don't know," Mokuba said, shaking his head, "but don't you see, Téa? It fits! He wears a dark coat and has reddish hair. And this looks like one of his belt buckles. He's gotta be around here somewhere. . . ." And immediately he looked about as if hoping to find the quiet and serious burgundy-haired man. But Alister was nowhere in sight.
"If he's here, he's probably injured," Seto remarked, his eyes narrowing. Or dead, even. But it didn't make sense to him as to why Alister would be here in the first place, unless he had heard about Mokuba's experience and had come to see if the child was truly alright. If that were so, however, how had he wound up in here and falling down from between two backdrops?
"Well, let's find the guy!" Joey cried. "Maybe he can tell us what the heck's goin' on."
"Or only add to the confusion," Téa said low. She was afraid that they would only find a corpse. I didn't used to think so morbidly, she realized as they began searching through the room for any sign of Alister or Mike. I guess it's because of all the creepy things we've seen. And she wasn't sure she liked it. She was usually a positive person, after all. But it seemed to be getting harder and harder to stay positive.
Which is why, when she found a hand hanging out from underneath a toppled shelf, she couldn't help but scream.
Duke sighed, looking out of his office window at the goings-on below. It was strange, how everything looked so calm while he had a feeling that something strange was happening—or about to happen. But he didn't know what it could possibly be. Del Vinci was in jail now, after all, and everything had been normal for over a month. Duke had even had time to continue attempting to court Serenity, though it still wasn't going all that well. He knew that she only regarded him as a friend. Still, he knew that she thought the same of Tristan. So far, they were on equal ground.
He was about to turn away from the window when he became aware of what looked like lightning slicing through the sky and striking the powerlines right across the street. In the next moment they overloaded and sparked dangerously, looking as though they were about to tear free and fall to the ground below. Duke frowned at this. Lightning wouldn't come out of nowhere. It was cloudy outside, but not in the way it was when a lightning storm was coming. He had to wonder if the lightning had been manmade.
Now he picked up the phone, dialing the number for the power company and sitting on the edge of his desk as the phone rang. When he finally got an answer he introduced himself and explained that there was an emergency across the street from his business. Even as he did so, the lights in his office began to flicker and soon went out, plunging everything into darkness.
Raphael continued to pet the cat—who bore the nametag "Liu" around her neck—surprised at how relaxed and friendly she was. It was confusing to him as to why the previous owners wouldn't have wanted her, unless she was too friendly for whatever lifestyles they had. But in any case, he was certain that the animal had now found her permanent home. He was fond of her already and certainly didn't want to give her up. And from what he already knew about the breed, he was sure that Liu would fit right in.
Valon watched Raphael stroking the Ragdoll's fur, leaning against the back of the couch with an unreadable expression gracing his features. "So . . . now what?" he asked finally. "It seems like Alister should be comin' back soon. . . ." Their red-haired friend had left some time ago to check on Mokuba, he had said. And since he would never be securing a role in the theatrical production, it seemed to Valon that he was being gone quite a long time.
"It seems like it," Raphael agreed noncommittally as the cat placed her paw on his hand. He blinked at the slightly strange feel of the pawpad against his flesh and then gently lifted the feline's paw up to look at the bottom of it. Upon seeing an odd string of numbers engraved there, his eyes narrowed in confusion.
"What's that?" Valon asked in surprise, seeing Raphael's expression.
"Look at this," Raphael replied, gently lifting Liu into his arms and holding up her left front paw.
Valon blinked, coming to sit on the couch to get a better look. "What the heck is that?" he exclaimed. "A kitty tattoo or somethin'?"
Liu meowed softly, not seeming to mind either the strange numbers on her paw nor all the attention she was now getting. She had been raised around many people and quite adored them, and in spite of the less-than-savory way that she had acquired her "tattoo," she still seemed quite willing to give her trust. Raphael and Valon seemed nice to her and she felt relaxed and calm.
"I don't know," Raphael said after a bit of thought, "but whatever it is, I doubt it belongs there." He made a mental note to call Paulette and ask her about it. Hilda certainly hadn't mentioned anything about the strange imprint on the phone or when she had came. Of course, she had been much too busy flinging insults at Raphael's friends when she had came.
That was when the lights in their house began to flicker. Valon frowned, getting up and going to the window. "It's not stormin'," he observed before wandering into the kitchen and discovering sparks flying from the toaster and other electrical appliances. With a frown he reached out to unplug the toaster.
In the living room Raphael heard a cry of pain and a crash. Frowning, he stood up and headed for the kitchen, Liu still in his arms. "Valon?" he called. Upon not getting an answer he grew concerned. The lights going out didn't help any.
Everyone started and turned at the sound of Téa's scream.
"What is it, Téa!" Joey exclaimed. "Did you find something?" He got into a fighting stance, but then saw the hand. His eyes immediately widened in shock. "What the HECK!" That was not what he had wanted to see!
"Well, don't just stand there!" Téa cried. "Help me lift it up!" She was already struggling with the heavy furniture. Quickly the others—including Atemu, who had emerged from the Puzzle—moved to assist. But instead of Alister, who they were expecting to find, they discovered an unfamiliar man with shaggy white-blonde hair.
"Mike!" Gerald cried in disbelief, kneeling down to check for lifesigns.
"But if he's here, then who did this to him!" Joey burst out in confusion, letting the shelf harmlessly crash onto the floor. Things were getting stranger by the minute. Alister—or his body—had vanished, there was blood on the backdrop, and Mike was laying under a shelf. Of course, T.G. was nowhere to be found.
"That's what I'd like to know!" Tristan grumbled. He half-expected to hear a dastardly chuckle echoing throughout the room. But all was eerily silent, save for their breathing and their concerned voices.
"So . . . how's Mike?" Mokuba asked uncomfortably, shifting from one foot to the other.
"He's still alive," Gerald said, breathing a sigh of relief, "and nothing seems to be broken, but still I suppose he should be investigated by some medical person. . . ." He straightened up, frowning as he said this. If an ambulance had to come there to the theatre, reporters would certainly follow and wonder what new "accident" had occurred. Gerald hated that idea, though he knew that it couldn't be helped in this case.
"Hey," Joey blinked then, noticing something else strange, "look at this. . . ." He pointed to an object that Mike was clutching tightly in his fist—a red belt, minus the buckle. "It kinda looks like maybe he and Alister were fightin' or somethin'. . . ." But he frowned, wondering why such a thing would be. I mean, aren't they both on the same side? He scratched his head in confusion, pondering. Maybe Mike could have been the one who had hurt Alister in the first place and then only pretended to find the body? But that seemed odd. What on earth would have been the motive?
"Okay, things are just getting too weird," Téa moaned. Will it ever stop? I thought this was going to be a nice, normal play. But we've barely done anything with it and things are anything but normal!
He regained consciousness slowly, feeling his back slumped against something hard. After a moment he realized that he was propped up against a wall. As he struggled to open his eyes, he found that it was dark all around him. When he shifted slightly, he felt himself knocking into various objects crowded into the small space. It was most likely a storage closet of some kind, though many times smaller than the roomy one he had been in earlier.
"Ugh," he muttered low, reaching up to rub at his head. It wasn't long before he found a bad bump under his hair. He touched it gingerly and then just leaned back, looking upward and wondering how he was going to get out of here. He supposed that the door was locked, though it wouldn't hurt to check. If he could just force himself to get up. . . . But that was easier said than done. He felt exhausted and drained, and every time he tried to move, he would feel a bit dizzy. So he finally opted just to rest for a moment and try to recall what had happened before.
It was all a jumble in his mind. He recalled coming to the theatre and seeing someone behaving suspiciously—glancing around furtively and such—before going inside through a back entrance. After waiting for a moment, he had followed, wondering if the person intended doing some sort of harm. And actually, he had never truly learned the answer. He had found himself in a corridor backstage and then had overheard Yugi and the others talking. Mokuba had seemed alright, much to his relief, but he hadn't gone over to him because at that moment he had seen the man in question going up a staircase, at the top of which was a door. He then had followed.
The door had led into a storage area where backdrops and other large props were being kept. It had been dark in there, but suddenly he had found himself wrestling with someone. That had gone on for some time until he had felt hard metal drop down on his head. Then everything had gone black.
Again he tried to get up. This time he managed and reached for the doorknob across from him. He shook the knob a bit and realized that he was, indeed, locked in. His gray eyes narrowed in the darkness. If he had something to pick the lock with, he would prefer trying to get out himself rather than banging on the door and making a fuss. There was no telling what was on the other side of the door, after all. Though, since he wasn't tied up, perhaps no one was trying to keep him prisoner for very long.
He fumbled through his pockets, searching for something he could use on the door. At last he produced a pocket knife and began attempting to wedge it between the door and the doorframe, hoping to get it under the spring and pop it open. His attempts didn't seem to be working and he wondered then if maybe he could get the hinges off the door instead. After feeling across the door he found the screws that held the plate that the hinges were attached to. He could only hope that they weren't rusted on.
Carefully he fit the knife in the groove of the screw and concentrated on turning it. It came easily, but the next one was more difficult. A lot of patience was required before he could remove all six of the screws—three on the top, three on the bottom—and push the door open in order to get out.
He blinked at the sudden light that flooded his vision. He was standing in a well-lit corridor that was most likely in some part of the theatre. Indeed, as he glanced about, he saw a door marked "Stage." He frowned vaguely, wondering just how long he had been trapped in the closet. It could have been fifteen minutes, thirty, or even an hour that he had been wrestling with the door. And there was no telling how long he had been unconscious before that.
He glanced downward, noticing that one of his two belts was missing. Luckily, he thought wryly, it was the one that he used mostly for style and not necessity. But he wondered where it had gone. It had come off during the fight, he supposed. Most details of the brawl were not clear in his mind.
Slowly he wandered down the hall, wondering exactly where he should be trying to go. Yugi and the others might still be in Gerald's office, but then again they might have gone somewhere else by now. He wanted to find them and make certain that they hadn't got in trouble—especially Mokuba—but the theatre was large and confusing and they could really be in any number of places. Slowly he opened the door marked "Stage," which really led backstage.
That was when he clanked into someone coming from around the corner. "Sorry," the other person remarked before then screaming in shock. "YAAAAAAA!"
A raised eyebrow was the response.
When Joey finally got control of his surprise, he frowned at the man he had bumped into. "Everyone's wondering if you're dead!" he cried, pointing his forefinger. And really, Alister did look a bit frazzled. His flipped hair seemed to be slightly wild and not neatly combed, as it usually was. He bore a scratch on his cheek and another along his waist. His clothes were rumpled and one of his belts was missing. And he was rubbing his head subconsciously as if it pained him.
"Unless you think I'm a zombie, it should be obvious that I'm not," Alister retorted. "Is Mokuba still alright?"
"He's fine," Joey said, "unlike you. What the heck happened!"
"It would be nice if I really knew that," Alister grunted. He was about to ask where Mokuba was when he noticed something amiss and shoved Joey out of the way, despite his confused protests. In the next moment, a heavy stage curtain fell down right where they had been standing!