Lonely Child
"Do you think he'll be alright, doctor?"
"Of course, it's just a little a fatigue." Dr. Kazutaka replied, smiling kindly at the woman before him. "Your son told me he hasn't slept very well lately. I'm going to prescribe some oxazepam to help him sleep; with a good night's rest, the headaches should go away."
"Oh, okay." The woman replied, taking the slip of paper, then she eyed her son cautiously. "But are you sure it's only fatigue?"
Dr. Kazutaka nodded his head, readjusting his glasses and smiling. "Of course. All he needs is rest."
Hiroshi's mother handed him his coat as she thanked the doctor again. He looked up at the pale man timidly, trying not to gasp when the strange eyes flicked toward him, an inhuman eye glinting against reflected light. He hadn't wanted to say anything, but he had been losing sleep because of terrible nightmares. Nightmares of being hunted down and stalked.
Nightmares of Dr. Kazutaka.
"Thank you, doctor." He muttered obediently at his mother's request, bowing his head slightly.
"You're welcome, Hiro." The good doctor replied in a friendly manner, even using a nickname in the casual atmosphere. "Sleep well tonight."
Silver eyes, frosted hair
The only light is outside
Master hunter, camouflage
True self is so easy to hide
Hiroshi laid on his side in bed, he had tried to sleep, but images of the doctor haunted his mind. He couldn't help but thinking about the way he looked at him during his check-up, as if he had been memorizing every curve of his face. He even had told him: 'For a boy, you're quite beautiful, Hiroshi' then he smiled and asked him if he had been experiencing chills at all. After a comment like that he had to say 'yes'.
He opened his eyes and could see his reflection in the glass of his window. It was true that, considering he was male, Hiro did have a very pretty face. It was soft and feminine, his hair was silky, and his body had that fragile looking shape much like a girl's would be. It was quite understandable why the doctor would want to do what Hiro had dreamt he did, that was why he was so scared to sleep.
He stared out of the dark window. What if he was right outside?
But of course not, he was being ridiculous. "Baka." Hiro muttered to himself, rolling over onto his other side, turning away from the window.
Something near the door glinted in the faint moonlight that seeped through the glass panes, a deep voice whispered to him. "You shouldn't call yourself such things, Hiroshi-san."
With a knife in your hand
You let your imagination go wild
Painting streets red
You hollow, twisted child
Muraki kneeled before the cross, his head bowed low, eyes closed. He listened to the held back sobs of a woman talking to the priest nearby--a woman whose son had been murdered the night before.
He smirked, imagining he could still taste the blood that he had licked from the dying boy's face.
Can you understand the wicked?
They arrived that night.
Tsuzuki, tall and broad-shouldered, his bright violet eyes seeming to both cut through and blend in with the darkness, his coat's black tails gently brushing over the road behind him as he walked. He had died at the age of twenty-six, a suicide, and The Ministry of Hades had accepted him as a new Shinigami recruit. Perhaps he only wanted to work with The Ministry because he thought he would be able to redeem himself.
Hisoka, small and feminine, his body looking perfect in the great contrast to how wounded and broken he really was, emerald eyes shining with hate. First neglected and disowned by his parents, then by age thirteen, raped, kidnapped, and senselessly tortured for three years. Many thought he had died of an illness, but in truth, Hisoka was murdered by the age of sixteen.
Both were so familiar in Muraki's eyes that it was like seeing an old friend again.
He remembered the way he used to read through his grandfather's notes and journals, intrigued by the eight year case that ended with suicide. His fascination led from the case to the man, who had continued to live even after he died; bringing them together by murdering the innocent.
He remembered the way he had taken that youn boy captive. Trapping his frail, squirming body in his arms, staring into his fear-stricken green eyes and softly luring him to death.
Yes, old friends.
The world is yours to own
Their lives are yours to take
Their minds are yours to destroy
Their hearts are yours to break
"I'm looking for some friends of mine, they checked in last night."
The hotel clerk looked up from his ledger. The man before him looked kind, but also frightening in that he looked like he could have been something undead. Ghostly pale skin and silver hair that, when moved in the right way, revealed unnatural looking eyes.
"I believe they registered under the name of a Mr. Tsuzuki." The man continued, not seeming to have noticed the odd look he was recieving. "Could you give me the room number, please?"
"Certainly, sir." The clerk replied quickly, looking back down at his ledger and flipping through the pages rapidly. "Here it is; Mr. Tsuzuki. Room 409. I don't think that they're in at the moment though, would you like to leave a message for me to deliver to them?"
The man smirked, bringing up a snowy hand to adjust his glasses. "No, that won't be neccesary, thank you." He answered in a calm, smooth voice. "They're expecting me later anyway."
Muraki turned and headed for the door, smirking a little as he left. He memorized the clerk's face, his shoulders, his neck, every part of his body; then he mentally sculpted it into something new. He did want to leave a message for Tsuzuki, yes.
But the clerk wouldn't be delivering it.
They're all pawns on the chess board
Use them, kill them, one by one
Down they fall, no one cares
You're the white king and you've won
"Nobody seems to know anything," Tsuzuki sighed hopelessly. "It looks like any information we want we'll just have to find ourselves."
"We have all the information we need," Hisoka answered, stuffing his hands in his jacket pockets, his eyes fixated on the ground. "That woman said that her son had been to the doctor the day before."
"So?" Tsuzuki replied boredly. "He wasn't sick, he was murdered, so that has nothing to do with it."
"She said the doctor's name was Kazutaka."
"Kazutaka?" Tsuzuki echoed. His bright eyes turned upward to the starlit sky, a pondering look overtaking his features as he tapped his chin thoughtfully. "Why does that sound familiar?"
Hisoka twitched in annoyance. "Dr. Kazutaka?" He repeated, looking at Tsuzuki expectantly and finding nothing more than a blank face. He sighed and looked at the ground again. "It was Muraki."
Tsuzuki's eyes saddened a little bit and also cast down to the ground. "Right."
Hisoka sighed heavily as they walked up the steps to their hotel; Tsuzuki opened the door for him. "Let's just get some sleep, we'll search for more information tomorrow."
Tsuzuki glanced up at the reception desk; he wanted to call Watari and ask him if he had dug up any more information, but the phone in their room was broken. The clerk wasn't there, but he was sure he wouldn't mind him using the phone quickly anyway.
"Hisoka, I'm just going to make a call, okay?"
Hisoka glanced back at him, then at the empty reception desk, and then sighed quietly. "I'm going to bed." He muttered, turning and walking down the hallway towards their room.
"Okay." Tsuzuki looked around the lobby again.
Where was the clerk anyway? They weren't supposed to leave the lobby unsupervised, if someone came in they could easily just walk off to someone's room and break in.
He reached over the desk and grabbed the phone, glancing down the hallway at Hisoka fumbling through his keys. Hisoka looked up and their eyes caught each other for a minute, the younger boy's face suddenly flushed and he looked away, jabbing the key into the door lock and turning it.
Tsuzuki just smiled and turned back to the phone's number pad as Hisoka pushed the hotel room door open. He didn't even have a chance to dial before Hisoka's startled scream stole his attention away.
With a blade in your hand
You let your imagination go wild
Painting their skin red
You jaded, disturbed child
"Are you alright?" Tsuzuki asked quietly, sitting down beside his partner and handing hima Styrofoam cup of hot tea.
"I'm fine." Came the weak reply.
"Tatsumi says he's finding us a different hotel to stay at--one with better security."
Hisoka nodded a little bit and sipped the tea, looking up at the coroners writing on their little notepads. They were trying to make sure all body parts were accounted for, it seemed everytime they had thought they found every piece, somebody found another chunk of flesh or an organ of some kind hidden about the room.
The clerk's head had been hanging in a plastic bag from the ceiling fan, they found his heart shoved in Tsuzuki's pillow case, intestines stuffed between the bed mattresses. The fingers had been found in pencil holders, dresser drawers, and floating around in the decorative flower vase which had been very recently been filled with red roses.
The coroners had described it 'as if somebody had set up an Easter Egg Hunt with a human body'.
Hisoka decided not to look over in that direction anymore, and tried to ignore the stench of blood and decay that filled the air. Instead, he tried to focus on Tsuzuki's hand resting on his back, rubbing comfortingly.
"What kind of a monster could do that to a human being?" He whispered shakily.
Tsuzuki sighed quietly. "I don't know."
Can't you understand the dark?
The water washed it all away, the once pure colour now tainted red as it flowed down the drain. Muraki slipped off his long coat and threw it at a nearby chair, letting the material drape over it's back.
"It's been a long night, Saki." His deep voice murmured through the emptiness of the room, the eerie green glow of the incubator tube providing the only light. "I've got such a headache. The message I left for Tsuzuki-san screamed far too much."
He looked up at the tube before him, the head of his half-brother on display inside, wires and monitoring electro-pads attatched in various places. Saki's facial expression never changed, the dead look in his eyes never sparked with life, but Muraki swore that he was smirking back at him. Mocking him.
"Did you enjoy your day? Watching the rats scurry about?" He stepped closer to the tube, placing his hand flat against the glass and bringing his face close. "Did you dream of the things I'm going to do to you? Did you imagine a thousand different forms of torture?" He looked up at the dead eyes, staring intently. "Perhaps you'll share them with me when I make you whole and we can put that imagination to some good use."
He adjusted his glasses and stepped back from the tube, stretching his arm out to keep contact with the cold glass for as long as possible. "Once I get Tsuzuki-san . . . " He whispered quietly, finally pulling his fingertips away. "I'll finally be able to show you what hell is."
Another half smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, and he turned to leave.
'You won't catch him, Muraki.'
His teeth gritted together in pure hatred at the sound of his voice echoing in his head. "What did you say?" He snarled.
'He's too clever to be lured by your tricks, otouto.'
"Don't call me that!" He spat viciously, turning to glare at the tube again. Saki's face hadn't moved, his eyes hadn't glimmered with life, his mouth had not spoken, but Muraki still heard his voice. "I will get him, and I don't need to lure him with tricks!" He rest his hand on the back of the desk chair, glaring up at the tube."He will come for me."
'He doesn't love you.'
"You know nothing!" He shouted, kicking the chair violently, sending it careening through the air and striking hard against the thick glass.
Hold yourself, don't let you go
Swept away by violent hate
Make him whole once again
Revenge can't come too late
The glass was fortified and did not break, but the crack that the chair's impact had produced was significant enough. The pressure inside the tank was too great; it would only last an hour at most before it burst.
Muraki stepped closer to the tube and ran his finger along the cracked glass. "Oh . . . I see your plan." He whispered softly. "I have nowhere to move you, Saki--not fast enough. You're going to die right here."
'You can't hurt me.'
Muraki hissed angrily and narrowed his eyes at the motionless face inside. "Oh, I can hurt you, Saki. I'll give you a taste of hell, right before you go there."
His coat had fallen to the floor when its perch was violently sent through the air, and Muraki quickly picked it up. He glowered at the face of his half brother and swiftly turned toward the far side of the room. He marched up to it and pulled open the cellar doors, going down the old steps to the extra storage space.
Muraki's lab was located beneath the campus of a post secondary night school. He knew that at this late hour the building would be filled with hundreds of sleepy students, droopy eyes glued to textbook pages, hands placed gently over their yawning mouths.
"At least you'll have someone to take with you." He muttered, walking back into the lab with a tank full of gasoline.
'Aren't you coming with me?'
Muraki shook his head quickly and started spilling the gas on the floor, the rank stench quickly filling the air. "I still have to find Tsuzuki-san."
'He's of no use to you now.'
"You wouldn't understand." Muraki growled in response, pouring the rest of the contents around the base of the tank.
'He still doesn't love you.'
"I can't hear you." Muraki whispered quietly, taking a book of matches from his pocket. "Your voice . . . it isn't real. I can't really hear you, Saki."
'He still doesn't love you.'
"I can't hear you!" Muraki repeated, raising his voice yet again. He struck a match. The smell of burning sulphur mixed well with the gasoline and provided the scent of approaching doom. So fitting for this moment.
Saki's voice echoed those hateful words one more time in a soft whisper.
'He still doesn't love you.'
Muraki tried to ignore him. "I'll see you in hell, Saki!" He shouted, dropping the match and letting it ignite the pool of flame. He turned to escape the room, the red glow of the fire contrasting with the green of the tank, and making Saki's face radiate with a hellish light.
'See you in hell, otouto!' His voice chirped back, almost too happily.
The night will fall, darkness presides
This is your world of play
No room for pity or remorse
Just bend the world your way
Tsuzuki's eyes softened sadly as he watched the coroner zip up the black bag, covering the melted face of one of the many victims. "Do you think it was Muraki?" He muttered under his breath.
Hisoka nodded his head slightly. "I can feel his presence, he was here." He answered in a low whisper, watching intently as the coroners tried to tally up the total death count--there had to be at least two hundred. "He enjoyed doing this. I can feel that he really enjoyed it."
Tsuzuki nodded gravely. "It's all a game to him."
Last night, the school had gone up in flames; many had escaped, but not enough. The ground was blanketed with ashes and charred remains, and it was surprisingly difficult to distinguish what was once furniture and what was once human.
Hisoka felt uneasy, and it wasn't difficultto tell--the look in his eyes said more than enough. He could sense the distress of the long dead victims, he could hear their screaming over the roaring of monstrous flames.
'He doesn't love you.'
He heard a soft voice whisper it, but he knew it was only in his head. There were so many students who attended this school, no doubt some were going through a typical adolescent heartbreak. All kinds of memories and thoughts were left 'dropped', as it were, about the area when their minds ran wild with panic.
With a flame in your hand
You let your imagination go wild
Painting the sky red
You playful, demented child
"Why did he do this?" Hisoka muttered aloud to himself. "He must have had a motive."
"Hisoka!" Tsuzuki called from a few metres away. He had been asking around about the school and the fire while Hisoka wandered aimlessly and thought; he leapt over a pile of debris and ran up to the younger boy. "I was just told that the fire started in a lab in the basement."
Hisoka raised an eyebrow, staring expectantly. "So?"
"The lab isn't used by anyone, except by a doctor who's been renting it out for a few years--" He blurted it all out as fast as possible. "Muraki."
Hisoka frowned deeply and his bright eyes turned to the ground. "Muraki burned his own lab?" He said quietly. "But, why?"
Do you understand the evil?
The church was filled with nothing but the lonely weeping of greiving relatives: mothers, fathers, siblings, friends. The kill count for the fire turned out to be two hundred and sixty-four, so it was to be expected that the church would be this full.
Hundreds of flowers had been placed before the cross; Muraki had brought a few himself, to blend in with the rest of the crowd.
He knelt down and placed them amongst the others. He looked beside him at the face of a young woman, crying quietly and wiping her tears away with her fingers and smearing eye make-up all over herself.
Muraki tried to hold back a smirk and pulled a handkercheif from his pocket. "Here you go, Miss." He said politely, in his soft, quiet voice. "I'm sorry for your loss."
"Thank you," The woman sniffed, taking the handkercheif from him. "My brother was one of the students in the fire."
"My brother was killed too," He answered quietly.
'Are you accepting me as your brother now, otouto?'
He sighed heavily. "He's stillwith me though . . . always will be." He turned his head a little more to take a better look at her, his hair slipping to the side, his bright eye glinting in the sunlight coming through the church's stained-glass windows. "My name is Kazutaka."
The bells are ringing, you bow your head
As the holy man they think you are
You smirk at your successful desception
Dear child, how have you come so far?
The moon looked so big from here.
Muraki stared up at it, round and full and pouring its light over the earth. Surely, to the Shinigamis, the pure, white light was tainted red, much like the water that he washed away the blood of his victims with.
They would be coming soon.
The woman he had met in the church was named Hannah; he had offered to take her to dinner, knowing that she had just experienced a loss and would be seeking comfort.
Now she was dead. Her body laid on the ground and her blood stained his hands. The scent of death would bring the Shinigamis just as honey attracted a swarm of flies.
'Same old routine again . . . same old game.'
Muraki shook his head. "No, Saki." He sighed, standing up and reaching into his pocket. "I'm changing the rules."
One more night, one more life
Why won't you accept defeat?
Reset the game, set up the board
Tasting one more bloody treat
"I . . . I don't understand . . . " Tsuzuki muttered quietly. "Muraki, what did you do?"
The coroners worked behind him, zipping up the bag that held the body of Hannah--the woman Muraki had killed last night . . . but that's not what Tsuzuki was interested in.
Hisoka hadn't even wanted to come near the area. He explained it as: when people die, all the emotions they felt at the time of their death--not some of them, all of them--get left in the area. This time the feelings were so strong and heart wrenching that Hisoka started getting uncomfortable before he even got out of the car.
Tsuzuki had told him he could stay there, that he should be able to make any observations himself.
But this . . .
A coroner came up behind him, looking over the taller man's shoulder curiously. "Is everything okay, Mr. Tsuzuki?"
"Go get Hisoka," He answered breathlessly, stepping back, away from the body. "Now."
"But, I thought that Hisoka couldn't handle all th-"
"Now!"
With a gun in your hand
You let your imagination go wild
Painting the walls red
You sad, lonely child
Hisoka walked slowly, hesitating his aproach greatly and afraid to see what he had been told was there.
Tsuzuki was stood in front of the body, himself and his coat blocked most of Hisoka's sight. His eyes squinted at the area beside Tsuzuki's foot, a pale hand clearly visible, laying motionless on the ground.
He hated the feeling of this place. Usually when he went to one of Muraki's murder sites he felt the agony of his victims and a dark, evil kind of presence from Muraki himself. This time it was different.
This time it was worse.
The sadness was unbearable, the lonliness and pain. It made Hisoka shiver and dragged his heart down to the ground.
"I think he . . . " Tsuzuki whispered quietly as he stepped aside for Hisoka to see. "I think he killed himself . . . "
Hisoka's eyes widened at the sight: Muraki's body on the ground, a gun in his hand. If he wasn't so shocked he might have taken interest in the fact that Muraki had shot himself through the heart, instead of through the head, like most suicides that involved a gun.
"Why would he do this?"
"I don't know." Tsuzuki shrugged his shoulders lightly. "I was hoping you could pick something up that would give us an answer."
Hisoka swallowed hard and knelt down beside the body. "I-I'll try . . . " He really didn't want to do it, but if they were to find an answer, he had to. He hesitantly reached forward and touched his fingers against Muraki's sleeve.
He expected images and emotions to rush to his head and hit him like a bullet. Instead, he just felt a cold and hollow dread--total emptiness. Everything went still and quiet, and the only thing he could hear was a soft, taunting voice, whispering through the darkness:
'He doesn't love you.'
Don't you understand the child?
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Geez, this is long! Okay, so this is my first YnM fic, so be nice please (sweatdrop) Anyway, I hope you all liked it and . . . yeah XD
REVIEW PLEASE