Disclaimer: if you end up working a 9:00-5:00 day, make sure you like your job. Seriously. And never work overtime in the coat check.
Fall
So get back, back, back to the disaster.
My heart's beating faster.
Holding on to feel the same.
—Sugarcult, "Memory"
Epilogue: Properties of Death
Perfect Memory.
Hiei frowned, suddenly exhausted. He would never underestimate the power of recall. He had known it all along, or so he found himself insisting; hadn't his memories, perfect in every detail, of his childhood prompted him to destroy the Koorime? And hadn't his brief memory of his mother, paired with the then-fresh knowledge that he had a twin, stopped him from doing so? Memories were absolutely necessary and he knew it now more than ever.
Had the recount even been perfect? It had certainly sounded as such. Hiei knew at least parts of it were true. The conversations, he would probably never remember with any conviction, but the actions and the things that mattered—his own feelings, for instance, would be imprinted on his memory forever. Those, he was sure, had been retold perfectly.
Dismissing the whole conundrum as unimportant, as nothing he did could change it, he began to think of simple things. Final touches to make a thing just so (which seemed pointless, most of the time, as so many things were destroyed at one point or another), the fleeting beauty of something like a flower (which was sure to die in short order, yet seemed incredible while it lasted), the simplicity and timelessness of a letter (which was miserably easy to forge or falsify, or change into something totally different even after its completion). Complex notions such as right and wrong were mere theories and did not deserve such attention, especially when others spent their whole lives trying to sort them out and ultimately devised nothing. Details were more satisfying to contemplate as they had solutions and could be resolved many times by many people.
Nothing short of basic arithmetic could be so one-dimensional. Could not a man ask, What of the satisfaction of a job well done despite its fleetingness? What of impermanent beauty being the most appreciated of all? What of that which could be expressed only on paper because speaking the words made things too difficult? What of love, what of life, what of death? What of loss?
Too many questions, not nearly enough answers. Hiei laughed aloud, closing his eyes and leaning back in his chair. Such was surely one of the conclusions Kurama would draw from life.
Would have, he corrected himself.
And now all he had left was a book and a memory.
That was how Kurama probably wanted it, he mused. Tired of life as Kurama had been, Hiei had never sensed any wish to be completely erased from the world. Merely one to get out of it. It was funny, Hiei thought, that the story ended exactly as he remembered. Even his own emotions and thoughts had been described correctly, which was not as surprising as it probably should have been. Kurama had always been adept at reading people.
Yûsuke and Kuwabara had not understood, as he had known they wouldn't. Yûsuke claimed to, at least at first, but each new detail he had learned made the lie harder to maintain and finally he had given it up. Kuwabara had offered his condolences to Hiei, although Kurama was his friend as well, and asked who was going to notify the other people who would be affected. Hiei hadn't known then and he didn't know now, but he deemed it someone else's problem and left.
Reflecting back on those days, Hiei supposed he had been a bit curt, even harsh. He didn't regret it much, though, because he knew why he had acted in such a way. Even better than that auspicious final mission, he remembered one specific March afternoon a little more than a year ago. March first, he thought it was, the first day of the month nature began to blossom. Of course Kurama would select such a day.
Idly, for no reason he understood, Hiei had decided to visit Kurama and see how the fox was recuperating. They four had returned to the human realm only a week before and Hiei had almost immediately traveled back in the demon realm, making sure everyone there who needed to knew he had returned on his own and was resuming an uninterrupted life of his own making. Back in the human realm once more, Hiei had managed to land himself relatively close to Kurama's apartment. Flying through most of the park, he had reached the tall building in a minute or two, electing to dash up the stairs for no reason at all.
The apartment door—3rd floor, apartment number 3—was open, which was not a surprise. Kurama rarely locked his door, as anything stolen from him he could steal back or easily replace, and any attackers wouldn't stand a chance against the fox spirit. Human attackers, anyway; the odd demon assailant would not be deterred by a locked door. Hiei had knocked so as not to startle Kurama, then pushed the door open and entered without waiting for a response.
The apartment had been immaculately clean. It seemed the floors and furniture had recently been vacuumed and every artifact dusted; even the ceiling looked cleaner than Hiei was accustomed to. If Kurama was taking the time to be such a busybody, there was surely something wrong with him. Hiei had moved tensely throughout the house, his heightened senses telling him something was wrong. A peculiar smell was just beginning to waft through the hall.
Stepping silently, his feet barely even touching the floor and certainly not staying there for more than half a second at a time, Hiei had gone to what he assumed to be the source of the stench: the drawing room. Nothing offensive was lurking in the corners, he had noticed at once. In fact, the room was as perfectly unsoiled as the rest of the house. The only thing out of place was, of course, Kurama himself, who was lying on his back on the divan with a book clutched tightly to his chest. Hiei had smiled wryly at the scene and folded his arms across his chest, confident for a moment before he realized that the odd smell was definitely coming from the drawing room and the only thing that could possibly be giving it off was Kurama.
Contrary to everything he had ever heard before, Hiei had not felt time slowing, nor had he felt any sense of detachment from reality or from himself. He had walked across the carpet methodically, the smell growing stronger as he drew closer, and gently slid the book from Kurama's stiff hands. A few words were printed in tidy handwriting, written with black ink in a slight arc. Hiei scanned them and almost dropped the book, though not from shock. Not quite.
Hiei had looked at Kurama's eyes, which looked nothing like he would have expected. Having seen only bodies viciously murdered as they struggled to survive, his experience with the eyes of the dead told him that they remained open and were struck by desperation and fear, and sometimes hatred. Kurama's were none of these. To begin with, they were closed. Even so, they radiated calm and contentment, relaxed and somehow at peace with the world. They were the eyes of a man who had accomplished all he had set out to in his life.
The smell, which he had recognized then as the putrid stink of death, was still faint, meaning Kurama had probably been lying on the divan for only a short time. Hiei wondered how he had killed himself. No visible scratch marks or incisions meant it had not been a knife or other sharp object; in fact, there had been no blood at all, meaning he had not hit himself with some blunt object, either (though that was unlikely due simply to his position, laid out on his back as if asleep). Then Hiei had realized, cursing himself for not understanding at once: a final act of rebelliousness and mockery had taken Kurama's life. Cautiously folding back the top flap of Kurama's tunic, Hiei had revealed a tiny hole over his friend's heart and the beginnings of a flowering plant. The Grass of Death. Dropping the cloth back, Hiei had offered Kurama a short, respectful bow. I commend you, he had thought. You win.
Yûsuke and Kuwabara had not discovered Kurama until the next day, Hiei found out later, and he never told them that he had found Kurama at once. They would have been furious with him, and though he would not have cared, he decided it was unnecessary information and filed it away in the back of his mind where it could collect dust, for all he cared. He pretended to be stunned when the broke the news to him gently, his real emotions a mix of confusion and anger which caused his brusqueness. Fleeing back to the demon realm nearly at once, Hiei had not spoken to anyone from the human or spirit realms for a little more than a year. He figured Koenma had not found out about Kurama's death until it appeared on his desk, and even then, it had probably been carelessly shoved off into the "Suicide" pile without a second glance.
Though he could read easily and quickly, Hiei had not picked up or even looked at the book he had taken from Kurama until a little more than a year after his death. That morning, in fact, had been the first time he had thought of it since that day. Picking it from his private shelves, he had glanced at the cover and his memory was instantly refreshed, as though he had found Kurama only the previous day. The tidy writing was perfectly preserved with some special ink. Hiei had smiled, shaking his head and feeling a peculiar sadness overtake him.
My Suicide Note
And in smaller letters underneath: Perfect Memory
" 'Hello?' Kurama asked cheerfully…"
Hiei closed the book again and placed it on a high cushion beside his chair. He felt like sleeping for a few days, which would definitely be dangerous and stupid and therefore out of the question. The knowledge he had acquired in the last few hours as he read through Kurama's memoir had loaded him down and was threatening to drag him into its murky depths so that he might never escape, but be trapped forever in a torrent of unanswerable questions. Picking up the book but leaving it closed, he held it to his chest and realized that he held in his hands the only even halfway reliable account of a dastardly demon's first real attempt at shaping a life for herself and the possibility of a reason her executioner had let her go. As the book had promised, no one would ever really know why Kurama had not killed Miru, but when she rose to power, as she surely would, Hiei knew he would be the only one with an idea. No one, he had decided, would ever be allowed to read the book. In fact, if he could help it, Hiei would never let it out of his sight.
Rising out of his seat then, Hiei went over to the only window in his chamber and looked out at the fields below. They were rolling and green, too yellow to be compared to Kurama's eyes, and empty of trees or decorative flora. Kurama would have hated them. The sky, bright red and the color of human blood, reminded Hiei not of death but of Kurama's red hair. He smiled at his own romanticism.
Suicide, he thought then, was something of a romantic concept. Largely irrational and full of adventurous, passionate thoughts and feelings, it also churned up dreamy thoughts of dying for one's beliefs, which had always struck him as foolishly romantic. Going to his bedside, Hiei opened a drawer concealed in the wall and picked out a long, thin knife which appeared better suited for digging the core out of a piece of fruit than for committing some murderous act. But it was fine, and delicate. It was as he remembered Kurama to have been, even if it was not how Kurama had seen himself.
Holding the book tightly, Hiei let his arm fall to his side, the knife grazing his pants leg as he walked back to his seat and stood over it. He examined the book's dark cover, a simple red cloth stretched over some light metal (probably stolen) with rounded corners (probably filed) and written on with black ink (probably calligraphy). The binding, he had never noticed, was merely two layers of thick paper folded in such a fashion that none of the edges were bared, so none would be frayed. It was sturdy, but impermanent. Kurama had never intended for his suicide note to last through the ages. Hiei smiled; knowing the story now, he could destroy the book and no one would ever know. More importantly, no one would ever care. Kurama's legacy had already begun to warp in the demon realm and Hiei could imagine the friends and family he had left in the human realm blocking everything bad he had ever done from their recollections. Who cared anymore why Kurama had let his prey run free? Who cared what had been going through his mind? Miru was probably just glad to be alive and didn't care why. Yûsuke and Kuwabara had decided that they would never know and there was no way to change that. Hiei, who held the answers in his hands, was the only one who might have cared, and so he was the only one who knew. Kurama had made a good decision giving the book to him.
Was that what had happened? Hiei's seemingly arbitrary decision to visit Kurama, his seemingly random decision to use the door instead of the window, which was probably locked. Had it been Kurama's doing? His last act before his true demise? His spirit guiding Hiei to his soulless corpse? Hiei made a soft "ch" sound, closing his eyes and turning his head to the side. What did it matter? He knew all Kurama was planning for him to know. Maybe someday, he would learn the secret of his decision to find Kurama, but for the time being, it didn't really matter.
Although…
Hiei looked down at the knife by his side. Perfect for cutting the core from a piece of fruit…or the core from a living being. Hiei had survived with more blood loss than would be cause by cutting into his chest with this spindly chunk of silver. He would surely be able to carve out his own central nucleus, especially if he did it quickly. Then, dying, he would travel to the spirit realm where he could meet with Kurama and ask him if the fox spirit had shown the way.
But no, he thought then, shaking the idea off. If Kurama had not wanted him to know while he was alive, he surely would not tell him if he killed himself for the purpose of finding out. All in all, it was a stupid reason to die, anyway. Hiei snorted at his rashness. Kurama would have been furious and told him nothing.
So then what reason did he have for dying? Everyone had something. Opposites, as Kurama had told him many times, comprised the universe in its entirely. For black, there was white. For up, there was down. For life, there was death. As Yûsuke often insisted, everyone had some reason for living. So then, as Kurama countered, logically, everyone must have some reason for dying. Hiei had often sided with Kurama on this matter, though he agreed with them both. And now that Kurama was gone and Yûsuke was all but gone from Hiei's life, Hiei needed to carry on the argument with himself.
Kurama was gone. That was fact. He had been gone for some time; Hiei had begun to see life not in the infinite sense that most demons did, but in the touched, limited sense that humans might. And what was Hiei doing with his time? Precious little, that was for sure. Fighting had begun to seem a rather dull way to spend one's time. It was necessary, Hiei knew, and once he would have insisted that it was all beings' natural state. But since Kurama had gone away, and since Hiei had read the last communication his fox friend had left for all the world, he had begun to think differently. Immortality no longer appealed to him the way it had when he was a child; instead he had begun to crave the limitations of humanity. Grossly conflicting with his long-maintained notions that humans were scum (which he still tended towards, for the most part), Hiei was stuck between two distinct worlds, but only mentally. The human aspect he craved could easily be attained by carving out his central nucleus, or by using any other suicidal tool. Hell, he could jump off a tall cliff for the same effect.
But, he mused, Kurama had hinted at the end of his memoir that he wished for Hiei's, Yûsuke's, and Kuwabara's lives to return to normal without him. Of course, Hiei realized, this was impossible. He could say with certainty that he no longer loved Kurama. The older man's suicide had begun to tip the scale of his emotions in that direction and a lack of contact with him for more than a year had nearly finalized things. Perhaps seeing Kurama again would spark some emotion close to lust, or even the shadow of great fondness, but the love was gone and it was not coming back. He had nodded a confirmation, had he not, when Hiei proposed "seeing what they could do" about Kurama's resistance to love? But of course, he would have lied if it was to his advantage, Hiei thought bitterly. And did Kurama's suicide note not explain that he had merely been "playing along"? Of course. It had all been a lie. Hiei felt shades of the potential for friendship with Kurama breaking off. Would there always be an attraction? Probably. Would Kurama think they could try for a quick pseudo-relationship once they were together again? Maybe. But Hiei wouldn't stand for it and that was that. He could handle Kurama being desirable and out of reach. That was easy. That was dull. The real question was: Would he hurt Kurama by rejecting him when they met again after expressing such a fierce, youthful desire to see them coupled together? He didn't know. He might never know. He might never meet Kurama again.
But oh, they had had some great times together. Kurama had taught him so much and helped him grow out of his kiddy mindset that the human world needed to fall under his control. They had grown together, and fought together, and, Hiei was convinced, tried to love together. Even if the latter had failed, Kurama's memoir expressed, if a bit convolutedly, that he had tried to return Hiei's feelings at least briefly. Too old and set in his ways to change, Kurama had done the only thing he knew how to do: Remove the distraction. That was one imperfection Kurama would not be remembered for.
Hiei fingered the narrow blade in his hands and smiled bitterly.
Then his memories, perfect in every detail, of Kurama prompted him to drop the knife.
And Hiei walked out the door.
And, because things I write tend to confuse me and therefore, they probably confuse other people, I will offer some quickie notes. (Even if the story didn't confuse you, you might want a window into my bizarre brain or you might want to confirm that you're on the right track. Or ignore this completely, I don't think I'll know.)
The implication of the epilogue is that most of this story (that is, Fall) is in fact My Suicide Note: Perfect Memory (the book Kurama was holding when he died). If you go backwards quite a bit, the prologue and chapter one of Fall are fresh text but Kurama's memoir, so to speak, begins the same way chapter two begins, with Kurama taking a phone call from Yûsuke. (The first line of chapter two reads: "Hello?" Kurama asked cheerfully. Hiei frowned at the sudden change in his demeanor.) Because Hiei was utterly alone for about half of the prologue and because chapter one made such obvious references to the prologue, the memoir couldn't begin there (though ideally, I would have liked it to begin at the start of chapter one…oh well).
Now, assuming that most of Fall is in fact My Suicide Note: Perfect Memory, that would lead one to believe that for all the stuff Kurama "didn't know about" (i.e., Yûsuke and Kuwabara dealing with Koenma and Botan or how they pointedly did not listening to Kurama's conversation afterwards with Hiei, or even what Hiei or any other character was thinking but not saying), he either made it up or he really did know about it but was very good at hiding it. I'm inclined to believe he really did know about most but maybe not all of it, but it's really the reader's decision.
Moving on to another note. The last sentence is not meant to imply that Hiei is going off to kill himself. In fact, the sentence prior is intended to imply that he's not going to kill himself. In my mind, he's going off to start his life on a different sort of track with a new sense of purpose. Not that he's got a specific mission, per say, but that Kurama taught him about humans and their comparably fleeting lives and he's driven now to make his life somehow meaningful beyond fighting all the time. (No that will not be a separate story, nor will it be a sequel, because it's meant to be ambiguous. Besides, I don't know what he'd do with himself.)
And yet another note, because I can. The second-to-last sentence referring to Hiei's memories as "perfect in every detail" is IRONIC. Hiei's memory of Kurama is not perfect in every detail just as those who knew Kurama in the human realm will not form their memories of him from the bad things he did.
And since you all kind of deserve some explanation, I will comment on the following:
What the hell was I thinking killing Kurama?
Well, not a lot, to be honest with you. I always intended Hiei and Kurama to end up…not together, but I didn't decide to kill Kurama until chapter eighteen was finished. Based on everything he said to Hiei, and what I know (and have deduced) from his actions and thought processes, I find it unlikely that he would hang around just for Hiei's sake. And that Hiei would come back to the human realm and then leave right away, even for only a week, strikes me as a kind of abandonment. Even if it wasn't, Kurama would probably see it as another reason to not hang around, or at least it wouldn't help convince him not to kill himself. Kurama doesn't want romance and Hiei, who claims to be so devoted to the idea, has just totally bailed, which doesn't give Kurama any reason at all to stay alive. Yes, I have blotted Shiori and the rest of his human family out of the equation because I figure that excuse has been overused. Kurama's a big boy living all on his own now and if it doesn't cross his mind that his mother would be hurt by his death, then…well, we already know he's nuts.
In retrospect, a part of Kurama's suicide was most likely just a thing for him to do to break the monotony of his life. If he, a fox at heart, has nothing to do, or at least nothing new to do for years and years, he's going to get really bored. I know I certainly get bored with too much sameness after awhile, so I can only imagine what it must be like for him. Death, at least permanently, isn't something he's tried before and there isn't a whole lot that he hasn't tried before. Not only is death a new concept, it opens an entirely new world: the spirit world. Yes, Kurama can visit the spirit world, but he can't stay there for long and I have to imagine that some places are only accessible to the actually dead.
Those are all the notes I have right now, but if if I think of any more, I may revise this section to address them.
