Atonement
Chapter One – Drawing Together
Kado was singing.
Toki shivered. She hated when he did that.
It had started years ago, after the explosion at the old house. Always the same song, always the same haunting voice, always the same words that she could never understand.
Yukio had told her the words were in English, though he couldn't translate the meaning. What she wondered was how Kado even knew English.
She had toyed with the idea of asking him. Then, as she found herself doing more and more often, Toki simply let it go.
There was something irreversibly wrong with her son. Something no one could fix, something unnatural, something truly frightening.
It was wrong for a child to sing in a language he had no way of knowing, without ever hearing the song before.
It was wrong for a child to spend seventeen years as an insomniac.
It was wrong for a child to have permanent black circles beneath his blood-shot
(golden)
eyes.
It was wrong for a child to wake up from nightmares, screaming the names of people his mother didn't know, telling them to 'stop, please, don't hurt me anymore, don't touch me anymore…'
It was wrong for a child to be paranoid about people searching, stalking, hunting him.
It was wrong for a child to live with constant fears that his parents could not understand or hope to comfort, being isolated and alone, mutilating his own body. To be able to smile so vacantly, yet convey so much pain, terror, and madness.
It was wrong, Toki thought, for a mother to be frightened of her child.
Not for the first time, and most certainly not for the last time, Toki pressed her hands to her ears. She bowed her head low, towards her tucked up knees. Alone in the living room, Toki could temporarily abandon the duties of motherhood. She gave into despair and buried her face in the fabric of her jeans.
No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't block out the sound. The haunting melody echoed in her thoughts even when Kado wasn't singing.
The singing continued and Toki wondered how everything had fallen apart.
The words came easily; they always did. How many times had he heard the song? How many times had he laid, incapacitated, listening to the constant drone from anywhere and everywhere around him? How many times had he sung the unfamiliar words, not knowing their meanings?
That wasn't entirely true. There was only one thing the song could be about. There was only one thing the music could possibly embody.
Hell.
Itsuki sang from habit. That was one memory that was clear enough.
It wasn't productive though. Perhaps it was time to practice.
The singing had stopped. When she heard the creak of the bedroom door, Toki righted herself quickly.
Kado poked his head into the room, eyes obscured by the dark sunglasses he had taken to wearing. They did nothing to put Toki's mind at ease. The visible signs that something was wrong weren't gone, merely hidden.
"I'm going out," Kado said. Toki could only nod.
She listened to the receding footsteps. She counted the seconds until she heard the front door close. She waited until she was sure Kado was actually gone.
Toki let out the breath she was holding.
Itsuki watched as the golden sphere of energy collided with the tree, setting it ablaze.
He lowered his leg, which still tingled from the remnants of spiritual energy, and began to run. Weaving between the trees, through the forest, away from the evidence that he had ever been there at all.
This was the way it was. This was the way it had to be. Building up his energy so that, when the time came, he would have a fighting chance. Running away from the scene so that the Spirit World couldn't track him. Hiding and biding his time until Kazuya woke him up from this dream where truth and lies blended together in a way that he could never hope to sort out.
He could never believe he was free. He could never believe he was safe.
In hell, there was no such thing as freedom.
Itsuki left the trees behind him, slowing to a walk. The key was to not draw attention to himself. Always be a shadow. Always melt away. Never be discovered, never be caught, and never be trapped.
Shinobu caught you once, came a whisper in his head.
Stop saying that name! was the screamed reply.
Itsuki absently rubbed at the stub of his pinky finger, ignoring the voices.
Say it wasn't a dream. Say it wasn't a concoction of hell. Say it was real.
Did that mean Shinobu would be alive as well? Was it possible he had been pulled from limbo?
Itsuki stopped dead in his tracks. The voices fell silent.
What would that mean?
The voices came again and they spoke in unison. Their words overlapped, meshing together in a way that made his head ache.
You'd have to find him. Make sure he's happy. Prove it wasn't all in vain.
You'd have to kill him. Make sure he suffers. Prove it was all his fault.
He trembled. Too much, it was too much.
The pull in his mind strengthened, as it sometimes did when he was particularly confused or distressed.
Not to worry, said the voice that wasn't his own. Soon. It will all be happening soon. You can have everything you've ever hoped for if you can only wait a while longer.
What he hoped for…
He just wanted peace. Peace, quiet, and freedom from the unknown. Yes, that would be nice.
There was nothing he could do but wait. For awakening, for death, for something to end the constant fear.
Itsuki put one foot in front of the other and began moving forward.
It was a different type of pull he felt.
Something was drawing him near and he was helpless to resist. A moth to the flame. He should have been afraid. He should have been trying to fight it. He couldn't.
Itsuki veered away from the school, which had been his original destination, instead coming to a stop outside a small café. In the midst of the morning commute crowd, a man stood waiting.
When he raised his eyes, Itsuki understood.
He had seen those same eyes staring back at him from the mirror countless times. They reflected what only the damned could understand.
Windows to the soul…
Portals to hell.
Hands shaking, Itsuki reached up and removed his sunglasses. It disturbed people to see the golden irises, the red that should have been white, and the dark indentations below his eyes. It also drew unnecessary attention.
None of that mattered. Not right now.
"You were there," the man said.
Itsuki nodded.
"I was called here," the man continued. "I thought I was alone. Funny, that."
"Why are we here?" Itsuki asked, voice not entirely steady. He wasn't talking about being in front of the café, or meeting by not-quite-chance either. He was sure the man knew it as well.
The man gave him a severe look. "Does it matter? We're here and not there. That's enough for me."
Itsuki could only stand frozen to the spot as the man, hesitating only a moment, clapped his shoulder, whispered a vague 'be well', and disappeared into the throng of people.
What…Itsuki clutched his head, jerking back so that he was further away from the bustling activity on the sidewalk. A few passersby shot glances in his direction as he leaned against the café wall for support. His mind was whirling too much to realize.
What does this mean!He didn't know.
"He's getting worse."
Toki placed the cup down on the table with shaking hands. Hot tea spilt over the rim, scalding her finger. She stared at it in wonder.
Yukio stood, wet a dishcloth with cold water, then knelt beside her. He gently pulled her hands away from the cup and tended to the burn. She didn't notice.
"I heard him talking to no one the other day," Toki said at last. "In his room. Having a one-sided argument. Isn't that the strangest thing?"
Yukio looked up from what he was doing but said nothing.
Distantly, Toki wondered when he had started to look older than his years. When had he gotten so grey? Where had the lines around his eyes come from? Why did he look so tired?
When had she gotten the same way?
"And he's so jumpy," Toki continued. Her voice was mild, as if she were discussing some mundane triviality rather than her son. "I shut the cupboard and he nearly jumped out of skin. He was standing by the knife holder. You know what he did? He had one out and in his hand so fast, it was like magic."
She gazed down at her hand. A spot of red peeked out from beneath the cloth.
"It scared me," she confessed. "It scared me so much."
Toki only realized she was shaking when Yukio stood to embrace her, holding her steady. Still, he didn't speak. Toki knew it was because there was nothing comforting he could say that wouldn't be a lie.
It wasn't okay and it never would be.
More and more, he felt the pull. It seemed everywhere he went the damned were coming together. Talking, massing, waiting.
Did that mean he really was free?
Dreaming, waking, reality, fantasy, truth, deception, life, death.
He didn't know. He was a drowning man, struggling against the conflicting emotions, and nothing was concrete enough to grasp.
There's one thing that has always been real, a part of him said quietly.
No. Absolutely not, another part hissed.
It was the one thing you could hold onto in hell to keep you sane! It was the reason why you were in hell and the reason your mind is broken now!Shinobu, one voice hissed, one voice sighed.
Itsuki wondered how it always came back down to Shinobu.
He sits in the hallway, staring at the door. The color no longer distinguishes it from all the others. Now, the only way to find the entrance to his former haven is from the pile of ashes and splinters of wood heaped at its entry.
He wonders why it never disappeared.
Inside, he knows. The door is a reminder to him. Fuel for the fire that tears through his insides, burning him up.
He touches the blood splattered over the doorknob. He remembers all too well. Grasping it with his useless hands, struggling in vain to correct just one more of his mistakes, being dragged away and hearing the screaming….
"You can't take it back," Kazuya says from behind him. "It's your fault."
"I know," he whispers.
"Now you really are deserving."
"I know," he repeats.
"You killed him. I can help you repent for this sin, at least."
He screams as the hand closes around his neck, pulling him over backwards. There is pain, but this once he welcomes it.
Itsuki's eyes opened and he jerked upward, cutting off the beginning of a scream. It was several minutes before he could catch his breath.
It wasn't the dream that woke him; it had been mild as far as his living nightmares went. No, something else…
In his mind, there was the roar of waves. He clutched his head.
Now, soothed the voice at the other end of the pull. It's time.
Time.
Time for what?
Time to go.
Go where? He didn't know. He was needed though, and who was he to deny the force that brought him here to
(come and see)
do something.
There was something else he had to do before he left.
It was the least he could do after what he had done. Maybe explain…
He let out a shrill laugh before clamping a hand to his mouth. Explain what? That another had to die so he could live?
Ludicrous.
Itsuki searched around his room, finally tracking down a pen and paper, and began to write.
When Toki woke, the sun was already high in the sky, streaming its rays through the bedroom window. Yukio slept peacefully beside her.
She stretched, enjoying how refreshed her body felt. It seemed like such a long time-
Toki froze. She hadn't heard Kado scream last night.
Could it be the nightmares had finally stopped?
Somehow, she doubted it.
She was out of bed and in a bathrobe before the full-fledged panic could truly grip her. Once she reached Kado's door, she didn't bother to knock before throwing it open.
The bed was unmade, Kado was nowhere to be seen, and a single piece of paper occupied the pillow.
Toki reached for it with unsteady fingers.
It didn't take her long to read the short message scrawled in Kado's handwriting.
I'm sorry you never knew your son. Thank you for everything. Goodbye.
It was signed in a name that wasn't her son's, but Toki was steadfastly not thinking about that. She was busy letting out an ear-piercing wail that had spent the last seventeen years building up inside her chest. She could hear Yukio stirring in the next room and knew it wouldn't be long before the police would be called and the search would be on, and maybe she'd be able to bring her baby boy back…
If Toki were true to herself, she would acknowledge the nagging voice in her head telling her she was never going to see her son again. A mother knew, a mother always knew, even under all the layers of hope piled on top to keep the bad thoughts and doubts and fears away.
If Toki were true to herself, wouldn't she also admit (though she would die before she said it aloud, or even dare to fully think the idea through) that she was the slightest bit relieved?
Have you ever wondered, even for a moment, what it would be like to be someone else?
Have you ever watched a movie and imagined it was you fighting the villain, taking down the monster, then saving the day?
Have you ever read a book and thought it would be great if you lived in this land or era or country, were a king or knight or private eye, and had wealth or a title or a reputation?
Have you ever wished you could escape the ordinary, have an adventure, and live the fantasy?
I have.
Compare real life to fiction. There's no contest.
Day in, day out, it's all the same. Go to school, study hard, work to pass your entrance exams. Continue with your education and get a job that will make your parents proud. Spend your whole life trying to live up to the expectations of being someone great and fitting into the societal norm. Dream of money, a family, and the ever-so-distant day when you can pass on the business or position to the next generation of busy little workers.
When you think about it, it's not much to look forward to.
Fourteen years. That's how long I've been molded to the ideals of what a person should do, should accomplish, and should partake in life. I've always felt like something was missing. What can you do, though? I've always gone through the motions, even if my heart hasn't been in it. Study, make the attempt, and try not to let lower than anticipated marks get you down.
Not lately. Even just sitting in the classroom has become too much to handle. That might explain why I'm sitting up on the school roof, just watching the sky. I'm missing first period, cutting class for the first time in my life, but that's okay. I have some things to think about.
Things like the strange dreams I've been having lately.
It isn't really unusual for me to dream I'm someone else. No, the strange thing about it is that I don't think they are dreams. They're much too real.
Just thinking about it, it sounds crazy. If they aren't dreams, what are they?
They almost seem like memories.
I'm always the same person - a boy who can't be that much older than me. Muscular, short black hair, brown eyes. We don't look all that different, though he usually looks more than a little scraped up.
When I'm him, or he's me, or however it works in dreams, there's nothing boring or monotonous about it. A new day, a different opponent, a different goal to work towards. I've fought in an arena against a man with skin as hard as a rock. I've spent hours upside down, balancing all my weight on my finger, training my body for the battles to come. I've been chased through the woods by a semi-truck with no one driving. I'm not sure how that would even be possible, but it feels real.
For every adventure, for every dream-memory, for every moment I spend as this boy, it feels like I've finally found whatever it is I've been missing.
As all these scenarios happen, it's as though I remember them too. Sometimes, I know what's going to happen next. When the light at the end of the passage is visible, the ceiling will fall. When the knives are placed in the ground, the punches will fly. When the voice speaks, the change will come.
It's all like an extreme case of déjà vu.
Except I was never the one with the strong sixth sense. That was…
See? Thinking of 'me' and 'him' as one person seems natural already.
There are other people who are in the dreams too. A redhead who's always calm in the face of danger. A boy wielding a blade that looks as though its covered in black flames. A girl doing a pretty good imitation of a witch, only her broom is actually an oar from a boat. An old lady that's always yelling and ordering people around. Another boy with a blade, only this one looks like its made of solid light.
There's another girl, too. I can never see her face; I can only hear her.
She always says the same thing, over and over again. "Three years."
Three years until what? I don't know… but it's important. Somehow, someway…
It sounds crazy.
But at the same time… it isn't crazy at all.
Last night I had another dream
(memory?)
only it was different than the others. This one didn't feel like a dream or a memory. It felt real.
There was a young boy there, maybe two or three years old. Only, I don't think he was really that young. An illusion, much like how the dreams aren't really dreams.
I wasn't the 'him' of my dreams or the 'me' of reality. In fact, I don't think there was any physical representation of any part of me in the dream. Instead, the boy was looking at me, and talking to me, and the dreamscape was a giant television screen.
He said, "Yusuke, you have to hurry."
My name isn't Yusuke. It's only the name I hear in my dreams, in my memories, and now burning in my head like a brand.
I've heard the odd 'Urameshi' thrown in as well.
Urameshi Yusuke. It's not my name… but it feels right.
A dream, a memory, or neither, I didn't see any harm in replying.
"Hurry and what?" I asked the boy.
"Find the others. Come here as quickly as you can."
"I don't even know where 'here' is."
That's when someone turned on a switch in my head. If my brain were a hallway, it was as though all the lights were suddenly at full power and I could see all the doors. Not just see… but actually open them.
After that, I woke up. Trudged through the morning routine, not thinking about what was happening around me, but more on what the boy meant. Now I'm up here because there's one little problem…
I'm remembering things I've never even dreamt about, which is strange considering I'm wide-awake.
Like how that boy who isn't a boy is actually the prince of a place called the Spirit World. Like how I met him when I died after being hit by a car. Like how I worked for him in compensation for being brought back to life.
I could stay up here on the roof, watching the clouds pass by and skipping the rest of today's classes. I could pretend none of this ever happened and go inside, go to class, and act as though nothing has changed and I'm still running in the never-ending hamster wheel known as life.
Or I could go with my gut instinct that tells me I actually am Yusuke, that this prince really does exist and that somewhere, surely, there's trouble. That I can make a difference.
I believe it. More so than any of the ideals that have been drilled into my brain by parents, teachers, and classmates. This is what I was born to do.
Find the others? The others in the dream; red hair, the sword boys, the girl I can't see, and the rest. They exist, I'm sure of it.
Come here? If the boy's a prince of the Spirit World, then I guess 'here' is there. I'll worry about that detail later. Maybe, in time, I'll remember exactly how to get there.
Yusuke… I… had a lucky streak. Maybe that means I still have it.
The only way to know is to start walking and see where my feet lead me.
Years ago, he had tried to pinpoint exactly when he was. The question of how long he had been in hell always lurked somewhere in his mind. It didn't matter, not when you really came down to it… but still the curiosity was there.
Itsuki thought he should have learned to not let his curiosity get the best of him. It led to
(why, mama?)
trouble.
It didn't stop him from looking. For better or for worse, looking did him no good. Enough time had passed so that the calendar system was different. The dates meant nothing to him.
Things changed and life went on.
As he walked, his shadow stretching ahead of him in the early morning light, Itsuki became acutely aware that he didn't know where he was either.
The more he walked, the further the pull drew him away from 'home', the greater the feeling of familiarity became.
Had he been here before, when he was alive?
Or was he just going in the right direction?
If he was supposed to recognize the area with its numerous little shops, he was doing a poor job of it.
He passed a rundown food store, abandoned at the early morning hour. That store didn't interest him in the slightest. It was its neighbor that caused Itsuki to stop.
There was an impatient tug in his mind. The voice didn't speak; it didn't have to. He got the gist of it. Don't stop, what are you doing, hurry up, things to do, places to go, people to see.
Itsuki fought back a giggle. Time. It always came down to time. People really needed to learn the concept of 'forever'. No one would ever be impatient again.
He looked up at the sign above the window. The characters read 'Óshiro's Pawn Shop'. Below it, a smaller sign read 'closed'.
The window wasn't barred.
He spared a moment to shoot a quick glance up and down either side of the sidewalk, verifying there wouldn't be too many witnesses. The early morning hour was on his side; there was no one in sight.
Good.
Itsuki eyed the glass, contemplating on whether or not to use his spiritual energy to break it. The chance of discovery would increase and probably wasn't worth the risk.
Especially considering he didn't even know what it was he was looking for.
Something. Always something. Just out of reach.
Smiling grimly, Itsuki raised his elbow. No hesitation, no time to think, no consideration of the pain. He struck forwards, putting all his upper-body strength behind the blow. The glass shattered and stinging pain registered in his arm.
Covering his hands with the sleeves of the jacket he was wearing, Itsuki swept aside what glass he could. When the area was clear enough for his liking, he hauled himself up onto the window ledge. There came a crackle of shards he had missed being crushed beneath his boot; the noise seemed amplified in the otherwise silence. Quickly, quietly, carefully, he slipped down into the depths shop.
It was dim. Streams of morning light from what had been the window ghosted through the cluttered interior, illuminating the dust stirred up from his movements. Itsuki paused, inspecting his elbow to assess the damage while he had the light to do so. The jacket had helped shield him from serious injury. No glass shards remained imbedded in his skin; he had sustained only shallow scrapes and cuts. Blood stained through the tears of the jacket sleeve, but he paid it no mind.
It was nothing compared to what Kazuya had done.
The flash of the knife blade, the explosion of pain in his shoulder, the sawing, sawing, sawing…Itsuki shook his head, surveying the dusty establishment.
Wooden shelves stretched the length of the store. The aisles between them granted barely enough room to turn around. The occasional heap of boxes stacked on the floor didn't help matters.
With his feet rather than his mind guiding him, Itsuki strode purposely to the back of the store. He ignored the shelf contents; they weren't what mattered.
What did matter was the glass display case at the back.
He wiped away a layer of grime so he could catch a better glimpse at the case's contents. This was what he needed.
Before, he had seen these on television. He knew he had encountered them once or twice during missions, but those memories were foggy. In his dreams that weren't dreams, Kazuya held his head while he watched them in use. Hurting, wounding, killing. Brutally quick or agonizingly slow, resulting from a mix of luck and skill.
How quaint, whispered one voice.
Nowhere near as strong as spiritual energy… it's useless, remarked the other.
On the contrary, Itsuki mused as he searched the case for a lock. It would draw much less attention from the Spirit World by using such a weapon. Human authorities might take more notice… but they weren't the real enemy.
He couldn't risk capture before he was pulled all the way to his destination. It would suffice until then.
The lock was sturdy but a small (and, with any luck, undetectable) amount of energy from his hand took care of that problem. It fell to the floor, a mess of melted metal, and Itsuki pulled back the panel. Reaching inside, he claimed his prizes.
In one hand he held a handgun. Smooth black handle. Ribbed barrel engraved with foreign letters. Muted silver beneath the dust coating. He couldn't specify the type, but he knew enough to be able to open the gun's cylinder.
In the other hand, he held the small box housing bullets. He opened the lid, gingerly picked one up, and slid it into one of the empty chambers of the cylinder.
A slide of metal on metal…
A perfect fit.
Removing the bullet, Itsuki snapped the cylinder closed. He shoved both box and gun into his coat pocket, before turning back the way he had entered.
In his head, there was the crashing roar of a wave and he knew the impatience was growing.
Quickly, quickly. Never be discovered. Never be caught. Never be trapped.
He hesitated.
Without knowing quite why, he reached back inside the glass case and scooped up another item. The weight of it gave him pause, and it took a few moments before he could maneuver well enough to make his way through the cramped aisles. Itsuki rushed to the window and when his feet touched the cement of the sidewalk outside, he fled.
The sound of the waves diminished and the harsh tug on his mind became a caress. He was back on track and all
(nothing)
was well.
Itsuki knelt, transferring the gun from his pocket to his boot. He didn't waste time investigating how to use the safety; it was empty.
Melt away, don't be noticed, don't draw attention to yourself.
He straightened, examining the other burden he had grabbed during his hasty retreat. Beneath his coat would have to do.
There weren't that many places to hide a long sword.
It is dawn, and the time has come.
He leans against the doorframe, looking into the bedroom. The blinds are open just enough to illuminate the bed and its soul occupant.
She is sleeping, unaware of what is happening. What has been happening.
She doesn't know about the strange dreams that have been haunting her brother lately. She doesn't know his sudden surges of over protectiveness are results of these dreams. She doesn't know why he keeps asking her if anything strange has been happening to her lately, if she's been sleeping well, and does she ever dream she's someone else? She doesn't know that he doesn't believe these dreams, but he believes enough to want to stop whatever is happening to him from happening to her.
She doesn't know that in his dreams she is there as well, only horrible things have happened and her life has been filled with pain and sadness. She doesn't know that in his dreams he will do anything, anything, to keep her from knowing the truth.
She doesn't know he dreams of falling, falling, falling, or of searching, searching, searching, or of a gem that is always gleaming, gleaming, gleaming.
She doesn't know that in his dreams he is a killer, and that is another reason why he never wants her to know.
She doesn't know why he's been staring in the mirror, more and more often, as though he can't believe his own reflection. She doesn't know why he stares at their parents as though he's never seen them before. She doesn't know…
She doesn't know just how far her brother is willing to go to protect her.
She sleeps undisturbed, dreaming dreams that aren't of a past life. Not yet, at least. For now, the names Tarukane, Sakyo, and Toguro mean nothing to her. For now, the Black Black Club is just a funny sounding string of words in a foreign language. For now, her twin has been beside her all along and she doesn't need to search for him.
She doesn't remember. If all goes well, she never will.
He takes one last look before closing the door.
Itsuki still walked with no idea of his destination. Around him, people went about their lives, paying him only a passing glance.
The farther he traveled, the stronger the tug in his mind became.
Closer… ever closer.
As he passed a small park, something made him stop.
That other pull, and the smell of smoke.
No, not the smoke, exactly.
The fragrance of the cigarettes...
Itsuki frowned. Why was that familiar? It wasn't as though he hadn't seen anyone smoking on his journey. But these…
On a bench, two people sat with their backs towards him. A man and a woman. Thin plumes of smoke rose up above their heads, unfurling in the air until dissipating beyond what the eye could see.
Familiar…
For a moment, Itsuki receded into his mind, frantically sorting through memories. Nothing, nothing, nothing! He needed more to go by.
The man was wearing a suit.
The memory leapt out at him. Red chairs. The faint smell of smoke. A rustle of fabric.
"How does it feel to pay for his mistakes?"
Itsuki snapped out of his mind so quickly that it left his body reeling. Hatred was compelling him and this time, nothing would get in his way.
Kill him, whispered both voices.
Quick strides brought him around to the front of the bench. The woman paused, gold and black lighter poised, and looked at him inquisitively. One slender brown eyebrow rose.
Itsuki's attention was riveted to the man. When the head lifted and the blue eyes rose to meet his, he knew for sure. The scar was gone, but it was him.
"Sakyo."
Sakyo eyed him for a moment before turning to his companion. "Excuse me, would you?"
The woman waved her hand as though dismissing him. She went back to lighting her cigarette.
Itsuki's hands trembled and he could hear the faint crackling of energy. No, that wouldn't do at all. No attracting unnecessary attention. Of course, he wouldn't need spiritual energy to kill Sakyo. He wouldn't even need the gun.
Sakyo was about the only person Itsuki was sure he could kill with his bare hands alone.
"I'm not used to being addressed by that name," Sakyo said as they walked across the park. "You'll have to excuse my manners, but who exactly are you?"
That made Itsuki pause.
Sakyo continued. "You must be one of them, but if you want me to go with you, I'm afraid I really must decline."
One of them…
It wasn't the real Sakyo you met behind the door, came the tentative whisper, somehow audible over the chant of 'kill him' that echoed through Itsuki's head. Just like everyone else… he wasn't real.
Itsuki's hesitation continued and, in the silent moments that followed Sakyo's statement, he got his first good look at the man's eyes. Beyond the blue, beyond the whites, it was…
"You're damned," Itsuki said.
"So are you," Sakyo replied. He extended both pointer fingers, then made a motion that drew his hands together in an over exaggerated arc. "There's a pull."
"And you don't know me." It was a statement, not a question. Itsuki knew the answer already.
Sakyo shook his head. "No. I don't remember much of my past life."
"That's a shame." Itsuki examined his hand, wondering how much force it would take to crush Sakyo's windpipe. "You don't understand why you need to die, then."
"That's all in the past-"
"And that excuses your actions, does it?" Itsuki snarled, reaching out and grabbing Sakyo by the collar of his jacket. He gave him a shake and Sakyo's teeth clacked together.
"I can't change the past," Sakyo said, grasping Itsuki's hands and trying to pry them away. "I don't know what I did, I don't know why I was in hell, but for whatever reason, haven't I paid enough? I'm just trying to live."
The strength drained from Itsuki's hands and they fell away, useless.
"I just want to live my life," Sakyo repeated. "I just want to find peace."
Wasn't that what Itsuki wanted as well?
Remember the blood. Remember the carnage. Remember him looking over the balcony and smiling…
"You feel it too, right? You hear it in your mind? The ocean?"
It took Itsuki a moment to process the abrupt change in topic. He nodded hesitantly.
"It's pulling us all. The damned. Trying to draw us together, bring us to do something. Well, some of us aren't going. Some of us just want to live and be free. This is our second chance. Why should we waste it in misery?"
"It's loud," Itsuki murmured, forgetting his bloodlust as a wave crashed over his thoughts. "How can you not listen?"
"I found a reason to live," Sakyo said, gesturing over to the bench where the woman still sat. "Maybe you should find yours."
When Sakyo turned and walked away, Itsuki let him go.
There goes your chance… again, grumbled one voice.
He has a point, even if we don't want to listen, whispered the other. He started everything, after all. What would killing him achieve, anyway? The past is the past.
Not quite, Itsuki thought. Some things didn't lay to rest so easily.
The wave came again and Itsuki followed the pull. He'd go until he found his reason to do otherwise.
It all starts when Shuichi climbs up on the stool.
He needs it to reach the cupboards because he is too small to do so on his own. One day, when he's a big boy, he'll be able to. He hopes that he's a giant by the time he turns seven. He could have a lot of fun with that. He'd never have to give up the swings at the park to the older kids again.
The stool creaks as he climbs on top of it. At the noise, something stirs in the back of his mind.
Stretching out his small arms, Shuichi reaches for the latch.
The big can is in here, he thinks.
That's when his hand freezes. Why would he need a can, big or otherwise? What he wants is a cup so he can have a glass of juice. He's supposed to use the cups because drinking out of the carton is one of those things that you Just Don't Do.
You need it for your art project, his brain argues. You know, the one that's due tomorrow?
He's pretty sure there is no such project. Still, when he does finally get his hand to move again and open the cupboard, he half expects to see a can sitting on the shelf.
There isn't, of course. Only porcelain bowls, plates, and glasses.
At the sight of the plates, another thought strikes him.
Glass shards. All over the floor. Strewn everywhere like a battlefield. When he lands on them, it will hurt so much.
Shuichi presses a hand to his head.
There's nothing he can do because he is already in mid-fall, the floor is rushing up to meet him, and he thinks this is such a stupid situation to be in when he's four years shy of being free from this infernal body-
The world is starting to ripple around him, and it is as though another reality has been laid overtop his own.
Instinctively, he steps backwards trying to get away from the strange vision before him. This is a mistake. His foot comes down not on the stool top, but on empty air. Now, in both worlds, he is falling.
Mother will catch me, he thinks. She'll catch me before I hit the glass and it'll be her arms that get torn up instead of me, and that's why I'll stay, that's why I'll trade my life for hers, that's why I'll meet-
No, he thinks in the reality where there is no glass on the floor. Mother won't catch me because mother is dead and I've never even known her.
In one world a desperate mother flings herself across the room, cradling her sons head in her arms to protect him from danger. In the other world, there is no one to catch the falling boy and he hits the floor hard.
There is no glass, there is no mother, and there is only the strange distortion of reality that he cannot comprehend.
He lies on the floor, staring up at the ceiling. His back hurts but he's quite sure nothing is broken. He wiggles his toes and his fingers to be sure. Everything is in working order and Shuichi pulls himself into a sitting position.
The split realities have not gone away. Double images blur before him.
"Are you all right, Shuichi?" his mother asks. There are glass shards protruding from her arms, blood trailing onto the floor, yet still she is smiling.
The wall in
(the other)
his world is his sole companion and offers no words of comfort.
This is the day everything changes.
The teacher is talking but Shuichi is daydreaming.
He is sitting in class, but he is also sitting beside a hospital bed. His mother is talking to him but he can't focus on her words. The bandages on her arms are all he can comprehend.
Both the classroom and the hospital room shimmer and now he is somewhere else.
It is a
(his)
bedroom. A boy is lying on top of the blankets, tossing fitfully in his sleep. A bandage covers his stomach, red patches blooming against the white. Shuichi watches over him as he mumbles a name that sounds strangely familiar.
Well, if he's not working for Yatsude, then maybe I can do something about that injury, he thinks, staring at the bandage that is so like the one that covered his mother's arms
(oh-so-long)
seconds ago.
Just a misunderstanding. Shuichi reaches into his hair, pulling out a seed. This is both of us looking stupid...
The room spins and he is back in the classroom. He realizes every pair of eyes in the room are focused on him; he has fallen from his seat and is laying on the floor.
No more, Shuichi thinks. I can't handle this any more.
He doesn't know where he really is. Like a mirage shimmering in the distance, he sees himself turning the seed into a plant and peeling back the swath of bandages. More solid and just beyond his reach is his teacher, asking him if he's all right.
Oh, I'm far from all right, he thinks. I think I've had…
"Enough!" Shuichi screams, leaping to his feet. He runs from the classroom, leaving the room full of bewildered people behind. He wishes he could leave the other world behind too.
Or maybe he wishes he could be in that other world. Maybe this world is the one that should be fantasy.
The thought rolls over in his mind even as he runs and leaves the school behind him. He is young, so very young, and at the tender age of six, fantasy seems better than reality.
He doesn't feel so young now. Sometime, in the last day, his mind has matured. Like both worlds, it also hovers in a state of 'between'.
Run, run, run, Shuichi. As fast as you can, as far as you can, for as long as you can. Back to the place you were before. Where there's someone to catch you when you fall and where reality isn't split in two.
He runs, trying to find something he isn't even sure exists. At least, he thinks he's running…
Shuichi is being pulled.
Itsuki felt the pull at his mind, but he didn't move.
No time to stop and sightsee, you must come and see, you must, you must, you must-
He had left Sakyo behind and walked. Walked and walked and walked and here he was. Not where the other voice wanted him to be, but there was a tug all the same.
And a swelling feeling of familiarity.
He was standing at the edge of a sidewalk, gazing at a rocky area across the street. It was strange, because the surrounding area was green with vegetation. A park, maybe? But why that one spot?
Not knowing quite why (when do I ever know why he thought), Itsuki crossed the street.
Past the trees, past the grass, out until he was standing on dirt and rock. He walked the perimeter of the area. It had to be at least half the size of the ground floor in hell.
What was so important about this spot?
Itsuki crouched near the ground, unmindful of the looks he was attracting from passersby. This was important. This was worth the risk of a little attention. The longer he stayed, the more familiar the surroundings seemed.
The angry roar of a wave in his head…
A voice calling…
Another voice. Moaning. Screaming.
"Why? Why won't you FIGHT ME!"
Itsuki heard it in his head as though he was standing right next to the speaker. In truth, he nearly was. He flinched backwards, staring at the ground in shock.
A memory of those same words tickled his mind.
"No," Itsuki whispered.
"Why won't you just die? Why won't you let me die!" The high-pitched wail echoed through Itsuki's head. "Please, just LET ME DIE!"
Of course. That was the problem; the voice's owner couldn't die. He was trapped inside his own nightmares for eternity.
Wasn't Itsuki partly to blame for that as well?
Sinking to his knees, Itsuki cradled his head. The older Toguro brother was as good as damned anyway. He would spend the rest of his existence as food for that cursed tree. Not dead… but he couldn't be called living, either.
Itsuki knew how that felt all too well.
Was that how they were drawn to one another? Damned souls, screaming for release?
Another wave crashed down, drowning out Toguro's screams. The sound brought Itsuki back to some semblance of his senses, and he fled.
Not towards the pull, but away.
My feet have brought me to the middle of nowhere. Well… that's not completely true; it's a town… but it's out in the middle of nowhere. Or maybe it just feels that way since I walked all the way here.
All great adventures need to start somewhere.
I spent the trip here thinking. There are a lot of doorways in the hallway of my brain, and I don't think I've even made a dent. I've learned a few things, though.
The prince's name is Koenma. If he's related to who his name implies, then the whole business about the Spirit World suddenly makes a lot more sense.
That makes me wonder if I ever met Enma…
I think I'll find out eventually. These doors are tricky… I can't really navigate through them. I don't even think they're in chronological order. They're just… scattered. If there's some sort of pattern, I haven't found it yet. One day of sorting through it all isn't close to enough time.
I have an entire life to remember, and who knows how long to do it.
Now that I'm not mulling things over as intensely as I was, the pain in my legs from all that walking is starting to register. So is the fact I haven't eaten all day.
I came… kind of prepared. If you count prepared as bringing my school bag with me. I know there's the lunch in there I never bothered to touch because I was too lost in thought.
Thinking of only food now, I stop in the middle of the sidewalk and swing my bag off my shoulder. There aren't that many people out walking; either this isn't a busy district in this town, or everyone is planning on having an early night.
Fishing around, pushing books out of the way in search of the illusive lunch, something moving out of the corner of my eye makes me look up.
A little boy. He's turned the corner onto my street and is about a block away. He's walking away from me.
All of the sudden, food doesn't seem important any more. There's only one thing that matters; my mind is screaming at me to catch up with this boy. My feet aren't thrilled with the idea, but they've never been much in charge of making the important decisions.
I break into a run, holding the bag closed rather than wasting precious seconds trying to latch it. As I get closer, I realize something.
The boy has red hair.
A door swings open in my head and the witch girl is yelling 'Bingo, bingo, bingo!'
My feet must have realized complaining is useless; I'm sprinting towards him as fast as I can.
In one world, he walks down the street of a town he doesn't know, following an unnamed feeling, being drawn into a fantasy that is about to begin. In another world, he crouches on a rooftop. The full moon shines above him, illuminating the object at his feet. Not quite reflecting in it, because the mirror reflects dreams, not reality. The time has come for him to trade his life for a wish.
Only…
Only he isn't alone.
When the hand clamps down over his shoulder, Shuichi jumps and whirls around.
In both worlds, the same boy is beside him.
Enough, enough, ENOUGH!
"Kurama…"
The name comes naturally and rolls right off my tongue. Along with it come the memories.
The Kurama I knew was a teenager. In that life, he must have looked like this when he was younger. The hair is the same brilliant shade of red, only much shorter than I remember.
He looks a lot more vulnerable, too. The poor kid looks like he's about to jump out of his skin. His green eyes are huge as he looks up at me, and he takes a step backward.
I instinctively tighten my grip on his shoulder so he'll stay put. If I've dreamed
(remembered… known)
about him, then he must be one of the others I'm supposed to find.
Even if I know him, that doesn't necessarily mean that he knows me.
I imagine what this must look like. An older boy chasing him down the street, grabbing him, then calling him by a name that he may have never heard before. What am I thinking?
It is him though… and if I remember, shouldn't he?
"Kurama? Kurama, it's me!"
He just keeps staring at me and I start to wonder if I've made a horrible mistake.
Seconds pass with us watching each other. Neither of us makes a move, though beneath my hands I can feel him shaking ever so slightly.
This wasn't how I expected it to be.
I… don't know what to do now.
Then… he opens his mouth and says just what I needed to hear.
"Yusuke…"
So much relief at just hearing a name…
I grin. I can't help myself. "Yeah. Yeah, it's me."
Kurama doesn't smile. If anything, he looks even more scared. He's shaking harder than before.
"Yusuke… you've got to make it stop."
I don't know what I'm supposed to be stopping, but I'm getting a bad feeling from this.
"It's okay, Kurama. What's wrong?"
For a moment, it seems like he can't put it into words. "Two worlds," he finally mumbles. "I don't know which one is real." He grasps my hands, still resting on his shoulders, and squeezes. I feel a twinge in the back of my mind and a mournful voice inside me wonders where his old strength has gone. He's trying to dislodge my hands. I could hold on…
He's only a child.
I let go, reluctantly, half expecting him to run.
Kurama doesn't make any move to leave. He only raises both hands to cover his face. He speaks to me from behind his self made shield.
"I've never met you, so how can I know you? You don't know me so why are you willing to give up half your life? Why!"
Somewhere along the line, I think I missed something in this conversation. But somehow I know the right answer. I've said something like it before, after all. Not in this life… but in another.
"No mother should ever have to lose a child," I tell him. Squatting on the ground, I reach out and pull his hands away from his face. He struggles, briefly, before giving up and letting them fall limply to his sides. "I was there. I remember." And I do. "I was with you on that roof."
Kurama shakes his head, though looks a bit more in control of himself. "That's crazy."
"Sometimes crazy works," I say with a smile. This time he returns it, albeit a little shakily.
"Yusuke, what's going on?"
I can't explain what I don't know… but I'm willing to take a stab at it. Before I can, another voice speaks up from behind us.
"I'd like to know that too."
He's still trying to make sense of it all when the voice interrupts. It is a voice he knows. Though, like with Yusuke, he is sure he has never heard it in this life.
The boy is taller than Yusuke, dressed in jeans and a brown jacket. His black hair, while short in the front, falls to the nape of his neck in the back. In the sun's light, which is growing ever closer to the western horizon, his eyes seem to shift between brown and red.
He looks different, but Shuichi -Kurama- still recognizes him.
"Hiei!" he gasps. In the other world, neither Hiei nor Yusuke stands beside him now; he is with his mother in the hospital, once again. But he has not forgotten the memory from this morning, and the boy whose wounds he healed.
"You grew!" Yusuke blurts out. Hiei merely stares at them both as if they're insane.
As the world ripples and the duel images of his mother and Hiei waver, Kurama isn't about to argue.
Hiei purses his lips but whatever retort he has dies as he asks, "What's going on? Who are you?"
"Don't you know me? Us?" Yusuke asks, looking puzzled.
"Should I?" Hiei replies.
Kurama tries to keep track of the conversation even as the world changes around him again. He is outside a warehouse. While this imaginary world is the one he longs for, right now he wishes it would go away so he can concentrate.
A hard thing to do when his mind is split in two.
They're still talking and Kurama clutches onto his present reality with all he has. He wants to know what's going on, too.
He needs to know.
"If you don't know us, why are you here?" Yusuke is asking. "Something's brought us together. That's how we were able to find each other. It must have been Koenma-"
Hiei snorts.
"Because there's something wrong in the Spirit World. Something he needs our help for. Why else would we be remembering all this? It can't be a coincidence we're standing here, together, right now."
Hiei shifts but does not respond.
"You have to be Hiei," Yusuke insists. "Haven't you had dreams? About being someone else?"
Brown eyes, no longer appearing red for the sun is passing behind the buildings, spark with something (recognition, maybe?) but Hiei replies with a flat, curt, "No."
He is lying, Kurama knows. He also knows something else. He knows because it is happening in that other where and when.
Sharp, stabbing pain.
His stomach…
In both worlds, he clutches the wound. In one it does not exist. In the other, he stares into Hiei's shocked face. The blade of the sword Hiei wields is encased inside Kurama's body. A handful of blood, the wounded look of betrayal, and then-
Yusuke is calling his name over and over. Hiei stares at him, rooted to the spot.
Kurama gasps. "You stabbed me."
Hiei flinches and now Kurama is sure he knows.
Yusuke watches this exchange, looking confused.
It's hard to think with blood spilling out of his body, with his insides a mess of agony, and with the fighting going on around him. Looking down at his hands, they are clean. No blood, because here he is not bleeding. It doesn't make it any less real.
"Here," he places his hand on the spot the wound
(is)
isn't.
"With the Ghost Slayer."
"That never happened." Hiei's voice sounds strained. "It was only a dream."
Yusuke gives a cry of triumph. "So you did have dreams!"
"Dreams aren't real," Hiei says with sudden vehemence. Kurama takes a step back from the sheer amount of anger laced in that voice.
Then Yusuke says the wrong thing. Or perhaps, Kurama thinks, maybe it is the right thing.
"Is Yukina a dream?" Yusuke asks quietly.
Kurama knows the name. It was what Hiei was murmuring in his sleep.
Apparently Hiei knows it too, because his face has clouded over. He is shaking and Kurama realizes it is from anger.
He waits for the impending explosion, for there is nothing else he can do.
I think he's going to take a swing at me. I'm trying to figure out how fast I'll have to move to dodge the blow.
A part of me is appalled, screaming to fight back. To land the first blow before I can be blindsided.
This isn't the time for that. We have other things we need to be doing. I need to make him realize.
"Are you going to pretend she isn't real? You want to, but you can't lie about that, can you?" I ask him. It would make sense. The name just popped into my head when I was trying to get him to admit the truth. Now I'm associating more things with the name. Yukina was… Hiei's sister. His reason for living.
No wonder he looks so mad. I've backed him into a corner, but I've got no choice other than to continue.
"Something's wrong with the Spirit World," I repeat. "Koenma must think we can help, otherwise we wouldn't remember. If he has a problem, we have a problem." I seem to recall something about Enma's anger being capable of causing great natural disasters. If that's true, I can only imagine what a real disaster over there could do. "So let's help."
At last, that seems to get through to him. Hiei is still stiff but some of the anger seems to have drained away.
"Of course," Hiei murmurs. "Then that means all we have to do is stop whatever it is that's going wrong and then-"
"Then we can go back," Kurama breaks in, sounding dazed. I almost forgot about him. Though, looking at him now, I wonder how. In the last few minutes he's gotten awfully pale.
Hiei's mouth snaps shut and I wonder momentarily what he was actually going to say.
Then it no longer matters because Kurama is falling.
Too much blood…
Maybe, maybe this time, his mother will catch him. She didn't before, but it's different now. The world has gone dark and he's falling through a thick mist, and maybe when he wakes up there will be only one world. The real world, only he won't have a sword through him.
He feels the arms grab him before he hits the ground and he thinks he has never been so relieved.
"Mom," he mumbles.
"Snap out of it, Kurama!" a voice that is not his mother's barks in his ear. "It isn't real!"
"I'm dizzy," is the best he can respond with. As an afterthought, he adds "It feels real."
"It was real," another voice says. "But it's over. You're fine."
Now that he thinks about it, why shouldn't he be fine? There's something special about his body that will let him heal. Something… not quite human.
Though Kurama opens his eyes and the
(not-quite)
world fades back into focus, there is nothing 'fine' about him.
"Don't shake him," I tell Hiei. He's not doing it really hard or anything… but I'm pretty sure you're not supposed to do that to someone who just semi-fainted.
"Would you rather I slap him?" Hiei retorts. For some reason, that stings.
Before I can figure out why, my attention is drawn to Kurama. His eyes are open. He still looks pretty out of it, but I guess it's an improvement.
"Can you stand?" Hiei asks. Kurama blinks before nodding slowly. He gets to his feet, teeters a moment, then roots to a standing position. It looks like it's taking some effort. Hiei's got an arm out, ready to grab him again.
"It's all right," Kurama says. "I got stabbed, but it's okay now. I feel better."
Hiei and I share a look. Neither of us knows what to say.
"I think," I begin, "we need to find a way to get to the Spirit World as quickly as we can and fix all this."
Kurama nods vaguely. Hiei scowls but doesn't argue.
"So all that we need to do is remember how to get there," I clarify.
"Perhaps I can help you if you can help me," a voice says from behind us.
I can't say that I enjoy this people-coming-up-behind me business. The only reason that I don't jump is that I'm crouched on the ground beside the others.
A young man is leaning against the wall of a building, watching us from a few feet away. At least, I assume he's watching us. There's sunglasses covering his eyes and I don't know where he's looking. I don't recognize him the way I did Hiei and Kurama… but he looks familiar.
Which says something considering there can't be that many people with green hair.
When he pulls away from the wall and walks towards us, a chill runs up my spine. My stomach does a little flip inside me, and suddenly it feels like I'll never be hungry again.
There's something wrong with this man.
He smiles and the world grows cold.
"Let us work out a bargain, Urameshi Yusuke."