This story is a derivative fanwork written by GodandMen for the Toaru Majutsu no Index/とある魔術の禁書目録 franchise.
SIGILS
III
-x-
Truly, the Art is not modest with its dues.
She furtively peeked her head around the corner again. The police car was still parked in the same spot. That the lights in the house remained dark.
The girl frowned unhappily.
And we, the enlightened, willingly pays it.
Even when it is not ours to give…
The small girl with ashen hair knew very well of her own impudence. While Fortune was a dear old acquaintance, it was never wise to test her patience so. She should have been grateful in how successful her endeavors have been so far that night.
She knew, by the nature of the spell, where the summoner would kill next. She had remained undetected. And she was also fortunate enough to spy his clumsy attempts of scouting his victim's residence. All this she accomplished without betraying her own presence to another soul.
And then there were the events of the night itself.
Ah, it always annoyed her greatly that she should stoop to such baseness as breaking into another's home uninvited, casting spells at her own convenience and of course…
…facilitating the master of the house's own death.
As she thought back to the measures she took to aid summoner, one particular thing came to mind.
She swallowed guiltily.
Ah yes…that.
Those sigilla at the entrance and the backdoor were all rudimentary and only for precaution, for she never expected the soldier to arrive at the time that she did. But it seemed like Fortune did indeed smile upon her, or at least upon the summoner, because he managed to complete the sacrifice without molestation.
Of course, he had to flee with his tail between his legs, but it was what it was. The soldier had given chase promptly, leaving her alone to the aftermath of his carnage.
Once again, in her blind insolence the little girl even had the gall to call the police with the landline.
But Fortune decided that was enough: lo and behold! When she was cleaning up after the slob – that sigil was too obvious, and he still needed one more – the soldier suddenly returned. All she had heard from the kitchen was a quiet shake of the handle. Then silence.
Then shooting.
Lots of shooting.
Is it not your mission to capture me?
What shall you do if I was mortally wounded?
She shook her head in resignation.
Ah, such are soldiers!
And so out the window she went, like a fleeing cat. Unfortunately for the old master she was endowed with neither the agility nor the grace of a feline in this life. And thus in her great haste she neglected to take her pair of slippers from the ledge.
As such it was also inevitable for the landing to go awry. She was certain that she had heard a chilling crack in her ankles when she hit the grass.
So now she was not only barefoot but also limping.
Ah, generous Tyche, why do you smile upon me so?
Truly, I am unworthy of your benevolent patronage.
However when she turned around and accidentally bumped her ankle against a telephone pole, a sharp pain shot through her left leg. The girl bent over, betraying painful tears down her cheeks, and gently massaged her twisted ankle.
Perhaps not, then.
But her thoughts paid no heed to the circumstances. It mattered not to her the pain in her ankle or the persistent, gnawing hunger in her stomach. Even the possiblity of the soldier laying her hands on her was but an afterthought in her mind.
Nay, nay. Her thoughts were elsewhere.
Her thoughts were with him.
A heavy guilt pressed down on her thin, delicate shoulders whenever what she did to him came back to her.
But I had to, she consoled herself, I had to!
That was the reason she had called them in the first place.
She didn't want him to….
She was very well aware of the irony of her own actions: the fact that she diligently prepared the scene for the summoner and stood idly by as he strangled the victim without lifting a finger. And yet it was now, at this hour, that she should have the audacity, the shameless conscience, to be so – oh so – concerned about him.
Oh sweet, loving mother!
Thy name is Hypocrisy and I am your daughter!
But the girl with ashen hair gritted her teeth and stood up again. She did not have the luxury of being moral or righteous. She never did. It was a lesson that she had learned a long, long time ago.
And she did not survive so long on her own by shying away from difficult decisions. These were the decisions that only she could make.
She twisted her fingers into a peculiar position.
She was some distance away, yes, but the circumstances left her with no alternative. She shall have to do it from here. Any closer and that young man, the young man with the deep black eyes, would spot her.
She had seen him pacing around the house, with his eyes closed but opened at the same time. A terrible darkness swirled about him.
It was a darkness that even she did not recognize.
The girl quickly began whispering the release spell.
Movement.
They both heard it at the same time.
The flashlights were immediately turned off.
What followed felt like an eternity of oppressive silence. Both of them stood there, in the darkness, not daring to breathe. He unsheathed his baton while she quietly pulled out her Glock 17 and switched off the thumb safety – an extra safety feature added to Anti-Skill's Glock pistols – with a noiseless click.
They heard it again.
She pointed her fingers to the ceiling.
"I thought you said there wasn't anyone upstairs?" she hissed.
"There isn't. I didn't see anyone."
"Did you check the closet? Open the cupboards? Check behind the shelves?"
He was silent. He had only given the rooms a cursory glance.
"Damn, you are blind and stupid."
He could see that she was already crouching in the hallway, with her pistol at the ready, carefully scanning the staircase. He crept up and stacked behind her. Then he reached his hand out and placed it on her shoulder.
"Oh, no you don't, you little dumb fuck. I'm the one with the gun and you're the one with the stick. How about you go first? That way at least you can catch some rounds and do something useful with your miserable life."
"Fuck you."
Jim growled angrily but he still moved in front of her.
Now he was in the front while she was behind him. He could feel the muzzle of the Glock 17 hanging in the air beside his right ear. The polymer frame of the pistol was brushing against his cheeks.
If she started shooting his right ear was going to be in for a bad time. But it was not the time to complain.
She placed her hand on his shoulder and squeezed it.
The two of them moved methodically and quietly up the stairs as a single unit. The team stopped at the last flight of the stairs with Jim's head just below the surface of the second floor.
Jim took a moment to compose himself, savoring the last moment of safety he had with his head below the floor level. But she squeezed his shoulder again.
Jim peeked over the horizon.
A burst to his head…did not happen. Nothing.
"How many rooms are there?"
"A study and a bedroom."
"The fuck? There was another bedroom? Just how dumb can you be? I knew I should have checked personally," she hissed coldly in his ear.
"It was empty! And it was not furnished!" he breathed back.
"Which room can he hide in? Or were your fucking eyes closed as well?"
"The study only has a desk and a bookshelf. The bedroom has a bed and walk in closet."
"A walk in closet and a bed is furnishment, you blind, stupid little shit."
Another noise. It came from the bedroom.
They moved to the door.
"Please tell me you know CQB, you blind dumbass. Please tell me the jackals at least taught you that. Please."
Fuck's sake.
Can't they just bring in a BTR – the good, old way – and let the heavy machinegun sing?
But no, they had to be like the crazy Americans with their fancy laser sights and suppressed carbines. They had to kick in the door, go through the funnel and check each corner: the whole CQB jazz.
"I do, you fucking bitch. I do. I was in Vystak for fuck's sake, the Black Cauldron. That's more fucking action than you'll fucking ever see in Anti-Skill."
"Words, words! All bark and no bite! How about you walk the walk?"
They stacked up on the door. Jim's hands quietly reached for the handle.
His shaking hand settled on the cold metal bar. His heartbeat began soaring. The thumping was so loud and all-encompassing that entire entire world must have heard it.
No. Steady, steady. Deep breath. As long as he controlled his breathing he would be silent.
This was not Jim's first time.
But it could easily be his last.
Only the flimsy door separated him from the great unknown. Anything could be waiting for him behind it. The moment the door came down and he went in, the die was cast and all bets were off. Anything could happen.
He could get nailed in the head the moment he appeared in the doorway. Or the moment he turned his corner. Or he could get shot in the back if Yomikawa didn't take her corner fast enough.
The door could be booby-trapped. The moment he kicked it in, the trip-wire mine positioned next to it could take his legs clean off him.
If Jim missed a corner, or didn't shoot fast enough, or missed his first shot, he was dead. They would get him. They never missed.
And it would be difficult to miss, not when all they needed to do was point their Kalashnikov at a single doorway and pull the trigger. At this distance they didn't even need to aim. They just needed to squeeze the trigger and spray.
He badly wished for a grenade. Or a flashbang. A good, sturdy, compact, side-folding Kalashnikov. No, no, a machinegun: a PKM set up on the window from 300 meters away. Better yet, RPGs into the windows until there's nothing left.
Instead, Jim had a stupid stick.
He spitefully turned to her for the last time.
"Should have given me a fucking gun."
"Why? So you can shoot me in the back? And what for? You're blind as a bat anyways."
"Fuck you."
A light touch on his shoulder.
Her hands were absolutely steady.
"Remember, you go right and I go left. Check your corners. The moment we go in we turn on our flashlights. We hit 'em low, hard and fast, understand?"
"Yes…ma'am."
A pause.
Then a light squeeze on his shoulder.
Jim turned the handle and gave it a gentle push. Once the door was slightly open, he pulled back for a step, raising his right leg…
…and kicked in the door.
Violence.
A swift, sudden and controlled escalation of violence.
Both of them burst inside before the door could hit the side of the wall. The 45 degrees in front of him – Jim's angle – became his entire world. Everything blurred into a sharp focus.
Within that half-second he saw, felt, heard everything within the bean of his flash light: the color of the walls, the feel of the carpet under his boots, the deafening noise of their muffled footsteps.
Go. Go. Go.
Jim went right.
There was a crack as the baton sliced through the air and down onto someone's head, splitting the skull open, then the head. Again and again.
But there was no skull. No head. No someone. Only empty air.
Clear right.
Yomikawa went left.
Her pistol was held close to her chest with flash light crossed under, showing the way. Only two things exist in the muzzle's path: hostage or hostile.
Hostage gets shoved down.
The hostile tastes the special love-taps: One to head, second to the chest.
Which?
The flash light tells all, and it says:
Clear left.
Pivot. Pivot. Pivot.
Control the room's angles.
Dead man with a stick.
That's what Jim was now. Jim's a dead man. The half-second advantage is gone. No more surprises now. Jim was even being helpful: Can't see me? Blind? Just point at the flash light and shoot. The 7.62x39mm rounds will chew through the stab vest like butter.
Well, fuck you.
Dead man or not, the guy on the other end of the room wasn't going to take Jim for free. So he swung around, swirling the baton for a throw. He'll buy Yomikawa some time. He had to.
She needed to clear her corner across the room. Then check his.
Oh well.
Jim hoped he would be conscious long enough to see Yomikawa put a round into the fucker's head. Let's hope. Fucker won't miss, not at this distance, but he can be stupid.
Let's hope.
So Jim turned…
Yomikawa saw him first.
…and caught him.
It was a flash of movement across the bed.
He was huddling in a corner, but Jim saw him. And he did not hesitate. The cadet chose not to throw his stick.
The bed was blocking him. So jump! A hop onto the bed then, half a step forwards and it's the perfect position. Fucker's a coward it seems, still huddled in a ball. Flash light was late but no need; Jim easily made out his figure in the darkness.
The baton goes up, up, up and then…down.
Come on, let's hear a good crack.
And a solid crack it was.
But instead of the skull it was his nose, and instead of the baton it was the metal slide of her Glock. He reeled back, blinded. Then her hand was on his and the baton was gone.
"Jim!"
"Hands up! Get out you –"
The next crack came to his jaw. And this time it was not the Glock but her fist instead. He was fumbling now, almost falling off the bed.
What the fuck?
He opened his bloodied lips to say something but it was crushed closed by her fingers. She stopped reacting: an iron grip preemptively locked itself around his throat and mouth.
"Shhhh! Don't shout!"
She was hissing.
He stared at her with crazed eyes.
She pointed her finger frenziedly at the corner of the room, just behind the bed. She slowly directed the beam of light at her target.
For a long time he just stared at it. He didn't understand.
What was it.
The fresh blood from his nose made everything hazy. His fists were clenched. But she held him firmly and waited. She waited for him clear up. The adrenaline slowly seeped out.
Then Jim saw him, clearly, for the first time.
Then he understood.
He was huddled in the corner, curled into a tiny ball, shivering in fear.
He was a boy.
He was a small little boy.
Jim could tell that he couldn't be any more than ten, no, nine years old. He could even see that the little boy was still in his school uniform, although it was a bit crumbled and messy. He glanced quickly at Yomikawa and saw her glaring at him.
Her finger was over her mouth.
Be silent!
Jim's heart sank.
He nodded slowly and felt her death grip relaxing from his throat. Then she quietly sheathed her pistol and floated airily forwards like a fairy. Jim could only stand there with a dazed expression. His body felt numb and cold.
Yomikawa slowly sat down on the bed. She smiled slightly.
"Well," she said gently, "we've found you! Now you're it!"
The boy was still shaking.
"Oh, I'm so sorry we came into the room like that. We thought we were playing hide and seek with you. You were hiding so well. Mr. Stupid over there got a little too excited."
He turned to her with a fearful glance. Yomikawa redirected the beam of her flashlight away from the corner, instead letting the light bounce off a nearby wall. The harsh beam diffused across the room more gently, basking it in a warm after-glow.
The boy could see a serene, warm smile on the woman's lips.
It was the same smile his mother had when she read him a bedtime story and tucked him in at night.
She had the same blue eyes as well. It was the same deep, blue irises that he used to spent hours staring into, during the rare moments when she had the time to cook for him…
Jim saw the boy's shoulders dropping and his body relaxing. Then the boy stood up slowly.
"I'm sorry…"
"For what? You were great at hiding. Even Mr. Stupid standing over there didn't find you when he looked over this room the first time. But between you and me, he's a little bonkers in the head. And also not very bright. But don't tell him! He's a big crybaby, he'll cry and scream and throw a hissy fit."
She patted her hands on a spot on the bed next her.
"Come here! I think you deserve a prize!"
The boy walked over uncertainly but did not sit down.
"You're not here to catch me?"
"No, of course not. Why would we do that?"
"Because…I ran away from home? I'm so sorry."
Yomikawa tilted her head with a cute, puzzled expression on her face.
"Oh wow! You're even playing hide and seek with your family! You must be really good at this! Can you tell onee-san how to be so good like you?"
The boy smiled at her absurd comment.
"No…onee-san, I'm not playing hide and seek. I ran away because…my father…"
He looked down at the floor.
"Oh, it's okay, you don't have to go back to him. Come here!"
She slowly reached her hand over and softly pulled him to the bed. The boy sat down beside her. Then he suddenly looked up and grabbed Yomikawa's vest.
"Please, don't hurt mommy! She didn't kidnap me! She didn't know! I came here by myself!"
A chilling shudder ran down Yomikawa's spine, but she did not stop smiling.
"We know, we know. By the way, how did you get into the house? It's such a good hiding spot. onee-san would never have thought of it it."
"Oh, I had a spare key. Mommy said that if he…my father I mean, was ever mean to me, I can always come here. She said that she will protect me."
"Ah, I see. That makes sense. When did you come here?"
"I came straight after school. I didn't want to go home…"
Yomikawa peeled off her dirty forensic gloves and patted him on the head. His short damp hair brushed against her sweaty palm. The boy sat there and stared at the carpet.
She paused for a moment.
"So, were you playing hide and seek with anyone else? Before onee-san and Mr. Stupid came here? Why were you hiding in the…closet? Under the bed?"
The boy looked up and scratched his head, as if he was trying very hard to remember something.
"Yes…there was this girl. She was kind of weird. She had…ah…weird hair."
Jim widened his eyes.
"…I think she had white hair? Like a grandpa? But she was like me, like someone in elementary school. She said…what did she say…?"
Yomikawa glanced coldly at Jim. Something dangerous swirled in her eyes.
"Oh really! So a little girl found your hiding spot! What did she say? Can you please remember?"
"Um…she said…no, no! First her eyes started to glow, like a witch! Or like Card Captor Sudako, you know, the magical girl from the anime! It's my favorite anime! I love how –"
He suddenly stopped.
"Why, what's wrong?" Yomikawa coaxed, "I was so interested in what you were saying! Don't stop!"
He looked nervously at her.
"You don't think it's weird…that a boy likes Card Captor Sudako? My friends say it's for sissy girls."
Yomikawa laughed lightly.
"I love Card Captor Sudako as well! I love how cool she is when she fly on her magic staff, and how cute she is when she transforms! My boyfriend and father love her too! Actually…can I tell you a secret?"
The boy nodded slowly, his eyes wide open, listening to her every word. She looked around cautiously. Then she pulled him closer.
"Okay, you must promise not to tell anyone, okay? Definitely not Mr. Stupid over there, okay? Pinky promise?"
"Okay. Pinky promise…"
"So…my grandpapa is a grumpy old man…but one night I saw him watching Card Captor Sudako! He was watching it alone and having so much fun! The next day I asked him what he thought about it, and he huffed and puffed and said it was stupid!"
"But, but wasn't he watching it too?"
"I know! He can't even be honest. I bet all your friends are like that too, hehehe!"
The two shared a childish giggle.
"So anyways, you were telling me about the girl? The girl with grandpa hair?"
The boy looked up brightly. He was regaining his vitality and energy.
"Oh right! So I was hanging out in this bedroom and she suddenly appeared in the door. She asked me what I was doing. I said that this was my room and asked who she was. She said she was mommy's friend and that she wanted to play with me. Then…then her eyes…"
"What happened? Did she transform into Sudako?"
"No, no. She um…don't laugh, okay? Her eyes started glowing! And her voice got all strange and like. She said that she wanted to play hide and seek and that she'll be it and I should hide. She said my mom would be home soon and she would call me if she got home. I don't know why…but I said yes and hid in the closet. Then I guess I…I, ah…fell asleep?"
"Oh, I see! It's almost like it was a magic spell! How was your sleep? When did you wake up?"
"It was great! I slept really good, like when mommy tucks me in. I just woke up now. But when I did it was really scary. The closet was really dark. I was shaking a lot like I just had a cold shower."
Yomikawa leaned back slowly and continued to hold his hand, a smile still dancing on her lips.
"Ah, I see, so the little girl with white hair was playing with you first! Such a shame, I thought onee-san and Mr. Stupid over there were the first. But that's alright, you still won the game. Onee-san hopes that she can meet the little girl soon, and play lots and lots of games with her."
His small hands tightened around her rough, calloused fingers.
"Are you going to arrest mommy? Please don't arrest mommy. Everyone says she's a bad woman, a bad mommy but that's not true! She loves me! She's the only one who loves me! My father says that she's a…what do you say…home cracker? Home tracker? Home cracker?"
Yomikawa raised her eyebrows with light puzzlement.
"Homewrecker?" she suggested.
"Yes, that! Father says she's a homewrecker, who break the family with bad words and lies. He says mommy says bad things about him...But that's not true! She just wants to protect me!"
There it was again.
Lying.
Falsehood.
Yomikawa drew him in for a gentle hug.
It would be uncomfortable for him to squish his face against the stab vest with its velcro pouches. So she simply wrapped her arms around his shoulders.
"It's okay," she whispered into his ears, "everything is going to be okay."
But the boy didn't care. His short stubby arms spread around her stab vest and he buried his face against the rough velcro.
As for Jim, he could only hear the sound of his collapsible baton slowly rolling across the carpet and the blood dripping from his nose.
Of course, there was the sound of the rapidly approaching sirens.
Everything started to lose focus and blur together. And not matter how much he shivered, the cold would not go away from his fingers.
The night forgave him.
He had only been in the house for three hours at most, but it felt like he had not stepped out for months. He savored the sweet taste of the spring night and gazed longingly at the sky.
Oh, how badly, how desperately he longed for the beautiful sky of his homeland.
Back in the mountains he could see the most dazzling array of stars and the entire galaxy painted across the moon-lit canvas. But here, in Academy City, he could only make out a murky, smoggy darkness.
He brought the plastic water bottle to his mouth.
Why were his hands shaking?
The water disappeared greedily down his parched throat.
Was it excitement?
Was it the excitement of personally witnessing and studying the crime scene of a serial killer?
No, it was not. He didn't give two hoots about the serial killer. And he's seen worse bodies in the war.
Was it adrenaline?
Was it the rushing adrenaline he felt when he rushed into the room, swinging his baton like a madman, fully prepared for his life to end then and there, to die at that very moment?
Perhaps, but no, it was not that either. He had kicked in doors before. Yes, he knew what it felt like to have a burst of automatic fire passing by just centimeters from his face. This was not it.
Was it fear?
Was it the fear from having his name exposed, his nationality deduced and his past accurately uncovered by someone he had only known for three days?
Perhaps. Perhaps. The sight of her cold unflinching gaze staring into his eyes brought a shiver down his spine. But no, that was not it. He was no strangers to jackals, even though he could tell that she was not one. Still, she was something like that.
Was it…
Was it the fact that for the briefest of moments, Jim was, without a shadow of a doubt, absolutely ready to bring his baton down and crack open a child's skull?
Was it the fact that if Yomikawa hadn't been there to stop him, or if she was slower, or if she had been less forceful…he definitely would have – unflinchingly and without hestation – killed an innocent little boy?
Did I not notice?
Jim's stomach churned at the next thought forming in his mind, but he knew he could not resist it. He could not push it away. He remembered the moment again, the moment in which he had burst into the bedroom with his flash light and the baton.
Jim remembered – now – how he had seen the boy's figure at the edges of his vision when he rushed onto the bed.
Or did I notice…and not care?
Was that it?
Guilt?
He stared at his shaking hands.
Nah, that was not it.
It must be the damned coffee.
Yomikawa had personally brewed it herself, telling him that a cup of it was enough to wake a dead horse. And this coffee was not the milky, sweet bullshit from fancy cafes. It was strong and black.
Yomikawa had brought a huge thermos of the bloody thing and both of them were chugging caffeine to stay awake. He had drank, what was it, five cups of the damn thing while he was in the patrol car on the way to the house.
Yes, that was it. It was the coffee. That had to be it.
Let's just say it was that.
Let's just say it was the coffee and put his conscience to rest.
Damn caffeine!
Just like he had always done – whenever the shooting got bad or Sofia's shadows grew dark – Jim pushed the tangled mess of emotions down. He buried it under the cold, black earth of the deep, dark woods.
He crushed the water bottle in his hands and threw it away. Then he leaned his back against the patrol car and looked over the scene that was absolutely buzzing with activity.
He counted at least twenty Anti-Skill patrol cars parked haphazardly in the small street. They formed a tight perimeter around the house. He could see the dozens of Anti-Skill officers busily working away, like a nest of diligent ants, spread out across the neighborhood gathering evidence and questioning the neighbors.
Jim saw Yomikawa standing in a quiet corner, away from all the buzzing sirens and the commotion. She was talking quickly to a handsome man in a suit. The boy was still clinging to her side.
Jim could tell that the man in the suit was a high ranking person among the Anti-Skill officers. Perhaps he was the commander of Task Force A. However even he was bowing in deference to Yomikawa, patiently listening to her every word.
When the discussion ended, she turned around and picked up the boy with her arms. Yomikawa let the boy sit on her left forearm, before placing her right hand behind his head, providing support to his neck and preventing him for falling off.
She held him as a mother would hold her newborn baby.
Isn't he a bit too old for that?
But the boy didn't seem to mind. He wrapped his short stubby arms around Yomikawa's neck.
Jim saw that, despite how she appeared to be casually chatting with the boy, there was still something dangerous burning in Yomikawa's eyes. The boy seemed absolutely oblivious to the gravity of the situation.
They slowly walked over to the patrol car.
"Mr. Stupid, get in the car. But you're not riding shotgun! That seat is reserved for this little gentleman."
"Yes, ma'am."
She opened the door for the little boy and helped him into his seat, carefully snapping on his seat belt. Then she patted him on the head and closed the door. For a moment the boy pressed his face against the window frantically, thinking that she was going to leave him in the car, but she quickly reassured him by walking over to the driver's seat.
"Where to, ma'am?"
"HQ downtown."
Jim looked quickly at his watch. It was 2:00 AM. He did not think that Yomikawa was just going to drop the kid off and then call it a night. She was probably just getting started. Jim suddenly felt an intense craving for the blasted coffee.
He thought back to his frantic days in Sofia.
This was all too familiar.
Out of the frying pan and straight into the fucking fire!
The smell of the coffee – sickly sweet with creamer and sugar – wafted across his face and drifted across the room.
Jim was sitting in a chair at a lobby of the Anti-Skill HQ and the busy officers around him paid no attention to the young cadet. Everyone was doing something important, something urgent: something that innocent lives depended on.
The frantic activity was strangely calming to Jim.
It made him feel small and insignificant. Perhaps it was the illusion that if everyone was so busy then nobody would pause and ask him what he did that night. Perhaps Jim could just sit in this little corner of the lobby and disappear into the wall.
He stared at the coffee in his hands.
Why the fuck am I still drinking this shit?
And yet he still raised it to his lips and took a sip. His hands started shaking again.
Jim rubbed his nose where Yomikawa had hit him with her pistol.
Broken, probably. But then again his nose was already crooked to begin with. His left jaw where she had punched him also stung with pain. The pain was even in his left arm, even though he knew that he hadn't used it enough tonight to warrant the reaction. But it was there regardless.
Perhaps the pain made Jim feel better.
It meant that somebody – something – was still holding him responsible, even if it was only his own body. Back in Krakozhia pain had meant that he was still alive, that the bullet or the shells hadn't yet claimed him. But now it simply meant that he could still feel something, anything.
The problem was that it seemed like pain was the only thing Jim could feel these days.
He looked at his coffee again. It had gone cold and stale. He stood up and walked over to a sink, discreetly pouring it down the drain. Then he opened the tap and splashed some cold water on his face.
Jim turned around.
It was no time to indulge in self-pity.
He took stock of his own situation.
So, he had solved a line of script from the warehouse.
That single line led him to the house in sector ALO-N 16. And it was there he discovered that the little girl with ashen hair was intricately linked the Suspect A, the serial killer.
He also learnt that the little girl was a magician of some sort. At the very least she could use simple spells.
He also knew that the pyrokinetic operative from the warehouse had also decrypted the lines of script and was hot on the little girl's heels.
But the most important revelation was that, for whatever reason, the little girl was helping the serial killer. At the very least she was covering for him. She definitely did not want him to get caught.
Jim groaned as his brain struggled to process everything.
He knew that the best lead he had…was the serial killer.
If he could find the serial killer, then he could find the girl. Most likely. Perhaps the little girl was not just following the killer but actually operating with him. If that wasn't the case, Jim had to get his hands on the killer before Anti-Skill and the pyrokinetic operative did and make him talk. That way he could get to the girl first.
And my best bet of finding the serial killer…
He saw her walking out of an office with a grim look on her face. Her gaze was no longer the cold, piercing stare that he had seen in the kitchen. Instead there was something fierce and angry swirling in her calm eyes.
Jim noticed that the little boy was no longer with her.
…is to work with Lieutenant Yomikawa Aiho.
Jim knew that he could hide his motives from his station chief. The old jackal probably had other intelligence officers to oversee and maybe even his own personal teams to manage. He knew that if push came to shove he could claim ignorance and say he didn't know that the operative was chasing the little girl.
In any case, if the jackals really suspected something and seriously wanted him to talk…it would hardly be difficult for them. Jim could hold out for a time but in the end he would talk.
Everyone always talks in the end.
But that did not worry him.
He knew that he could always summon the darkness and surrender himself to it.
He only needed to beckon, to call out her name and the dark figure would appear before him again, with her fiery red eyes and her black velvet arms stretched out for a cold embrace. He knew that she was not shy about it. After all, she haunted his dreams on a daily basis.
The Lady would come.
He could hide the importance of his locket and the girl with ashen hair from the jackals, even if it costed him his life.
Risky, yes, but I can make it work.
He felt a familiar ache pulsing through his left arm. The Anti-Skill lieutenant had spotted him standing by the sink and was walking towards him. Her eyes stared straight into him and Jim felt the hairs on his neck standing up again.
But how the fuck am I supposed to hide that from Yomikawa?
He remembered how his station chief had mentioned her by name.
'And yes, she is good. That's the Yomikawa after all.'
Were there supposed to be other Yomikawas? Did Jim just have to get the Yomikawa as his Anti-Skill commanding officer?
He should have listened.
He should have fucking listened!
If a jackal – a station chief, at that, and not just from anywhere: a station in The City! – deemed it important to mention someone by name...then he should have known it was for a damned good reason.
He saw her eyes already resting on him, observing every little detail about him, as if mentally reading his mind. Jim felt like she only needed to cast a quick look at someone and all of their secrets, their past, and even truths unknown would instantly be revealed to her.
Jim sighed deeply.
At one point in the night he had three advantages in his favor.
First, he knew about the girl and the operative.
Second, he knew about serial killer being a magician of some sort.
Third, he knew about the lines of script on the walls of the warehouse.
Now, he only had one advantage left.
And he only possessed this advantage because Yomikawa was not in the warehouse with him.
For some reason, Jim felt like it was not going to be enough.
He could tell that Yomikawa was absolutely out for blood. If she got her hands on the girl with ashen hair Jim highly doubted that the girl would ever step out of a cell again. And he knew that if the girl got locked up, his chances of somehow getting his locket back from her would diminish astronomically.
Jim did not find the prospect of breaking her out of – or breaking into – an Anti-Skill prison appealing.
He considered telling Yomikawa everything, telling her about the girl and the locket.
Maybe she could help him?
But her cold, piercing eyes, staring through him in the dark kitchen, came back to his mind and he shuddered again. This woman already knew enough about him. He did not want to tell her anymore. And frankly he had no reason to trust her.
Clearly she knew about the jackals and the snakes.
There was no guarantee that she wouldn't betray him to them.
"Jim, got any more of that coffee?"
He handed her a cup. She took a sip and proceeded to spit it out.
"Blasted stuff! They always make the worst coffee at HQ."
"Ma'am…is the kid going to be okay?"
She looked over him with her calm blue eyes. He did not meet her gaze, but he sensed that the anger had been replaced by something else.
"There's nothing else we can do. He's with a therapist, someone who specializes in taking care of children who've been through traumatic situations. It's out of our hands now."
Yomikawa sipped her coffee quietly, staring at his bloodied nose. He felt the weight of her gaze on his shoulders.
It was as if she expected him to say something.
Jim stared at his boots. He did not know what to say. In any case, what difference did it make? Words meant nothing. Only actions. Only actions mattered.
With the heavy silence between them, Jim tried to change the subject.
"Oh, ma'am…how is your boyfriend and grandfather? They must be worried about you, especially at this time of night."
She smirked.
"My grandfather died when I was three. Figure the rest out yourself."
She was still staring at him, as if she was waiting for him to say something. Jim could only answer by looking down pathetically at his boots. But he tried something else.
"Ma'am, do you think…he saw Suspect A?"
Her eyes darkened again.
"That's not important right now, Jim. He's just been through something that will stay with him for the rest of his life. Years from now he will still be waking up from nightmares about what happened tonight. Right now, testifying against Suspect A is last thing you should be asking from him."
Jim bit his cheek. The metallic taste of his blood mixed with the coffee on his tongue, leaving a horrid, brackish taste in his mouth.
Yomikawa emptied the rest of the cup's contents into the sink.
"Cadet, you know how to drive, right?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"Good. Get the patrol car and park it at the front entrance. I've got some stuff to do here. Then I'll come down. And if you do something stupid and crash the car, cadet, then I swear to god I'll…"
"Where are we going next, ma'am?"
"Back to the crime scene. Maybe we can find some new clues."
She walked away briskly and disappeared amidst the sea of Anti-Skill officers.
Jim looked at his watch. It was 3:00 AM, Tuesday.
Four days, he thought tiredly, I've been in this city for four fucking days!
-x-
First uploaded: 7/3/2021
Last modified: 3/8/2021
Wordcount: 6,830
Author's Notes:
Pop quiz!
1. What do you do if you spent the whole night writing fucking bullshit?
2. What do you do if you fail at editing like a dumbass?
3. What do you do if you were too lazy and couldn't be bothered to wait before posting it as a new chapter?
The answer: you end up with a terrible, over bloated mess of a chapter that makes no fucking sense, which is quite a fucking accomplishment given how little sense it made to begin with!
But how do you fix such a fatal mistake?
Why, it's simple!
*waves magic wand*
Whoosh! You are now a new chapter!
Changelog:
2/8/2021 – (Terribly inconsistent) prose edits – rewrote CQB. Whatever! Shamelessly added nose! Not sure when honestly, but definitely added it.
3/4/2021 – Final cleanup. Shamelessly(?) added "this life".
27/3/2021 – General edits.
15/3/2021 – Changed Luck to Tyche/Fortuna, to avoid confusion. Added spell name(s).
7/3/2021 – Cut chapter into two from previous chapter. Shamelessly: changed little girl voice, mentioned soldier. Rewrote CQB scene. Changed "Vostak" to "Vystak" to further differeniate from Vostok. Rearranged ending sections and added HQ scene. Mentioned Lady. New author's notes kept as grim reminder to future (avoidable but ultimately inevitable) tragedies.