Chapter Twenty-Four: Despair
Her heels clacking along the pavement, Detective Jin hustled down the sidewalk. Following up a lead on a missing girl case, one that she suspected was tied to others, she had ended up at a San'ya District police box when dozens of calls came in about a nearby hotel. If she had known that she was going to do this much running so late at night, she would have brought her sneakers. Ahead, she spotted a swarm of spectators, their bodies reflecting the pulsing red lights of the police cars that kept them at a distance.
"What a mess," a voice muttered behind her. Keeping pace with her, Detective Nakagawa ran, his ridiculous trench coat flapping with every stride. "You'd think gunshots would make people stay home, not crowd around to gawk."
She scoffed, ready with a jab about mob mentality, but the insult never made it past a fleeting thought.
"Is that a #%$#ing car?!" he yelled incredulously, perfectly captioning her dropped jaw.
The hotel, which appeared relatively unscathed from the police box on the corner, was a nightmare to behold up close. Despite being pitch black inside, it was uplit by every spotlight that could be had, illuminating the shattered windows and the crumbling brick of its blown-out walls. At its second story, the back end of a sedan jutted out, its hazard lights blinking comically.
Shoving through the wall of onlookers, she had her badge in hand, held high next to her face. The line of officers enforcing the barricade flagged her and Nakagawa through. They knifed their way through the disarray of police and emergency services to the hotel's portico. There they discovered a slouching line of men seated on the curb, their suits disheveled and faces battered. Several men stumbled out of the dark hotel entrance. While one made a pathetic attempt to run away, the rest clamored forward.
"The demon," one blurted out, half-crazed. "Save us."
"Yeah, yeah," an officer soothed, his tone mellowed of any enthusiasm. "You're saved. Put your hands behind your back." Resorting to flex-cuffs after so many arrests, he zip-tied the man's hands as other officers handled the rest, and together, they escorted them to the curb to sit beside their misshapen comrades.
"The demon, huh?" Nakagawa mused.
Jin could feel his smile, and she suppressed a groan. "Stop."
"I'm just saying that it seems like less of an urban myth when you see their bloody faces."
"There are no such things as demons," she sighed. "At best, it's some vigilante in a mask capitalizing on superstitious idiots. Emphasis on idiots."
He chuckled. "All right, detective. Explain to me how that car parked on the second story was the work of some vigilante in a mask."
She frowned. "You'll have to wait for Traffic Collision's report on that."
His chuckle turned into a wholehearted laugh. "You always have an answer. I love it, but one day, you're going to come across something that can't be explained away. And in that moment, you'll tell me I was right."
She snorted. "Sure."
"You don't believe me but—" he started, his reply dying as his finger rose to point at the crest of the hotel.
"Please," she groaned. "There's no demon up there."
Then the familiar din of the crowd rose, growing louder as other fingers pointed. With her brow furrowed, Jin looked up.
High up on the top floor, there was a teenage girl on a balcony. Dressed in flowing pajamas, she stood against the railing that separated her from a thirty-five-meter drop to the portico below. At the windows on either side, several other girls leaned out, reaching fruitlessly toward her.
"I think we found the missing girls," Nakagawa thought aloud.
Jin nodded.
"She's not going to do what I think she's going to do, is she?"
They both looked at each other and their mutual realization drained the color from their cheeks.
"Shit!" she cursed, and together they rushed toward the hotel entrance. A pair of officers intercepted their sprint, catching them by their shoulders.
"Detectives!" one shouted, grabbing their attention. "We haven't entered the building yet, let alone cleared it. There's still gunfire and we're not sure of its structural integrity either. We're waiting on the special assault team."
"But—" she objected, fighting his grip.
He shook his head, pity in his expression. "I'm sorry."
"There'll be one death for sure if you don't let us go in," Nakagawa argued.
"I'm sorry."
More officers arrived, adding to the barrier between the detectives and the hotel. It wasn't a battle they were going to win, at least not in the time they had.
Jin relaxed. "Fine. Let it be on your conscience if she dies because you did nothing."
The officer sighed. "Better than if either of you died because we let you do something."
She growled in frustration and reached out to gently tug Nakagawa's sleeve. "We'll find another way."
The officers released them.
"Damn it!" he yelled, yanking off his fedora to run his hand through his messy hair. Then he jogged blindly back across the portico, his gaze fixed upwards on the distant balcony. He called out to the girl, but whatever he shouted was lost in the cacophony when she climbed over the railing.
She lingered there, sitting on the railing with her feet dangling. The night breeze whipped at her thin clothing and carried her dark hair. The searchlight swept up capturing her in pale blue light. Jin squinted, hoping to find hesitation or fear in the shadows of her face, but there was only resolve.
Then she tipped forward, letting the railing go.
The world gasped.
She seemed to fall instantly and in slow motion, as if time was something mercurial and indecisive.
Below her, a window exploded in a shower of sparkling glass as a white blur leapt through it. The figure collided with her as she passed by, seizing her as she slammed into his shoulder. He reached out with his free hand, grabbing the closest overhang. He slipped, and they bounced off it hard enough to crack the concrete. Still in freefall, he tossed the girl over his other shoulder and tried again. His seeking hand found the next overhang and he grabbed it. His grip secure, they jerked to a stop, their bodies swinging with the momentum.
"Yes!" Nakagawa cheered, and the crowd's collectively held breath turned into a roar.
Under the beam of the searchlight, the figure flexed his body, bringing his legs up to plant both feet onto the side of the building. Bending his knees, he gathered his strength and leapt up to the next overhang. But fell short.
They dropped again, and another gasp rippled through the crowd.
He caught the overhang below and his grip held. There they dangled for a moment before he attempted to jump again. And when he grabbed the next overhang up, the crowd boomed.
"I think he's been shot in both legs," Nakagawa yelled to Jin, his voice rising barely above the rioting humanity that surrounded them.
She tore her eyes away from the spectacle to glance at him. He had his cellphone raised up, filming the rescue with the zoom maxed out.
"See his legs and the blood," he continued, doing his best to keep them in focus as they jumped up to the next overhang. "Hell, there's more on his side, shoulder, and even his neck." He whistled. "What a beast."
Looking at his screen, she caught glimpses of the dark stains through his shredded coat. A strange sensation of déjà vu struck her when she poured over his silver mane and caught a glimpse of his canine mask.
Reaching the cornice that ran along the eave of the roof, the figure made his final leap, clearing it to land on solid ground. Cheers soared. Pivoting back on his heel, he looked down at the rolling masses pressed in on the street below, the girl cradled against his shoulder.
"I've seen him before," Jin muttered, staring at the snarling mask.
"What?!" Nakagawa said, leaning in close and plugging one ear.
"I've seen him," she repeated louder. "That cold case we're still working. The one about the teenage boy murdered near Namidabashi. The one we suspected was a yakuza hit job."
"Yeah."
"He was there. On a roof. Just like now."
He chuckled. "The Demon of Namidabashi. What a terrifying thought."
OOOOOOOOOO
As cool as the searchlight that shined upon him, Sesshoumaru watched the distant chaos that overwhelmed the city block beneath him. The crowd rumbled, smothering the wailing sirens and the ambient rush of the city.
His gaze rose from the street to his body as he took account of his injuries. Nearly more red than white, his clothes were in tatters both from the bullets and from crushing through walls. He opened and closed his right hand to make a fist, annoyed by the weakness that had caused him to slip. Between the embedded bullet and striking the building during his fall, his shoulder ached painfully. His other wounds were healing, but that didn't mean they were without soreness. His head concerned him the most. A disorienting wave of vertigo spun the street below, and he took a few steps back.
How long had it been since he'd weathered a battle so poorly? His father's grave came to mind, and his eyes fell to his left arm still cradling the girl. Well, it had gone better than that day.
As if on cue, the body draped against his shoulder shifted, and the girl started to stir. His catch had been a hard one for so frail a person. A mercy perhaps, given the difficulty of his rescue and the nature of her fall.
Her eyes fluttered open, unseeing at first.
He watched her, waiting for realization to strike.
Then she gasped in terror and struggled against his hold.
"You need not fear," he assured, aware that his bloody visage would hardly make him convincing. "I won't hurt you."
"I died, didn't I?" she whispered.
"No," he said, nodding towards the crowded street, "You still live. I saved you from your fall."
She winced as she sat up to look and felt at her chest.
"And the dead or those close to it don't feel pain." He could scarcely miss the disappointment that deepened the sadness in her dark eyes.
"Will you let me down?" she asked, her gaze on the street.
He sighed. "I will, but if you should attempt another jump, I will pursue you. Your life is spared if only for one night."
She scoffed, bitterness in her tone. "I'm not even allowed to choose my death."
He waited. When he proved unwilling to submit, she tried to pry herself free from his arm. It was a feeble effort even by human standards. And short-lived.
"All right," she surrendered, crossing her arms. "I won't jump."
Satisfied enough, he let her down. Barefoot, she limped a few steps away from him.
"But if I want to end this miserable existence of mine tomorrow, you can't stop me."
"I don't intend to."
"Then why are you stopping me now? Why risk your life to save someone who doesn't want your help?"
He paused, thinking. "I was asked to find you… Amaya-san."
She froze, her eyes wide.
He waited.
"Someone asked you to find me?" She pointed to her chest. "Me?"
He nodded.
"Who?"
"Yamato-san."
Her face fell. "Of course."
"You're disappointed?"
"He's my social worker," she explained, looking up at the night sky. "Just another person who's paid to care."
"I don't understand."
"It's his profession to care. If I wasn't in his caseload, he wouldn't have asked you to look for me. For him and everyone else, caring is a transaction. Love is a transaction."
He watched her, his head kinked slightly to the side. "Then who did you hope had sent me?"
She snorted. "I don't know what you're talking about."
Spying some ventilation ducting, he walked over and sat down.
She glanced between him and the edge of the roof.
"When I told you that I had been sent by someone," he began, ignoring her apparent temptation. "You were hopeful about who it could have been. Otherwise, you wouldn't have been disappointed when you discovered that it was Yamato-san."
She bit the inside of her lip.
Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out the old doll and regarded it briefly.
Again, she froze.
"Join me," he requested, and he set it on the ducting beside him. Then he grasped the face of his mask and pulled it up and off his head. Carefully arranging the long headdress, he set it on the other side.
She stared at the doll and he patiently waited, closing his eyes as he listened to the city.
An eternity passed.
Then her heartbeat grew louder. He could feel the warmth of her body as she stood beside him. And when he opened his eyes, she was holding the doll, her finger tracing the stitching.
"No one does anything for nothing," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "Everyone always wants something. There's nothing more conditional than love and acceptance. If you want to be seen and be cared about, you have to be what people want. You have to be okay with them taking pieces of you until you're used up and worthless. Or until they realize that you were worthless all along."
He nodded, listening.
"But there are people who should love you and care for you no matter what, aren't there?" She shook her head. "Yamato-san wasn't the one who should have sent you."
"Family?"
"Yeah," she agreed. "I'm kidnapped and, and—" she choked, unable to finish.
Her tears punctuated the air before they slipped down her cheeks. With a few shaky breaths, she steeled herself again, unwilling to be weak.
"And, where were they?" she asked, her pain turning to acid. She held up the doll. "You had this, so you must know. You saw. But let me guess. They were at home, happy that I was gone. That I wasn't their problem anymore. I'm an embarrassment. A reminder of their family's shameful past. And that shameful past, where were they? Where they've always been. In the past. What the hell is the point of family? To be a disappointment? Every time?"
He sighed. "I cannot speak to this truth. And I cannot speak to the experience of being the neglected one. If I'm anyone, I'm the one you despise."
She stared at him, her jaw tight.
"I'm the family who placed conditions on my acceptance. And my love," he continued, "I had a half-brother once. It has been pointed out to me that I only cared about half of him, and it's true. But I couldn't tell you which half. Just as I couldn't tell you which half I resented. If it was the part that reflected our blood or the part that reminded me of how much my world had changed. In truth, these reasons could apply to either half, and they switched depending on the day.
"So, he suffered, having family by blood but none by heart. He was convinced that it was his fault, as if what made him unlovable was inherent in his nature. That the key to being accepted by his family and by others was to change himself, but even if he could have, it wouldn't have changed anything. The problem didn't lay with him. It lay with us."
"What did you do about it?"
"Not enough," he admitted, and his gaze rose to meet hers. "A sad truth about life is that we seldom appreciate what we have until we lose it."
She scoffed. "You deserve your despair."
"Perhaps. But I believe that it's that despair that permits me to understand why you were on that balcony tonight."
"You don't know what I've been through," she bit out icily.
"I do not. Nor do I wish to diminish your pain by comparing it to my own. It's not something meant to be measured."
She watched him for a moment, and then turned to look back at the cornice and the ten-story drop it promised. "You've thought about suicide?"
"Not specifically," he admitted, and he held out his hands as he looked down at his bloody clothes, "But there's a point where it becomes difficult to deny it. When you realize that some aspect of yourself has become reckless and self-destructive. And that you find it difficult to care."
She swallowed.
He nodded knowingly. "You see, you could jump from this building again and again, and I would give chase every time to save you with no regard for my own safety. I'm not certain if a fall from this height would kill me, but there's a reasonable chance that it would."
Her gaze returned to him. "You would die to save me because you don't care about living?"
"I'm the last of my kind," he said, his irises burning with a soft, eerie glow. "You cannot rebuild when there's nothing left. No one left."
She backed away from him, her mouth slightly agape.
The glow died. "But in a strange way, I've also discovered that this is the time in my life when I care the most. Not about myself, but about others. Even if I'm the Lord of Nothing, I would like to do it right this time."
"Is that it? Your way out?"
He looked at her, his expression one of genuine surprise. "I hadn't considered it in that light, but yes, I believe it could be. And it could be for you too."
"I don't know," she said, bitterness returning to her voice. "I'm so angry. And so tired."
In the distance along the dark horizon, a point of light grew, and with it came the rhythmic whipping of an approaching helicopter. Picking up his mask, Sesshoumaru rose to his feet.
"What happened to your brother?" she asked.
He snorted. "He found the family that he deserved, and by no small margin, he became the man that I should have been. The type of man I hope to become now."
She nodded, rubbing her arms as she felt the cold night for the first time.
Placing the mask on his face, he adjusted the headdress until it suited him. As he turned away, a figure caught his eye. Standing by the roof access, Kagome waited. Being both upwind and drowned out by the din of the crowd, he hadn't noticed her. The door opened and Tora appeared, his face dark and swollen.
"It's time to go," he said as he walked towards them.
"Is it okay to leave her?" Kagome asked, her eyes on the silhouette of the girl.
"For tonight. What she chooses to do with her life tomorrow is up to her."