Disclaimer: sorry not feelin' it

It is unsettling how quickly things changed. From living one place to another. From ordinary to bizarre.

From living to dead.

The television is still on. The news reporters now talk of stocks, little decimal-pointed numbers skipping past the bottom of the screen. I couldn't be bothered with any of that, though. In fact, I could barely hear it at all.

Only my heart. Pumping. Beating. Erratic.

The room had gotten unimaginably hot all of a sudden. I run my hands across my forehead, and leave them holding back my hair. My mouth was like a desert, dry as hell and only blowing out choked gasps of air.

Throwing the pillow aside, I dart to the terrace windows and fumble the lock open. Outside is just as warm as inside. I look up to the sky and find that the sun is callously bright. It hurts my heart.

Did it see what happened under its watch? Did it even care?

Did Ancient Fairy Dragon care? Does Zephyrus?

Because this was their fault. Theirs as much as it was mine.

I go back inside, but leave the door cracked. Into the kitchen this time, rummaging through the cabinets for a cup. I take the water pitcher from the fridge and can barely hold it steady enough to pour the liquid in the glass. I gulp it all down in one go. It comes back up in a second.

I am still too hot—no. I am on fire. A blaze that wants nothing more than to simmer down.

In the bathroom now, I turn the shower on its coldest setting. It doesn't feel cold, not in the slightest.

I slide down the tile wall. Lay my head in my hands. Close my eyes. Yet it's all still there, ingrained too deep in my brain to forget, passing by as if it were only a movie on my eyelids. Clips of mindless wandering, scenes of spirits watching. Waiting, following. Shades of white, now black, then white again. Screaming and lots of it.

Help. For me. My friends, my family. For everyone. Why is there no help?

How could they let this happen? How could they...how could I? People are dead, dying. How could I help?

I stay in the shower contemplating, hoping, waiting. Nothing happens, so I get out.

I throw the pajamas in the wash and get dressed in my own clothes. Mesh my wet mane into a sloppy bun and head upstairs.

"Second door on the left," I mumble. "I chose you."

Immediately upon entrance, I think, This is what my heaven would look like. The library is as big as the other rooms in the house, but lined with dark, smooth wood bookshelves on each wall. There's even one of those rolling ladders leaning against a shelf. A pair of recliners sit in the middle just before an unlit fireplace and in the corner nearest me is a desk.

I step to it, fingers tracing the spines of books as I pass, and sit down at the computer. Snapping the machine from its doze, I log in as a Guest.

Breathe in. Breathe out. Finally, I type it into the search engine: murders in New Domino

Tons of articles appear. News, gossip columns, social media, you name it. I click on the first couple of links, which give me nothing more than written summaries of what I saw on television. The next one leads me to a video of a reporter on the streets.

The reporter doesn't outright say the address but the quality of the video is sharp enough to see the shop signs across from where she's standing. Jotting it down, I listen a bit longer for a name then go back to look up the address.

I get the names and locations for the last two victims in no time, while the other two are buried somewhere under all the recent commotion. In one of the final videos I watch, there's a picture of one of them:

Eiji Kano, 31, accountant at Ikeda and Associates.

That's all it says about him, so little and yet still more than any of the others got. No personal details about being a father, a brother, or a friend. Not a thing. Why was that? Why was there more about his death than his life?

He deserved better, I'm sure. They all did.

I write the twins a note when I'm done. I won't be back, not for today, and go out the door. Pinning my radar on the closest bus stop, I start toward the next couple blocks over and hope that a bus is on its way.

—

It's not much of a ride to the southern part of downtown New Domino. Though, by the time I arrive it's already afternoon. Roaming up the street and around the corner, I find the exact furniture place I saw in a video. My pace quickens impulsively, and I only stop when I get feet away from the caution tape boxing the crime scene in.

No one's around, oddly. I mean, this isn't the kind of area most people would come to voluntarily, but it's frightening and rings all kinds of internal alarms that there isn't a single soul in sight on a perfectly normal day.

Well, it's probably for the best that people aren't around to witness me disregard the tape's one warning.

The chalk outline of Eiji is still present on the battered pavement. No blood, just faded lines remembering his presence. I squat down for a closer look, but it's all the the same as it was from above. There's no sign that anything happened to him. It's like he could have lied down and just dissolved into the atmosphere.

My spirit senses aren't tingling, either. Whatever spirit that got to Eiji was long gone with every sense of the word. Meaning, in consequence, there is really nothing keeping me here. With an airy breath, I pull a wad of post-its from my jacket pocket and jot down what first comes to mind.

I'm sorry I wasn't here for you.

I've barely got it stuck to his concrete skull before I hear, "Hey!"

I leap up, hands emptied into my pockets, and bolt for it. "Hey! Get back here, kid!"

Glancing back and seeing the wall of green-outfitted muscle makes me all the more motivated to hall ass and lose his trail. So after rounding a corner I flee into an alley and stick behind the edge of a dumpster. I shut my eyes when he trudges past and relax my bones when he keeps on to who knows where.

I'm usually one to stray from stereotyping, but maybe that notion about Sector Security guards being all brawn and zero brain was lacking lies. Ducking into an alley was a rookie trick.

Don't get me wrong. This rookie much rather enjoys not wearing matching, chain-linked bracelets.

I wait it out a couple minutes, then tiptoe to the alley's opening. The coast is clear, so it's on to the next one.

—

Sora Fukui must have been well loved when he was alive, because he sure is when he's dead. The scene of his death is crowded by hiccuping, weeping clusters of people. If not laying something down in the vast array of trinkets, then you were sobbing your eyes out to the face of a grinning boy. If not crying over him, then you were consoling those who were.

And then there is me. Just standing in the middle of the mourning chaos, probably looking more and more suspicious by the minute. My thoughts shoot back and forth between writing him a note like I did for Eiji and just plain leaving. Forgetting I was ever here, that this ever happened.

But I've been doing a bit too much of that lately, haven't I?

In the long run, I'm not fit to do either. Even after making up my mind I can't will my legs to move or my hands to write.

"Did you know him?"

I turn my head toward the woman; her eyes remain on the memorial. She is one of the only mourners in a relatively stable state, older too. Maybe Sora's former teacher or a neighbor. Or worse.

She repeats herself, enunciating a bit more, "Did you know him?"

"We, uh, went to school together."

"Were you friends then?"

"I just...I just knew him—of him."

She nods. "Sora always had no trouble drawing attention to himself. He was one of those types of people who never knew how to be in the background—so talkative, expressive." Then she chuckles. "An idiot too, but most boys are at his age."

We stand longer, observing the red-eyed masses come and go.

"I think you should put something down," she says and, noticing my hesitance to do so, adds, "If you have anything to, that is. That's actually why I came over. I noticed you'd been standing here a while."

I glance down at the ripped leather of my boots. "I just have a note that I want to give him."

"So go. He'll read it wherever he is."

I leave the lady with a weak smile and a lead-heavy heart. Wading through the crowd, I make it up to the makeshift shrine and stare into the soul of what used to be Sora Fukui.

You shouldn't have suffered. I should've helped.

—

Hansuke Oshiro, the third and one of the most recent victims, seemed just as popular as Sora. Only, instead of flowers and candles from loved ones, there were evidence markers and the flashing sirens of Sector Security vehicles.

I try to camouflage myself between the huddle of observers outside the barricades. It's doubtful I'd get closer than this without drawing attention to myself. The thought of just going home poofs into my mind and I almost take a step backward.

But I stay, instead. Officer after officer passes and on reflex I duck my head, just in case it turns out to be the same one I encountered earlier. The onlookers nearby whisper carelessly about how they would feel if this was them or someone they knew. Enraged that "we let psychos get away with everything." Criticizing the very police force that stands to protect New Domino.

I add nothing to the varied exchange. All I can do is wonder why.

It's the question that reappears after a long time gone. Rarely does it return with an answer in tow.

The spirits have some agenda against me and, albeit unknown, it's obviously tied to my Star Child-ness. So what did these men have to do with that? None of them were associated with me in any way before today. Obviously they were human, but to what extent? Was there any chance they could have been spirit hybrids like me?

But the theory seemed wrong. Plausible, sure, but somehow false. So what was it then? Were the spirits just that evil, so malicious that they would settle for hurting the innocent?

Either way, I can tell that this is just the beginning of it. There were going to be more bodies maybe a week or even a month from now, lying dead in the streets from the spirits' touch.

The Signers and I are only brushstrokes in their big picture. We're necessary pieces on the chessboard, how they place us is crucial to winning. But at the end of the day, we're just pieces.

I stray from the crowd and drift by the working officers who are too preoccupied with their jobs to notice me skirting closer to the scene. I lean against a wall of the apartment complex facing the area, write down my sentiments quickly, and slap it on one of the bricks.

I spin on my heel and almost jump from my skin when Ushio's broad stature emerges in front of me. Immediately, I step in the way of the post-it.

Well, how suspicious this must seem.

"I thought you looked familiar," he says.

"Yeah. Hi."

He glances over my shoulder and I raise my arm, faking an itch in my scalp.

"Any reason in particular why you're in the area, Maria?"

"I was on a run and I, you know, happened to pass by..."

He folds his arms over his chest. "A run? I thought you were asthmatic, or does it turn on and off?"

I want to roll my eyes at the patronizing tone, but keep myself in check. "No, a grocery run. So many mouths to feed at Martha's, the food barely lasts the week now."

"You're shopping all the way in downtown New Domino? What for?"

"Uh," I laugh, "you know, the produce is a lot fresher over here."

Ushio's brow twitches, and he makes an expression like his meter of cordiality has run clean. "Maria, just show me whatever it is you're hiding behind you so we can move this along. I've got important business to get back to."

"What are you—" He pushes me aside with a brisk sweep of his hand. "—talking about..."

Ushio yanks it from the wall, skims over the scribbling, and looks back at me.

"That's not anything," I offer up.

"That sounds like something someone says when they know it is something."

"That's a tad confusing."

"You know exactly what I mean," he replies with a gruff edge. "What is this?"

I mumble back, "Can't you read?"

"Of course I—!" Ushio sucks in a breath and hits restart. "Of course I can read but why don't you worry about telling me what I'm holding in my hand? And, better yet, why one of my subordinates called in a suspicious teenage girl roughly fitting your description who, coincidentally, left a very similar note behind at another crime scene?"

I scrape my shoe against the ground. "I dunno. You're the detective."

It was the most inappropriate time to play dumb, but it was above me. The geyser of assholery would gush on, with or without my say-so.

Tic marks arrange themselves accordingly on Ushio's forehead. "Then as a detective it's my job to take any suspicious persons in for questioning. We'll try this one more time, tell me what you're doing around here or we're taking a ride down to headquarters. Up to you."

—

Sector Security Headquarters is buzzing with stressed anticipation. It's like the anxiety bursts in to you when you first walk in, follows you around, and spreads a wave of irritability from one person to the next.

Like carbon monoxide, I think. Like carbon monoxide, these murders are polluting the air, deteriorating their confidences minute by ticking minute.

Ushio guides me past columns of desks and to a bench on the other side of the room. He pushes me down by the shoulder, as if I was going to refuse and be any more trouble than I have been. Little did he know, my rowdiness is sarcasm exclusive and his roughness is very unnecessary. I lay the matter to rest with a pointed glare.

"I've got some things to sort out before we start, so wait here." He looks at the man beside me, who's taking up most of the bench on his own. "Watch her, will you?"

The guy and I glance at each other. He gives a smile like he's apologizing for something that never happened. I turn myself away and toward a plant that I can't decipher as real or fake.

God, what had I gotten into? Actually, don't bother answering. I'm too deep in shit to even hear you.

The aggravating sense of being watched tenses my shoulders. I turn back to the tall man charged with babysitting me. He angles to the other side.

"You don't really have to watch me," I mutter. "I'm not gonna try anything. I'm not that dumb."

"Oh."

The noise of hasty typing, coffee slurps, and defeated sighs fill in the silence for us.

Abruptly, the guy asks, "Are you a criminal?"

Which makes me laugh. "A simple hi would do nicely."

He waves his hands, a look of regret crossing his features. "Sorry! I didn't mean to offend you or anything. I was just curious!"

"I know. It's fine, really. Being escorted in by an officer doesn't pave way for the best impressions." I slouch down in the seat and toy with my fingers. "But to answer your question, no. No, I'm not a criminal. Although...although I do feel like one."

Some masochistic bone in me wanted to be interrogated or detained or whatever you'd call this. I felt nauseous. I felt guilty. I felt remorseful, and this was a tentative punishment to make up for what I couldn't stop. I wanted myself to pay for their pain.

"So you feel like a criminal, but you haven't actually done anything wrong?" I nod. "So why are you here?"

"Because I know things—things that other people want to know, or might need to know. But I don't really want to talk about them, which is the problem since everyone else does."

The man hmms, but is otherwise quiet.

"I don't think that makes you a bad person, though. Definitely not bad enough to be in a place like this." He grins as wide as can be. It's contagious enough to return.

"Thanks. I'm glad someone thinks so." I give him a once-over, then comment, "What about you? You're not wearing a uniform of any kind so...been up to any felonies lately?"

"Oh no!" He scratches the back of his neck. "I don't think I'd ever have the heart to do something like that!"

"Yeah, I figured as much. But sometimes things around here aren't always what they seem."

I keep looking at him—the cerulean hair, mile-long legs, fair skin. He blinks at me, waiting for the question to arise, and I take note of the dulled beige of his irises. If you saw us together, you might think it's as if the light pulled all the color and depth from his eyes and pooled it in mine.

"You look pretty familiar."

Something about that molds his expression in elation. "I do?"

"Yeah, you do. It's just... I can't quite place you, though. Do I seem familiar to you? We haven't met before, have we?"

The jubilance is stolen away. I feel sorry for mentioning it in the first place. "Maybe we have. I don't know." He turns shame-faced once more. "You see, I don't remember much about myself, only my name and dueling and that I'm good at fixing things. So, I mean, I might know you..."

"But you don't remember me," I finish in his steed. "Quite the case of amnesia you've got there. Although, I'm sure you'll figure it out. Things like that don't tend to last long."

"Or they can last a really long time. That's what the doctor said."

"Which is true, yes. But let's hope it's not."

"I see you two have gotten well acquainted," Ushio cuts in, stopping in front of us with his hands on his waist. He nods his head toward a hallway to the left. "C'mon. It's time."

Begrudgingly, I part ways with Mr. Benchman and follow Ushio's lead. Positioned before our door is Mikage, the woman I remember from the day we found Yusei's kidnappers. She greets us warmly and invites us in.

Wow. An actual interrogation room with the two-sided mirror and everything. What a dream come true.

Mikage and I take up chairs across from one another while Ushio opts for some time in the corner.

"I don't know if you remember me, but I'm Mikage Sagari, Chief of Special Investigation along with Ushio. We've been assigned the investigation of the recent homicides and he says that you might have some information about them."

Ushio clarifies, "She was present at at least two of the locations today and refuses to tell me why, or anything for that matter."

"Is that true?"

I stare at my reflection in the mirror.

"Maria, you don't want to speak at all about why you were there? Or about the notes you left behind?" There's a light ruffle of pages rubbing together and sliding across the table. "You did write these, yes?"

"Who's on the other side?"

"Of what? The mirror?" I nod. "Is that why you don't want to tell us? You don't want anyone else to know?"

I stare down at my hands folded in my lap.

"What if I said no one was on the other side?"

"I wouldn't believe you."

I can hear the smile in her next words. "You'd be smart to do so."

"But she's not lying," confirms Ushio. "Whatever goes on in here, it's between us. In fact, no other officers even know you're here."

"Now who's the suspicious one?"

"We're doing this for your own benefit, Maria. To be honest with you, so far the entire department hasn't made much progress on the homicides. We don't want to leap before we look here."

"But that's not the only reason, is it?"

Mikage glances over her shoulder at her partner. When he nods back she shakes her head at me. "We get the feeling that you, like the Signers, don't have the most conventional methods of acquiring your information."

Thus the beans have been spilled. They tumble out in to a loaded pause.

"What if I said you were right about that?"

"So you are something?" Ushio shouts, rising from his stance on the wall. "What is it? Another Signer? No, no! A psych—"

"What my partner means to say," Mikage grits her teeth, "is that we'd hope you feel comfortable enough to share what you are with us. But if not, then perhaps you'd still be willing to tell us what you know about what's happening."

I get caught up in watching the mirror again, causing Mikage to add, "Remember, this can be confidential if you want it to be."

"I'm sorry."

"What was that? I didn't quite hear you."

Facing her, I repeat, "I said I'm sorry. I'm sorry that I'm wasting your time. I don't know anything."

"That's how it's gonna be then, huh? Back to round one?" Ushio pinches the bridge of his nose, and mumbles under his breath, "I'm gonna need a smoke after this."

"Maria, you seem like such a nice girl. We want to help solve this case, and I'm betting you do too. Please don't make this difficult for us."

"No," I huff, clawing back wayward locks from my bun. "No, I mean I can't give you the type of evidence you want. Not unless you've got the Ghostbusters on speed dial, I don't have any solid proof to give."

The partners share a glance. I roll my eyes.

Mikage tries hard to bounce back. "So...ghosts, you say?"

"Duel spirits, actually."

"You're like Ruka, then?" Ushio asks.

"Uh, kinda. How do you know about that?"

"That's a pretty long story." Right back at ya'.

"How do the duel spirits fit in to the homicides?" questions Mikage, keeping us on track. "Did they tell you anything?"

"They don't ever seem to be in the mood for a chat when they come around, so no. But..."

"But?"

I sigh. Now or never, Maria. "There was this one time—the time I got lost in the forest? The spirits attacked me and left a similar mark to the one they showed on the news this morning."

"Can you show us?"

I shake my head no. "It's gone now. It healed."

"But it was there, and you survived it?" Mikage asks, a fervent gleam to her eyes. Both her and Ushio lean in as if they'd heard incorrectly. "How? Do you remember?"

"Yeah... But it's because I'm different. That's why."

It hits me at that exact moment how far in the ground I should presently be instead of recounting my near-death to detectives. I should be dead. If I wasn't a Star Child, I would be dead.

Ushio speaks up after a break of silence. "So do you think only, uh...non-humans can survive this?"

"I don't know. I really can't say." I tug on my jacket sleeves and cross my arms to keep my insides together. "Can I go now?"

Mikage and Ushio share an obvious reluctance to, but withhold it. There was nothing more to say. Ushio hands me a card and demands that if anything else come up I call it immediately. I stuff it in my back pocket and start on my way.

"Wait another minute, though," Mikage says, stopping me at the door. "Just one last follow up and I promise you can leave." I nod. "Why the notes? What are you apologizing for?"

"That doesn't need an answer. Just read them."

"I think this is out of your control, Maria. You couldn't have stopped this."

I stare down at my open palms. "Yeah. Maybe not."

—

I march through Martha's front door and up the stairs. She calls for me somewhere within the house, but I ignore it and head straight to my room. Annie meows hello from my bed as I pass to the closet. My suitcase and gigantic tote lay on the floor and I whisk them out before hauling open my drawers to dig out handfuls of clothes. I go back and forth, stuffing the garments in without a care.

Martha knocks on the door and doesn't hesitate to enter. "Maria? Didn't you hear me calling you?"

"No, sorry."

"Carly just called for the sixth time. Said she really needed..." She notices the half-filled bags and slows herself. "...to talk to you. Are you going somewhere?"

"Uh-huh."

"Well, that looks like a little much for a stay at the twins' or Carly's, so you want to tell me where or do I have to guess?"

"I don't know."

"First of all, fix that tone of yours, young lady. Second, that's a bit too ominous for my tastes, so how about you stop what you're doing and tell me where exactly—"

I slam down a balled up flannel and finally face her. "I don't know! I don't know where I'm going, okay Martha? But I have to leave! I have to!"

Her voice comes in low and steady, "Why?"

"Because I need to."

Martha stomps over to my bags, grabs one by the underside, and dumps all of it out. Annie scampers to the floor for cover from the debris.

"That is not a reason, Maria, and you're not packing a single thing until you tell me why you think that this is a good idea."

"I already did."

"Try again. I'm listening."

"Martha, please just let me—" I reach for the emptied bag, but she jerks it away.

"This has something to do with what was on the news this morning, doesn't it? About the Lichtenberg figure and what happened in the forest and your mark—"

"Fine! Yes, it has everything to do with that! Now, please just give me the bag!"

"Maria, whatever is happening to you is something you can't hop on a train and run from. This is apart of your life now!"

"I know that!"

"Then why are you leaving—"

"Because what if you die?!" I collapse onto the mattress, palms pressed to my eyes. If tears are going to shed, I at least don't want Martha to bear witness. "What if you and the kids and my friends... It's not safe for any of you with me around."

She sighs, and I can hear her moving the bags to the floor. The bed dips as she rests next to me. "So what, you're going to skip town without goodbyes to any of the people you just named, hole up in some ratty motel with little to no money, and avoid mankind for the rest of your life?"

It worked well the first time I tried. "I would've said goodbye. I would leave a note, at the very least."

"Yeah, and I'm sure it would've been a wonderful way to start breakfast tomorrow morning."

I pull my hands together and lay them under my head, then twist on a side to face her. Martha follows suit. "I don't want you to die because of me, Martha. I don't want anyone to die."

"Neither do I," she chuckles, and wipes a finger along my eyelids. "No one does, hon."

"But those men—"

"They will be missed. By their families, their friends—by you. That's all you can do, Maria. You just have to miss what you never knew."

"And you're absolutely sure there is no way I can outrun this? 'Cause the options are sounding shittier by the second."

"If you run, it'll only chase you."

I flip onto my back with a puff of air. "I went to the crime scenes today," I admit. "I saw the body outlines, three of them. Ushio caught me at the last and took me to Sector Headquarters for questioning."

"What did you tell him?"

"It's spirits, Martha. It's duel spirits that killed those men and almost killed me in the forest."

Suddenly, she sits erect. I can't see her expression, don't need to really, but hear her utter a quiet, "Oh. How nice."

I lift off the bed entirely. "Guess I should shove this stuff back where it belongs."

"I'll leave you to it, then." Annie hurries to take her spot back, and I have to remove her before she makes the heap of clothes her throne. "You wanna know something?"

"Hmm?"

Martha leans on the doorframe and, although chuckling, there's an overcast look to her eyes that signals what's coming next is something bitter, yet covered in honey. "When I saw you packing, I almost mistook you for your mother. I almost called you Anastasia."

"Oh." This was not the water I'd been waiting on the shore to sprint in to. But if Martha is taking a nosedive, seems I am too. "Mom... D-did she leave when she was my age?" She nods. "But you didn't want her to, did you?"

"No mother ever does."

"If that was the case, why didn't you stop her?"

"You know your mother; no one could once she'd made up her mind." Martha grins softly. "And she was eighteen, anyhow. She was an adult and legal to make all the bad decisions she wanted."

"Did she ever come back?"

"If she tried at all she couldn't. The reactor exploded and tore the city apart six months later."

"I'm sorry, Martha."

She shakes her head, and turns away. "I think that's the biggest regret I'll ever have in my life, you know. The one that I'm forced to take to my grave. She ran, and I didn't chase after her."

Ta-tatata-ta~! I have returned bearing a new chapter! Part of the reason this one took me so long, other than the usual reasons, was that I felt like it was just going to come out bad no matter how I tried to write it. Even with the finished draft I still have mixed feelings about it, but hopefully it's to your guys' liking? The usual gang should be back in the next chapter, too, but did you catch our little guest appearance? Guess who's gonna break your heart with his cuteness all over again?

Spring Break is here, and I've been sick for the majority of it :( But, hey, it gave me the time to whip this chapter up. And I've got roughly two months of school left! Wooooo, things are lookin' up! All I have to worry about now is AP exams and possibly another ACT but that won't be until the summer.

I hope y'all are enjoying yourselves wherever you are. TTFN cuties!