Takagi opens his eyes, a feeling of unease weighing down on his chest. He feels like he's supposed to remember something important—even more so than the day he has ahead of him.

Today is the one-year anniversary of Edogawa Conan's death.

Takagi tries to push the thought out of his mind as he pulls back the covers and instinctively walks over the window to take a look at the outside world before he plunges in. The ground is littered with yellow, glimmering with a hint of morning frost. The ginkgo tree outside the building has shed its leaves during the night. For some reason, that puts Takagi on edge, even though it's hardly unexpected given the time of year.

Quickly making himself presentable, Takagi heads out the door an hour early. He has to stop by the florist's shop to pick up a bouquet for the visitation today—the (rather good-sized) portion of the homicide division who had known Conan are all going to gather at the cemetery before work. Everyone wants to do what they can for their little mascot, even after he's long gone. Yet Takagi finds himself in a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. He had liked Conan very much, and he always misses his presence while he's out handling cases, but the cemetery holds the key to a puzzle that can never be solved now.

It seems like it's been decades since the serial bomber case, like it's a distant memory becoming grainy and faded around the edges. And yet, it's only been a year and a half. But even so, Takagi could never forget his short time in the elevator at Tokyo Tower with Conan. Everything is still vivid in his mind as if he had filmed it all and stored it there: the sweat running down his back as the bomb sat directly above his head, the instructions to disarm it coming mechanically out of his mouth, the distinct outline of Conan with his legs dangling into the elevator, a calculating expression splayed across his features. And most of all, their little exchange that had shaken Takagi to his core.

"Who are you?" Takagi asks, his chest tight as the puzzle pieces seem like they're finally going to click into place. The moment doesn't last, only scattering them hopelessly far away from each other. Takagi can tell from the complete lack of uncertainty as Conan had disarmed the bomb up above. His instructions had fallen on deaf ears because Conan is already an expert. Not that it matters; they need that clue and it's going to cost them their lives. The blood rushes to Takagi's ears, his eyes locked on someone that he doesn't know.

A bitter chuckle escapes the boy's lips. "I'll tell you," he says in a low tone, his teeth almost sharp. The light hits his glasses and highlights all the harsh angles of his face. "In the afterlife."

Takagi doesn't know who Edogawa Conan was. Maybe no one had. And no one ever would—his murderer had made sure of that.

Yes, it's been a year and a half since Takagi started digging. The more he saw, the more questions he'd had. Every single thing about Conan was a façade. His acting left much room for improvement, and a long hard look at his documents had revealed signs of forgery. There's still no fingerprint on record despite the sheer number of cases he'd been involved in. Even Conan's death certificate seems off. It seems like it's been hastily thrown together, and it makes Takagi wonder if it's like that because someone wanted to get it on record before anyone else could scrutinize Conan's documents too closely.

Evidently, Conan had been involved in something bad. His death left a bad taste in Takagi's mouth, not just because it was a tragedy, but because the case closed unnaturally fast. The certificate reads "cause of death unknown" and that's all. It strikes him as awfully convenient considering that Conan had had close ties with the police, and he'd been young and in good health.

It couldn't have all been coincidence, Takagi thinks for the thousandth time as he starts his car. The elite higher-ups shut down every single investigation related to Conan with hardly an explanation? They'd done a damn good job too, managing to sweep the ridiculous number of red flags under the rug. It's bizarre in all the wrong ways, and it makes Takagi feel like a spider is crawling up his spine when he thinks about it too much.

Edogawa Conan is dead under mysterious circumstances.

The Mouris have been missing ever since.

Haibara Ai has been missing ever since.

Agasa Hiroshi suddenly dies of heart failure.

Hattori Heiji moves to Canada without warning to study.

And Takagi can't do a thing about it.

He arrives at the cemetery right on time, bouquet in hand in his only black suit. Half the homicide department stands in front of row 16, plot 6: Conan's permanent residence. Gray clouds hover overhead, almost foreboding in the somber atmosphere. It's completely silent as Shiratori stands in front after everyone arrives and gives a speech. Takagi can hardly listen to it, a wordy thing about innocence lost and celebrating the life that he had lived. No, Shiratori doesn't understand. The life that Edogawa Conan had lived was no life at all.

Instead, Takagi's eyes drift to Conan's grave as he tunes Shiratori out. It's the same as it always is, of course, standing cold in the ground, the engraving still too fresh to be worn:

Edogawa Conan

Dearly Beloved

1990-1997

Somehow, the epitaph doesn't really do it for Takagi. It seems so impersonal, something put there just for the sake of something being there. But, Takagi supposes, how could anyone possibly sum up the enigma called Conan in enough words for a gravestone? The odd overly-childish behavior, the subtle pushes in the right direction of a crucial clue, the look in his eyes when he thought no one was watching…

Soon enough, the speech is over and a line forms so that everyone can have a moment of silence with Conan. By the time it's Takagi's turn, the space is already completely covered in flowers of all different kinds and colors, but he gently sets down the red snapdragons anyway. It's not much, but it's something.

Takagi is suddenly rooted to the spot as the temperature drops and raises the hair on the back of his neck. He's hit head on with the unmistakable feeling of a pair of watchful eyes on his back. It seems to dull the world, turning it into a white noise grayscale mass of fuzzy outlines frozen in time. The eyes leave as quickly as they came, and with a jolt the grass is green again and he's come back to reality.

His brain feels like static.

Afterwards, Takagi can't find it in him to go to work. His head is pounding and the chill of the cemetery still hasn't left his bones when he pulls into the parking of the modest apartment building and trudges inside. Before he knows it, it's evolved into a full-on migraine, and he retreats to his bed to try to sleep it off.

He drifts off, and when he's aware again it's pitch black with only a small splash of color that rapidly gets closer. Or maybe he's the one who's moving; he can't tell. Either way, he finds himself standing before a hefty pile of bouquets, a gust of wind from nowhere carrying some petals away with it into the hollow vacuum. Out of the corner of his eye, Takagi sees something move.

"Red snapdragons?" two voices in unison say, one high-pitched and clear and the other deeper. He knows those voices, but from where is escaping him. Takagi blinks and Edogawa Conan is suddenly standing facing away from him in the middle of the pile, slightly transparent. He's dangling Takagi's bouquet in his left hand, and a leaf falls into the pile.

Normally, Takagi thinks, he'd be freaking out right about now. But for some reason, it seems in the moment just like any other conversation, and not like he's talking to someone who's been dead for a year. He furrows his brow—he can play along. "You don't like them?"

Conan turns around, his expression blank but his eyes sharp, almost glowing with a reflective sheen like a cat's. The irises aren't blue anymore, but a muted gray. "Playing dumb doesn't suit you, Officer Takagi. What must you think of me?"

"It's the truth, isn't it?" Takagi retaliates.

Snapdragons: a symbol of dishonesty.

A hollow laugh echoes through the abyss. "Observant as always." Letting the bouquet slip from his hand and scatter beneath his feet, Conan casts a glance over his shoulder with worry in his face. "I've been trying to reach you. I made a promise to you."

"I haven't forgotten," Takagi replies simply.

The pale lips turn upwards just a fraction. "Of course not. I would have expected nothing less. You're a real detective, after all." He drops the shadow of a smile as the faint sound of crows reaches Takagi's ears. "I can't stay long."

The sound quickly becomes louder and louder until it becomes deafening, accompanied by the flutter of wings and the distinct clang of a bullet shell falling on concrete. Takagi moves to take a step back, but finds himself paralyzed. His gaze falls on Conan, who's collapsed and is breathing heavily on his knees among the petals as they turn brown and disintegrate into dust.

"They took everything," Conan whispers shakily, his voice still somehow clear amongst the noise. Reddish tears stain his cheeks as he looks away. A drop falls to the ground and turns the blackness all at once into a deep blood red. "Everything."

It's so loud now that Takagi can barely hear himself think. He's suddenly released from his temporary paralysis, and he crumples to the ground with his hands pressed tight against his ears. He distantly feels a cold presence drag itself towards him, and he then hears a ragged whisper in his ear: "Tropical Land is the first note of the funeral march. You'll find your answers there."

When Takagi looks up, Conan's gone and all that remains is a single red and white pill pressed into his palm. A black mass of crows dives for him, a stark contrast against the red nothingness, eyes wide with deranged hunger as they swoop down to surround him. The cawing seems to become laughter, shrill in his ears. He can distantly hear a scream, the two voices together once again. They scream, and they scream, and they scream, the sound more terrible the longer they wail.

Takagi's eyes fly open.

This time, he remembers.

Hope you enjoyed! This was supposed to be a more traditional Takagi elevator fic, but it got a little out of hand.

THERE IS ONE MORE CHAPTER AFTER THIS ONE!