Chuuya looked on the unconscious boy on the floor with horror staining every part of his being. Mori had gotten up and was on his way to check up on the child when the preacher told him threateningly not to dare touch him.
It was hard to understand what had just happened in front of them. Especially for a young mind like Chuuya's, even though he had seen more than most throughout his short life.
The black smoke that had turned into, supposedly, God, had moments later morphed into the preacher himself. That was the last thing that had happened before the preacher had shut down whatever-the-hell had just happened.
"So, that was God, huh?" the leader of the Port Mafia said mockingly. "I suppose your image of God, is yourself then, no?"
The preacher looked furiously at the older man, clenching his fists.
"I'm not stupid, father. Your whole scheme might trick ordinary people, but not me. Your power has nothing to do with any God, does it?" he asked rhetorically before shaking his head. "My guess is that your ability is to make anyone's greatest fear appear in front of them, that's why you need the boy. Isn't it?"
The preacher did not answer. He stomped across the floor to his son and grabbed him by his jacket.
"You have probably worked a long time to make sure to strike the fear of God into the boy. Well, it seems like you have pushed too far. His fear isn't of God anymore. It's of you."
The preacher marched out from the room with the still unmoving boy tightly in his grip.
"I guess this unfortunate turn of events is quite inconvenient for your reputation as 'the preacher who speaks directly to God', isn't it?"
The front door shut with a loud bang as the preacher stormed out. The elderly boss of the Port Mafia chuckled to himself.
"Told you," he simply said. His words were directed at Mori.
"W-what's going to happen to him?" the young Chuuya asked his caretaker silently. She just shook her head in reply. Because she didn't know and frankly, it was to none of their concern.
Mori was not able to stop thinking about the young boy that had been the vessel of the preacher's abilities. There was something about him that spoke to him. In no way was it affection. He couldn't claim to have that sort of feeling towards anyone.
No, there was something else. Something about his silent acceptance to what could only be described as torment in the hands of the preacher. The lack of feeling was something the Port Mafia greatly valued.
Maybe the visit from the preacher hadn't been so unfruitful after all?
Already the next day, Mori's plans of recruiting the youngling were discussed in a meeting with the executives. Most of them seemed reluctant. They already had a child in training. But their leader, who had witnessed the event the day prior, agreed to Mori's suggestion.
That settled that. Mori was going to offer an undisclosed amount of money for the boy. He felt that it was way too generous, as the preacher had no longer use for the boy. After all, he was no longer able to make "God" appear, with the image being muffled with his father.
A car was sent to pick up the doctor to take him to the church. No time should be wasted, as there was no guarantee for the child's life anymore, after yesterday's events.
If they had gotten there five minutes later, it would already have been too late.
Dazai could not stand up anymore. He could hardly even crawl. His punishment for last night's failure had proceeded long into the night.
He only just woke up. His body was bleeding. He had no idea from where. It seemed like everywhere. His shoulder was broken, he noted, as well as his leg probably. The smell of burnt skin was still residing in his nostrils, and he grabbed his neck with horror as the memories of everything that had happened during the night came back to him.
He couldn't do this anymore. His father would kill him. He had known for some time now that his father's powers were not exactly what he claimed them to be, but this was the first time that it had manifested itself against his will. Dazai had stopped believing in God, which made his fear of him non-existent. What he truly feared, was his father.
As usual, his punishment had been carried out in the belfry. He eyed the large bells surrounding him. The sound of their chimes had always made him uneasy. Any time he would hear them- feel them- the vibrations of their chimes, it would make his body tremble. His own heartbeats would muffle with the feeling, and made him unable to decipher between the trembles of the large brass and his actual heartbeats. A trail of blood followed him as he dragged his body across the floor to get nearer the opening that let the chimes of the bells ring out into the city.
This time, he was going to do it. No turning back. No second thoughts. His father was not going to be the one to end his life. If his life would come to an end, it would be by his own hands.
He looked down on the graveled path, 30 feet below him. He estimated that the drop would be enough. His already battered body would be unfeeling in the air, before, hopefully, his head would hit the ground first, killing him instantly. No pain beyond the initial hit.
He took a deep breath. He had no idea what would happen once he died. His father had promised him eternal suffering, but he was sure it couldn't be worse than staying here.
This was it.
With the little strength that was left in his body, he forced himself to stand. He didn't even need to jump. His body just collapsed over the edge. He embraced himself in the feeling of weightlessness and waited for the impact to take him away from this God forsaken place.
He woke up on a hard table. It felt like it was made of steel. He was undressed except for the bandages, under a sheet that covered the lower half of his body.
His head hurt. His ribs hurt. His arms hurt. His legs hurt. It would probably take less time to count the parts of him that didn't hurt.
A tall man stood and looked down on him. He was lean and had black hair, slicked back and reaching his shoulders. He had a sick grin on his face, as he eyed Dazai from top to bottom.
"Wh-what?" Dazai was able to stutter. He could hardly make out what his own voice was saying. It was so weak, so pathetic.
His latest memories came back to him, watching the bells and falling to his death. He had clearly failed.
"Shh," the lean man said, with his finger raised to his own lips. "Don't talk. Your body has been through a lot of trauma."
The words of the older man didn't quite fit the smile on his face, Dazai noted and wondered greatly about it.
"Who..." he whispered but was not able to get any more words out. His chest ached and his breath caught.
"I'm Dr. Mori," the man said. "You met me a couple of days ago, remember? I will be taking care of you while you recover from your... fall."
A hint of recognition could be seen on what was not covered behind the bandages of the young boy's face.
"It's quite impressive, though," the man scoffed. "It seems like you have God on your side, in spite of everything. You shouldn't have survived from a fall from that height."
Sure, the strange doctor was smiling, but his voice sounded like poison. It made Dazai's skin crawl, and he wanted nothing more than to get out of there as soon as possible.
"F-father?" Dazai's shaky voice asked. He wasn't sure if it was from the injuries or fear.
The doctor shook his head. "Don't worry about him anymore. From now on, you're staying here with us. As soon as you are healthy enough, we will start your training."
"Training?"
"Yes. Welcome to the Port Mafia, kid."
Chuuya was curious about the new boy. He stayed at the infirmary, and Master Mori had told him that he couldn't train yet. The short redhead wondered if it had anything to do with what had happened a couple of weeks ago with that preacher, but he didn't dare to ask.
Maybe he could sneak in for a small peek, just to say hello. It must be lonely do stay by yourself in the infirmary for this long. Also, Master Mori was out on a mission, so he wouldn't know. He was sure the boy wouldn't tell.
He looked around in the long hallway. No one was in sight, so he opened the door slowly and quickly looked inside to make sure that there was nobody else in the room.
A beeping noise came from behind a curtained divider and something behind it seemed to shift.
"H-hello?" a weak voice said.
Maybe he shouldn't do this. Chuuya wondered if he should leave, but something told him not to.
"Hi," Chuuya said tryingly as he closed the door behind him. "I'm sorry, I'm not really supposed to be in here."
He walked hesitantly over to the bed and gasped at the sight of the boy.
His head and his right eye were bandaged, like before, but now it seemed like every inch of the kid in front of him had a bandage, gauze or a cast on it.
The boy lowered his head in shame. The small smile that had appeared on his face the minute he had seen Chuuya disappeared.
"S-sorry. I didn't mean to do that," Chuuya hurried to say. "What happened to you?"
The boy in the bed didn't answer.
"I'm Chuuya," he tried instead. This made the boy look up.
"D-Dazai. My name is Dazai"
The two boys looked at each other and smiled. Being a child in the Port Mafia could be lonely, but Chuuya got the feeling that he wouldn't feel so alone now. Not anymore.
Dazai woke up with a jolt. The suddenness of the movement made his back pulsate and his breath hitch.
Hands forced him back into the softness beneath him, and inaudible voices were talking to him. He had no idea what was going on, and in spite of the pain that ran through his body, he tried to fight back as the panic grew to an almost unbearable level.
Someone held his arm down, and a prick was felt in his arm.
"M-Mori?" Dazai whispered, as whatever had been injected into him quickly took control of his body and led him back into a deep nightmare-fueled slumber.
"How's he been doing today?" Kunikida asked as he entered the hospital room. Ranpo was seated next to Dazai's sleeping form, tilting the chair on its two back legs.
"He doesn't even know where he is. They had to sedate him," the short black-haired man said with a small frown.
"That's odd. He seemed okay yesterday," Kunikida grumbled while stroking his chin.
"I don't know. He asked about someone named Mori, and he's been blabbering prayers none stop. Didn't even know he was religious," the shorter man shrugged. "Well, I'm off. See you tomorrow!" Ranpo jumped to his feet and skipped out of the room. Kunikida was almost envious of his ability to seemingly be so unfaced by anything in the world. He seemed so carefree all the time. The only times he would lose his cool were if his candy stash was running low.
Kunikida took off his blazer and rolled his sleeves up before he sat on the chair. 'Prayers, huh?' he thought with a deep furrow between his eyebrows.
Sure, Dazai looked feverish, but he had seen him with a fever before. That didn't usually turn him that delirious. Certainly not religious.
'That church,' he finally realized. That could not be a coincidence. Kunikida didn't believe in coincidences. If only his idiot-partner would wake up soon, so he could ask him about it. For now, what he could do was make a couple of phone calls. He needed to find out who this Mori was, which Fukusawa could probably answer.
He wondered if there was any chance that the ginger kid would reveal something, but considering how close Dazai already held his cards to his chest, he seriously doubted that. Also, why would the Port Mafia have anything to do with the church? It didn't quite fit.
Ah, these magical times of the Internet. A quick search told him what the outside world knew about the history of the church. Nothing much of importance. It had been abandoned for over ten years. There were a couple of instances of squatters breaking in and vandalism.
Dazai started to move on the bed. Kunikida quickly shifted his attention back to his co-worker.
"Dazai?" he called. Tired eyes looked back up at him. His fringe shifted to the side, revealing a pale scar across his forehead and right eye that Kunikida had never noticed before.
"Hey," Dazai mumbled while reaching for the remote control to the bed. Kunikida helped him, raising the back of the bed slightly so Dazai could sit more upright.
"It feels like someone knocked me out," he complained with a yawn, rubbing his eyes.
"They had you drugged for a while. You were delirious."
"Really?" Dazai chuckled. "I never can remember when they're giving me the good stuff."
"Apparently, you were praying." Kunikida crossed his arms and sat back in the chair, glaring at Dazai, waiting for some kind of sign that the facade was cracking.
Dazai let out a nervous laugh. "They really must have given me the good stuff then, huh?"
"Would you blame me for finding it a bit strange that you are praying in your sleep after having been thrown off the roof of a church?"
Dazai's smile didn't budge. "No, not really."
"And what about the name, Mori?"
There it was, a twitch in the creak of his smile. The crack he was looking for. That name had woken something inside Dazai.
"Mori? He is the current boss of the Port Mafia. Must have dreamt something," Dazai explained.
He always had all the answers. Right there on the tip of his tongue. Rehearsed, ready to go.
Kunikida was not satisfied. Somehow he was going to get to the bottom of this. Whatever 'this' was. Why his partner was acting so strange. Stranger than usual. Why he kept disappearing. Who had tried to kill him? Dazai's reluctance to cooperate only made the desire to unravel all of this even greater.
"What are you thinking about?" Dazai asked, interrupting his train of thoughts.
Kunikida breathed through his nose, chewing on the inside of his chin.
"That you're lying," he said honestly, shooting a poisonous stare over the rim of his glasses.
Dazai only laughed.
"Yeah," he said, smiling.