Disclaimer: I do not, nor will I ever own Mononoke. I am merely toying with its main character to suit my own fan girl-ish tendencies.

Author's Note: I apologize for the delay. This chapter is the longest one yet, and there was a period of about a week when I was plagued with writer's block. That, and I only really worked on this for a couple hours only two or three times a week. Heh.

A note about this chapter, and pretty much every chapter that will follow: there are a LOT of changes in point-of-view. I tried to make it as clear as possible when it comes to who is the focus, but if any of it is confusing to anyone, PLEASE let me know and I will edit accordingly.

Thanks, as always, to ElisiansBane, my wonderful beta, for her feedback and assistance.

Onward!


Himitsu Shinu

Chapter 3

Albany, New York

February 10, 2011

2:05 AM, EST

He didn't remember blacking out. He assumed it had happened not long after he had been forced into the backseat of a police cruiser, because when he came to, he was lying on a hard cot in what looked like some kind of holding cell. The lights in the hall outside of the cell were yellow fluorescents that gave off an ugly, high-pitched whine that would surely give him a headache before long.

He sat up slowly, for fear of opening his wound again. Looking around, he took stock of his situation. His coat and shoes were gone, as was his bag. Even his headscarf had been taken from him. The Sword was missing, as well. His shirt was open, he noticed, exposing what looked to be fresh bandages. There was a small amount of blood soaked into the bandage, but it was such a small amount that it was clear that the bleeding had stopped once again. His hair was coming loose from its restraints, causing much of it to fall into his face.

'How long have I been out?' he asked in his thoughts.

'A few hours,' the voice in his head replied. 'They fixed you up before bringing you here. Gave you painkillers, and everything. Also, your cellmate's been staring at you since you got here.'

At that, he looked up to find a ragged man who looked to be in his late forties staring at him with curious eyes.

"'Bout time you woke up," the man said in a rough voice that betrayed years of smoking.

He looked away from the man, intent on ignoring him as much as possible.

A door slammed somewhere in the building. The way the sound reverberated through the air was disconcerting; it was… different, to say the least. A subtle difference, one a mortal wouldn't have been able to notice.

'This place…' he thought.

'Ah, noticed, have you?'

He sighed and shut his eyes again as he leaned up against the wall behind him.

'Why now…?'

The voice in his head seemed to chuckle wryly. 'Can't catch a break, can you?' If he could have, he would have glared at the voice. Unfortunately, however, sharing a body did have its disadvantages. 'You can relax for a while, though,' the voice added after a moment. 'It's dormant for now.'

'How long?'

'You've got about half a day, at the very least. Forty-eight hours on the outside.'

'Longer than usual, then.'

"Oy," the other man in the cell said. "How'd that happen?" he asked, indicating the wound.

He glanced over at the man, but said nothing.

He would not sleep, he decided. The apprehension in the air was too thick, as though something was holding its breath, just waiting to scream. And when it did, all hell would break loose.


Albany, New York

February 10, 2011

6:25 AM, EST

"David, remind me again why we're up this early?"

"Alex, I told you, I got a call last night from the police asking us to come by today."

"Did they say why?"

David looked over at her with a grin.

Her eyes widened. "Seriously…?"

"Yep. I asked Officer Carson to send out a report with Painted Face's description to all police stations within a hundred mile radius of here. He turned up late last night on the edge of town."

"So he's in custody?"

David nodded. "Police arrested him for stealing. Turns out we were right about him being wounded. He was trying to steal bandages and such."

"I just can't believe this," she exclaimed in disbelief. "Chasing after him all this time, and then all of a sudden he just turns up."

"Guess we got lucky this time," David replied, still grinning.

They pulled up to the police station a few minutes later.

An officer met them just inside the door.

"Agents, thank you for coming so quickly," the officer said. "I'm Richard Travis, the detective assigned to this case."

"You've got him here?" David asked.

Travis nodded. "He didn't put up a fight when he was brought down here last night. Seems as though he was injured pretty recently. Had to take him to the hospital to get him patched up; would have had him stay there for a couple days to recover, too, but this case is such high priority that we couldn't risk having him near anyone he could possibly harm."

"I can understand that," Alex commented.

"May we speak with him?" David asked.

"Sure," Travis motioned for them to follow him. "He hasn't said anything," Travis said as he led David and Alex to the interrogation room. "But maybe you'll have better luck with getting him to talk."

The man inside the room sat perfectly motionless, giving no indication as to whether or not he had heard the door open at all.

The Man with the Painted Face…

Painted Face was right. Pale eyes traced in deep claret, with markings like bloody tears drawn beneath his eyes. The same red colored the bridge of his nose. His upper lip was painted violet, giving the illusion of an almost feral smile.

The composite sketch, David decided, did not do the man justice. Even silent and motionless, the man carried an otherworldly air, accentuated not only by his facial markings, but by the strange pointed ears that poked out of his wheat-colored hair.

The man's shirt was partially open, revealing white bandages that wrapped around his midsection. A little bit of blood had soaked through them in one place on his right side.

David placed the file onto the table and sat down opposite the man. The man's pale blue eyes stayed fixed to the blank wall. He seemed completely oblivious, but David had the feeling that he was anything but.

"I'm Agent David Burke; this is my partner, Agent Alexandra Ortiz. We're going to be asking you a few questions."

No response.

"Can you tell us your name, for a start?"

Silence. The man remained perfectly still, staring at the wall behind David's head.

"Sir, unless you cooperate, we are going to be here for quite a while," Alex said, a little irritably.

Pale eyes flickered to Alex's face, then to David's. The look in those eyes was completely unreadable.

"I have time," was the sudden response. The man's voice was equally blank. He had a tiny bit of an accent - faint, barely noticeable, but it was there. Had it been stronger, David probably would have been able to place it.

"Name," David prompted, but the man had fallen silent once more.

After a moment, however, the man frowned ever so slightly. His eyes narrowed and his nostrils flared for a split second before his face returned to its neutral state.

"Let's try something else," David began. "We are investigating a murder that resulted in the deaths of two people, and we know that you were present at the scene. Can you tell us what happened?"

Again, there was a momentary change in the man's expression. He almost seemed to be arguing with himself in his head.

There was a knock on the door, and Travis poked his head in.

"Agents, can I speak to you for a moment?"

Alex and David exchanged glances, and then followed Travis out of the room.

"What is it?" Alex asked.

"We've brought in Alicia Destler and her grandparents like you asked. They seem reluctant to talk about all of this again, though."

"I'll talk to them," Alex said. She turned to David. "You keep trying to get answers out of Painted Face. We'll get both sides of what happened, and then try to figure out what's going on here."

David nodded. Alex followed Travis down the hall to a different part of the building, and David went back inside the interrogation room.

The man had not moved even the slightest.

"As I was saying," David said as he sat back down across from the man. "Can you tell me what happened at the crime scene?"

The man fixed his eyes on David's face and stared, rather unnervingly, without blinking. He said nothing.

David sighed. 'This is going to take a while,' he thought.

"Okay, I can see you don't want to talk to me." David reached for the file and took out a few photos of the crime scene that had been taken a mere few hours after it had happened. "All you have to do is answer yes or no. Do you recognize the place in these pictures?"

The man gazed calmly at the pictures. "Yes," the man replied slowly in his blank, almost monotonous voice.

"Were you at the crime scene when it happened?"

"Yes," the man replied again.

David took out two more pictures, this time of the two victims. "These are photos of the people who were killed at the scene. Their names were Michael Destler and Gina Torres. Do you recognize them?" He pushed them towards the man, indicating that he should take them to get a proper look.

A pale hand—or rather, hands, seeing as the man's wrists were clamped together with a pair of handcuffs—snaked up from under the table. He touched the edge of one photo with two tapered, almost elegant fingers. His fingernails, long and claw-like, were painted the same pale violet that decorated his upper lip. He stared at the photos for a long moment before answering with a quiet "Yes."

"Did you kill these people?"

"No." The answer was immediate and full of conviction.

"Do you know who did?"

"Yes."

"Can you tell me who?"

"I could… But you would not believe… anything I say."

David blinked. "And why not?"

The man met David's eyes once more. "There is… no proof."

"Humor me. I want to hear what you have to say."

The man pushed the photos back towards David. "These people… were not killed by human hands."

David frowned as he took the photos back and returned them to the file. "Could you explain?"

"They were killed by a… mononoke."

"A what?"

Painted Face blinked slowly and repeated the words. "A mononoke." He said it with great dislike, and what almost sounded like fear. Nervousness? No, that wasn't quite right. Apprehension? Perhaps. It was difficult to tell. All David knew was that the man's tone of voice in that moment sent chills down his spine, as though the very word was cursed.

"I don't know what that is."

"In your tongue, it would be called a… spirit, though I suspect 'demon' would be a better word."

David wondered why the man paused in his speech so often. He had no reason to, as far as he could tell. An eccentricity, perhaps? He'd have to remember to bring in someone to analyze his mental state.

"So you're saying that a ghost killed these people?"

"Yes."

"I have a hard time believing that."

"It is… the truth."

David frowned again. He needed a real explanation, but he decided to humor the man for the moment. "Alright, then, moving on. Do you know why this… ghost… killed those two people?"

"Yes."

"And why is that?"

"Revenge… desires. The usual reasons."

'Usual?' David thought. "Why were you there?"

"To… kill the mononoke."

"Ghosts cannot be killed. They are already dead."

"They can be… driven away… from this realm."

'This is getting ridiculous,' David thought before continuing. "And how long have you been… killing… these ghosts?"

"Many years."

'Years? This guy looks at least ten years younger than me.' "That leads me to another question that's been bothering me. Similar cases such as this one have been popping up all over the country, many of them going back more than a century. How is that possible?"


Alex let herself into a room just down the hall from the room where David was talking to the Man with the Painted Face. Inside the room, an elderly man paced back and forth, while his wife sat in a chair against the wall. A dark-haired girl of about thirteen sat next to her, wringing her hands anxiously.

"I'm sorry to have called you three in here so early," Alex said, not bothering to sit down. She hated sitting when she had work to do; standing helped her think better. Taking out her badge and showing it to them, she continued, "My name is Alexandra Ortiz and I am an agent with the FBI."

"The FBI?" the man said. Alex recalled the man's name from the case file: Thomas Coyle. His wife was Heather Coyle, and the girl was their granddaughter, Alicia Destler. "So you people were brought into this?"

"Yes, sir, we have. My partner and I have been investigating a series of similar cases, and we believe that this one in related to the others."

"How is it related?"

"That is what I am here to figure out. I had you three brought here so that you could tell me what happened that day."

"We already told the police everything we know," Mrs. Coyle said bitterly, stroking her granddaughter's hair.

"Yes," Alex agreed, "but I would like to hear it directly from you."

Mr. Coyle sighed before reluctantly launching into his account of what happened:

"It was Saturday evening, after dinner," Mr. Coyle began. "Alicia's friend Gina had come over earlier that day and had stayed for dinner. Both girls were upstairs in Alicia's room. My wife was in the kitchen, washing the dishes, and I was in the living room reading a book.

"After a while, I thought I heard a scuffling outside. When I went to check the security cameras, I saw my no-good son-in-law, Justin, sneaking around the side of the house. I went to grab my gun and chase him off, but he got inside the house before I could."

"That was when the craziness started," Mrs. Coyle cut in, still stroking Alicia's hair. "I heard Tom shouting, so I went to go see what was happening. Alicia heard, too, and she and her friend Gina started coming down the stairs."

"I don't even know what happened after that," Mr. Coyle said. "All I know is that one moment, I'm yelling at Justin to leave, and the next moment, he was being thrown across the room by something no one could see."

"That was when the front door opened," Mrs. Coyle said, "and the strangest man walked in. At first I thought that he was a friend of Justin's, but then he started talking about how there was some kind of demon in the house and it was his job to get rid of it."

Mr. and Mrs. Coyle continued to explain what happened. Alicia, however, stayed silent, choosing instead to continue wringing her hands rather than to pay attention to what her grandparents were saying.

"And then the man just got up and left without a word of explanation," Mr. Coyle finished. "I swear; if I ever see that man again, I'm going to get some answers out of him."

"No," Alicia said suddenly, looking at her grandfather with wide, dark eyes. "He saved me. The monster was chasing me, and he saved me."

"Can you tell me how he saved you?" Alex asked, turning her attention to the girl.

"I was trapped in a corner, and the monster was trying to get me, but the man stepped in front of me right when the monster tried to kill me with its claws. He tried using his little papers to stop it, but he was too slow, and the monster hit him instead of me. I remember seeing a lot of blood; it got all over my face and clothes. Then the man started talking to the monster."

"What did he say?"

"I don't know. I couldn't understand it."

"So he was speaking in another language?"

Alicia nodded. "He talked to the monster, and then I heard something metal clinking. Then the man disappeared, and someone else took his place."

"Someone else?"

"The Golden Man. He sounded the same as the other man, so I think it was the same person, but he looked a lot different. He said something else to the monster, but I couldn't hear what it was. Then he took out a flame sword, and killed the monster with it."

Alex raised an eyebrow at that. It was starting to sound like the girl was making it up, but her grandparents said nothing to debunk Alicia's story.

"The monster exploded like fireworks when the man hit it with his flame sword. When it was gone, the Golden Man disappeared, and the other man came back. He fell onto the floor, but he got right back up and walked back out the front door. He was bleeding a lot, still; he left a trail of it behind him."

"So you believe that man is not responsible for the deaths of your father and friend?"

"I know what I saw!" Alicia exclaimed. "It was the monster! I know it was!"

"I see." Alex paused for a moment, contemplating exactly what to do next. "The man you claim to have saved you is under investigation for potential involvement in numerous other cases spanning several years." 'How's THAT for an understatement?' she thought to herself before continuing. "As he was very much involved in this case, as well, it is possible that he was behind this instance as well as the others."

Alicia stared at Alex in disbelief.

"But first," Alex continued, "I need you three to verify something for me."

"Which is…?" Mr. Coyle asked.

"Last night, a man was brought in here for stealing and attempted assault. It just so happens that he fits the description of the man that showed up at your house that night. I need to three to verify that the man we have here is, in fact, the same man."

"That bastard is here?" Mr. Coyle asked, outraged. "Where is he?"

"Tom!" Mrs. Coyle scolded. "Language!" Alicia pulled her grandmother's hands off of her ears and glared at the woman.

"He is being interrogated at the moment by my partner. You won't be able to talk to him, however."

"Where is he?" Alicia asked, almost timidly.

"If you could follow me."


The Agent… Burke… frowned. Again. "That leads me to another question that's been bothering me. Similar cases such as this have been popping up all over the country, many of them going back more than a century. How is that possible?"

'Smart, this one,' the voice commented appreciatively. 'He'd make a good successor.'

'No,' he thought back. 'I don't need a successor just yet. I still have time.'

'Just keep telling yourself that, Daisuke. I'm sure it'll come true if you keep wishing hard enough.'

'I told you to stop calling me by that name.'

'Argue with me later. The human is getting impatient.'

'What do I tell him?'

'The truth.'

"I am…" he paused as he contemplated the best way to phrase his sentence. The littlest word could make the biggest difference. "…Not the first."

"You mean you are successor to someone who did this before you?"

"Yes."

"Who?"

"He has been dead for a very long time."

"Can you at least tell me his name?"

'Heh,' the voice in his head laughed. 'He didn't have a name. That petty fool of a criminal renounced it long before he met me.'

"He had no name."

The agent frowned again. He didn't believe anything that the former medicine-seller had said. "Do you?"

He blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift in the questions. And just when he'd managed to get the subject off of him, too…

"No."

'Liar. You have a name, and you know it.'

'Shut up.'

'No. Tell the truth.'

'I did.'

'Daisuke. Your name is Daisuke.'

"No!" he shouted aloud, slipping unconsciously into his native Japanese. "That name is not mine! Daisuke is dead!"


Alex stood with Alicia and the Coyles in front of the two-way mirror, watching as David spoke to the Man with the Painted Face.

"Is that the man you saw?" Alex asked. All three of them nodded gravely, as they continued to watch. Not one of them took their eyes off of the man even once.

Alicia shrieked in surprise when the Man with the Painted Face suddenly stood and began shouting…


With a cry, the Man with the Painted Face suddenly leapt to his feet, shouting at the top of his lungs in a language that David couldn't understand.

David stared at the man, alarmed at such a violent reaction in a person who had seemed, not only perfectly calm, but completely deadpan not a moment before. Without a moment's hesitation, he got to his feet, practically launched himself around the side of the table, took hold of the man's arm, and forced him back down into his seat.

The door slammed open to reveal Detective Travis, eyes wide with alarm.

"Hey!" David shouted, slapping the man's face. "Snap out of it!"

The man blinked and seemed to come to his senses. Those pale blue eyes which had seemed to gleam with an angry, almost feral light returned to their previous, blank state.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" David demanded, releasing his hold on the man's shoulders.

"Nothing is wrong…" the man muttered. "I am fine." Again, there was a moment when the man's face changed, going from blank façade to momentary scowl, but, like before, his expression was, once again, entirely unreadable barely a second later. He turned his head, staring into the pane of glass in the wall that made up the two way mirror.

"The people on the other side of that wall…" the man mused after a moment. "You might want to get them out of here."

"Why?" David asked, flustered. "And how do you know there are people out there right this moment?"

"It would not be safe for them to be here much longer."

"Why?" David repeated.

"It is coming," the man replied, still not taking his eyes off of the mirror. "No… that is not right… It is… already here. But it is waiting…" Somewhere during his muttering, the man slipped back into that other language of his. Japanese, it sounded like, now that David had a good chance to really listen to it.

"What did you say? What does that mean?" David asked, more than a little disconcerted by that point. Something was coming? What?

The Man with the Painted Face looked David directly in the eye, and in a voice that made David want to turn tail and run, said:

"It is here."


Author's Note: CLIFFHANGER!

Hehe, yes, I am being evil, aren't I? (this is the part where I grin mischievously at everyone)

Don't worry, next chapter is currently in the works, so you (hopefully) won't have long to wait. (As of 4/3/2011, chapter 4 is about a third of the way done)

Next Chapter: It begins…. Dun dun DUN!

(yes, I am hyper as a write these comments)

Please review! Constructive criticism is preferred, but any kind of feedback is loved and appreciated.