Special greetings to Morality and Sueona: Thanks for your reviews and continued support for my story! I hope you will enjoy this chapter – TGO
Part Eight
Mirror images (1)
The lord of eternal darkness is delighted. All of his eyes linger lustfully on the nude form of the man lounging in the sunken bath.
Kazutaka Muraki reaches for a tray on the tiles at the side of the bath and lifts a flute of champagne, raising it in a toast to his vaporous, laughing master. "To you, my lord," he offers, ingratiatingly, and swallows all of the sparkling liquid in the glass with a toss of his silver head.
"I should be toasting you, my beloved, in congratulations for everything you have achieved! I am well pleased with you, Kazutaka! It has been a bountiful harvest, and, in such a short time, too. You certainly have been industrious, my beauty! Very soon, I suspect your talents at recruiting minions for my army will far surpass mine!"
The nameless one's ringing laughter echoes through the penthouse apartment as Kazutaka lights a cigarette. Grinning while inhaled smoke streams through his nostrils and from between his lips, he rejoins, "I'm delighted to hear you are pleased, my master. Surpass you? Ah, you flatter me, my lord; it will be a long time before I can excel your skills. For now, it is my pleasure only to serve you." After extinguishing his cigarette, he rises and steps out of the bath.
Eyes like glowing embers watch Kazutaka towel himself dry. When he turns his head to smile at his master, the dark cloud surges toward the naked man to envelop him, and Kazutaka shudders with pleasure…
"The gruesome murders have plunged Tokyo into a state of terror. Calls from panicked citizens have been flooding police phone lines, demanding to know what steps are being taken to apprehend the perpetrator as soon as possible, and how to keep themselves safe.
"The police have no leads as yet as to who might be responsible for the unprecedented number of killings in just two weeks. In the past week alone, there have been seventeen more.
"When questioned on whether the crimes could be the work of a serial killer, the chief of police stated that at this point, they were not certain, as the murders appeared to be unrelated, that victims seemed to have been randomly selected, and that even the methods used in each murder were dissimilar.
"Authorities are appealing to the public to remain calm……"
Konoe, with a disgusted expression on his face, presses a button on the remote to turn the TV monitor off. Leaning back in his leather chair, he closes his eyes, exhaling. His subordinates look at the older man seated at the desk expectantly, each of them feeling sympathy for their chief, who seems to be exhausted, appearing considerably aged in just a fortnight.
"This is… a nightmare! Unparalleled! It's a crisis, people. The King of Hades is furious; his court is in an uproar, and his advisors are clamoring for him to declare a state of emergency. If it comes to this, Special Forces will assume full control, and all of you will have to report to the Special Forces' commander, Urasawa. Heck, even I will have to report to him!" Konoe's torso sags in the chair, he turns his eyes to stare at the falling petals of Meifu's perennial cherry blossoms on the other side of the window, swirling and dancing in the gentle breeze. "Hmmph, I would never have foreseen this…" Sighing petulantly, the Shinigami chief breathes, "It's been a long time since I've had a relaxing holiday…"
The men and women in his team glance at each other apprehensively and commence murmuring among themselves. Tatsumi clears his throat and raises his hand to gain their attention. "Ladies and gentlemen, please… if you will… thank you. Before any further announcements are made, we must all continue with our duties diligently. Be assured that new information will be relayed to everyone as soon as we receive it. You all, with the exception of Tsuzuki and Kurosaki, are dismissed. My thanks to you all for coming."
Turning to face the remaining pair of Shinigami, Tatsumi removes his glasses. Tired, sapphire eyes flit from one to the other. "Well, you've got your work cut out for you, you two. Best of luck in locating Doctor Muraki, and, I can't stress it enough, please exercise extreme caution. Don't attempt to tackle him by yourselves once you find him, is that understood? You are to contact either myself or the chief immediately, all right?"
Two heads nod in agreement. Tsuzuki draws closer to where the secretary is leaning against the chief's desk. "Chief, what is going to happen once we find Muraki?"
Konoe sighs and glances at Tatsumi, who replaces his spectacles before he speaks. "I'm sorry, Tsuzuki, I can't divulge details right now… a few… methods… of subduing him, and that demon who controls him… are being discussed as we speak." Pausing to stride to the window and standing with his hands clasped behind his broad back, the chief's right-hand man looks over his shoulder at the two Shinigami who are waiting for him to continue. "I can tell you this, the King wants that entity destroyed… at all costs…"
Asato Tsuzuki tenses as the full implications of Tatsumi's last remark sink in. "At all costs… by that, Tatsumi, could you be trying to imply that Muraki…"
"Yes. Whatever the methods that will eventually be used to defeat that demon… if it is hiding within Muraki's body, I'm afraid he won't survive… unless…"
"Unless what? Wait a minute, Tatsumi, surely before we proceed to destroy the demon, won't we have to exorcise it from Muraki's body first? Oriya said that he was certain he saw something, like a black mist, come out of Muraki, before we confronted him that night. It would seem that this demon does not always remain inside him…"
"If we find the doctor and the demon is not present within him, then fine, it's possible that his life may be spared if we manage to contain him, but… from what I witnessed during our last mêlée, he's certainly a force to contend with – that demon has very likely endowed him with extraordinary powers, it's as though the nameless one has effected a very strong bond with the doctor – it won't be easy to deal with him… that, and… there is an additional consideration. His majesty has, in fact, decreed that Muraki will have to be destroyed, along with the demon. These killings cannot continue unabated… whether or not a successful exorcism is achieved, allowing us to eradicate the nameless one, thus sparing the doctor's life, the fact remains that he himself cannot be allowed to continue murdering mortals and getting away with it… I believe the king has reached the end of his tether – it would be killing two birds with one stone – Muraki's brazen challenges in the past have been tantamount to a personal slap on the king's face, and he's no longer going to stand for it."
"I… I see." Tsuzuki drops into an armchair, exhaling heavily, finally letting out breath he has been holding, experiencing a dreadful cringing, a collapsing, of his insides, as his partner, Hisoka, whistles, visibly awed by Tatsumi's scoop concerning their sovereign's rancor.
"Icarus…" murmurs Konoe.
"I beg your pardon, what was that, chief?" Tatsumi glances curiously at his superior.
"Icarus… he kept flying higher and higher, closer and closer to the sun god, but his wings melted, scorched by the sun's flames… and he fell back to earth…"
Stirring in the early hours of the morning in his hospital suite, Oriya's eyes open to routinely search for the ever-present angel, the angel who smells of freshly-baked confectionery, who is so generous with his beaming smiles – the angel with the long golden hair… unruly strands that capture available light and glints, illuminating the dimly-lit room… the angel who reminds him of sunshine, and warmth…
Drowsy eyes make out the form of his guardian angel, nodding in an armchair, an open book in his lap; round glasses perched precariously close to the tip of his nose, and Oriya smiles fondly, in spite of the hurt in his heart…
He remembers waking, in a place that smelled strange, but not unpleasantly so, of nothing like he had ever smelled before – blends of incense and forest rainfall, the perfume of flowers and joss sticks, and the bracing smell of a frosty winter morning; rocking gently in the warm arms of someone who carried him, someone who looked down at him and smiled tenderly when he awoke and moaned…
It seemed like the man, with a golden aura around him, spoke, but his lips had not moved but still smiled… but he heard him say, "Don't be afraid. Everything will be all right. I'll watch over you and keep you safe…"
He felt as though he had been asleep for years, as his sapped body recovered, gradually regaining the strength that had been drained by the entity within Kazutaka. Whenever his thoughts stray, recurrently, to his childhood friend, his anguish returns with full force.
Sometimes, upon waking, he turns his face away from the sight of the angel, to weep silently, letting the spilled tears run down his face… but the angel, even when dozing, always seems to know when he wakes, always moves to his bed to loom over him, placing his warm hands on him, pulling up the covers around him, softly brushing back his hair from his face. His angel's smiles and touch always calm him and lull him back to sleep…
He rarely speaks, but is nevertheless polite, extending his thanks to the staff that tends to him, and, most of the time, to his steadfast angel, who sometimes feeds him, reads to him, relates anecdotes of life in Meifu, and enthusiastically shares details of various bizarre devices, inventions he is working on. Habitually, his radiant companion is inclined to becoming carried away, and blushes delightfully, apologizing profusely for his incessant babbling, but Oriya does not mind. His angel's presence is deeply comforting, his antics pleasantly distracting. It amuses him to no end that his exuberant seraph's hair seems to have an existence all of its own – upon his first appearance each day, it is immaculately groomed; in no time at all, it proceeds to become charmingly wayward, the bright orange bow that his angel seems to favor promptly unraveling, the ribbon left to dangle, snagged by a few strands. Frequently, Oriya resists his urge to touch the wavy golden silk, comb through it with his fingers…
He remembers the incident in Kokakuro – his arms were full of this very same angel, when he had tripped and almost fallen… and how surprised he had been when he felt those warm hands on him – he had always held the belief that the hands of a Shinigami were icy cold; he didn't know why he had always thought that, perhaps it was something to do with death, he wasn't quite sure…
He gazes at the childlike, cherubic sleeping face with its curtain of golden hair falling around it… at the delicate, slim-fingered hands resting on the book…
How strange it is to be here, alive, in the netherworld, watched over by a Shinigami… A Shinigami with warm hands…
Oriya's lips twitch in a small smile, a warm sensation washing through him as his eyelids droop.
Yes… I should go back to sleep, before he wakes again… he must be so tired from his constant attentions to me, and besides, he has his other duties… he needs to rest…
Asato Tsuzuki sits in a large room. Arranged on the shelves lining the walls are dolls, miniature likenesses of girls, boys, women and men, their clothing intricately sewn, made of every conceivable fabric known to humans.
In the center of the room, the Shinigami sits hunched over, cradling a doll. While he weeps, copious tears coursing down his cheeks to drip on to the doll in his arms, a door swings open and Muraki steps into the room.
"Ah, Tsuzuki-san, here you are! I've been searching for you everywhere. Have you been admiring my dolls all this time? I have wanted to show you my collection for so long! Do you like them?"
Receiving no response, Muraki approaches the huddled form of Tsuzuki and folds himself, squatting next to him. "What's wrong?" he asks, placing his hand on the Shinigami's shoulder.
"Go away! I hate you!" yells Tsuzuki, pulling away, shrugging off the doctor's touch, and startling the man beside him.
"Why… why do you hate me?" Muraki coaxes gently.
"Because you destroy people, you destroy everything!"
"Why do you say that? What do you have there?" The doctor reaches for the doll on Tsuzuki's lap.
"No! Don't touch it!" The Shinigami blocks and pushes Muraki's hand away. "You've already destroyed it!"
"Come now, it's a doll, Tsuzuki. I didn't destroy it…"
"Yes, you did!"
"Is it broken? In that case, I can mend it…"
"No! You can never mend this doll! Its heart is broken!"
"Tsuzuki, dolls don't have…"
"I'll never forgive you! This doll loved you, but you destroyed it. You broke its heart, it bleeds, it will never stop bleeding, because of what you did!"
The guardian of death dangles the doll in front of Muraki's face. The doctor gasps, gaping at the doll, horrified. He falls backwards on to his haunches, scrambling to get away from it, shielding his face with a shaking hand. "No, no…"
Relentlessly pursuing the cowering man, brandishing the doll before him, Tsuzuki hisses. "Look at it! It bleeds because you broke its heart. It loved you but you hurt it and threw it away! You can never mend it. I hate you. I'll never forgive you. Look at it and see what you have done!"
"No…"
The Shinigami pulls the doctor's hands away from his face and thrusts the doll into them. Muraki stares in terror at the doll, at its flowing brown hair, its blood-soaked kimono, the blood from it flowing into his hands, pooling in his palms, trickling on to his pristine, white trousers. The doll's eyes suddenly open and it begins to cry. "Why? I loved you. Why did you do this to me? I loved you, Kazutaka."
The doctor drops the weeping doll on the floor and crawls to a corner of the room, balls himself up, hugging his knees and sobbing. "No! No! Oriya! I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, please, forgive me…"
Tsuzuki, looming over the weeping, wretched figure in the corner, screams, "I'll never forgive you!"
"I'm so sorry, ah gods, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to… ORIYAAAA…!"
"See, look at all those you've murdered, look at them, look at the blood," the Shinigami grabs white hair, jerking the bowed head up and sweeps his hand in an arc to indicate the display shelves, forcing Muraki to look at the dolls as they rise to their feet, crying pitiably. With their arms outstretched, they plunge to the floor. There, they writhe and convulse in their death throes, the blood from their wounds soaking the white carpeted floor. The smell of blood in the room is overpowering and the doctor gags. The dolls' wailing grows louder and louder.
"NOOOOOO…"
The Shingami releases the doctor, letting his head fall on to his knees, and walks towards the door. Opening it, he leaves without looking back at the huddled figure in the corner, wracked by sobs. At the sound of the door closing, Muraki lifts his head and looks around desperately for the guardian of death. "Tsuzuki! Tsuzuki! Where are you?! Don't leave me here! Please… please don't leave me alone here! TSUZUKIIIIIIII! Help me… please… HELP MEEEEEE!"
Simultaneously, having shared the exact same dream, two men startle awake in their beds…
In Meifu, Tsuzuki shivers. He wipes the tears from his face with a trembling hand and falls back against his pillow, trying to drive the dream images from his mind. He succumbs to his grief, crying for all the souls murdered by Muraki's hands… for those who died by his own hands… for those he failed to save, for his ineffectuality… for Oriya's broken heart… for himself, for the angst he feels at the imminent death of Muraki… for Muraki himself…
"Muraki," he whispers, astounded by his tears shed for the man, by the pain he feels at the thought of Doctor Kazutaka Muraki dying before he has had a chance to atone, to repent… his soul, lost, condemned to the darkness for eternity…
In his penthouse in Tokyo, Doctor Muraki shudders from the aftereffects of his dream, his skin bathed with icy sweat.
Though he had tried hard to wake from it, he could not, but remained trapped in his nightmare. In it, he saw himself roaring with fright, overcome by guilt, as the bleeding dolls began rising, enlarging, morphing into human beings, blood gushing from their gaping wounds as they stumbled, staggering towards him to surround him. He covered his ears with his hands to block out the awful sound of their cries, his clothes spattered by the fountain of blood. The wailing zombies suddenly disappeared and he found himself partially submerged in warm liquid, treading to stay afloat. The sea started to bubble, the fluid thickening, its temperature rising, the stench of it made him retch, and to his horror, he saw its color changing to deep red, the deep red hue of blood… blood, blood, blood, nothing but blood. Panicked, he whirled hysterically, looking all around him, searching for landfall, a horizon, anything… but he could discern nothing. His feet and legs were snared; he was tugged beneath the surface of the viscous red ocean. He beheld himself thrashing, sinking deeper and deeper… he screamed…
He was still screaming, sitting in his bed, tasting blood in his mouth – in his terror, he had bitten his own tongue.
He glances quickly around him, expecting to find the black cloud – his master – hovering in the room, but does not see him, nor detect his presence. Swinging his feet to the floor, he runs to a cabinet in the living room. After pouring cognac to the brim of a tumbler, he drains it like a thirsting man gulping water. The liquor stinging his throat, he swipes the bottle of brandy and walks to the couch, slumps on it. Draining yet another glass, he cannot comprehend why he feels so desolate, why tears still stream from his eye…
Yutaka Watari jerks upright in his chair, his eyes falling at once on the sleeping form beneath the bed covers. His beloved is whimpering, his head tossing restlessly. Instantly, the Shinigami stands to go to his side, but finds himself unable to move any further, frozen, cemented to where he stands…
In his sleep, Oriya hears a voice; the timbre of it is tantalizing and seductive…
"Oriya… my sweet Oriya… it hurts me to see you suffer so… your pain is my pain… I can release you from your pain… come to me, Oriya… I can heal your broken heart… come to me… come to me, Oriya… don't be afraid…"
Watari strains, fighting with every nerve and muscle in his body, willing himself to move, sweat pouring down his face. He panics when he sees Oriya rising, sitting up on the bed and opens his mouth to shout for help, but no sound issues from his throat. The man on the bed, his eyes closed, sways, his head lolls from side to side…
Frantically, Watari calls with the power of his mind. "Hisoka! Help me, Hisoka…"
Hisoka Kurosaki, unable to sleep due to the tensions of the day just past, leaps to his feet and drops the book he has been reading. The empathic Shinigami reels on wobbly legs as a vision of a stricken Watari, bound by a dark and evil force, floods his inner vision. He gives his head a brisk shake, inhaling deeply before racing to the door of his lodgings. He narrowly avoids slamming into the opening door, and his partner bursting through it.
Steadying the boy with his hands, Tsuzuki gasps. "Hisoka! The hospital! We have to get there, fast!"
"Tsuzuki…? How did you…? Did you feel something too?"
"No time to explain, let's go!" He grabs the youth's hand and the pair sprints down the hallway…
Oriya, communicating with his mind, asks, "Who… who are you?"
"I am one who cares deeply for you, the only one who cares for you… the only one who can help you… come to me, Oriya… don't you want revenge? I can help you achieve revenge… against the one who hurt you… you hate him, don't you?"
"N-no, no… I don't hate him… I don't hate…"
"Oh, of course you do… how can you not hate him? After what he did to you?"
"N-no… it wasn't him, it wasn't…"
Continuing to reach Hisoka telepathically, Watari's anguished eyes never stray from the swaying form on the bed. "Hisoka… get help… fast…"
All of a sudden, the Shinigami feels an easing, a lifting, of the dreadful pressure binding him. Released from it, he collapses, exhausted, breathless, on to the armchair, aware of the temperature in the room beginning to rise. A blinding radiance envelops the room, a great heat emanating from it, and from within the circle of light, the gaping blond sees a figure taking form. He blinks rapidly, terrified. "Oh, dear gods in the heavens, help me," he whispers, as the transparent form slowly begins to take on a more solid appearance. It glides soundlessly towards Oriya, lifting its arms. "No… oh, no… don't touch him…!" he whimpers brokenly. The being turns its head to face him and Watari gasps. Partially opaque now, he realizes it is a woman, surrounded by a shimmering, blue aura, clothed in flowing, dazzling garments, a being appearing to be composed entirely of light. The lips on her beautiful, strangely familiar face smile at him, melting his heart, and he hears her soft, calming voice in his mind, chasing away his fears. "Don't be frightened. I will not harm him… nor you." With that, she gracefully curls herself on the bed and reaches for the still-sleeping Oriya, his expression tranquil now. He falls against her, her arms pulling him against her breast, like a mother tenderly cradling her cherished child.
His vision adapting to the brilliance of the woman and her aura, she is now clearly defined by Watari. As she gently brushes Oriya's hair from his brow, uncovering a place to press her lips on it, the Shinigami stares in wonderment at the two countenances, so close together, disbelieving what his eyes behold – the one who holds Oriya is a spitting image of him, a female version of his beloved!
Ogling at the woman, not daring to even twitch, the Shinigami recalls what Konoe once told him, and it hits him – he is in the presence of a goddess, a true immortal! He watches her, his heartbeat accelerating, her lips moving as she whispers to the man in her arms, marveling, elated at seeing a deity for the first time.
Her uncanny resemblance to Oriya… who is she?
When his awe and his sense of insignificance subside, he gulps, summoning his courage to speak. "Divine lady… please forgive me… but, who are you?"
She shifts her head, turns her face of opalescent skin to him and laughs softly, a sweet, musical sound that drives away all lingering traces of the terror the Shinigami felt while paralyzed before her appearance, filling him with a sense of untold rapture, peace and security.
"I am Sanae."
Watari's jaw drops, awestruck again. He observes in silence as she removes something from within her robes. "This is a talisman from the Celestial Emperor himself," she says, "it will protect Oriya, whom you and I both love," while she fastens the string securing the amulet around his beloved's neck. Turning to smile at the furiously blushing Shinigami, she continues, "He will be safe now. The nameless one will no longer be able to seduce him. When he awakes and sees it, he will remember the dream I gave him and he will know that I gave this to him."
Dumbstruck, Watari watches her arms tighten around Oriya, kissing his cheek, her flowing brown hair falling to mingle with the sleeping man's, before she lifts him out of her embrace, tenderly placing his head on the pillow. She rises, her hands linger on him, and the guardian of the netherworld notices her face; for a moment, it is marked by a grimace, of the kind that precedes weeping. It smoothens to a sad and wistful expression, her hands remaining on Oriya, reluctant to let go of him…
The observing guardian is suddenly, unaccountably, gripped by a need to cry. Nebulous visions – of a woman, desperate and pleading, cradling a baby protectively; hands, reaching for her, prying the infant cruelly from her arms; other hands, restraining her as the crying child is taken away from her, and she, the woman, screaming and collapsing with her grief – invade and possess his mind.
He stares at the identical faces – the stunning goddess' and Oriya's – clutching his chest from an overwhelming sense of sorrow and loss, his eyes filling with tears…
Oh, gods in the heavens, could it be that she…!
When the visions release him, he swipes at the tears on his face, and Sanae slowly wipes hers. Straightening to her full, impressive height, she floats over to him, bends to place her hand on his cheek, gazing deep into his eyes, a heartbreaking smile – sad and joyful all at once – gracing her lips. "I am very grateful to you, thank you for watching over him, Yutaka Watari."
Unable to reply, numbed by all the emotions resulting from his recent ordeal and his encounter with a deity, the Shinigami manages a tentative smile. With one final, longing glance at Oriya, the goddess vanishes, leaving Watari to droop in his chair, exhausted.
Vaguely aware of urgent footsteps in the corridor beyond the room, Watari collects himself, and turns to see Tsuzuki and Hisoka, breathless and concerned, beside him.
His dark-haired colleague reaches for him. "Watari…" The seated guardian lifts a finger to his lips, and Tsuzuki lowers his voice to a whisper. "Are you all right? What happened?"
The younger Shinigami moves quietly to Oriya's bedside to confirm that no harm has come to him. "Is he…?"
"He's fine now," breathes the blond. "The nameless one was attempting to seduce him… I was powerless to do anything… but then, Sanae appeared…"
"Sanae?!" his companions whisper concurrently, the both of them gawking with incredulity at him.
Standing up on shaky legs, Watari joins Hisoka to gaze lovingly at the serene face of the man he loves. "I'm sensing a deep peace within him," whispers the youth by his side. "Yes… all thanks to Sanae," concurs the blond. He winces, suddenly ashamed, realizing that he had not thanked the goddess.
With his arms around the shoulders of the Shinigami on either side of him, he draws them both to a cluster of chairs. In hushed tones, he recounts to them all that had occurred prior to their arrival.
End of part eight
To be continued in part nine – Mirror images (2)
Author's note: Icarus is a character from Greek mythology. Attempting to escape from King Minos of Crete with his father, Daedalus, the pair flew, with the aid of wings fashioned by Daedalus. Ignoring his father's warning, the youth ascended higher and higher towards the sun god, Helios. His wings melted and he plunged into the sea and drowned.