Part Nine
Mirror images (2) – The house of tears
"I am deeply sorry, Oriya, but I… felt you have a right to know… about what has been happening… and to be informed of the King of Hades' decision…"
The violet-eyed guardian's voice cracks as he stares miserably at Oriya's drooped head, the top half of his face partially hidden behind his long dark bangs, at his tightly pursed lips.
The man who had once been Kazutaka Muraki's lover had sat, staring into space, deathly still, mutely listening to Asato Tsuzuki. Every word had been a razor slicing at his heart.
Never, in all his afterlife existence, has the guardian of death felt so utterly powerless, as he sees the hand that had been clasping the amulet that Sanae gave him drop, to touch the ring on his left hand, slowly caressing it with his thumb.
The platinum band's significance is now heart-wrenchingly crystal-clear to Tsuzuki, and to the other man present, Yutaka Watari.
The blond guardian, bravely and admirably keeping his emotions in check, feels equally helpless, close to despair at witnessing his beloved's quiet grief, fighting his desire to enclose Oriya tightly in his arms and comfort him, resignedly accepting that he would not welcome such a gesture, however well-intended, at such a dismal instance. When his eyes flit to his colleague's, the tears brimming in them, dulling the sparkle of the purple jewels, surprise him. He watches as the man struggles, preparing to speak again, his upper body leaning towards Oriya seated opposite him.
"Oriya… I… wish that I could do… something…" Tsuzuki's trembling voice falters. Suddenly conscious of how hollow and futile his words must sound to the man in front of him, he is defeated into silence. He turns his face to stare sadly at the picturesque view of the lake in the distance beyond the balcony where the three of them sit. Muted cries, the calls of the egrets flying above the glassy water in little groups, swooping and gliding in a perfect display of aerial choreography, reach his hearing. His eyes shift from the flocks of birds to sweep over the brilliant colors of the flowering trees growing around the lake, and then to the less lofty plants, festooned with their gaily-colored blooms.
It's so beautiful out there… It was kind of Tatsumi-san to arrange for Oriya to stay in this house…
Annoyed by his irrelevant thoughts at such a somber time, the guardian chides himself mentally and glances at Watari's troubled face, then back to Oriya, who still has not stirred.
Why… Muraki? You had the love of this man… this devoted individual… his love for you has endured all this time… what conquered the love? Why did you give in to darkness? What… happened to you?
The Shinigami expresses his frustration with a sigh; the dark head he observes suddenly lifts. Intense light brown eyes gaze at him, flicker to his co-worker, and then back to him. Tsuzuki is somewhat surprised that the eyes studying them are dry, free of tears. The sound of Oriya's voice, soft and steady, startles him, and his body starts involuntarily.
"It must have been very difficult for you to tell me all that, Tsuzuki-san… I'm grateful to you."
The guardian of death, heavy-hearted, his throat tight with tension, is unable to respond. He shakes his head and lifts his hands in a gesture of helplessness.
Dressed in plain linen, a maroon kimono and matching robe, clothes from among others that Watari had considerately obtained from Yoshida for his comfort, Oriya slowly rises, moves to the balcony rail to place his hands on it, gazing at the lake for some moments before allowing his head to lower.
"Sooner or later, it would have come to this… He… was lost to me… a long time ago… darkness stole him from me… I have shared your sentiments of frustration, Tsuzuki-san."
Surprised, the guardian blinks, his brow knitting at Oriya's accurate perception of his state of mind, but dispels his reaction to become attentive again when the man resumes speaking.
"As hard as I tried, I couldn't find him… the man I once knew… I could tell you… so many things… about the man I lost, about the things that happened… in that house of tears…" Oriya pauses, hesitates, looks at the pair watching him keenly, their bodies rigid with expectancy, hanging on to his every word.
Both Shinigami are filled with admiration for the man before them, for his grace, his dignity in the face of his heartbreak, an old sorrow that must have weighed down his heart for all the years past.
The subdued voice seems to draw the souls of the duo nearer, closer and closer to the tall, tragic figure, until they experience an uncanny sensation of being pressed against him, all of them divested of their clothing. Without the barriers of fabric, just skin against skin, they feel themselves infiltrating Oriya, being absorbed into his body, becoming one with him. There, inside him, they weep, experiencing first-hand each spasm of hurt, loneliness, helplessness and, despair.
Breathing hard and fast when their trance is broken, they hear Oriya's voice again and turn their dazed, moist eyes to his face, Watari recalling how he had been trapped by visions in the presence of the goddess Sanae. With widened, blinking eyes, the blond and his fellow guardian both perceive a faint indigo glow outlining Oriya's form.
"Yes, I could recount to you all the tragedies that took place in that house… where Kazutaka Muraki was born, where he grew up, became a man who, in spite of all the sadness and hurt plaguing him, struggled in overcoming them to become someone who could treat the sick… where he became the young man I pledged my love to… but… I won't…"
Holding their rapt attention, the pair spellbound as he stops there, his last two words baffling and frustrating them, Oriya directs a sad, heart-stopping smile of acknowledgment to Watari, before turning his full attention on the guardian next to him, his smile having the same effect on him as it had on the blond.
"Tsuzuki-san, I need you… to do something for me."
The Shinigami, overcoming a disturbing sense of being 'read', of his mind being opened, ripped apart and examined, rises unsteadily to his feet, drawn without choice, closer to stand before Oriya, half of him afraid of what he will hear, but none the less acquiescing.
"Of course… anything… just say it and I'll do it, Oriya."
"There is a sprawling mansion, north-west of Kyoto, near Mount Arashiyama. I would like you to go there…"
Tsuzuki gasps. "Will… I find… him… there?" At once deeply sorry that he had asked that question, he offers Oriya an apologetic expression, tinged with shame.
"It's all right, Tsuzuki-san. No, I don't think he will be there… it is unlikely he will be at his ancestral home." Oriya stops to sigh. "Even though I know the locations of all Kazutaka's residences, please… do not ask me to divulge them… I… cannot… betray him into your hands… please… I beg for your compassion and understanding…"
The guardian immediately draws very close to the now plainly anguished man. Just short of embracing him, he grips his shoulders compulsively. "I would not think of asking you for such, and to place you in that position, Oriya, please believe me," he tells him, soothingly, and registers the sigh of relief from Watari behind him.
"Thank you." Oriya's gratitude is evident in his face, and in the bow he executes, a gesture halted halfway by a flustered Tsuzuki, catching hold of him and shaking his head. "No, no, no need for that, Oriya."
"Will you go to the mansion, Tsuzuki-san?"
"Can you tell me it's exact location, and… what I am supposed…?"
"You will know where it is… and you will know what to do, Shinigami-san."
Tsuzuki finds himself gazing deeply into those eyes; that trance-like sensation overtaking him again, the pair of hazel irises enlarging in stages until they seem to hover before him, a pair of glowing moons. Closing his eyes drowsily, he breathes, "I'll go at once."
"Thank you, Tsuzuki-san. And, please bring the young one with you…"
"The young one? You mean… Hisoka?"
Oriya nods his head.
"Yes… of course, Oriya."
Just before sunset, Tsuzuki and his young partner arrive in the Arashiyama district. A fatigued Hisoka suppresses a yawn and balks at the older man.
"I'm still not sure about this, Tsuzuki. We're supposed to be searching for Muraki. If the Chief or Tatsumi find out about this, we'll both be in serious trouble…"
Smirking mischievously, the older Shinigami quirks an eyebrow. "Well then, let's just hope they won't find out."
"One more thing… that night, at the hospital, how did you know that Watari was in trouble?"
Ah, that… it was the weirdest thing… I just sensed it. I felt everything Watari felt… I couldn't breathe, couldn't move, it wasn't very pleasant at all! Now I know what it's like for you, kiddo."
"So… this means… that you could be empathic…"
"I'm not quite sure. With Watari's experience, I was somehow able to cut off the sensations. That was the first and only time I have experienced such a thing… I don't know if I have the same ability as you, or whether it's voluntary or involuntary empathy. Anyway, let's get moving."
"Okay, but where is this place?"
"Um… that's the thing… I don't know."
"WHAAAAAT?! Tsuzuki, I swear, sometimes you really piss…!"
"Calm down, Hisoka. Oriya said I would know… I admit I'm a bit baffled, but he seemed so… now that I think about it, the whole thing was quite strange… there was something different about him…" Tsuzuki looks at the youth, who frowns at him. "Hisoka, what do you think… about what Watari told us, regarding Sanae and Oriya… could he be right?"
The young guardian of death shrugs. "Could be. Then again, their resemblance to each other might merely be a coincidence…"
"Hmm, yeah, but for her to show up in person and the way she behaved with Oriya, and the visions Watari saw, I mean, it's all pretty mind-blowing… Oriya, child of a deity? Hmm… Okay!" Tsuzuki points an index finger skywards, "Let's get down to business! I'd best start figuring out what to do now…" Hands on his head, he huffs.
"Yep. You'd best do that."
"Shhh, Hisoka, let me concentrate."
The youth rolls his eyes. Turning to look at Tsuzuki, he sees him staring ahead, jaw set determinedly, his expression serious.
Asato Tsuzuki slows his breathing to a slow steady rhythm, closes his eyes and lets his head tilt backwards. Clearing his mind of clutter, he focuses on a single image – the face of Kazutaka Muraki, pictures him as a child, whispering his name repeatedly. Seconds tick by as the Shinigami deepens his concentration, and then, it happens: he feels a gentle force tugging at his consciousness. Yielding to the sensation, he stretches out his hand to the youth. Hisoka instinctively grasps it without question and the older man lifts off the ground with his partner, who glances at Tsuzuki's face as they both ascend higher. The young Shinigami notices that his partner's eyes are still shut and realizes that he is performing the phenomenon known as 'blind flight'. He follows suit, and closes his eyes, emptying his mind so as not to distract and interfere with his partner's concentration, placing his trust completely in the man whose grip tightens on his hand as they gain speed. After ten minutes of rapid flight, during which time Hisoka allowed himself to be led through the ascents, descents and directional shifts, until their final joint descent and soft landing.
Two pairs of eyes open at the same time. Hisoka looks around him, impressed by his partner's feat. "Whoa, that was amazing!" Tsuzuki is as amazed as the boy, but pleased, that he had managed to pull it off, and, at Hisoka's approval.
Before them, where they stand on a driveway, looms a large, two-storied mansion, partially obscured by low clouds, indicating to the pair that they are somewhere on the foothills of Mount Arashiyama. The cloud mists lend an atmosphere of gloom to the house and its surrounds, causing Hisoka to shiver involuntarily, apprehensive at the thought of entering the house – the home where the dark beast of his nightmares was born, where he grew up.
As if sensing the boy's trepidation and reluctance, Tsuzuki holds him in a tight embrace. "Don't worry, Hisoka, nothing and no-one will harm you here." The youth nods, immensely grateful for his partner's care, his presence and reassurance.
"What now, Tsuzuki?" Hisoka raises his head to look into his partner's eyes, glittering as they flicker from window to window of the house.
"We go in, and walk through the rooms… that's what I'm sensing we must do."
And so, the pair of Shinigami in the portico of the mansion, stand at the threshold of their journey – a journey that, unbeknownst to them, will take them back in time, and into Kazutaka Muraki's past.
After their evening meal, Yutaka Watari had coaxed his silent companion out of the house to join him on a stroll, taking him down the path leading to the shimmering lake.
The Shingami's gaze, shifting from the full moon in the sky to its twin gleaming in the still waters, wonders how Hisoka and Tsuzuki are faring, and about Oriya's purpose in sending them on that errand.
"Watari-san."
The blond's heart skips a beat, as it always does at the first sound of Oriya's voice. Turning to look at him, the guardian's breath is stolen from him at the sight of Oriya, as still as an exquisitely wrought sculpture, bathed in moonlight.
"Yes, Oriya?"
"Thank you, for everything."
"No, it is nothing. I have been happy to be of help…"
The taller, dark-haired man takes a few steps closer to the blond. "It meant a lot to me. I want you to know that. I'll never forget you, Shinigami-san. Will you convey my gratitude to the rest - Tsuzuki, Tatsumi, and Hisoka?"
"Please, call me… Yutaka… of course, but… why are you talking this way…?" Gasping as Oriya's intention dawns on him, he asks, "Are you… leaving?"
The dark head lowers. "Yes. I would like to return now, to my world. Will you take me there, Yutaka?"
The guardian of death hesitates with dismay, something crushing inside him, desperately searching for words, wanting to keep his beloved close to him, for just a little while longer, his heart and mind screaming…
I LOVE YOU! OH GODS, HOW I LOVE YOU, ORIYA! STAY WITH ME, DON'T GO… DON'T GO…
But he knows it is impossible: he cannot make him, yet a mortal, with a life to live out, stay in the netherworld. The thought – that he might never see Oriya again, hear that resonant voice, both in speech and song, gaze into the twin pools of hazel light, breathe in his sweet scent, never get a chance to court him and win his heart, never get to kiss those lips of pale coral or caress his alabaster skin, to pledge his love to him, make love to him, lay bare his soul to him – is more than he can bear, and he turns away, terrified that everything he is feeling will be displayed on his face.
"Yutaka…?"
The whisper, inflected with concern, does nothing to lift him out of his heartbreak, and he struggles for self-control, before facing the being that stands, so close to him, but so completely beyond his reach.
"I will take you back, Oriya, but… not now, not tonight…"
"Why…?"
"Because I know what you are going through, I can feel it… all the anguish in your heart… I know all you want is to be alone, so I cannot see your grief, your tears. How bravely you have carried yourself this far, not wanting both Tsuzuki and I to see you break down… I can't… I won't… let you go now, Oriya… I cannot bear the thought of you, all alone in your sorrow… let me in, please… I know I cannot take your pain away, but… I can hold you… there is no shame for a man to cry in front of another, another who… cares deeply about you," Watari, his voice breathless and quavering, close to breaking, pauses, his arms tentatively reaching out, "please, let me hold you… let it all out now, here, in my arms."
He steps closer to the still figure, arms open and waiting, and sighs when Oriya, his pretense of calm finally crumbling, slumps against him. His shoulder supporting his head, the guardian's arms tighten around his beloved's shaking frame, allowing him to expend numerous years' worth of grief that had been buried in his heart.
Taking hold of Hisoka's hand, Tsuzuki leads the way, passing through the main door of solid oak. As soon as the younger Shinigami follows suit, he is instantly floored. His knees buckle, and he doubles over to slide to the floor, bringing his partner with him.
The boy's eyes are wide as he gasps and rocks his head from side to side, his mouth formed in a rictus of a silent scream.
"Hisoka!" Panicked, Tsuzuki grabs the incapacitated youth to pull him close. "Listen to my voice, Hisoka, focus on my voice… I've got you… breathe, Hisoka, breathe deeply…"
"Tsuzuki…?! I… can't… bear it… too much… oh, no… too much… the sorrow… no! I can't bear it… I'm sinking, drowning… it's pitch black… I can't see!"
"Hisoka, listen to my voice, breathe, damn it, breathe, fight it… good! I have you in my arms, pull yourself out of it, good…"
Little by little, the boy, hanging on to the sound of Tsuzuki's voice, struggles to breathe, fighting the sorrow tearing at his heart. Regaining his vision, he searches for the familiar, comforting sight of his partner's countenance, and slowly calms.
Holding him tightly, whispering reassurances, a relieved Tsuzuki smiles into dazed emerald eyes. "There, there, you're all right now, Hisoka."
Although he had felt the powerful tide of sorrowful emotions invading his psyche, Tsuzuki had instinctively, without thought, put up mental shields against them. While continuing to soothe Hisoka, he is amazed at what had happened, at his ability of putting up barriers against the empathic force. He is as dazed as the boy, realizing that he is now in possession of voluntary empathic powers. A candle, extracted from a pocket of Tsuzuki's trench coat is swiftly lit by the Shinigami's power, something he had learned to do in his first year of apprenticeship.
Oriya, I think I understand now… what it is you want us to do.
Placing the candle between them, he holds the arm of the boy, who is considerably calmer now and looking around the room, adjusting his vision to the gloom around them. The entrance hall is devoid of furniture, except for a tall, silent grandfather clock beside a doorway next to a wide staircase leading to the upper floor.
"Hisoka, what we are about to do may prove difficult for you. What you just experienced was a combined onslaught of the residual impressions lingering here. It hit me too, but without even trying, I blocked it with shields…"
The youth expresses surprise. "How…?"
"I don't know how, it just… happened. It seems I may be a voluntary empath. At this stage, I'm not quite sure yet. You, however, have involuntary empathic powers, so you will glean the emotions of everyone who lived here, without being able to block them. Oriya referred to this place as 'the house of tears'. I should have known what to expect… what would happen to you. I'm sorry, Hisoka, I just wasn't thinking, I should have warned you…"
"It's not your fault, it's okay, Tsuzuki… I'm fine now."
Smiling affectionately at his young friend's magnanimity and squeezing his arm, the older guardian asks, "Do you want to continue, or shall I proceed alone…?"
The youth shakes his head. "No, I'll go with you. Now that I know what to expect, I think I'll be all right. Besides, I've got you with me," he assures alongside his cheeky grin.
"That's the spirit, you're a real trooper!" Helping the lad to his feet, the Shinigami is pleased, especially so because Oriya had specifically wanted his young partner to come here.
I don't know why yet, Oriya, but I guess we'll find out soon enough…
The twosome turn their eyes to the staircase, and this time, it is Hisoka who takes the lead…
The young mistress of the house is miserable, homesick, and missing her family. Forced by her parents into a loveless marriage, she feels abandoned, betrayed…
Night after night, after she has endured the unwanted attentions of her stern husband in their bed, she goes to the window to gaze at the dark indigo sky, the illusory canopy that separates the heavens from the earth, demarcating the world of the mortals from the immortals. She sadly imagines the celestial beings that reside there touching their fiery torches to the things mortals call 'stars' to light them…
Loathing the thought of returning to lie down next to the snoring man, she passes her nights in another room, among her dolls. Collecting them distracts her from her sadness. She sews clothes for them, painstakingly stitching them by hand, her tears sometimes dampening the cloth…
Her only joy is her newborn son…
She laughs as she dances around the nursery with the gurgling, chirruping baby in her arms…
"Oh, I love you so much, my darling child, my beautiful Kazutaka…"
He is as fearful of his father as much as his mother and the servants are. He doesn't understand why his Papa never smiles at him, never plays with him, never hugs him…
But he adores his mother, and loves looking at all her dolls, naming them, one by one…
"I've got a new doll, Kazutaka, come and see! You must choose a name for it…"
Sometimes, seeking her out as he always does when he comes home from school, he finds her crying. But she always smiles when she sees him, opens her arms to him, for him to fold himself against her petite frame…
Lying in his bed, he cannot bear the yells of his father, and the sobbing of his mother…
One night, he stands outside the door of his parents' bedroom, trying to find the courage to knock, to go in and tell his father to stop making his Mommy cry…
"Stop your blubbering, you bitch! Don't think that I don't know! That bastard is not my son! What? You think I'm stupid? You've made a fool of me, you whore! You think I don't know what my friends are saying behind my back? Huh! The only things of worth you brought into this marriage are your family's good name and money!"
The boy, his small body trembling with fear and something he has never felt before – a new emotion – feels his tears trickle down his hot cheeks. He hears the slap and his mother's shriek of pain.
And that was when the seeds of hate were sown in the boy's tender, young heart…
But like all children, he felt guilt for feeling anger and hate towards his father, and desperately craved his father's love…
He was exceptionally well mannered, respectful towards his father, studying hard, excelling in school, determined to become a doctor like him and his grandfather, to become the best doctor the world had ever seen. Yes, he resolved to work hard to earn his father's love…
Not one of his achievements gained approval, or a single smile from his father…
Denied the love of his father, his mother became priceless to him. Comforted by her smiles and embraces, amid her beloved dolls, he tried to forget about his unhappy world outside and beyond her favorite room…
There came another whose smiles made his miserable home life bearable – a boy with dark hair and shining brown eyes. He was seven when the boy, the son of a potter and a seamstress, joined his class in the middle of the school year. The other rich kids in their class laughed at him, made fun of him, but Kazutaka had warmed straightaway to the new kid, adoring his grins, toothless from the loss of his milk teeth, admiring his nonchalance, and his courage in staring down his tormentors and shrugging off their cruel taunts…
He would bring his best friend home with him after school, only when he was sure that his father would not be at home, because his father strictly forbade him to have his friends over.
Coming home unexpectedly early one day, the outraged father eyed his playmate with distaste, shooing him rudely out of the house. As he endured the sting of the cane, his mother intervened, only to be shoved roughly out of the room. He wept in his bed when he heard his mother's cries that night. The price she paid for coming to the defense of her son was painfully apparent on the pale, tender skin of her face.
The seeds of hate began sprouting…
He rebelled, ignoring his father's admonishments to cease associating with 'that peasant child', and spent time at his friend's humble lodgings…
Kazutaka grew into his teens, working at his studies ever more diligently, vowing that when he became an adult and able to earn his own keep, he would take his beloved mother out of this house, remove her from her sad plight, provide for her, give her the life she deserved, away from the man who looked at her and at him with cold hatred in his eyes…
Then came that fateful day that brought an event that was to be the impetus of Kazutaka Muraki's descent into darkness.
The boy called Saki Shido, whom his father proudly presented as his eldest son, and therefore his rightful heir, stood before him, arrogant and smirking…
His mother's objections earned her a severe beating, and he implored her to say no more, placating her with his plans to gain their freedom.
His rage watered the shoots of hatred in his heart…
He seethed, watching his father shower love, attention and broad smiles of pride upon his strutting half-brother, all the things he had been denied…
His beloved mother became frail and sickly, her eyes dulling as the days passed. When her hands began shaking severely, preventing her from sewing garments for her treasured dolls, Kazutaka would stitch them for her, doing everything he could think of to make her smile…
One night, returning to his room after the evening meal, he felt drowsy and a peculiar throbbing in his limbs. He could not open his eyes nor struggle when he felt groping hands on him… something being stuffed into his mouth… his hands being bound… his trousers and underwear being removed… turned over, his legs forced apart…
His tears soaked his pillow; no-one heard his muffled cries while his innocence was shattered, but he heard every derisive taunt, every mocking laugh, recognized whose voice it was…
Sedated for the duration of his treatment, he awoke after several days to find his father standing next to his bed, graven-faced.
"Father, Saki… did this to me… it was Saki…"
"Be quiet. You are delirious with fever."
"No, father! It was him, you must believe me, he hurt me…"
"You must rest. This will help calm you."
Before he felt the needle plunge into his arm, the man he called 'father' told him, "You must never breathe a word of what happened to you to anyone. If you do, your mother will suffer for it, do you understand?"
He vowed to himself that he would wreak vengeance… someday… somehow…
His vow fertilized the sapling of hate…
One morning, he was called home from school. His mother was dying. She squeezed his hand weakly, once. When the light in her eyes went out, so did the light in his heart.
From her dresser drawer, he removed a small, jewel-studded box of silver. Inside it, he found, wrapped in tissue, gossamer wisps of white hair – the hair that had grown upon his head when he was still in his mother's womb. He secreted this memento of a mother's love for her child in the room filled with her dolls.
Gently removing the blood-red garnet studs – her favorite earrings that she always wore – from her cold earlobes, he resolved to have his ears pierced and to wear them forever in memory of her.
Murderous hatred flashed in his eyes, swollen with grief, when he approached the breakfast parlor and heard laughter. His father and stepbrother turned cold, disdainful eyes to him. Unable to stomach the sight of them, their gaiety, so unaffected and disrespectful of his grief, he bolted from the room. Seeking refuge in his room, he resumed his bitter mourning…
The months following his mother's demise saw his father succumb to a mysterious ailment. A seemingly distraught Saki summoned numerous physicians to treat their father, but his condition worsened.
Saki was inconsolable when he died, and even though Kazutaka could shed no tears at the passing of his father, he felt sympathy for his half-brother, who was almost hysterical in his grief… until the day of the funeral.
As the cortege made its way to the temple, he saw the scornful lips, twisted in a smile on Saki's face, at a remark of the tragedy of his parents' deaths by one of the mourners, a family friend.
He confronted Saki, who sneered and laughed raucously.
"You should thank me, Kazutaka. I got rid of him for you. You hated him, didn't you?"
Stunned with shock, he looked at crazed eyes. "You bastard! What did you… why…?"
"Aw, don't be such a hypocrite! I saw the way you looked at him. I did us both a favor! It was so easy! I was poisoning them, our father, and that insane mother of yours. I merely put her out of her misery."
Blind with rage, he lunged for the giggling murderer of his parents, but Saki was prepared for him. Swinging the katana he had been concealing behind his back, he slashed the flesh on Kazutaka's cheek.
"I am now the master of this house and you will be my slave! You will submit to me… and by 'submit', I mean it in every sense of the word!"
Every one of Saki's words had been overheard by one of his father's retainers, a man who had secretly detested his master's tyrannical treatment of his wife and son. A bullet from his shotgun put an end to the life of Saki Shido, his body toppling over, his head coming to rest on Kazutaka's thigh, where he sat sprawled on the floor.
He let out a horrendous roar, feeling no satisfaction or sense of justice at the death of Saki. He shoved the corpse away from him, giving way to hysterical laughter, amid his sobs.
When he calmed, his plan of exacting his revenge was hatched in his mind – a mind clouded with grief and hate.
He stored his secret in his heart, where the tree of his hatred grew…
Emptiness, loneliness, sinking into deep, bottomless sorrow and hate…
He battled against thoughts of suicide; found comfort and a sense of purpose by nursing his secret, anticipating the moment when he would claim his revenge…
Many a starry-eyed girl hoped to win his heart, but he only looked at them with cold, empty eyes…
His plucky best friend, Oriya, was always there when he thought he would go mad, distracting him with his warm smiles and embraces, his soothing voice appeasing his rage…
Lying with his head on Oriya's lap one night, he confided his secret to him. His friend, who had grown from a gangly, skinny child into an alluringly beautiful youth with a lean and strong body, listened calmly. The ends of Oriya's soft hair tickled Kazutaka's cheek when he bent his head and gazed into his eyes, and, or so Kazutaka felt, into his soul. Without reproach, words dripped softly from the lips above his face. "No, Kazutaka, you mustn't… let go of your hate, let go of your grief… let them go… you must not seek revenge…"
And so, a battle began to take place in Kazutaka's heart…
The hate that had grown so strong there went into stasis, quelled by Oriya's constant beseeching. His friend implored him to dispose of Saki's head. Confronted by Oriya's sad eyes, he found himself wanting to please his friend, to give in to his request. But each time he made his daily pilgrimage to view his secret possession – his stepbrother's head, preserved in a locked basement room with equipment borrowed from his grandfather – his desire for revenge consumed him, making his skin tingle with excitement. Standing before the vessel containing the head, Oriya's words echoed through his mind, warring with another voice…
Kazutaka had begun to hear, even when asleep, a sweet, hypnotic voice, praising him, encouraging him, promising him fulfillment of his plans to exact his vengeance…
It was at this time that Kazutaka's feelings toward Oriya began to change. Surprised by the fact that his heart raced whenever his friend visited him, he couldn't deny what was happening to him: what he felt was no longer merely affection for a friend, but something wholly different, tinged with intense desire. He hid his sentiments from Oriya, unwilling to risk ruining their friendship. But he couldn't help, or stop himself from thinking about Oriya whenever he pleasured himself. His releases were attained quickly while imagining those long, strong legs wrapped around him, his beautiful lips circling his erect member.
While Oriya's attractive attributes distracted him from his pain, crazed him, Kazutaka noticed other aspects about his friend: his smiles had become shy; his self-consciousness; his adorable blushes when Kazutaka's eyes lingered on his perfect, moon-white face.
Oriya's bashfulness was clearly apparent when Kazutaka, determinedly keeping his lust in check at the sight of his friend's long, lean back and narrow waist, joined him one day while he bathed. Although they had bathed together often enough in the past, on this occasion, his companion quickly turned away to hide his frontal nakedness from him. Puzzled, he moved in front of the trembling form and saw the cause of his behavior. Kazutaka became instantly aroused; the response of his body drew a gasp from Oriya, whose arms at once sought him, drawing him close. Soft, fevered lips tentatively kissed his cheeks. Giddy with joy from discovering Oriya's desire for him, he groaned, crushing him in his embrace and claimed his mouth…
Little did Oriya know that while he slept next to his lover, after blissful demonstrations of their deepening love for each other, another was seducing Kazutaka…
The voice that whispered to Kazutaka in his sleep became ever more irresistible, arousing. Experiencing sensations of floating, being caressed by warm currents of air, Kazutaka became sexually excited. "I am the only one who loves you, Kazutaka," whispered the voice, "the only one who can make you truly happy."
"But… who are you? Show yourself to me."
"Soon, my beloved, when the time is right, I shall reveal myself to you."
While betrothed to Oriya, Kazutaka became a fully-fledged doctor. Returning to his ancestral home after a visit to his mother's grave, the voice made itself heard to him in earnest.
"Did you hear her, Kazutaka?"
"Wh-what… hear whom?"
"Your mother. Didn't you hear her, Kazutaka? I can hear her. Her soul is in torment, trapped between this world and the realm of the afterlife, unable to move on. Her soul cries out for vengeance against the one who killed her…"
"You… you can hear her? What does… she say?"
"She begs me to help her. 'Tell my beloved son, Kazutaka, to save me. He is the only one who can save me,' she says. You must help her. When time eventually runs out for her, her soul will be lost, forever…"
"No! Oh dear gods in heaven, no!"
"Why do you call to the gods, Kazutaka? They do not care about you. I am here for you, here to help you. I will be your god. You must decide now. You must appease your mother's spirit; you are her only hope. Will you help her?"
"I will. I'll do anything…"
Kazutaka Muraki, fallen to the floor on his knees, sobbing with unquenchable sorrow for the plight of his mother's soul, promised his own soul in return for the deliverance of her's, forsaking his love for Oriya.
Hisoka Kurosaki stirs, awaking from a deep sleep of several hours. He looks around him, discovering he is back in the Tokyo hotel room he and Tsuzuki had checked into when they began their search for Kazutaka Muraki. Gradually, he recalls slumping against his partner after his empathic ordeal; the rushing of cold night air on his face, nestled in Tsuzuki's arms; being placed on the bed.
He joins the other occupant of the room, Tsuzuki, standing at the window. The approaching dawn symbolizes the state of the young Shinigami's mind – the rising sun casts pale pink and orange swirls of color, lighting up the eastern sky, chasing away the dark hue of the fading night. He turns his eyes to his partner, moving close to him as an arm lifts to encircle his shoulders.
"Have you rested well, Hisoka?"
"Yes… for the first time in years, since… not a single nightmare about… him… troubled my sleep."
"I'm glad."
"It was… an extraordinary experience, wasn't it?"
"That it was."
"That boy… Saki… he looked just like me… it was like I was seeing myself…"
The older Shinigami sighs, remembering with a twinge, the bodiless head he had seen in the vault the previous year, his body beginning to shudder involuntarily, glimpsing a vision in his mind's eye, of himself, his hand releasing a bloodstained knife, watching it clatter to the floor, looking at his hand, bemused by the blood on it…
Concerned, Hisoka holds him. "Tsuzuki, you're shaking! What is it?"
"It's nothing… I'm just a little tired…"
"You haven't slept at all, have you…?"
"Don't worry about me, I'll be fine…"
"Like hell you will!" Instantly contrite at his stern tone of voice, the boy softens it. "You've been thinking… about how to help him, haven't you?"
"Yes… I have."
"Come, lie down here." The youth tugs his partner, leading him to the couch. "You've held out long enough, Tsuzuki. You should rest before you collapse."
His head pillowed on Hisoka's lap, the exhausted guardian of death murmurs, "Does it bother you, Hisoka… that I want to help him?"
"No. I understand why you want to. In his sorrow, he was preyed upon, and deceived by that demon. If I… had not died from that spell Muraki placed on me… I might have become like him… if I just supposed that I had ended up like him, crazed with grief and seduced by that evil entity, I'd like to think that someone like you would want to help me."
Looking into the youth's eyes, Tsuzuki smiles. "I'm so proud of you, Hisoka. You have a generous heart."
"I learned from you, Tsuzuki. Sleep now. We're both going to need our strength."
Before his eyelids droop and sleep washes over him, Asato Tsuzuki slurs, "You're a wily one, Oriya…"
"Wily, yes, but he has a generous heart as well," whispers Hisoka.
End of part nine
To be continued