Ah, yes. Another chapter…IT LIVES::cackles: Ahem. Yes. On with the fic, then, shall we?
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The local general hospital was small, but overall quite nice. Still, Rishid couldn't help the feeling of uneasiness he got when walking down the hallway. He had never cared too much for hospitals, or even doctors for that matter. One time when he was seriously ill Isis had had to practically drag him to the emergency room. It had been an altogether unpleasant and somewhat humiliating experience; he had spent that morning dizzy and sick with fever, enduring Isis's fussing and fielding some awkward questions from the doctors about the scars on his back. All in all it was an experience Rishid preferred not to think about.
He shook his head slightly, pushing those thoughts to the back of his mind. What he needed to focus on now was the interview he was about to conduct.
2610…2611…ah. 2612. Pausing a minute to make sure he had the right room, Rishid knocked on the door.
"Come in."
Rishid pushed the door open cautiously. "Hello?" He stepped into the room, closing the door gently behind him.
He immediately noticed two other women sitting in the room. One of them, a tall blonde with a slightly hostile air, stood up quickly, hands on her hips. She looked him right in the eye.
"Who the hell are you?" she demanded.
"Lieutenant Rishid Ishtar, homicide investigator." He held out his identification. "I'm here to speak with Miss Shizuka Jounouchi."
The blonde narrowed her eyes at him. Behind her, a thin girl with short brown hair sat in a plastic chair, chewing nervously at her fingernails.
Rishid waited patiently.
"Shizuka!" the blonde said, her eyes still trained on the Egyptian man. "You know this guy?"
From the bed in the corner, a small pale figure turned to face him. Her hazel eyes studied him for a moment. The room was absolutely silent, save the faint buzz of the fluorescent lights. "Never seen him before," she mumbled finally.
"I'm with the police," he repeated. "If it's alright with you I'd like to ask you a few questions."
The three women exchanged glances. There was another moment of silence before the blonde nodded; apparently a decision had been made.
"OK," Shizuka Jounouchi said. "If it's quick."
Rishid nodded, and the other two women began to move toward the door. "If he gives you any trouble, hon, just call me." The brunette nodded in agreement, drifting like a shadow behind the protective aura her taller companion created.
From her bed, Shizuka nodded, auburn hair spilling over her shoulders.
"Later, hon," the blonde said. And they were gone.
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The ever-present buzz of the fluorescent lights became apparent again as silence fell over the room.
"Mind if I sit?" Rishid asked, reaching for a chair when the girl shook her head. He knew some people found his height intimidating, and he found that interviews generally went more smoothly when he was seated. "So," he said, settling into the chair, "were those friends of yours? Relatives?"
"Friends." A wry smile crossed her face. "Colleagues, too, I guess you could say."
"Oh? How's that?"
"We have the same job; we work in the same place," she said, speaking slowly as if she were explaining to a five year old.
"I see," he said, unfazed. "What kind of work are you involved in, if I might ask?"
Her lips became a thin line as she stared at him, eyes cold and blank. "What do you think, Detective?"
He blinked, slightly confused by her offended manner. "I'm sorry?"
She stared at him a moment longer before answering. "I'm a whore." Her eyes dared him to comment on that fact.
Rishid merely nodded slightly. "Were you attacked while you were working, then?"
The girl chewed her lip thoughtfully. There was no trace of mockery in the man's questions. She decided to relax slightly – playing the offensive was always tiring. "Yeah, I was working when it happened."
Rishid nodded again, unobtrusively flipping open a small notepad. "Do you think maybe you could describe it in more detail? Where were you at the time?"
Shizuka Jounouchi focused her gaze on the bed railing at her side. "Where was I…?" she murmured to herself…
She was in hell.
The pain from the knife was relentless, her torturer dragging the sharp blade in lines of liquid pain over her ribs, her thighs, her arms. She screamed and screamed, but it did nothing to stop the pain.
God…please… Light hair fell on her chest as the man paused to lick at a vicious slash over her ribcage. She wanted to ask him why, why he was doing this? But her voice would not obey her.
A combination of blood loss and fear was making her feel dizzy and sick. She wanted nothing more than to fall asleep and never wake up.
How could this have happened? I've been so careful…how was I supposed to know he was…like this?
It was true that Shizuka was generally an excellent judge of the men who came to see her. But she hadn't seen this one coming.
And now I'm going to die… The thought didn't frighten her at all; in fact, she thought perhaps death might be rather soothing compared to this agony, this hell on earth.
Her torturer brought the blade to her throat now, letting the tip trace over the sensitive skin. With a final whimper, Shizuka prayed. God…please let it be over soon. The next thing she knew was darkness.
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A quiet settled over the room as Rishid finished penning his notes. "So you passed out, then?"
"Yes. I woke up here,' she said, fingering the hospital bracelet on one slim wrist.
Rishid nodded. "Any other details come to mind?"
Shizuka shook her head. "I…don't know. I'm sorry," she said suddenly, "I'm really tired."
"Of course. We can finish this another time," he said sympathetically. He stood up, tucking the notebook into his jacket pocket. "Thank you for your time."
"My pleasure," she said dryly, but the slight smile on her lips took the sting out of her tone.
Rishid smiled back, then made his way to the door. He bowed slightly in the girl's direction and left the room, shutting the door and turning down the disinfected hallway.
He glanced at the time. 4:36 p.m.. Time to get out of this hospital. He found that the tension in his shoulders had not lessened in his time there – the hospital environment simply made him tense. He needed time to relax, time to think about what he had seen and heard.
As much as he liked his job, Rishid couldn't wait to get home.
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That evening Isis pulled him aside after dinner. "Can I talk to you for a minute?" she asked quietly.
Rishid looked into her worried blue eyes. "Of course." He gathered the stack of dinner dishes and followed her into the kitchen. Isis began filling the sink with hot water while he hunted for the dish soap. "What is it?"
Isis sighed. "It's Malik." She looked down, a curtain of ebony hair covering her face before she looked up at him again. "He's failing several of his classes, Rishid."
"What?" True, Malik could be…less inclined to study than some students, but rarely did he fail a class. Why didn't I know about this earlier? I should have noticed; I've been so wrapped up in my own problems I can't even help my brother. The guilt he felt must have shown on his face, as Isis touched his arm gently.
"It's not your fault. You know that."
He bowed his head, a habit he still found hard to break with Isis, and especially with Malik. "I could have helped him somehow…" he said, half to himself, half to his sister. But Isis was shaking her head.
"I don't think it's that simple. I think…I think that something's really wrong here. He just won't talk about it."
Rishid frowned. "I'll speak to him."
"Thank you," she said. "I know he'll listen to you." She tucked a strand of hair behind her left ear. "Why don't you go ahead and talk to him now? I'll finish here."
Rishid nodded absently. "Thank you." He turned and left the room to look for his brother.
If Malik was to be found anywhere, it was usually in his room, listening to music or studying. Or putting off studying. The first year of school had been hard on the boy; there was a lot more schoolwork than he had expected. Of course, some of it was remedial classes for subjects he had never studied. Not that that could really be helped – Malik's prior education had been rather…focused in certain areas.
The door to Malik's room was slightly ajar, and Rishid knocked while pushing it open fully. "Malik?"
No reply. Glancing around the small room, Rishid shook his head inwardly. The room was a cluttered mess, as usual. Automatically picking a shirt up off the floor, Rishid wandered across the room, drawn the textbooks and papers strewn over his brother's desk. At least the books are open, he thought wryly. The history book was the only one closed – closed and put away properly on the shelf, as a matter of fact. The textbook looked like it had never even been opened. Rishid glanced at the title: Exploring the Ancient World. Malik has that subject more or less mastered, I'm sure. No wonder the book looked brand new.
Turning back to the desk, Rishid sifted through the books and papers there. A mathematics text with a half-page of math problems scribbled in pen. A well-worn dictionary, actually on loan from Rishid. A small stack of papers with the beginnings of essays. The book beneath the essays caught his eye: Herman Hesse's Siddhartha.
He picked up the book and began paging through it thoughtfully. Malik had taken a highlighter to the text with a vengeance, and several pages were dog-eared. But one page in particular stood out. On this page a small passage had been underlined in pen, the lines jagged and desperate:
"Might the fishes devour him, this dog of a Siddhartha, this madman, this corrupted and rotting body, this sluggish and misused soul! Might the fishes and crocodiles devour him, might the demons tear him to little pieces!"
Rishid stared at the page, the boldly underlined words staring back at him. Might the fishes and crocodiles devour him, might the demons tear him to little pieces! It somehow struck him as vaguely familiar. What did it mean? Did it mean anything?
Rishid's musings were cut short by a loud rapping on the open door. He started involuntarily.
"Hey. Rishid! What're you doing?"
He looked up to see Malik in the doorway. A feeling of guilt settled over him; he hadn't meant to make it look as though he was spying on his brother, searching through his things. "Sorry. I was looking for you, but I was somewhat distracted." Rishid held up the book in his hand. "Have you finished this? I quite enjoyed it when I read it."
Malik shrugged. "Yeah, I read it, more or less…"
"…more or less?"
The boy blew a long strand of light hair out of his eyes. "Yeah. Kinda skimmed some parts, but I don't think I missed too much." He stepped over another small pile of laundry on the floor and took the book from Rishid's hands. "I should probably get back to studying," he said suddenly.
Rishid stepped aside as Malik opened a drawer, rummaging around for a pen. "How is school, Malik?" he asked quietly.
"Fine." Malik closed the drawer, grabbing a notebook. "Just the usual stuff…boring, really."
Rishid hmmed noncommittally. He watched as his brother flopped down on his bed to study. After a moment he looked up at him, light eyes suspicious. "Can I help you?" he asked archly.
"Malik…" Rishid leaned back on the chest of drawers behind him. "Isis is worried about you; to be honest, I am too. You're very intelligent, Malik – it's not like you to be failing classes. Is something else wrong?"
A scowl had crossed Malik's face at the mention of his classes. "Gods, not you, too." He crossed his arms across his chest. "Listen…nothing's wrong. Maybe I've had some trouble concentrating lately, but it's nothing I can't handle."
"But Malik," he said gently, "you don't have to handle stress by yourself. Isis and I are more than willing to help you; you know that."
Malik regarded him sullenly for a moment. "Yeah," he said finally. He looked down. "I know."
Rishid was quiet for a minute, studying him thoughtfully. "…so…do you think you can pull your grades up? Your education is very important, Malik—"
"—yeah, I know."
"Would you like any help studying?"
"No."
A pause. "How's the rest of school going?"
"What do you mean?"
You know what I mean, brother. "Your classmates, your teachers. How are the people at the school?"
Malik played with a thread coming off of his quilt. "They're fine."
"Every one a king among men, then?" Rishid added dryly.
Malik smirked slightly at that. "Nah, there are some real jackasses. But it's nothing big."
Rishid quietly filed that comment into the back of his mind for later. There was also one more question that needed to be asked. He didn't want to ask it, and he knew that Malik wouldn't want to answer it. But it had to be said.
"Malik…" A pause. "Are you taking your medicine?"
There was complete and utter silence, and Rishid's heart sank as his brother glared up at him.
"I just want to be sure that you're OK, Malik…"
"I'm fine," he snapped. "And don't ask me about those pills," he added, standing up now. "Don't you trust me! I thought I told you never to ask me that question again!"
Rishid lowered his gaze automatically; he couldn't help it. "I'm sorry, Malik. I do not mean to imply that I don't trust you. I do trust you – you're my brother, for the Gods' sakes. I'm just worried about you, that's all."
"Well, don't be."
There was an uncomfortable tension then. Malik broke the silence first. "I have homework," he muttered.
"Of course." Rishid moved to the door, but paused with his hand on the knob. "Let me know if you need any help, brother. With anything. I mean that."
He wished Malik would look him in the eye, but all he got was a silent nod from the figure now bent over the math problems.
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Ta da! Another chapter. This is my first fic with chapters. Thrilling, really XD
Now that ye have read, consider sending a review. Should I keep going with the fic?
And in an attempt to avoid legal issues, here's the book that was quoted from earlier in the fic:
Hesse, Herman. Siddhartha. New Directions Publishing Corporation: New York, 1951.