~ Author's Note ~
*camera zooms in on a silent studio. Broken furniture surrounds the whole area, pieces of shattered glass litter the floor, blood is splattered on the walls and no sign of life is present in the entire-*
DT: Wai-WHAT?! That was a completely different set, you stupid cameraman!
Camera man: *hangs head in shame*
DT: Anyways, we cannot have the character disclaimers for some chapters since a disease called "Opposite Personality Disorder" (OPD) has broken out among our staff and-
Kana: *enters the room wearing an extremely revealing leather dress and stomps the floor* WHERE THE FUCK IS MY BITCH?!
Rikuo: *peeks out from behind the curtains in a dark blue maid outfit and with tears in eyes* Y-Yes, mistress?
Kana: *grabs a yelping Rikuo's collar* YOU STUPID GOOD-FOR-NOTHING WASTE OF SPACE! *Rikuo whimpers* WHERE THE FUCK IS MY BEEF-EXTRA-LOADED-CHEESE SANDWICH?! I ASKED FOR IT 30 FUCKING SECONDS AGO!
Rikuo: QwQ I-I'll get on it, mistress!
Kana: *throws a crying Rikuo who rushes to the kitchen, holding up his long skirt* GET ME A CAN OF BEER WITH IT, SLUT! *crashes into a couch and kicks feet up on the table*
Kubinashi: *scribbling something on a piece of white paper* *looks up and waves cheerfully at the camera* OH MY, HELLO LOVELY FANS! Hugs and kisses to all! And specially – MY LOVELY ROSE! *squeals like a love-struck girl and makes out with the camera* ;) THIS IS FOR YOU, DARLING! *holds up piece of paper* LOOKIE, LOOKIE, I WROTE YOU A LOVE POEM! It starts like'My fragile flower of the-'
Tsurara: *pushes glasses up nose and sighs* -_- Youngsters nowadays . . . . .
DT: -_- This is what I meant, dear readers. :3 Anyways! I need some help restraining these misfits for a few chapters! Anyone wants to volunteer, my lovely readers?
Tsurara: And there's a correction. The cover art wasn't drawn by Dennou Writer-san, although she was the one who recommended it. The original artist is from DeviantArt but DT seems to have forgotten her name.
DT: I'm still searching for that e-mail, dammit! *goes back to searching*
Tsurara: -_-; Uh . . . . anyways. Credits for the beta go to Hell Vanguard and a big thank you to the lovely xLollipopLovex, Kiera Vincent and rocknrolla575 for reviewing and following the story.
Ch. 24 – When the Bells Toll
Kana stared at the previously empty garage of her house with horror – for a short moment, all thoughts of Rikuo Nura, Hikage Daito Ryu, the dangerous blond man . . . . . everything vanished from her mind. And in its place settled a cold, uncomfortable feeling of nervous fear. Fear that erupted in her mind when she saw her mother's silver Nissan sitting smugly in the garage.
The fact that the kitchen and living room lights were on hit her like a ton of bricks. The only difference was that they caused her emotional pain instead of physical pain.
With footsteps as soft as they could get, she nimbly tiptoed towards the gate of her unwelcoming house. Instead of keeping her safe like a house should, since the past few days it'd only been causing her paranoia and misery. She had no intentions of going in but she couldn't run away now. She slowly opened the iron latch, hoping it wouldn't squeal out its signature creak. She mentally prayed to it that she'd be sure to oil it tomorrow no matter what and begged for it to not creak.
But of course, the latch was too clever and knew she'd forget about it tomorrow as well. And so it squealed out the most annoying, high-pitched, rusty creak that Kana had ever heard. She angrily glared at it and spit on it, verbal abuses on the tip of her tongue. But then her brain signaled to her that the latch was an ordinary gate latch and it wasn't its fault that it creaked. So she managed to calm down a little and settled for a fading glower. Once getting inside, she made sure to close the latch as carefully as she could. This time, it seemed to relent.
Even though she'd already seen the all too familiar Nissan from outside, it seemed to laughingly mock her from close distance. Kana shook her head and massaged her temple. Deciding she was going mad from lack of sleep, torrents of crazy news and the sudden arrival of dangerous men in her life, she stared at the paved driveway of the garden as she walked. The grey tiles seemed to be staring unblinkingly at her. At least, for once, she didn't have to face stubborn screeches or mocking smiles.
Oh Kami . . . . . have I finally lost my sanity?
Unsurprisingly – and unnervingly – the door to the house was unlocked. With a nervous heart, Kana walked in to see her mother's favorite red suitcase and a load of other smaller bags on the staircase. Taking off her strappy heels and slipping into comfortable slippers, she slowly trudged in with the pace of a snail. From the living room, she could hear the low hum of the TV. What distinctly sounded like the background music of Tom and Jerry and the amount of things they broke echoed from the room.
There was no hope left for Kana Ienaga.
"Welcome home, mom," she chirped in a somewhat peppy voice but the anxiety, exhaustion and mental strain she was going through managed to leak into her façade. She was never a good actress or liar anyway.
On the light pink plush sofa in the middle of the room was a woman dressed in a white shirt, black blazer and a black pencil skirt, who lay majestically sprawled on it. A black stiletto adorned her right foot while her naked left foot dangled from the armrest of the sofa, a fallen stiletto directly under it. The woman's long, delicate fingers held a cigarette between them while a few lay crushed on the floor before the sofa.
Kana sighed as she bent in front of her mom and taking a piece of newspaper and a mini broom brush from under the coffee table, began picking up the cigarette ends from the floor. She sighed in annoyance when another burned out cigarette dropped in front of her. "Mom, will you please stop doing that?" she muttered irately.
"Yo, Kana-chan!" Mikasa Ienaga said with a placid expression full of energy, her right hand raised in a signature hello. Mikasa looked to be a beautiful yet emotionless woman in her mid-thirties, long black hair in a messy bun, pale skin, a tall figure and bright hazel eyes just like her daughter but which were smaller and narrower than Kana. Straining to look over her brunette daughter's head, she whistled, "Even after all these years, Jerry hasn't lost any of that speed or agility. And Tom hasn't gained even a little bit of experience or wit."
Kana made her way to the dustbin in the corner of the room which was situated beside a dark, oaken showcase. After disposing of the butt ends, she made her way towards the centre of the living room and settled on a leather armchair. After watching Tom chase Jerry around for five minutes, set up elaborate traps only to have them foiled by the witty little mouse, she let out a sympathetic sigh. "I feel bad for Tom," she muttered. "Jerry causes all the trouble and yet . . . . . . ."
"In real life, the survivors aren't the innocent ones who've done nothing. It's the witty and clever ones who always know how to stay ahead of track that survive." Kana's mind again flashed back to Rikuo Nura and his smug smiles. It's the witty and clever ones who always know how to stay ahead of track that survive . . . "Of course, that's what law teaches you." Mikasa folded her hands behind her head. After a few moments of silence, the 45 year old woman pepped up again. "So, how's your tycoon boyfriend doing?"
Honestly, Kana was not surprised by her mother's knowledge of him. She was aware of the existence of newspapers and the annoying media but even then, she could not refrain from saying an inquisitive "How do you know?"
Mikasa lit up another cigarette and blew a smoke ring into the air – and thankfully, discarded it in the ashtray Kana had placed on the floor before her. "We mothers have our sixth senses." As Kana's questioning and skeptical gaze grew intense, she finally gave in and drawled out in a long, uninterested voice, "In-ter-net, my naïve sweetie." The brunette gave an agreeing nod.
"By the way, you still haven't answered my question."
Kana was not sure what to answer, exactly. Even though her mother was one of the most placid and uninterested women she'd ever seen, she knew she would've SOME interest in how her daughter went on a date with Hokkaido's – probably Japan's – most eligible bachelor. So, she started out with uncertainty "I met him at an . . . umm . . . college function . . ."
"The truth, darling," Mikasa interrupted, puffing out another smoke ring. Kana knew there was no escape from this.
"Alright," she took in a deep breath, preparing herself to go all out, "There was gonna be a lecture at college from Mr. Rihyon Nura with R-Rikuo-san accompanying him. Well, there was a blackout at the after-party and some . . . people pushed me out the door of the hall. I got the caterpillar feeling again-" Mikasa's closed eyes snapped open and her gaze flickered to her daughter, "-so I followed them." Kana shivered a little as her lips curled up into a broken smile. "Not the smartest thing I'd done."
And then, she explained everything to her mother. She told her about how she nearly died, how Rikuo Nura saved her and how she got on a date with him. However, she carefully remembered to omit the facts about his connection to Hikage Daito Ryu, about the assaulter in their house, about her night in the bar, about her second date and about her meeting with a blond man who was supposedly a danger to her. Her mother wasn't weak at heart but Kana was not intent on pulling her family into the grave she'd dug out for herself.
She also didn't feel it was wise to tell her mother about the proposal – not until she confirmed it, anyway.
All through the explanation, Mikasa gave no sounds of exclamation, horror or shock. Her hazel colored eyes had mildly widened at a few parts and her lips had wrinkled a little but she had soon set back her stone-faced composure. She listened with somber interest and it was only when Kana ended her explanation and took in deep breaths, she asked, "So . . . is the relationship serious or . . .?"
Kana deadpanned at her mom. Of all the questions she could've asked her . . . .!
However, she was used to such eccentric behavior and chose to reply casually.
"T-That's something I would like to find out as well," the brunette muttered, leaning into the armchair. She suddenly felt an urge to crawl into bed, hide under the covers and disappear. Things were happening too . . . fast. She needed time to think about everything. Kana watched with drowsy eyes as Mikasa slowly sat up, cracking her knuckles and stretching her legs. Standing up, she asked, "What's for dinner?"
Suppressing her fatigue, Kana got up and forced her tired legs to stand up straight. Smiling, she answered, "I've made curry and meat salad. Freshen up. I'll set the table." She watched as her mother nodded slowly and rubbing her tired eyes, hunched towards the shower room. Kana opened her mouth to ask about her father but decided to bring up the topic at dinner. She walked into the kitchen and yawning, set up the curry to heat. She smiled a little – even though her mother wasn't the most sympathetic of people, having her near gave her a sense of security and happiness.
As she washed and dried out the rice bowls, she caught something with the corner of her eye from the kitchen window. Squinting her eyes to have a better view, the flash of a yellow hoodie made her drop the rice bowl which broke into a million little pieces on impact. Glass pieces tinkered and fell everywhere.
She screamed.
The face had returned.
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Dear Rikuo,
Needless to say, I was surprised when I received your letter. We haven't made each other's acquaintance for a long while – and I don't wish to in the future too. However, if the subject is really as delicate and as significant as you've hinted, I shall overlook our past differences and offer you company on Wednesday. Though I must say, your choices in rendezvous points highly disgust me.
P.S: The days when you used to bribe me with food are over.
P.S.S: I am strong enough to handle three like you on my own.
After having read the letter thrice over to check for mistakes, Yura nodded in satisfaction. She stood on the patio of the large Keikain tower and before her kneeled a tall, thin woman with skin as brown as walnuts and long hair of a darker shade. She was dressed in the tight-fitting, black clothes of an assassin. Folding the letter in a simple white envelope with the Keikain insignia, she handed it to the woman. "Roku, make sure to get this delivered to Kurotabo. NO. ONE. ELSE. Okay?"
"As you wish, my lady," the dark-skinned brunette muttered in a husky voice before placing the letter inside her bra and disappearing into the dark knight. As soon as Rokuson had taken her leave, angry footsteps were heard approaching the patio and the glass doors of the building swung open with great force. Ryuuji Keikain stormed out, muttering a string of colorful curses under his breath and stomping on the ground. Yura turned around and stared at him with a somewhat amused expression. "Stomping isn't gonna make father more responsible, Ryuuji."
Ryuuji seemed to blow up as a puffer fish – Yura could swear he'd turned purple for a few seconds – before he finally seemed to cool down a little. "I apologize, Yura-nee-chan," he muttered in a disgruntled tone. As Yura had predicted, her father failed to turn up at the meeting. Other Keikain executives, including their uncle Masatsugu, had arrived but not the head of the Keikain Corporation, Hidemoto Keikain, himself. All through the meeting, the black-haired Keikain heir had noticed her brother try to control his pent up anger at their careless, slacker of a parent.
Yura HAD to make a video of her brother's puffer fish act someday.
"It's okay, Ryuuji," she muttered, patting the young adult's hand, "We can always talk to father at home." The raven-haired man nodded before gesturing his older sister to seat herself in his red Lamborghini which was situated in front of the patio. As Yura graciously took a seat in the passenger space, Ryuuji got in and keyed the fancy car to life. All the executives and Keikain members had returned home and the two siblings were the last ones to leave.
Yura stared after the tall, majestic building that now stood lifeless, alone in the dark night. The security guards saluted as the gorgeous Lamborghini passed by and the tall gates that guaranteed entry into the Corporation building were now closed for the night. Finally turning forward, she decided to put on some music to soothe her brother's nerves a little. Bruno Mars' "Treasure" rolled into play.
With concentrated eyes on the road, Ryuuji informed, "Fox is back in town."
Yura almost rolled out of her seat.
Some soothing she did.
Her dark chocolate-like orbs flickered to her brother, upset surprise etched on her usually vapid features. "What?" she hissed in a low voice, pearly teeth clenched tightly in a line. The 20-year old nodded in reply to her statement. Yura's nails dug deep into the palm of her hand and her teeth threatened to tear the flesh of her lower lip. "The Nuras are definitely up to something."
"No kidding," Ryuuji retorted. Yura's eyes flashed to her brother again, the chocolate orbs narrowing for the umpteenth time.
When she'd left Hokkaido 3 years ago, she remembered Ryuuji being . . . cockier. More confident and relaxed. It'd been a short while since she'd returned and during her time in Tokyo, she had minimal contact with her family. New corporations and companies were shaping up and competition got tougher every day, leaving the young heiress barely anytime for leisure or contact with family. And now, after 3 years-
It kind of hurt her to see her baby brother so angry, annoyed and tensed all the time.
"Is something wrong, Yura-nee-chan?" Ryuuji's voice broke her out of her contemplation and even though his eyes were focused on the road, she knew his attention was on her. That slightly worried her. Ryuuji was never disrespectful of her but before . . . he hadn't worshipped her like she was a Goddess.
She felt guilty for realizing the change in her brother's attitude so late.
"I don't know," she muttered, raising an eyebrow at him, "Is something wrong, Ryuuji?" She was sure she saw his Adam's apple briefly freeze – before saliva travelled down his food pipe.
"Well, except the Nuras being up to some mischief, nothing much," he replied back, sounding a little more at ease.
Yura turned her gaze away from him before allowing herself a brief smile. "You don't need to be so formal with me all the time, you know." She saw him momentarily stiffen from the corners of her eyes. He seemed to have lost his ability to lie convincingly as well. "I'm not your boss or anything, Ryuu-kun. I'm your SISTER."
Ryuuji's eyes flickered to her for a minute before a cocky smirk lifted up the corners of his lips. "Actually, you're both, Yura-nee."
Yura giggled. "I almost for-"
However, a dangerously swerving truck that appeared out from a winding corner seemed to have pierced her with its flashing lights. As her eyes widened in horror, she bit back a scream, biting down hard on her tongue. The lights seemed to whisk her to another world.
"No . . ."
"I'm sorry."
"LOOK OUT!"
SCREECH!
"Yura . . . chan . . .?"
Ryuuji cursed under his breath as he narrowly managed to evade the truck and skid to a stop on the highway. He put an assuring hand on his cowering older sister who had wrapped her arms around herself and shrunk into a shivering ball. "Yura-nee-chan. Yura-nee," he whispered in a gentle voice foreign to him, "It's okay. We're safe. We're safe."
Yura winced as the metallic taste of blood entered her mouth and a few drops slid down her dark pink lips. She blinked back a few stray tears as Ryuuji reached for a first aid box he always stored in his car. Staring harshly after the dangerously swerving truck, she mumbled out – albeit with a bit of pain – "Drunken driver."
Blood droplets dripped on the leather seat.
The 20-year old Keikain pulled out soft cotton gauze and an antiseptic from his box. Shooting a look towards the truck, he harshly muttered, "I hope so."
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Kubinashi . . . wanted to die.
Nothing was going his way. NOTHING. Tsurara Oikawa had disappeared, Itaku was busy being scolded by that old bastard Kido, Ryota and Mame were being emotionally tortured by some higher officers, Kejoro was being annoying and working on some kidnapping case and he'd lost Kana Ienaga – one of his most precious leads. The fact he didn't have her address yet bothered him to no end.
As Kubinashi's hunched shoulder pushed through the open gate of the apartment he'd rented. His arguable landlady seemed to have taken sleeping pills and thankfully, wasn't having a spat with her husband or son. He stepped on the unkempt when-
He noticed.
The apartment was deathly silent – he could literally hear the chorused chirping of the nocturnal cricket orchestra. The landlady's house was dark, as if someone had plunged it into the Dark Ages. Kubinashi was sure that there'd been no blackout. The neighboring houses still had lights shimmering in their rooms.
The blond's good hand mechanically reached to the gun holster on his right thigh, hidden from the view of other people by the length of his signature trench coat. Walking with careful, calculated footsteps, finger ready on the trigger, breathing soft and eyes alert, he trudged through the lawn and towards the main door of the house. The throbbing of his arm had dulled a little but the taut tenseness in his muscles seemed to bring back the pain again. Rounding up the corner towards the short staircase, a sharp breath escaped his nose.
Without committing his past mistake, the first thing he did was whip out his cell phone and send another text to Itaku. And he made sure to bold the word 'immediately' in the message. Then, stuffing the gadget deep into the pockets of his coat, Kubinashi nimbly ran to his unconscious landlady, whose limbs were bound and mouth gagged. As he bent over the obese, middle-aged woman, his eyes narrowed at a painful, bluish wound on her sagging forehead. The blond loathed making any physical contact with the woman but situations could not be helped currently.
"Yagami-san! YAGAMI-SAN!" he whispered in a restrained voice, afraid of being too loud. He wondered if this was some thieving attempt. He hoped this was some thieving attempt. The only other possibility in his mind wasn't very pretty. He placed his gun in its holster and shook the woman again, being forceful and louder "KANAME YAGAMI! Hey, fatso! Wake up!"
When the woman gave no signs of waking up, he sighed in frustration and quickly dialed for an ambulance. "Uh . . . Medical Hospital? I've a report for an unconscious woman. It seems like she's been knocked out by some blunt object." On the question if there was any other wound on her body, Kubinashi quickly ran a gaze over the obese woman – flinching at the extra layers of fat that bulged on her tummy, more apparent due to the tight T-shirt she wore. "No, no other wound. The address is Yagami Residence, 17th lane in Ayasaki road, Suzume. Yeah," his eyes travelled to the unconscious woman, "I'd rather you hurry up. Alright, sure, sure. Yeah, I'll do that. Thanks."
The phone went off.
Internally strengthening himself, Kubinashi bent down and lifted the woman by her right arm with his uninjured hand. He gritted his teeth and, putting strain on his good arm, tried to drag the woman to the white garden chairs in the lawn. Now, even though one of his arms was injured, he was a fairly strong guy and had his fair share of weight-training and arm strength. But he could swear that his arm muscles were on the verge of tearing apart due to the strain of the woman's weight.
"Kami!" he panted, finally being able to prop the lady up against a chair and cut off her binds with a pocket knife. "Just how much does this woman weigh?" Pocketing the knife, he took out his gun from the holster again and stared at his apartment which was situated on the first floor. The only other apartment besides his and the landlady's in the two-story house was of a street painter's, someone whose name Kubinashi had forgotten. But he was aware that the painter was off to an art convention in Chiba for a few weeks.
"At least no one's dead," he muttered to garner some optimism but the sentence didn't provide him much comfort. Nimbly and cautiously walking up the stairs, he noticed that the door the landlady's house was locked, completely cutting off this from turning into a theft. As his hold on the gun tightened and his muscles tensed even more, his red eyes gained their hawk-like vigilance, sweeping across the marble stone steps. They hunted for a fallen memento, an ignored piece of clue the perpetrator could've left, a drop of blood from a wound, anything.
He cursed when the steps appeared to be recently swiped.
Stopping in front of the door to his apartment, the blond detective's arm seemed to throb more than ever. A deep seated fear began to bloom in the pit of his heart, slowly spreading through his blood like poison and threatening to immobilize his body. He smirked, highly amused.
It took only a little pressure from his right foot to fully open the already slightly ajar door. The detective placed his gun in its holster. There was no need for it anymore.
He switched on the lights – so the masterpiece his apartment had turned into could bathe in white glory.
Cupboards and desks had been upturned. His expensive TV had been crashed with a large, star-shaped hole in the middle. The pillows of his sofa had been so ravenously torn that feathers dusted the room like sparkles. A knife – no, more like a hatchet – had been used to tear his settee and armchairs till they resembled a flayed cloth, cotton stuffing mixed among pillow feathers on the floor. His showpieces had all been smashed and pieces of different-colored glass – red, blue, clear, purple – adorned the floor.
The blond walked in – a crunching sound of breaking glass escorted his sweet welcome home at the first step he took.
The most beautiful and distinct thing about the masterpiece was the red-written message on the middle of his pastel colored walls. He could not distinguish if it was blood, tomato ketchup or thick red paint.
"THE HARD THING WITH BUSINESS IS MINDING YOUR OWN.
~H.D.R.~"
The blond smiled. "Unfortunately, my dear murderer, my business pertains to the very right you've decided to strip me off." He whipped out his cell phone again – this time, contacting a number he wouldn't have used for minor emergencies.
The phone was picked up by a highly irate woman after four rings. "Detective, I'm in the middle of an important interrogation here," he could hear the rigid seriousness in Kejoro's voice, "Kindly don't-"
"Put someone else on charge, officer." The brown-haired woman was slightly baffled by the lilting voice in which the detective spoke. "Our elusive murderer seems to have paid me a visit."
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~ Main Antagonist ~
Rihan Nura – 1 vote (smcute Kana)