((snerk)) I have to say – It could not have worked out more PERFECTLY for this material to fall into this number of chapter . . . and I didn't even plan on it. Didn't notice until after the fact! LOL

Disclaimer – "Yu Yu Hakusho" and all known related characters do not belong to me. I get no monetary benefit from this. My benefit is the enjoyment of dealing with beloved characters.

"What Goes Around . . . "
by DragonDancer5150

Chapter 13 - Surreal

Dark sky that stretches out limitlessly,
The sound of distant, cracking thunder.
Whenever I stand, my steps
Sway.

A strange voice, a cold hand . . .
Out of the darkness, they call me.
Again and again, they call me.

Borrowing the words of a warm person,
Borrowing the form of nostalgic days -
Bad dreams step ever closer.
Nightmare!

"Nightmare!" - Kurama, movie soundtrack to
YYH/Poltergeist Report: Bonds of Fire

A small moan escaped Kurama's lips as he shifted, reluctantly regaining consciousness. His head lay on his folded arms. As his senses slowly returned to him, he realized that he was sitting, leaned forward on a table of some kind. Emerald eyes slid open slowly as he reached out of habit to brush his long hair from his face. None met his fingers. His eyes snapped fully open as he patted at his hair - bangs short, no eartails and the back closely cropped.

"Minamino, are you paying attention?" a voice demanded.

"I - um - y-yessir, Mr. Fuan." The name rolled easily from his tongue, even before he had turned to see who had spoken. A balding Chinese man stood glaring at him. Despite the fact that the man was short even for his nationality, Kurama instinctively knew that the man stood taller than he did.

Mr. Fuan held his eyes suspiciously. "What does the 'DC' in the name of the United States' capital stand for?"

"District of Columbia."

Mr. Fuan nodded, satisfied that his student indeed had been paying attention. He turned back to the world map taped to the board and continued his lecture.

Kurama looked around, recognizing the classroom in which he found himself. Mr. Fuan had been one of his teachers several years ago. He glanced down at his clothing, noting the uniform of Kantomaru Primary School. Under his hand, the characters "bo - ku" had been scribbled on a notebook. The next character had been begun but Kurama could not remember what he had been writing. Deep brown eyes caught his from the corner of his vision. A shy girl from the next row of desks was watching him sidelong through her black bangs. Her name was Van, Kurama thought, remembering the immigrant from Cambodia who had been in his fourth-grade class. He had been nine years old.

He listened intently, slowly recalling the geography lesson, even anticipating the questions before they were asked. The Human Realm had long fascinated him, so different from the one in which he had spent most of his existence. It had been an odd state of reality - living and growing in the childhood of one life and learning about one world while at the same time regaining memories, skills, even supernatural powers from another. He had always known he was different but it was not until he was five or six years old that he fully realized just how different - and why. It had been exciting. It had also been lonely as he realized that he could never allow himself to get too close to anyone, lest they learn the truth.

A knock at the door brought him back to the present and interrupted Mr. Fuan's speech. The teacher motioned in mild annoyance and the student nearest the door got up to respond. His name was - is? - Hashiba . . . Kurama could not recall the boy's personal name. His older sister's name is Kagome.

The man standing at the door seemed familiar to Kurama in a threatening sort of way that made the hairs on the nape of his neck stand up. There was something inhuman about him, though Kurama could not decide what. The man stepped into the room, crossing to Mr. Fuan with an air of confidence and danger that made the closest students shrink away from him in fear. He was too big and lumbering to be Japanese, at least not full-blooded. Kurama thought perhaps he was part Mongolian or maybe he was one of those who, according to myth, had oni blood in him. He knew he had never seen the man before - or had he?

The ogre-man murmured to Mr. Fuan who turned to Kurama. "Minamino, follow this gentleman to the principle's office."

Kurama's heart was in his throat as he silently gathered his books and belongings. Hushed murmurs and singsong taunts of "Minamino's in trouble" breathed just loudly enough for him to hear followed him across the room. He paused to look up at the ogre-man. For some reason, he felt that he should be looking this man eye-to-eye. He felt very small all of a sudden, looking up at him from belt-level. He had a distinctive scent, too, and Kurama knew that he should recognize it but, try as he might, he could not put a name nor a face to it. He only knew that the face he looked up into was not the right one. The man leered down at him before taking him roughly by the arm and hauling him out the door.

The hall was impossibly long and narrow, stretching on for as far as the eye could see. Kurama startled as he realized that the lockers lining the walls had been replaced with a gridwork of large stone squares like those found in a European mausoleum. He shrank away as he realized there were sounds coming from behind the blocks - moans, whistles, grunts, shrieks of pain and terror. Somewhere, someone was singing a mournful dirge. He turned away only to realize that they had reached the end of the corridor somehow, standing before a huge, ominous door. The upper half framed a frosted window with the Romaji characters "CA of J" painted across the center in bold red lettering. The ogre-man rapped on the window with his oversized knuckles, other hand still clamped securely around Kurama's arm.

The door was opened by the ugliest dog Kurama had ever seen, standing on its hind legs and inviting them inside with a low bow. He thought it might have been a boxer but it was too terribly scarred and disfigured to be sure. It made a noise like it was snickering at him and Kurama knew, without knowing how, that the creature was not sane. He turned to take in the rest of the opulent office and the other figure in the room caught his attention immediately. He was a tall, slim man in a professionally-cut, black suit. He had long, straight hair the color of fresh snow, his piercing eyes a deep, vivid purple. Before Kurama could register where he had seen the man before, he noticed the instrument in the man's hands, a thick bamboo cane like those used to punish errant schoolboys. Kurama shuddered as the man with the cane graced him with a cruel grin. "You've been a bad little boy."

"N-no! Wait!" The nine-year-old Kurama struggled futilely as the dog grabbed his other arm and he was dragged to the principle's desk, forced to bend over it. They twisted his arms, wrenching his shoulders forward to hold him in place, the smooth, polished surface of the desk cool against his cheek. His clothes from the waist down were pulled to his ankles. "Wait, please! There must be some mista - Ah!" The first crack of the cane cut him off, a thick line of fire burning across tender flesh. But I haven't done anything! he protested silently as the punishment commenced, the cane applied with practiced precision. He squeezed his eyes shut against the tears that came unbidden at the pain and humiliation. I didn't -

The lights went out.

The hands that held him in place remained but the cane stopped. He shook his long hair from his face – Long? he wondered with a start – as he opened his eyes. The stone-worked room was dimly lit by a fire somewhere outside of his field of vision. He shifted, trying to see more of the new room, and a sharp little prick dug into his bare chest, a splinter from the rough, untreated wood under him. He realized with a start that he was now completely divested of clothing. Pain still burned in thick, angry stripes across his nether cheeks. He jumped as a new agony raked his shoulders with a terrible crack. Bokuma's whip, Kurama thought, stifling a murmur. He held still, riding out the new punishment as the cruel lashes tore open his back with each strike. How long the flogging continued, he could not tell. He had begun to disconnect, mentally distancing himself from the pain, when a boot shoved its way between his heels and kicked his feet apart. His ankles were tied to legs on either side of the table. With a shock of horror, he realized what was coming next. He struggled anew, gaining strength in desperation to break the hold his torturers had on him.

A voice called from a distance just then, female and vaguely familiar. "Kurama! Kurama, wake up!"

Author's Notes: Please be sure to check my bio page for any updates, etc. Thanks!