Ichigo looked confused at first. "Food?" he repeated in disbelief. "Are you… Are you crazy?"
The man looked at him blankly, as if he were a piece of uninteresting insect. "Fucking idiot." Ichigo opened his mouth to retort but the woman behind him spoke.
"Grimmjow." Her tone was curt. "This way, please." She held out a pale hand, indicating him to follow her.
The man raised an arrogant eyebrow.
"This way."
Ichigo jerked; he felt something passed between the two strangers. Something cold and deadly, sharp like icicle. His brown eyes narrowed suspiciously and cautiously, his nerves tingling, alarming him.
"Fine," the man grunted.
The two disappeared in a corner. Ichigo was left alone and his eyes wandered around. The ceiling, like in the atrium, was high and supported by pointed arches. There were more stained windows than walls in the hallway. Outside, the hotel looked like a fortress, a castle, but inside, it was like stepping inside a massive cathedral, but instead of images depicted in Bible, the stained windows were plain. The walls were faded yellow. He had expected cold, black stone. He wished the hotel, despite its old age, was equipped with high tech flushing system and heaters.
Ichigo stared up to the portrait. His heavy-lidded eyes darkened. Instantly, as their eyes met, his heart rate raced in a way that was almost painful. Frowning, he let his eyes traced the curve of her face, the curl of those locks, the dimple on her cheek, the column of her slender throat… and down, down… down…
He licked his dry lips.
Damn.
Something akin to dread froze his blood, causing him to swallow. Exactly seven days ago, that face was staring right at him. That woman was lying beside him on his bed. That hand was caressing his face, and those eyes were staring into his.
It's coincidence, he told himself. Just a freaking coincidence, he ground his molars as he fortified himself.
"Sir."
He turned his head, his expression carefully neutral.
"Is there a problem?"
You tell me, he wanted to say but he grunted and shrugged. "Nothing."
The blue-eyed man appeared behind Nanao, his expression cold. "Then, let's proceed." She turned to the other man unflinchingly. "I believe you know your way out?"
The man did not toss him a glance, extracting a box of Dunhill Lights from inside his trench coat, took out a piece and lighted it. He walked past Ichigo without a glance, but Ichigo felt his nerves crackle with suspicion. Subtly, he looked over his shoulder.
Ichigo's eyes widened.
The man was gone.
Holy… shit.
Urahara told him to go somewhere quiet and relaxing, but in two seconds flat, he already hated the place, the portrait, the hotel receptionist and the strange-colored haired stranger who can vanish into thin air. How can he relax and be inspired to write here? His instincts told him he'd probably get into trouble if he stayed here any longer. There was something off and alien about the stillness. And most of all, these people. There was something about them that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. Their presence felt like an invisible hand of winter chill that wrapped around his neck and body, squeezing him.
He could only curse Urahara and his meddling as he followed Nanao.
:
When Grimmjow returned two hours later, the chair was empty. Unobstructed, moonlight flooded in through the square window, providing faint illumination of the vast rectangular stone room. He turned to the massive and ornate canopy white bed which can occupy at least four bodies. With a grunt, he stalked in, dragging something behind him. He had left the door open. The light from the yellow bulbs lighting the hallway filtered in.
He stopped at the foot of the bed. "Are you awake?"
The white bundle on the bed moved and lifted its head.
"…You know I don't sleep."
He rolled his eyes and tossed something on the center of the floor. It whimpered. "I got something for you. Eat up."
There was a sound of shifting cloth and bedspread, and a pair of pale feet touching the cold, stone floor.
"Oh."
"Disappointed?" Grimmjow sneered.
"It's not him."
The corner of his mouth curled. "You're picky, huh?"
"It's okay. He'll suffice. I'm really hungry." The soundless footsteps crossed the room and stopped before the gagged and bound man. "Oh, he's breathing, Grimmjow. Thank you."
"Whatever. Eat up. I'd take care of the mess later on."
"…He's terrified."
He shrugged, "He should be." Grimmjow glared down at the captured helpless man. The human's eyes were popping out in fear; the nerves around his eyes were throbbing, his face was almost white in terror, thick with sweat. Small whimpers were heard from his gagged mouth. The human's body was shaking and it shook harder as a pale hand reached out, stroking the damp, messy hair.
"Hmm…"
"Your Highness," growled Grimmjow.
"Leave us."
His scowl deepened.
"Grimmjow."
There was a twinkle of blue and gold light and almost immediately, a deep cut appeared on his arm and blood erupted violently from the gash. Something invisible and faster than a bullet had lashed at him. The shock would have sent him spitting a curse but he bit his lip hard. "Shit. Alright, you don't have to go fucking do that shit thing, you know." He looked down at his injured arm. Thick blood rolled down from his bicep to his forearm. In the darkness of the room, it looked like mercury.
"I'm sorry. I cannot control it… Especially when I'm this hungry. Do you want me to heal you?"
"Don't bother." Prolonged abstinence was not recommended, especially for royals, Ulquiorra told him once. Most especially for this one. Grunting, he turned and left the room, shutting the door behind him. He lit another Dunhill Lights, waited for a few minutes before snorting as a terrified scream echoed from the room. The scream made an echo; it was high-pitched, a sound similar to nails scratching a blackboard before it was abruptly silenced. A scent of blood wafted from the tiny space between the door and the floor.
Grimmjow's neon blue eyes glowed as a reaction to the smell of blood, his fangs lengthening but he gritted his teeth, walked off, and stood by a stone, square window to watch the full moon.
:
Ichigo was startled as he heard a faint sound that resembled a scream. It reverberated, sounding like a howl. And then, abruptly, it died. He stood up to approach the window. He pushed the heavy ceiling to floor curtain aside. The moon, it was unusually fat and full tonight.
Damn. This place is… fucking strange. And even stranger, that tower, why did it look familiar?
Frowning, he let the curtain fall, walked back to the desk and sat down to continue typing on his Mac. Despite the medieval feel of this hotel, internet connection was perfect. He checked his mails, deleted two unread mails from Kiego, and wrote two emails, one for his sister Yuzu and one for Karin. He intentionally forgot to write one for his father. He was tempted to send a message filled with curses and threats to his publisher but decided not to if he did not want to end up jobless once he came back to Karakura.
After sending his emails, he checked the local news. An article about missing persons caught his interest. Since winter begun, locales, male mostly, began to go missing. There were no bodies found. No traces found. It was like the missing people vanished into thin air. Disinterested, Ichigo stopped reading in the middle and switched to checking his website.
:
When Grimmjow opened the door, he was greeted with a stench of blood. It was heavy and it smelt disgusting. He cast a blank look at the bloody mess on the floor.
Heh. She really is hungry.
Usually, Her Highness was not a messy eater. Blood was to be savored, that was one of her quirky rules. He glanced at the bed. "Had a good meal?"
She did not reply.
"Still hungry?"
"I can still smell him."
His frown deepened at the answer. A sound of something rolling and shifting cloth filled the silence.
"It's a weird smell."
"Are you still hungry?"
Another shifting of cloth, of bedspread, of limbs. Grimmjow watched with a bored expression the slow movements of joints, curling and uncurling of auburn locks, the way the white dress made her skin paler, paler than powdered snow. In slow, measured movements, she sat up, staring at the wall before her. There were few, random red spots on the white blankets. Hand prints, spots similar to a sweep of a paintbrush as though someone wiped its hand on the blanket. Her hands had a tinge of red on them.
Standing up, thick waves of hair tumbled down, concealing small shoulders and pale face. Like a ghost, she floated towards the chair and sat down, head tilted up to stare up to the sky, obscuring Grimmjow's perfect view of the full moon.
"Are you disappointed?" he asked, leaning against one of the posts of canopy bed.
"Kind of but it was a good meal. Thank you for your hard work." A long pause, then: "Are you angry?"
Grimmjow's eyebrows knitted together. "What the hell are you talking about?"
"You are my Espada. Bound to me." There was a faint howl of blowing wind from the distance. Large chunks of cloud passed and obscured the moon. Darkness cloaked the forest. Wind passed and stirred the leaves, causing the foliages to hiss. "Wherever I go, you go."
"I'm a royal lap dog," snorted Grimmjow, curious at the odd topic.
"Are you angry?"
"No."
"Liar." It was said very softly.
Grimmjow shrugged. "Think what you want. I don't care. I do my job, that's fucking all."
"Hmm, you're more hot-tempered than usual. Do you miss Neliel?"
A fine, blue eyebrow rose. Another odd question. "Again, what the hell are you talking about?"
"I figure the cause of your hot temper is that you miss her. I am sorely sorry you had to be here with me, Grimmjow."
He snorted. "Your jokes are lamer than usual." This time, the clouds concealing the moon moved slightly, permitting the moon to peep through the cracks.
"You really don't have to follow me wherever I go, Grimmjow."
"Are you insane? Your father will skin me alive!" It was not an exaggeration. He knew what he was capable of.
"I won't let him, don't worry."
He glared at the back of her head with great concentration that when she turned in her seat and looked at him, he was slightly taken aback. The glow of the faint moonlight made her hair shine eerily. The upper half of her face was concealed in the shadows, leaving her lips visible. The hairpins on either side of her head twinkled. She held out a small, long-fingered hand. It was very feminine and fragile. It was impossible to think that it was capable of snapping a human neck as though it was made of chalk.
"Take my hand."
Without preamble, he replied. "No."
A faint smile appeared on her lips. "Are you scared of me?"
"Fuck no," he answered defiantly. The smile on her face grew.
"You're being cautious, aren't you?"
"What the hell is your problem?"
He could feel her stare penetrate his skin and bones. Slowly, she lowered her hand and for a little while, it was silent, neither moved. Grimmjow could hear the sound of a distant leaf struggling to stay afloat, and then, complete silence. It was like a thick tarp that had fallen over the place, trapping sounds and lights. Then, without a sound, she turned back to staring up at the moon. The clouds had parted, revealing the full moon.
"All of a sudden, I realize I miss Las Noches. Isn't it odd?"
A frown creased Grimmjow's forehead. The change of topics was abrupt and bizarre but he didn't comment about that. "Do you want to go back to Las Noches?"
"Not yet. But there is a place I wanted to go."
"Where is it?"
She did not reply and stared up to the moon quietly.
:
At eight in the morning, Ichigo went out, a thick, dark green jacket with fake furs protecting him from the cold. It had stopped snowing but the snow was still thick and wherever he looked, there was nothing but snow and frozen trees. The clouds above were large, thick, gray chunks and they hung low in the sky, covering the sky and the sun. Looking at them caused Ichigo's anxiety to thicken. As he trudged through the sidewalk, he glanced around and noted that time seemed to move slowly in this place. It felt like the hands of time were stuck and everything was frozen, suspended in space. Few residents popped out from the corners, quiet and eyes downcast, talking in murmurs. When he asked a passing pedestrian, he discovered that the people were wary because of the news of disappearing people. A curfew was established, he was told, days before but it did not help. People continued to disappear. As a matter of fact, a man was found missing just this morning.
He entered the nearest eatery with a relieved sigh; the heaters were on. An elderly man greeted him with surprise. It seemed that tourists were rare in this isolated side of Asahikawa. He said nothing, ignoring the questioning gaze the old man was throwing at him – maybe because of the dark circles around his eyes and his zombie-like appearance – and proceeded into checking out the menu. The menu, he discovered with dismay, was simple and did not rouse his interest. Left with no choice, he ordered coffee and sat down on a booth in the farthest corner. The place was well-lit but deserted except for the owner and an old jazz music softly playing in the background. On top of a table next to his was a newspaper. He reached for it and read the headline. It was about a series of disappearing people. Almost a dozen people had already vanished, the headline said.
"Refill, sir?"
Ichigo looked up. The owner. "Yeah. Thanks."
When his cup was refilled, the man spoke. "Weird, isn't it?" Vaguely, Ichigo nodded.
"When did those people start vanishing?"
"This month."
He arched a brow. "This month and already a dozen disappeared? Did you contact the police?"
"We did. But the police dropped the case. They said there was nothing they could do about it. The case was vague with no traces of evidences to work with. Maybe those people got bored living in this place and decided to make an exodus. After all, this particular side of Asahikawa is almost inaccessible, uninteresting and sadly overlooked. Residents chose to leave and stay in the more populated area of the city. That's what they concluded but we are still frightened by this phenomenon. Although, strictly speaking, this is not the first time this happened."
"These disappearances happened before?"
"Yes. It happened yearly." Then, he looked at Ichigo curiously. "I am genuinely surprised to see a visitor, considering this side of the city is unpopular. Where are you staying, sir? If you don't mind me asking,"
Ichigo shrugged, showing he did not mind the question. "There's a huge block of black stone after the frozen lake. That's where I am staying."
The elderly man looked surprised. "Ah. The black fortress, you mean? You must be a very privileged man."
"Why is that?"
"That castle is a private property belonging to man with no face and no name. No one is allowed to enter the place although no one will even try."
"I am under the impression that it is a hotel."
The man arched his brow. "A hotel, you say?"
"Yeah. Las Anochecer," informed Ichigo.
"Hmm… How odd. I haven't heard about that. It's Spanish, isn't it? We believe it's a private property, not a hotel. If it is a hotel, then you're the very first person I encountered who claimed to be staying there. And trust me; I met a lot of people, townsfolk and tourists."
The bell dinged, indicating that a customer had stepped in. Ichigo and the owner looked at the entrance. A thin man with shoulder-length blond hair had entered. He carried a bag resembling a guitar case; he was wrapped in thick coat, scarves and hat. He looked around with a bored expression on his face, chose a seat and sat down. The owner bowed at Ichigo and left to assist the newcomer. Ichigo was left to read the newspaper. Around noon, he ordered chicken salad and another coffee for lunch. After which, he left the place, walked around the monotonous town before deciding to return to the hotel. He found himself walking down a pathway that bordered the frozen, large lake which he did not notice the night before. The great expanse of white spread out before him, a blinding shimmering of paleness. Tall pine trees covered in snow surrounded the lake. There was a small wooden dock with a bench. He walked over to the edge. The ice must have been almost twenty centimeters thick and in some places it shone like opaque glass, hinting at the current of black water that flowed under its thick shell.
As he turned to continue on his journey, he heard a giggle. Ichigo stopped and looked around. The trees were unnaturally still. He waited, eyes narrowed.
There was another giggle, this time, it was louder and clearer. Frowning, he followed the sound, footprints trailing behind him. There was a sound of feet moving around, a soft hum of a familiar melody. He found a trail of narrow footprints. He followed the tracks and he arrived in a small, round clearing beside the frozen lake. A girl with long, russet hair was humming a melody while making a snowman. She was wearing a plain, white dress with elbow-length sleeves. She wore no jacket or scarf. What made the whole ensemble stranger was that she was not wearing any shoes.
"Oi."
The girl stopped in the middle of carving a smile on the snowman's face.
"It's freezing out here, you have no jacket and you're barefoot? Are you crazy?" Ichigo waited for the girl to face him. Her hands lowered to her sides, and slowly, she turned her head to look at him over her shoulder.
The first thing he saw was a pair of unnaturally brown eyes which seemed too big for her face. And then, Ichigo's eyes widened as he staggered back. It was a familiar face, painfully and terrifyingly familiar. He had never, in his whole life, seen as beautiful and as frightening.
"O-Orihime?" Ichigo whispered.
His Orihime.
The girl blinked. "How did you know my name?"