Copyright disclaimer: Hmm... I'm really desperate for a joke to tell. Anybody want to save me? No? You're so heartless. I already don't own the Legend of Zelda, and now you want to rub salt into the wound? Jerk.

CHAPTER 18: "That guy hanging around you"

Before he stepped in and turned on the lights, I dove to the ground in hopes of covering the photos. I shoved some into my shirt and hoped that my body was covering the rest.

Ghirahim turned on the lights and looked down at me with an amused smirk.
"And what are you up to at this time of night, detective?"

"Cleaning under my desk." I know I was in a strange position, but did he have to look so amused?

I looked at the ground under my desk to make sure everything was hidden, but then I saw the greeting card from the Imprisoned. It had gone further from my desk than anything else, and it sat imposingly at the entrance to the kitchen.

It was closer to him.
I crawled carefully, so as not to drop any of the photos weighing down my dress shirt. I prayed that he wouldn't see the card before I got to it.

I had no such luck.
He took two steps and bent over to pick it up.

"Detective, I hadn't pegged you to be such a disorderly person," Ghirahim teased, reading the card. He bent over and picked the card. His expression didn't change, but he crouched down to where I was on my hands and knees.
"How did they send this to you?" I noticed he was working his jaw.

"I don't know what you're talking about," I said.

"Detective," he said slowly, like he was suppressing an inner explosion, "how did they send this to you?" He turned to me, and I shrugged. He read the card again with speed and threw it back on the ground, then loomed over me. I was holding back another urge to cry, the sight of him made me hate how useless I always became when he was around.

"They sent it to SkyCorp." I stood and the photographs fell from my shirt. I picked them all up, stacked them neatly, and locked them in my top desk drawer. Ghirahim pulled out a key and unlocked the drawer, then flipped through the out-of-order photographs. He stopped on the one of them injecting me with the blue liquid, and read the card again.

"What did you tell them?" He asked. He almost looked as if he was vibrating with anger.

"I don't remember," I muttered, sitting on my bed and slouching against the wall. "I have things to do tomorrow, please leave."

"What did you tell them?" he repeated, raising his voice.

"I don't remember," I said, glaring. "I'm not the liar here."

He put his hands on my shoulders.
"They—" he started, but stopped himself. He stared into my eyes, and I looked away. I tried to push his hands off of my shoulders, but his grip was immovable.
"You look like you are going to cry," he breathed. "You look like you cried already."

"I did not cry, nor am I going to."

"Why are your eyes so red and swollen?" he ran his thumb under my eye. "Your eyelashes are wet."

"Stop touching me." I shoved his hands off of me. "Do not touch me again. I don't need to justify myself to you, so if you've come here to harass me again, kindly leave my apartment and do not come back. You are to blame for this quick decay of my everyday life. And, and, what did you give me a grenade for? If you want to kill me, just do it already..." I trailed off, sniffling.

"It is quite amusing to see you trying to act tough when you are crying."

"I told you, I'm not crying!" I answered, rather indignantly.

He glided his finger across my cheek and showed me a drop of water.
"Is that so?"

"Wh-whatever, just leave," I pressed.

"The possibility of my departure was much higher when you were not crying."

"What does that have to do anything?" I said. My voice cracked.

"As much as I hate to admit it," he began with a low voice, moving closer to me, "seeing your troubled expression arouses me beyond belief." He bit my earlobe and I forced him off of me.

"You're a sadist," I accused halfheartedly.

"I am many things," he told me, sliding his cloak off of his shoulders and cornering me against the wall again.

"Twisted," I said, trying to push him back by putting my hand over his mouth.

"Yes, I get that one often," he agreed, voice muffled by my hand, and it tickled. "Gorgeous, sexy, godly, too rough, too big, mysterious, twisted, psychotic, still gorgeous, majestic, sadistic, fabulous, dazzling." How about 'narcissistic'?

"A degenerate," I said.

"I have not heard that one in a long time." He slid his tongue between my fingers, and I tried to yank it away but he grabbed it and continued licking my hand without breaking eye contact.

"Stop!" I commanded. He took my middle finger into his mouth and began to suck on it. "Goddess, Ghirahim, what do you want?"

He took my finger out of his mouth, running the tip of his tongue over it before licking his lips and letting go of me. He gave a cryptic smile.

"That," he said, "is something I will not tell you."

"What do you mean?" I asked. I wanted to know why he came that day in the first place.

And then, without warning, he kissed me.
He had put one hand on the nape of my neck, and I noted that it was the first time his hand wasn't cool; it was hot.
He put his other hand on my lower back and pulled me forward so that I was almost in his lap.

He bit my lip and mercilessly invaded my mouth with his tongue. I tried to pull away, but he wouldn't let go of me. He kissed me again and again.

I couldn't help but start crying again. My head hurt, I was stressed out, and since when was the villain supposed to kiss the protagonist?
Ghirahim stopped kissing me and licked the tears as they came.

"You said you'd stop coming here," I sputtered. "Oh, wait, you handed me a bomb right after," I said, trying to laugh. "I should really stop believing you." He began to fumble with my belt buckle, and slid it off of with ease. I was trying to hold him back, but he was much stronger than me.

"Can't you just leave? I'm crying, dammit."

"That motivates me to stay and elicit weeping."

"Stop! Stop, stop, stop!" I shouted. He had pulled my pants halfway off. "Stop exploiting my weakness. You are the most underhanded person I've ever met. You either blackmail me or take advantage of me when I can't fight back."

"I don't believe that I said anything about living by humanity's dull set of morals."

"So you're saying you're not ashamed of your actions?"

"Exactly."

"Wow. Maybe it's because you're not human," I quipped. "Probably a demon," I said.

"Now you're catching on," he told me. He tugged my pants the rest of the way off, and when he tried to pull off the sweater vest, I swung at him and missed by a mile.

"You need to leave." I wasn't crying anymore, and my voice was stronger.

"No, detective, you need to cease resisting me." He roughly pulled the sweater vest over my head and pushed me onto the bed with force.

"You know, Ghirahim," I said, trying to stall, "I really don't like you."
He stared at me with a blank face and then broke out into a friendly smile.

"I don't happen to give a flying fuck what you like, you brainless twat." His demeanor changed, and his language became more cruel. His grip around my waist tightened. "All you fucking do is whine. Why don't you grow a pair?"

"Are you kidding me?" If I was mad before, I was now enraged. "All I do is whine? All you do is give me shit to complain about, which I don't do in the first place. Stop talking like you know anything about me, even if you say you know everything, you fucking stalker. I don't want your help, I don't need it, so stop trying to get me into your debt. Get out of my house. Don't come back."

He snickered.
"Feisty," he said, placing his hand on my crotch and leaning closer to me. "But if you tell me to do something one more time, I'm going to skin the soles of your feet with a plastic knife and hobble your knees so that you can't run away. Am I understood?"

Was he bluffing? He had to be bluffing, though the manic look in his eyes said otherwise.

"Y-yes," I said. There he was, threatening me into doing what he wanted. Again. It was hard to believe that a few days earlier, he'd been taking care of me.

He groped my crotch and unbuttoned my shirt like a pro, sliding a hand over my chest.

"St..." I said instinctively. I wanted to tell him to stop, but he would have punished me.

"'St'?" Ghirahim said with a smirk.

"Still looking for that astrophysics textbook!" I blurted, trying to save myself. I cringed.

"You aren't very good at damage control," he said, stroking my member from atop my boxers.

"Nn, neither are you," I replied. "You tried to make up for the fact that your subordinates abducted me, but then you—n, not there!" I was talking to stall, but it wasn't working and his hands were becoming more explorative. I shuddered.

"I will not leave until you are sobbing." I can manage that, I thought. I suppose I have to abandon my dignity for a few minutes.

"You are such a bully," I said, making my voice quiver. I bit my lip like I was having difficulty keeping myself from crying, and then I covered my face and forced the tears out by thinking sad thoughts.

Failure, no candy, oh goddess, no candy? Death, death, I'm being stalked by a physchopathic crime lord. No candy. Nocandynocandynocandy!

"Why do you always come to mess with me?" I blubbered. "What did I do to make you hate me so much?" I made a pained noise and realized he wasn't touching me anymore. I peeked through my fingers. He was on his phone.

"You suck at acting," he said.

"Damn you."

"I have to tell you, I am an opportunist, so I could not pass this up."

"Pass up what?"

"You completely embarrassing yourself." He turned his phone to me and showed the video of me pretending to cry. I could feel my face heating up.

"Delete that!" I said. I reached for his phone and he pulled it back. "Don't fuck with me."

"It's too late for that, isn't it?" Ugh. Disgusting.

I pounced for the phone and grabbed it out of his hand, but our foreheads smacked together at the same time.

"Shit," he said with irritation.

"Are you, er, never mind." I was going to ask if he was okay like most people did when they accidentally head butted people, but, well, I didn't care to know about him in particular.

"Is your head okay?" he asked, his hand gripping his forehead.

"What?"

"Is your head okay?"

"What?" I repeated, incredulous.

"Obviously it isn't," he said. "Though it's arguable that it was never 'okay.'"

"Why did you ask if you were just going to insult me?"

"Because you're concussed."

"You don't need to care," I said. Oh, wait, I'm still half-naked. I deleted the video of me crying from his phone and tossed it to him.

"Good thing I saved the video twice," he said. "And I sent it to you, too."

"Are you going to leave now?" I said, standing up and frowning at him.

"One would not expect such sass from you based on appearance." He looked me over, his eyes lingering on my body for much too long. I pulled on my pants and scowled at him.
"Yes, I will leave for now," he said, slipping into his cloak.

He walked up to me and hooked his foot around my ankle, jerking it forward. I fell back, but before I hit the ground, one of his hands was holding mine and the other was on my back. I'd seen poses like it on TV, when people were doing some kind of fast, passionate dance and the lead dancer would dip their partner backward.

"The next time I see you, I will continue where I left off," he said, a cryptic smile on his face.

"No thank you." He let go off me, and I fell flat on my back.

"Have a nice night, Hylian trash," he told me, and was out of the door.

What I didn't understand the most was why he kissed me so many times. He treated me well one day and tried to blow me up the next. I thought kissing was reserved for people you were at least on good terms with, but he acted like speaking to me was a chore and being around him really was a chore.

"There's no sense in trying to dissect irrationality," I said to myself. I took a shower and fell asleep soon after, albeit restlessly.

I did not want to think about irrational things.

"You look like you stayed out late last night," Horwell said when I met him outside of Pumm's at eight AM the next day.

"I think it would have been better if I'd done that," I sighed.

"Pulled an all-nighter?" he asked as I opened the door for him.

"Yeah." I followed him inside. He picked a booth near the back of the restaurant and Kina, the waitress whom Keet was staring at last time I was there, came by to ask for our orders. Horwell ordered pumpkin pancakes and I didn't order anything.

"You aren't hungry?" Horwell asked after Kina left.

"I am," I said, resting my elbow on the table. "I'm just too tired to feed myself. Will you feed me some of your food when it comes?" I asked jokingly.

"Sure. Now tell me what happened to you." He was very serious.

I spoke in a low voice and leaned over the table, and he did the same so he could hear me.

"Listen to everything that I say before you react." He nodded, and I continued. "On Friday, I was abducted by the Imprisoned." His eyes widened, but he didn't say anything.
"They gave me different drugs, I think one might have been a truth serum, but I don't remember."

"Your injuries?"

"They gave them to me." He slammed his hand down on the table. The people around us turned to look at us, then turned back to their own devices.

"Dammit, Link. Why did this happen to you?"

"I don't know," I lied. He saw right through it.

"If you don't tell me now, I'll just find out from someone else," he said. I averted my eyes and bit my lip. I didn't want to get him involved.

"It's that guy hanging around you, isn't it?"

"What—"

"My job gives me access to a lot of information," he said. But didn't that mean that other people knew as well? "Link, it isn't my place to tell you, but it's best not to associate with such dangerous people."

I thought of explaining the situation, but decided against it. He probably knew enough about it to draw his own conclusions anyway.

"Sorry," I said. "All I seem to do is make you worry." He smiled at me just as Kina brought his pancakes.

"All you do is make me want to protect you," he said. "Are you going to eat?"

"I don't know, is it good?"

"Try it." He cut a piece covered in syrup and stabbed it with his fork. "Say 'ah,'" he commanded, holding out the fork.

I bit the piece off and chewed it, feigning a harsh criticism.
"Needs more sugar," I joked. A chill went down my spine just then, like someone was watching me. I turned my head, but decided not to act like anything was wrong around Horwell; I'd caused him enough grief.

"Your sweet tooth is deadly," he said. I looked up at him to protest, but I stopped.

"Do you have a fever? Your face kind of flushed," I said.

"No, I'm fine," he rushed.

"If you say so," I replied. He finished his pancakes and Kina brought the bill. "I'll pay," I told Horwell.

"No way, you didn't buy anything," Horwell replied with surprise. I pulled out fifteen rupees and waved Kina over.

"I invited you out, so I'll pay. It isn't a problem." Kina handed me some change and Horwell and I left the restaurant.

"It's too cold," I said. I'd forgotten my hat at home. Horwell and I started walking, with no real destination. I looked up at the pale winter sky, it looked just as frozen as the earth. Our shoes crunched through the ice and snow.

"Where's your hat, young lady?" Horwell said, ruffling my hair.

"I could say the same to you, old man." He laughed and we stood at a crosswalk.

"You know, Link, you've changed," he said suddenly.

"How so?"

"I think you've become much more social. You wouldn't have invited me out a few months ago, let alone pay for my food. You also didn't speak all that often."

"Are you calling me a jerk?" I chuckled.

"Wow. I have to give credit to whoever made such a big change in you," he told me, pulling out a cigarette. He didn't light it.

I thought about it. I didn't notice a change before, but now that Horwell had brought it to my attention, I realized that he was right.

"Aren't you going to smoke?" I asked as we finally crossed the street.

"You don't like it when I smoke around you."

"You're too kind," I said with just a hint of sarcasm. We came upon one of Horwell's many park benches, and I looked at the clock on my phone. Evidently we had walked quite far because my doctor's appointment was in twenty minutes.
"I have to go to a doctor's appointment," I told him.

"See you at the office, then?" I nodded and turned, beginning to walk away, when he called to me. I looked to him, and he threw something to me. I caught it easily: it was a green apple-flavored lollipop.

"I look forward to working with you, detective Horwell," I said to him, giving a formal bow.

"Don't be so stiff when we're working though," he replied, and I stuck my tongue out at him and smiled.

There was almost no one in the doctor's office when I arrived. Even so, I was in the waiting room for about half an hour, so I decided to text Fi that I made it to the appointment on time. I opened the app, and saw I had a text from Ghirahim. I remembered what he said the night prior about sending me that mortifying video, but he had to be kidding.

...Right?

Wrong. It was there. I deleted it immediately and tried to block him again, but I was still unable to. I sat slumped in an uncomfortable chair, thinking about ways to protect myself the next time Ghirahim tried to push me down.

"Mr. Link?" A female nurse said from behind the counter. "Follow me, please." I stood and she led me to an examination room with dark blue walls. The nurse's name was Wren, and she'd been working at the hospital for twenty years.

Nurse Wren took my blood pressure, height, weight, and heart rate. When she took my heart rate, though, I had to untuck my shirt and, though my lower stomach was only exposed for a second, she saw it and gasped. The bruises were fading, but they were there. She seemed fazed, but didn't ask about them.

"So, Mr. Link, what are your symptoms?"

"I've had a nagging headache since Friday, and the nausea comes and goes. I become very dizzy on occasion."

"And your appetite? Can you hold down food?"

"I've been eating nothing but mashed potatoes,"I said.

"I'll fetch the doctor," she said.

It was confirmed that I had a concussion and that I needed to rest. As the doctor explained how long I should stay away from work, what over-the-counter medicines I could take for my vertigo, I nodded politely while I thought about doing all the things he was telling me to avoid.

The symptoms of concussions could last anywhere from a day or two to a few weeks, but I didn't have time for that. After leaving the hospital and calling Fi to tell her that I was on my way to work, I stopped by the convenience store. Just as the doors slid open, I saw Keet standing in line on his phone. We waved to each other and I overheard some of his conversation when I walked past him.

"Come on, Ori, just tell me a little bit about her," he pleaded into the phone.

I bought three packs of strawberry gum and walked to SkyCorp with Keet.

"Orielle won't tell me anything about Kina," he sighed. "Apparently, they're childhood friends."

"Why don't you talk to her?" I asked. It seemed obvious to me. Keet snorted.

"As if I could do that."

"Why not?"

"Since when are you the relationship guru?" he quipped. "Tell me about your love life."

"Don't have one," I answered immediately. "However," I said, elbowing him lightly in the ribs, "if love really is blind, I can guide you in the right direction to Kina with common sense."

Keet looked as if he was in serious thought.
"I should just talk to her?"

"Yes."

"Alright. But if she turns me down, you're buying me a drink."

"I'm underage."

"Oh, right. Stop acting like a big kid, it gets confusing."

"You're only two years older!" We kept up the light banter until we reached the company building.

Right when we stepped over the threshold, we became dead serious.

For three days straight, the team researched as much as we could on the ship. The background of each of the members of the small crew and the two passengers, the origin of the cargo, the activity of pirates in the past few years, etc. We worked nonstop, and one night I even fell asleep at my desk.

We all had our own theories on the disappearance of the crew, but our theories meant nothing until we could see everything with our own eyes. We tried to prepare ourselves as best we could for such an intimidating unknown.

On Thursday evening, I found myself walking home with Horwell, even though he lived on the other side of Central, and even though no one had walked me home before. Horwell and I had been spending significantly more time in each other's company ever since we started the case.

"I know you love your job, but you are working too hard, and with a concussion, you really need to slow down," Horwell lectured.

"I'm okay," I pushed. "If I just get some sleep tonight, I should be fine tomorrow."

"Look, missy, you can't fool me," he said. "I bet your head hurts right now, huh?"

"Nope," I told him. He probably knew that I was lying, but he only shrugged. "This is my apartment," I said, pointing at the front doors. "Thanks for coming all this way."

"Link," he whispered, looking at me with too much emotion in his eyes for me to understand. I tilted my head, waiting for him to continue speaking.
Instead, he put his hands on my back and hugged me.

It was a strange feeling. When was the last time I was hugged? I think the fact that I can't remember is enough proof that I don't do it very often. Was I supposed to wrap my arms around him too? I felt awkward.

"You need to take better care of yourself," he murmured against my ear. He smelled like cigarettes, cats, and licorice.

He pulled away and ruffled my hair.
"Stay safe, young lady," Horwell said over his shoulder and walked down the street, receding from my view. Suddenly, it felt as if someone was watching me.

I turned slowly, looking everywhere, keeping an ear out. A car sped by and a cold gust of wind whipped across my face. There was nothing out of the ordinary. I sighed and entered my apartment, writing my paranoia off as tiredness.

I took a shower, kneading all my bruises and gritting my teeth. I wanted them to go away. The cuts on my back would probably leave big scars after they'd finished healing, but at least I wouldn't have to see them.
Collapsing into bed at 10:30 after looking into the Sandglider's dock history one more time, I slept through the night and into the morning.

But no amount of restful sleep could have prepared me for the next day.

A/N: You know, when I started this, I told myself that I wouldn't write in all that many cliffhangers. But I might just be evil, to such an extent that I want to torture my readers (jk).

Let's pretend rupees = USD, because rupees are actually more like Japanese yen and I don't want to look up the conversions... Yes, I'm lazy, what of it?

I will now be explaining where I got the scenario for the case Link is working on. In the 1800s (I can't recall what year) a ship called the Mary Celeste was found, deserted, in the middle of the ocean. There were something like 14-15 people on the ship when they left port, and none of them were to be found when the ship was discovered. There have been many theories on what really happened, but this mystery has yet to be solved. I think it's such an interesting idea!

My family is finally moving tomorrow. I hope they stay there forever because I'm not helping them pack again lol