The sky is a strange blue today. It's the kind of blue that urges you to stare. It's the kind of blue that pricks at your heart with its depth.
"It's sure a nice day today" said Shinichi, voice a wonder, his eyes finally leaving the mess of knowledge on the flat surface to appreciate the vast painting far above, created by the most skilled hand. In front of him is a board full of formulas, math equations layered over each and each, itching to be solved. The faint smell of chalk remains, bits by bits signifying his hard work. To his right is philosophy buried underneath those thick, worn-out pages while case files starts piling on his left. His hand continues to fluently scribble lines of numbers, ignoring the red marks created on the tip his fingers – the sign of excessive writing. His left hand busied itself with a collection of research papers. "Not this one either" he murmured to himself, determined though disappointed. Scratching out the last line like what he has been doing for the last couple hours, Shinichi jumps to another material, mind picking out information in the quickest way possible. The world of numbers and codes doesn't stop expanding; each of them dives deeper into oblivion, just like the shine in his blue, blue eyes. Outside his workspace, people come and go. It is a typical day at the Tokyo Metropolitan Police Department.
There's a dimension split I can clearly feel today. Beyond that see-through window, people fall into a slow pace, working while enjoying the first bright shine in many months. A cup of coffee in hand, they leisurely drink and savor its fine aroma. They proceed with their paperwork, not in a rush, absorbing the information carefully as they have all the time in this world.
In this meeting room, where Shinichi had asked Megure to reserve for him, everything is swift. Shinichi was quick to have lain out things on the large mahogany table before, not wasting any time in refreshment or his own needs as he scanned each material, focused, on-point and agile, his blue eyes moving to and fro at a rather inhuman speed. His pale fingers seemed to have developed a mind of its own, switching from pen to chalk to high-light in a quick transition.
"It's a nice day" I said back half-heartedly, knowing that he is trapped in the universe of questions unanswered and mysteries. That's another endearing part about Shinichi – how he can just slip right into his own domain of solutions like such. 'A person is at their peak of attractiveness when they get lost in something or someone'; a person once said this and I whole-heartedly agree. Thinking back, Shinichi practically lights up like a Christmas tree whenever he's with Kaito. However, Kaito doesn't see it. He doesn't see the devotion. He doesn't see those deep blue eyes following his silhouette. He doesn't see the utterly lost expression on Shinichi's face when he decided to leave for L.A in a few weeks' time. He doesn't see such with all his brilliance.
Maybe he just chooses not to see it. Humans are many things including foolish but Kaito is different. He is sharp-witted and a genius in his own field. There's no reason for him not to realize it just as there's no reason why the sky is not blue – the type of tranquil blue that is not enough to comfort, but enough to calm.
The sound of pens clattering rings in my ears. His hand continues to work, pushing itself to the limit. His mind ponders and wonders; possibilities spilling like fallen water paint, overflowing through his vivid blue eyes now adorns a new light of an open route. As I gather, he must've figured out something new. His left hand, which was firmly holding the thick book full of ink stains and hard work, now exist a new bruise – another sign of low-key fatigue. The comforting chord of colorful high-lights against the smooth surface of paper sends small waves of placid tingles through my being. He hasn't considered stopping, it seems, revising the materials time and again, refusing to miss anything essential to his research. All his important findings and connections are attached to the white board, next to his black board covered in thick sections of white and faint dust. Various paper pins are made useful, attached to their respective pictures and articles. The resonance of pulled-out duct tape unnerves me a bit. Shinichi wastes no time in applying parts and parts of the red scroll onto the board, marking the links between each and each clues before immediately moving onto another task. There is much to do after all. I soon tune out the loud noises of careless chatters beyond the door and the slight resonance of Shinichi's impatient pacing footsteps in the quiet space.
Without anything to do, my thoughts wander. I can always feel my mindscape bursting with colors and vivaciousness effortlessly at times like this. Though it's nothing but unusual sparks of colors, it is a comforting place. There's no definite meaning to this peculiar planet of splashing paint whirling around my consciousness. Still, it doesn't fail to warn me of my limit as the dark stains are slowly made clear by vibrant mixtures. Just in a few months' time, this mindscape will turn black and collapse just like my body. Strangely, this foreboding feeling doesn't disturb me. They only take me to the land of curiosity, containing crossed out lines one after another concerning my identity.
The book on the far edge of the large table states 'Ghosts are beings of inexistent past, present and future' simply because they are not capable of reminiscing or recalling their past life. They loiter on the face of Earth to fulfill their unfinished business, only to not remember it, as well. As such, there's no hope for the future for one day, they'll disappear and no one will be the wiser. 'Lost souls, however, are still particularly alive'. The only problem is that they are just there – no purpose or pursuits. 'It is believed that lost souls belong to people who have the ability to free their souls from their dominant body. It is a choice, not an accident'. Technically, they're people who have lost hope for this world. 'There is no known way to recover the souls to their respective bodies'. Maybe it's a one way no return for those who chose to turn down their opportunity to live. 'There are probabilities that their sub-consciousness lack the drive to live. In short, they are to never stop wondering about their presence on the face of Earth. However, unlike ghosts, lost souls don't last forever. They wither and die just like humans do. Nevertheless, there's no certainty as to why and when.'
The sound of screeching chalk against the black board brings me back with a shiver. Shinichi finally turns my way, eyes flushed with a new shade of dark blue from hours of coming in contact with digits and the like. The vague brush of cerulean remains, thorough and unchanging.
"Sorry about that" He said with an apologetic smile plastered on his lips and eyes a gentle glow. It unfailingly yields stand-still from the welter in my mind.
"It's nothing" I replied with another half-hearted answer. My eyes automatically glance upwards, taking in his progress. Greeting my sight is a mass of bright yellow. Different faces and features pervade my vision – the pictures belonging to each victim. I trace each and all absentmindedly, noting their difference and alike. The neat handwriting above the sections of yellow eases me just a little, stating timelines and relevant information. My eyes stop at the twelfth picture, also the last one down the line, showing the face of a black-haired female in her mid-teen. Ash and amber sharpens her curiously mysterious eyes. Her name is Togatta Kusarina, the most recent victim of this not-yet-to-be-found killer. Yet, that was a year ago. Because of the lack of evidence and less than any feasible clues, accompanying the fact that the killer suddenly stops all of his activities, the case was at a point of temporary stagnant. The police wanted to rely on Togatta Kusarina, who is luckily alive but still in a comma. The only thing that seems plausible anymore, apart from that, is the endless string of numbers that don't seem to go together in anyway. There is no bind for Shinichi to work so hard, one might say. That's true. He works this hard in an attempt to change something unchangeable. 'There is no known way' – those words run through my head, reminding me of my nearest future.
The slight texture of papers colliding doesn't bother me any longer. Silently, he continues to strive.
It all started out as a small idea of making up things to do as Shinichi rummaged through files and files in his break. Innocently, a picture fell out from one of them. In it was the face of Togatta Kusarina – A girl whose features made Shinichi glanced at me in pure horror. Lady Fate seemed to have been playing a trick on him, he said as he glanced again at the said picture. Togatta Kusarina had the same face as mine.
From there on, everything was a rollercoaster ride. He searched, he deduced, he came up with various calculations and scenarios that could lead me to where I am today. In a span of a day, he has made a huge step towards my identity, as well as the identity of the serial killer.
Yet, I wonder… whose sake is he working for?
Just as the sky is a sad blue, Shinichi doesn't cease his busy activities. He is a genius in his own rights, a person who strives to do something worthwhile for this world. Yet, is he overworking for this cause, I wonder?